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I says to Leon: “My womern’s movin’ up here, so’s I gots to be findin’ a new place big enough for the both of us.”

an’ Leon says: “Now is that right, you’re gonna be leavin’ us!?!”

an’ I says: “Yep. I’m ‘fraid so.”

and Leon [while reposturing himself to deliver yet another one of his frequently recited 15 minute parables] says: “Growing up in Kansas, people said that I’d fight anyone, anywhere at the drop of a hat. But I was quick to correct them see, and I said to ’em: ‘Wrong, I don’t need no hat!'”

an’ I thinks: “Where in God’s scortched earth is he goin’ with this one.”

an’ Leon continues: “Back in school there was this [Racial epithet for black person] wantin’ to get with this pretty white girl, see. I, and the rest of us decent folk, were outraged.”

an’ I thinks: “Um… not that I’m surprised Leon is a hate spewin’ racist, but how can I escape this tactfully so that he doesn’t sick a lynch mob after me for having ‘racial sympathies’.”

an’ I says: “We’ll Leon I’ve got a seal to club, so I’ve gotta get going…”

an’ Leon says: “Even though that girl didn’t think much of me it was my responsibility to give that [epithet] what for! So I pulled him aside and clocked ’em one good.”

an’ I says:

It’s Friday and my mindset will not permit me to focus on work. I watched a truly boring, stupid and complete-waste-of-my-viewing-attention movie last night: Basic Instinct 2. Now I did anticipate that it would suck based on the carefully orchestrated media blitz of Sharon Stone that preceded its release combined with the complete lack of any mention of her and the movie when it finally hit theaters. Her acting was hammy and bad. And the dialog, while intending to be clever and intense, was much too deliberate and flat. I would have fallen asleep at the “climax” had my laptop (on which I was watching the masterpiece) not slipped of my chest and thudded on the floor.

Good times.

Man, it seems that every coffee shop that I frequent these days spins Ziggy Stardust at some point during the duration of my stay. I love myself some David Bowie, so no complaints here. But other that The Life Acquatic, has there been any recent events that have spawned this renewed reverence for the man and his music?

I’m not even going to pretend that this blog is a priority of mine anymore. I very much regret all the things on which I’ve flaked since devoting my time to higher learning.

[sigh]

Depression has reared it’s ugly head many times this past year but I’ve managed to avoid the downward spiral and maintain an optimistic outlook. But these days, I’ve been feeling that I’ve been due some happiness for quite some time but it has yet to arrive.

The older I get, and the more that I do, the less satisfaction I gain from my accomplishments. Happiness seems to be more elusive than it ever has been for me. But when I remind myself of all the truly fantastic people in my life, and all the people that I will meet in the future, I feel better.

To my once frequent readers: I miss you and wish you the best.

(…Not All that Funny, Actually)

Early one morning last week, I went to the University District’s International House of Pancakes, the only place where one can actually get breakfast before 8 am. Lo and behold, a gruff talking, shiny pink cap wearing, less than hygienated man and a pasty, bi-minutely mirror-preening woman wearing a dress emphasizing her unhealthily slim physique sat at a table that, unfortunately, occupied the majority of my visual field.

Highlights of their conversation included:
“Bitch, are you listening to me…?”
“Yeah whatever, that skank’s on crack anyway…”
“Hey waiterman, bring us our fuckin’ check. Been waiting a fuckin’ half hour already.”

I couldn’t help looking; they were worse than a car wreck. I guess I enjoyed a somewhat vice-sheltered upbringing. Needless to say, I don’t see myself going back to IHOP anytime soon.

… what would think about this image? Can you see anything in it?

What about this one?

Both of the above masks are composed of equal parts information from these two images:

Do either of the top two images bear a stronger resemblance to either of these bottom two images from which they were constructed?

As my third and final rotation is coming to a close, my present advisor (who I’ll call B) asks me:

“I hear that you’re planning on joining E’s lab. I’ve been meaning to ask you was there anything aversive about your experience here that shaped your decision?”

I replied “…not at all…” and said nothing more. I assumed that, by virtue of the fact B’s lab encompasses much of the same space and personnel as E’s lab, that B knew of my inclinations to join E’s lab from the start.

I assumed wrong.

Even though I was all but certain that I had already secured a place in a different lab, I put my total effort into this quarter’s project. I figure that if the department has enough confidence in my potential as researcher to support my ass, I had better not disappoint them by sluffing off at the first opportunity. In hindsight, perhaps my hard work signalled to B that I had designs on her lab. After all, I’m quite pleased with how this quarter’s project has turned out and I’ve learned a ton (i.e. primate handling, design of psychophysical experiments and a good many of the statistics needed for analyzing them).

In my program, the whole process through which students choose their labs is wraught with political sensitivities. I’ve heard that many other research oriented graduate programs employ a more formal means of matching students to labs. While I would ordinarily claim that I have little need for formality at all, I will admit that it is often an effective reducer of social awkwardness. I think that a more formal lab selection process would have made my transition into my permenant lab considerably easier for all involved parties.

Leon says: “Now R***, let me tell you why I threw out all my metric tools…”

an’ [while breaking lugs put on a spare tire on my Honda Civic], I thinks: “Dumbass.”

an’ I says: “[sigh], oh really Leon, what made you up and do such a thing?”

an’ Leon says: “It’s the principle of the thing… ya’ see.”

an’ I says: “Uh, I didn’t know one has to have principles to own tools.”

an’ Leon says: “Shit yeah!”

an’ Leon says: “Ya see, our great country didn’t get to where it is by followin…”

an’ I thinks: “Naw we became “great” by pillaging: both resources and people.”

an’ I says [skeptically]: “Really!?!”

an’ Leon says: “…Our nation became great by leadin’; let all them other countries convert to metric, we ain’t gonna, ‘cuz we’re number 1 and we don’t got to do a damn thing they say, see… “

an’ I answer: “I’ve used both metric and standard…”

an’ Leon corrects: “…American…”

an’ I says: “…Whatever. Truth be told, metric’s easier and make’s a shitload more sense.”

an’ Leon says: “My dick’s 4 inches, not 580 millimeters or centimeters or whatever!!!”

an’ I thinks: “Thanks for sharing. Would you leave me alone now.”

an’ I says [itching my scalp with my grimy hand]: “Oh, you make a good point.”

an’ I thinks: “With that amazing power of argument it’s no wonder you’ve gotten as far as you have.”

an’ Leon says: “Well I’ll get off my soapbox now. You wanna come inside and get a piece of cake?”

Last night I auditioned for a band. It went well. They asked me to join because:

1. they said “[I] rock”
2. unlike their last drummer:

• I didn’t address them as “faggets”
• I don’t expect to have sex with each of the “chicks” in the band
• I don’t expect them to pay me for my drumming prowess.

It’s not a perfect fit though. There sound is good, but not quite experimental enough for the likes of me, and, I will be the old man by 4 years. I think that I can be made to look their age if I cool up my wardrobe a tiny.