A bend on gelato

And It was with sickening effort that he willed it into the net

Well first, let's bend it like Beckham. As listless as it all was, a single moment of genius put the three lions firmly into the next round against master divers Portugal. Greg and I will be sneaking off the afternoon at some anonymous Irish pub on campus to build our working rapport in front of a giant plasma screen that day. We will either come back to work red and painted in joy, or in despair that the world has come to an end.

Back to tonight, I'm beginning to worry about my innards. While the bulk of last summer was overshadowed by the possibility of some monstrous GI disease, this time the culprit is much more simple. And viciously unavoidable. With the lingering taste of pistachio and pretentious Thai chai ice tea gelato still on my lips, I must admit that I've simply been overeatting. Just a tad of water ice, you might say? Add to that the brick-oven cooked pizza, baked chicken spinach ragoli and the heap of salad at Pietros. And that was just dinner... The habit has been running rampant since last week. First it was pork chop fest at home, then the Alaskan crab buffet. And now this. I am finally living the American dream - conspicuous consumption.

Man, it sure can be cruel

The Oilers finally found out the hard way. For every winner, there is a loser. Sort of like FOREX trading, except that pride and chicks are at stake along with cash. To make things more palatable, the Canes are deserved champions. And thus the first of this summer's four Cups will head to Raleigh, North Carolina. The second will likely end up in Miami, Florida. A third in Basel Switzerland. The final one is still up for grabs. Now that England have qualified for the knockout stages, minus Owen and with Neville doubtful, even the zombie teams have a chance. Yes, when the US can draw with Italy with nine men, things are certainly taking a strange twist.

Perfect 11: Joe packs it in.

While this would normally make for a perfect storm of sports, sun, and sour cream and onion chips, all the work awaiting my attention has taken the joy out of all but the best moments. Like Crouch heading home past Shaka Hyslop, or Joe Cole lobbing the 'keeper from 35 yards out without unsettling a single hair. Phhttt! I'm beginning to hate this.

Back to more lighthearted matters, it seems that most of the lab is now rooting for England. While Jenny the lab manager's allegiance to the Queen's 22 is expected (being all so kind as to condone our partaking of the England-Sweden clash on webtv), the support of the others are not so obvious. Of course, one takes into account that the team boasts some of the hotter items on the field in Germany. Like girls and grannies alike around the world, hot has now captured the imagination of Eliza and MK. I'll start selling red and white jerseys on Monday... In the meantime, I offer this for their delight

Hair has improved. Luck has not.

Where there's a will, there's probably more than one way

While pondering excuses for staying at home to catch more World Cup matches, it finally dawned upon me that millions of others share a similar fate. And despite having told the Nature Medicine journalist that my job was an exciting one (everything is relative), she probably didn't hear the part that watching TV at home would outrank it on most days. Knowing what happened on Idol or 24 last night will score chicks. Having an article in Science could as well, but would be akin to angling a catfish - you'd rather leave it in the river.

"Hey Mañuel, who's gonna feed the cells while we camp out until after the hexa?"

"Don't worry José, I left some Marca Bavarias in the incubator."

If reading entire piles of journal articles has taught me one thing, it's that others have already thought what you have, sniffed around, and put in effort that it was published as well. Working this depressing perspective to my advantage, I looked to see what other bored souls at work did, even if they'd rather be home or at the pub witnessing the Czechs pound a few by the stars and stripes. As it turns out, they watched it from their offices instead. Such a simple yet elegant solution. Don't flock to the telly, make it come to you. Thus with TVants, Tvu, ppcast, etc. etc., we haven't missed a click. Though with the amount of work still to be done while the bosses are away, we just simply work until 8pm every evening.

At $12 million, the world's most precious cup by GQ's standards. I'd give it a distant second.

It's rollin' baby!

There's big. And then there's huge. The Cup is much larger than both.

It's finally here. With much fanfare and ubergolfest, the FIFA World cup tournament opened today with the Germans and Poles in action. Fortunately, the bosses are away. Which leaves me an entire week to figure out a list of mysterious illnesses for the following three weeks which strike between exactly 1600 and 2300 GST. How about febrile pedioball monda? They'll definitely fall for that one.

Hurtado the great Equadorian

And to show that even scientists are prone to take a deserved break once every four years (e.g. the time it takes to complete a bachelors, doctorate, post-doc, or initial tenure-track), even Nature has put up a science of football page on their site featuring such useful articles as the physics of throwing a soccer ball further and whether to score the night before you score. Yes, it's all coming together...

No stopping the storm

It was easier than scoring in a brothel - Normal Russell

I have to admit that it seemed a little too easy. Yet, the Oilers coughed up the puck behind the net, and a red sweater swooped by and wrapped it around into an empty, unmanned, naked net. If one word is required for describing this year's Cup playoffs, I think crazy would suffice. No need for some fancy term that would require a 14-year old nerd from New Jersey to spell out, even if she'd have to ask you twice about what it meant. Over the phone last week, Vlad pleaded with me not to get carried away with hockey Americanism. After Justin Williams took out Saku Koivu's eye (torn retina) with a high stick sans penalty, to let the Canes win would simply be unimaginable. Yet the cruel irony is that they will likely prevent the Cup from going home north, possibly forever. Nonetheless, it was definitely entertaining.
Still on the note of sports, I'm rather upset that Rafa has continued his march at Roland Garros. While the though of him breaking Vilas' match streak irks me (actually, Vilas' streak was broken after he walked out of a match with badboy Nastase - but still went on to win another 38 straight matches after that), I just can't bear having a winner who resembles a horse. Fortunately, he rules only on clay, so that some slapstick dude can drill him for the other three quarters of the year. My sentimental favorite this year is, as you may have deduced, Martina Hingis. Just because I'd like to see a Grand Slam, and that well tailored charcoal skirt on the winner's podium. This might be unlikely as she'll be facing Clijsters next. We'll see what develops.

This is turning out to be quite a summer for sports. With the [World] Cup starting in just under a week, I'm predicting an overload of spectatorship. Add in all the tennis, and soon soccer, I'm playing, and there is the perfect recipe for disaster. Forget about work, I'm beginning to worry if I will find time to sleep. Hey, postdoc years are supposed to be the best ones of your life. So they said about your teens. And college years. And grad school.

A bit lost? It's called a bogey.