Here falls winter

In primary school, we were taught fall is one of the four seasons which follow the same continual order, year after year. In Montreal, fall is practically the three weeks after the freshmen arrive before things hit freezing point and the yellowing leaves are on the ground before you've noticed they were ever on trees. Which led Ken to ask, where do the creepers go when it's cold? Nowhere, sorta like our lives for now...


Evergreen: Ken reaching out to the twig in front of him

Easy [there] Eliza

Leo, Sophie, Eliza and I hit the H-Mart this afternoon. We are proud to introduce the newest member of Eliza's hoard - Durian.

I'll buy that

Thursday morning, a speaker came to the lab to give a talk about meditation and its use in stress management. Apart from some tidbits about how meditation was metacognitive, thus perhaps applicable to certain neurological diseases, it was a pretty hard sell. And man, were we sold. By this morning, people were focusing on red dots pasted on regions where stress was likely and doing breathing exercises whenever they were threatened with poor data.


Unfortunately, the caveat was that the more cognitive a person (i.e. smarter), the more difficult it is to channel attention in an abstract manner. Tonight at the Woo Jung, I opted for my own channel for stress. Surprisingly refreshing, invigorating, and very very loud as it turns out. Definitely better than last year's event where there was both racquet gnashing and verbal outburst. This time, no unkind words were to be heard, no snickers. Best of all, I even chose healthy, bringing home a box of Korean Giant Pears instead of booze. I've come a long way in 12 months!

Chance on a dime

In one of Aesop's many fables, the reader is taught to battle opportunity. Grab it by the neck, it says, and hold it as tightly as possible. For it will run away at the slightest loosening, never to come back again. Taking this advice for its full value, I put on my travel shoes and made the trek up to the Great North once again.

Rici [pronounced Ricky, on airplanes] and Sharon's wedding in May was the event of the year. At least for the Montreal crowd involved as everyone congregated to see the couple finally tie the knot. Whether it was the anticipation that everyone else would be there, or that six years is indeed a very long time, everyone showed up. Everyone except for those who simply couldn't make it.

So when I was reminded that the remainder of it was to be held in September, I pounced at the chance. While the intricate details of holding a wedding over the span of 4 months is beyond explanation here, I can only say it was well worth the trip. The sight of friends, especially those who have silently had an immense impact on you over the years, pummels those long queues at airport security, while the sight of a truly good man seal the deal with a true and godly woman makes lost baggage an afterthought.

Arrived Saturday afternoon. Had St. Hubert chicken with Tim and Ken where all of us ordered exactly the same thing. Went to soccer team party where they were presented with their new colors. Drank a lot. Hit the lab hungover. Wrote a glowing reference letter for a great boss. Hair cut at the plus chic, sexiest, most naturally cool spa in town. Ate a lot of croissants. Arrived at wedding banquet. Drank a lot with old friends. Ate a lot of Chinese food with a Cambodian twist. Drank a lot. Drank more and hit the dance floor. Outmanouveured 60ish linedancers. Thanked hosts for wonderful time. Crashed. Woke up in time to hit church. Went to brunch with abovementioned supervisor. Had the best brunch in the last 14 months (think salmon frites with creamed cheese bagel and capers). Went to driving range with Tim and Brian. Drive to airport. Wait in security line for 90 minutes. Discard hair paste, only to realize x-ray operator is asleep. Nap for 60 minutes while plane is delayed. Start journal club presentation at 34,000 ft. Wish I had forgotten my passport and stayed for another week.

Not a minute is wasted in Tim's day

Ken receives message that fries do not cause inguinal hernias

Man, that's a big shaft you're holding!

To the tune of a dollar

Whatever the music industry calls itself these days, RIAA, MCA, anal drip, etc.), have shut down OLGA. Once the example of all that was right with the internet, she was a rich repository for musical tablature - music, both commercial and otherwise, notated by hand and uploaded to be shared. Somewhere between a sort of sheet music for the poor, or crutches for the musically illiterate. Either way, all had to gain from this symbiosis. Which is probably why the bastards tried to shut it down as parasitic was not a descriptor.

In protest, I've been boycotting commercial music. Apart from the little riff that serves as a ringtone, I've gone classical for a week now. With no copyright issues to fret with (since Chopin didn't have an agent and ordinary ears cannot tell the hand of BoBo to that of YoYo) I've been going all out. Thankfully, P2P is still strong.

An interesting observation is to be found in the case of Mozart. Widely acknowledged as perhaps the most extensive musical genius of all generations (not Coldplay, as the ignorati would have thought), he was well known in his own day. In fact, by age three, he had already built a solid repuation as a performer in the Austrian court. So why did Mozart die a pauper? Whether gambling or womanizing was responsible is of little import now. Rather, it's curious to see the very best of the best end up at the bottom of the heap. Perhaps a mild caution for trying too hard, for disregarding the words of those who constantly tell you to climb and climb.

Whatever, I sleep well to Figaro.

He ain't heavy, he's my ipod

It's a long long road
With many a winding turn - He ain't heavy, The Hollies

Things took a stranger twist today as I walked to work listening to Bach. As the soothing arias came through, I could sense a calm engulfing me like some mild endocytosis. Breaking the serenity, though, were honks, the rattle of construction, and sirens of police cars boldly decaled with "keeping the peace". While soundproof headphones might be a solution, the problem is that I live in a world full of sound - very loud ones at that. Sounds which serve little purpose, sounds which disturb, causing angst and little joy.

