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This computer’s battery has been suckin’ mammoth, jangly walrus balls as of late. It privileges me with 15 whole minutes of cordless computer time–that is, if my commands aren’t too processing-intensive. I bought this PoS with the (implicit) understanding that ‘puters of its ilk were above problems as pedestrian as this.

I wouldn’t be grumbling about this except that I’ve replaced the battery once already. Its predecessor ran the risk of catching my computer on fire so it was recalled. Apple computer sent me this pansy ass excuse for a battery in exchange…

Well, I’m down to 12% now so I’d better post this masterpiece before I lose it.

…depression can blindside you with the impact of a Mack truck. It did me on Sunday morning. It turned out to be nothing that 5 hours of drum practice couldn’t cure.

Here’s to a man who has devoted his entire career advancing knowledge about how the brain controls movement in primates–knowledge that (virtually) translates directly to humans. Without a doubt, his findings have directed many hundreds of scientists, many thousands of doctors that have helped millions of patients suffering from extremely debilitating neurological disorders mediating muscle activation and (hence) movement. I have met and evaluated patients suffering from movement disorders (i.e. Parkinson’s disease, Myasthenia Gravis, Essential Tremor, etc.) and neuromuscular disorders (i.e. Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, Multiple Sclerosis, etc.) and I can tell you, these disorders are among the worst ailments a person can experience.

Despite my boss’s prolific career in this most noble of noble pursuits, below is the thanks his institution has received from animal rights extremists, the mainstream media and (eventually) the general public:

Many thanks KOMO 4 for that objective report. I hope all of you sleep well with your career advancing sensationalism.

Rabid-dog Crazy:
Subject 1: (10:15pm, NE 47th & University Way, 4/30/2008). White male, mid-30’s buzzed hair-cut, seen wearing a black jacket, shorts and tennis shoes. Subject observed skipping down University Way (all 6’5″ of him), babbling happily, but incoherently, until a car passed by him on the street. The subject screamed and gyrated violently in response to the car and then darted out into the street – at full sprint – pursuing the car traveling ~25 mph. The subject continued to follow car until he reached NE 50th and University Way at which point the subject broke his pursuit and continued skipping westbound down NE 50th street.

Subject 2: (10:25pm, NE 42nd & University Way, 4/30/2008). White male, early-20’s, seen wearing a black baseball cap and baggy pants. Subject observed walking southbound down University Way. Adjacent Flower’s restaurant, subject intercepted a pay phone, threw down his fists, and then forcefully butted the pay phone with his head. Moments later, while crossing NE 42nd, his gait became unstable resulting in his subsequent fall. The subject shook his head, righted himself, and continued walking southbound.

Bat-shit Crazy:
Subject 3: (10:20pm NE 42nd and University Way, 4/30/2008). White male, late-20’s, wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a navy-blue hooded sweatshirt. Subject heard conversing loudly with himself. The following statements were recorded by a nearby witness:

1. “you realize it’s the end of the world right..?”
2. “you can’t relate if you’re not psychic…”
3. “you’re trying to laugh it off and all, but I’m psychic…you know it. A man asks me ‘what am I thinking?’ and I say ‘mountains’, man asks ‘now what?’ and I say ‘cats’ and the man asks ‘now what?’ and I say ‘aliens’ and the man says ‘wow you got 2 out of 3!'”
4. “when you pass into your next life, you’ve got a big surprise waiting for you…”
5. “if I’m not an alien, [then] how do I have the abilities I have..?”
6. “if you’re a Christian then you’re a liar, and liars don’t get into heaven…”
7. “the two of you are laughin’ but you won’t be when you’re fuckin’ re-incarnated as goats…”

The witness also recorded the remark of another nearby pedestrian that stated (while shaking his head in disbelief): “damn buddy, you need to lay off the speed or whatever-the-fuck it is!”

Disclaimer:
The above-described subjects are psychiatrically unstable and probably dangerous. Should you encounter any (or all) of them on University Way, pretend like they don’t exist and hope that they don’t notice you–this is the semi-successful tactic employed by students of the University of Washington.

I’m sitting directly underneath I-5 bridge on the north shore of lake Union. It’s sunny and peaceful. I’m watching kayakers row past, dogs catching Frisbees, and hear the roar of early evening traffic directly overhead.

Today turned out to be an exceptionally good day in the lab (i.e. my monkeys worked without breaking things, I learned what household metallic objects become deadly projectiles in the vicinity of MRI magnets, etc). Good enough for me to jet from the lab at 4pm without any reservations or guilt. I walked to Ivar’s Whale-Maker Lounge and promptly consumed three pints of Manny’s pale ale, a green salad and a plate of herb-dusted calamari. My fried food craving has been sated for the week. While seated, I attempted to grasp the effect of “diluted connections” on memory capacity of Hopfield neural network models.

I failed miserably.

Feeling less than happy with myself, I raised my head and noticed an attractive couple just seated at a table directly in front of mine. Both were nicely dressed (i.e. dating attire) and both drank fancy-pants garnished cocktails probably poured with top-shelf liquors. They seemed chill enough (despite my gawking)—that is, they seemed to be enjoying themselves but didn’t let out any gut-busting guffaws or anything. None of this is unusual for happy hour at Ivar’s. What caught my attention was the woman (or more precisely, the girl) had to have been less than half of the age of the man. My first thought: “Damn, that guy’s got it goin’ on! I should stay and take notes in case I’m ever his age and single.” He definitely had the whole Cadillac-commercial-“welcome-to-the-club-of-distinguished-gentlemen”-gentlemen vibe going for him.

I was fascinated. Then I looked closer. Their faces seemed to bear a slight familial resemblance…

Now I ask you, what man of 55-60 takes his college age daughter drinking at a cocktail lounge? Maybe I’m grasping for possibilities that refute the guy’s modjo (or whatever you want to call it) but if they were actually father and daughter enjoying cocktails at 5pm on a Monday afternoon, that’s a smidge taboo isn’t it? Sorry to get puritanical about social conventions, but their little get-together made me feel dirty. At that point I would have actually preferred that the guy had some magical allure rather than contemplate the alternative. Hopefully, that man is simply a professor taking an extracurricular interest in one of his doting students–or something innocent like that.

I woke up this afternoon feeling great. I guess I’m no good unless I get my 11 hours.

hmm… I’d say my PI is 3 parts Demi-God, 2 parts Slave-Driver and 1 part Psycho. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining. At least he’s predictable.

A few minutes ago I was blissfully walking from Wallingford to the U-district en route to catch my bus to Lake City. Above the roar of evening traffic, a passer-by shouts something at me that I couldn’t quite make out. Instinctively (and despite knowing better) I shout back “what did you say?” The man turns, and in the thickest eastern European accent I’ve ever heard he says “I’m sorry, your face look like faces I see in my home country–Ukraine. I tell you Ukrainian greeting. Have you heard of Ukraine? Have you met Ukrainian before?” I respond “Yes, I’ve heard of the Ukraine. No, I’ve never met a Ukrainian before.” He continues “You seem like proud man who can help me. I’m nervous, my English not so good.” I tell him that I can understand him fine. He sported a black button up sweater over an addidas track suit, he was shaven and clean-cut, didn’t smell, wasn’t drunk or high, and his eyes conveyed desperation.

According to him, he has been in our great land of opportunity for 3 weeks. In that time he has:
1) been forced to vacate the Seattle bus station by the police
2) lost his ID and thus cannot get a room or buy a bus ticket with what little money he has left
3) been the victim of a hit-and-run on Seneca and 4th in downtown after which he
4) found himself in intensive care with a broken hip and without a big toe (I saw this for myself, the poor guy walked with a bad limp)
5) been duped out of money by some slumlord
6) assaulted by one of the U-district’s finest (from the sound of it, by a crack dealer in front of Jack in the Box)
7) learned that gangrene is starting to set in where his toe has been amputated.
8) been warned by police that the U-district is rife with con-men

All of this I had to decipher from his discernible, but broken, English. “I’m sorry buddy I really am. People haven’t helped you, and the police have hassled you, because you’re bad off. In our country, poor people are often treated like garbage no matter who they are or what their story is.” He was astonished that a person such as I spoke with such candor. I think he saw me as some well-to-do model citizen. “Finally, somebody understands! I tell my story to many people but you are the first one to say this thing” he exclaimed with relief. I continued “I’m embarrassed that some asshole could hit a pedestrian with his car and not even stop–in downtown no less.”

Either his story is real, or his act is good enough to merit the money I gave him. I do hope he is for real, that way I can selfishly feel good about helping him. The skeptic in me knows I’m a pushover for any hard-luck story.