Fittingly, a thin envelope arrived from the Apple ipod claims administrator today. While thin packages are usually a prelude to disappointment (no pun intended), I was pleasantly surprised with my find. A single folded page of surrender. After a full twelve months of legal wrestling, I have received a partial refund on the ipod I'd bought back in 04 as a gift for someone who could use a little more jingle in her life. It's been a long road indeed.

Follow the arrows to the plot

There's one thing that's better than blueberry yoghurt - strawberry yoghurt.

While digesting my corned beef sandwich and salad which formed my wayward dinner, I sampled the latest offerings from the networks on a Friday night. Along the usual fare that is better missed, I came across Men in Trees. Yes, with TV shows with names like that, you sort of know that creativity had long walked out the door. To be fair, all the background shots of great Alaska help give it a cherry yoghurt rating. Not quite peach, but consumable.

Score one for the good guy

In one of those rare instances, consumer beat corporation today. Having slept well, I took myself, my thoughts, and my discontentment downstairs to the rental office and then uncanned it. Apart from having to wait for ten minutes, which probably took some edge from my fury, everything swayed my way as one misaccounting revelation led to another. In the end, all erroneous charges got erased and my rent is now cheaper than it was a year ago. One small victory...

They even fixed the ceiling. Now I'll find out if that white stuff drying on top is fresh plaster or termites.

As much as I would like to savour this moment, the looming swarm of meetings to be had over the next two days is taking the joy of these sails. A lab meeting, another focus meeting, then lunch with a candidate (although paid for), then a meeting with the candidate, then another meeting on Friday. When all said and done, meetings will have eaten a grand 9 and a half hours from this week. Yikes!

Tonight was a little more recreational with the beginning of Korean tennis night again. Although it doesn't have the ring of, say, Hockey night in Canada (where the national sport is now apparently shooting people in colleges), it's fun to be with the Krowd again. Since summer hours no longer apply, I was sad to find out that there will be no more mass BBQ's and wild raving pizza runs after some mediochre tennis. Sigh.

Phuck landlords

These are the people who I pay each month to live under their rules, regulations, and their assignment. The path I walk in order to take dump depends is influenced by their design. So how else should I react when there's a leak in my ceiling which takes 5 days to board up? And to add insult to injury, these people have a hard time with math and are self-righteous in claiming money supposedly owed. They will get a piece of my mind in the morning. Tonight, I will sleep.

Invasian of the peanut butter sandwich

There's only one reason I would be up at this houring typing. Jet lag. It's been only 48 hours since I stepped off the plane, but it already feels like weeks have passed. In which case, the coming year, or at least the stretch until the holiday break, is going to be a long long one.

In my left hand is a hefty peanut butter sandwich - the only thing I've been eating lately at home. Save for a cup of soup and a fruit salad in the afternoon, sandwiches are the only thing I seem to feel like having so far. In an attempt to protect my palate from what West Philly calls food, I have opted for what cannot possibly be ruined. I hope I have enough bread in the freezer...

Two full shifts at the lab, and things are starting to get back into gear. Reminding myself how to run simple tasks which were instinctive only two and a half weeks ago. Goes to show how fleeting [my] memory is. We'll see about that of the general populace as Election day approaches in less than two months.

With new specs, new shoes, and new hair color, I have been received well by my colleagues. Welcome back.

Crocodile's tears

Close your eyes like I did last night, and you wake up to find that the world has changed. Drastically. Dramatically. Tragically. Last night, we lost Andre as his back gave out against a hard-hitting German player who will never make the top 10. A few hours later, Steven Irwin succumbed to a stingray barb to the heart. While I'd always thought the crocs would eventually get one up on him, it was the rays that got him first. Goodbye Steve. We'll miss you for your enthusiasm and love of the natural world.

Far and away

You never know what to expect in life. Doing the math helps, but can leave you pretty disappointed. Case in point: Since money is central to just about every conversation that occurs on the street here, I asked myself am I better off financially than before. One year ago, I was quite broke. Having just moved across a border, just taken a big vacation, and just shopped a lot to fill the new apartment, I couldn't expect that much more. So this year is better than last year, though I still feel relatively poor. A trip to the bank revealed that the humble Canadian dollar has now jumped and humped its way to about 90 cents to the greenback. Which means had I stayed put, I would have benefited from an international raise of about 25%. Factoring in the higher cost of living down south, and I finally understand why I feel a little listless when looking up my bankbook on most days. And what about the fate of postdocs elsewhere? Surely, they too must be slaving away in the lab, looking for their first big break, and perhaps a raise to boot as well.

Enter Gao Yuan. Aptly named Gene (think DNA, rather than Hackman), Yuan is a postdoctoral researcher (which sounds much more dignified in Chinese) at a small local outfit. His claim to my attention was when postdoc and karaoke were mentioned in the same sentence. On primetime TV. You see, Gene is the proud winner of the New Talent singing contest - the local equivalent of Pop Idol. The only difference was that Gene's selection process took place over the span of one evening, as opposed to six weeks, and his foes were considerable. Considerably miserable, that is. Add to the curious selection by judges of songs that could only be pumped out by a rather polite, but forcibly gay contestant, and only there was only one logical choice. For his troubles, Gene is now the proud owner of a new Sony cellphone with mp3 capabilities. And also 100 grand. All feelings of bitterness and envy were erased when his fat female labmate rushed the stage to congratulate him.

Just like that, nearly 3 weeks have passed. There's a sort of relief and simultaneous sadness to having to depart in a few days. Relief because no normal human can live continuously in over 90% relative humidity (otherwise, we'd be fish). Sadness is more from the fact that the next destination will once again be Philly. At least it doesn't try to pass itself as a world city.