we're all going to die

So my virology professor is crazy. She is a yellow journalist if even I have met one. Since someone asked me for a definition the other when I was talking about this, I will provide one here. Yellow journalism is sensational journalism, exaggeration for the sake of selling papers. Well my prof is convinced that we're all going to die of the Bird Flu once the virus mutates so that it can be transmitted by human to human contact.

The concept of viruses is interesting. I read a book for that class by Richard Preston, The Hot Zone. Good but scary book. It's about Ebola, but at the end, Preston makes an interesting comparison. Preston says that viruses may be the earth's immune system. Just as our immune systems have mechanisms for fighting off "invaders," Preston says that viruses might be nature's way of fighting off its invaders- us.

My professor might be right. We might all die.

But what I really wanted to say is this: I don't really care. Before you think I'm being morbid, let me explain. The other day in class, I turned to my friend (who is also a Christian), and I asked her if she thought that we didn't care about this is much since we're Christians. We agreed that that was true. Our professor is talking about stockpiling! That's a little extreme for my tastes. But when I turned to my other friend and said, "So I might die tomorrow, so what?" She looked at me like I was a crazy person.

My friend Chase is living in a dangerous neighborhood in Chicago where there was just a gang related shooting. Yeah, this world is dangerous. Yup, sometimes we have to go to dangerous places to do the things we feel called to do. I guess I'm just saying that my faith in God and my assurance in heaven give me the confidence to do what I need to do and go where I need to go despite the dangers always around the corner.

accent with a cherry on top, please

What girl doesn't love a guy with an accent? British, Brazilian, and even the occasional Birmingham have all been known to perk up my ears.

What got me thinking about this was my study break to Starbucks. I guess I could just call it my Starbucks break. I recently heard a comedian say, "At my house we don't call it Starbucks, we call it four-bucks." Funny, but a topic for another time. Writing this blog is my second break just in case you were wondering.

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"I'd like a grande caramel light frappuccino, please."
"Nope," the guy behind the counter says jokingly. Because he wants to hear me say:
"Pretty please...with a cherry on top?" So I do.

But the guy making my drink is unfamiliar. Somehow, on Southport Road, not only is the new Starbucks guy British-ish, but so is the lady in front of me. So they have a fairly lengthy conversation about where they're from and how they got here (instead of making my drink), but I don't mind because it is interesting and I am eavesdropping.

The new employee seems about 35 and resembles Russell Crowe (who I am aware is from Australia). He hands me my light frappuccino, which apparently, pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top didn't tell him was supposed to have whipped cream. They assume that people who order light frappuccinos don't want whipped cream. But I do. So I sweetly ask Russell Crowe to add a bit for me. As he hands me back my drink, he says, in the cutest accent, "There ya go, flower." Melting occurs.

If pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top had called me flower, I would have thought he was a weirdo. Russell Crowe, on the other hand, can call me anything he wants.

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PS: I just found the coolest website that has recordings of people from all over the world saying the same phrase to compare accents. It I wasn't supposed to be studying, I'd still be on there. Check it out. If you're as much of a language nerd as I am, you'll absolutely love it!

PPS: Kent pointed out that Russell Crowe is from New Zealand. And he was born there, but he grew up in Australia. I said, "Whatever. The important thing is that he now works at my Starbucks."

trick or test

I have been studying all weekend. Because of Halloween. Yes, that's right. Because of Halloween.

I was scheduled to have two exams this coming Tuesday: Plant Molecular Bio and Regenerative Bio. Thanks to the idiots in my class, I am still scheduled to have two exams this coming Tuesday.

Our regenerative prof said, "So I hear that some of you would prefer to have this exam on Thursday." And I was thinking, thank you Jesus. "Let's take a vote," he said. "How many would prefer that the exam still be on Tuesday as scheduled?" And over half the class raised their hands! My jaw dropped. What in the world are they thinking? Most of these people are in my Plant class. Apparently they want to be able to go to drunken Halloween parties on Wednesday night without having to worry about an exam the next day. Let's just say I was slightly pissed.

So for this reason I am spending the whole weekend studying for two exams that are on the same day. Did I mention that these are the two classes in which I did the worst on the first round of exams?

I hate studying. And I hate saying no to fun stuff in order to study. My friends wanted me to go out with them last night, but I knew that I would spend the whole time feeling guilty about not studying. Unfortunately, I am getting old and cannot seem to study past about midnight. My brain just shuts off. So having fun and then coming home to study is not an option. I resent this grad program that I am in not only because I cannot see how it is going to benefit me in the future, but also because it is keeping me from enjoying my life right now. I hate missing out on things. I refuse to listen to my ipod in public places because I might miss something interesting that is going on around me. And I think this is a good thing for the most part. But I also need to remember that life will go on without me. And that I now have a much better understanding of DNA than I did a month ago. That's beneficial, right?

How I got to self-analysis from Halloween I do not know. Actually, I do. Too many flashcards.

no ifs ands or ...

Butts.

Thank you NPR for a good laugh on the way to work this morning.

They reported a story out of Dallas, Texas where deputy mayor Dwaine Caraway, tried to pass a law banning saggin'. Probably the funniest thing of all was hearing the person on NPR say the word saggin'. Saggin', no sagging. Thanks for getting that right, NPR.

Apparently, for some, the trend has moved from showing your boxers to not wearing any underwear at all?! Thankfully I haven't seen this one.

Obviously they learned that you can't really make a law against saggin' pants. But they can still do something about it. A rapper named Dewayne Brown aka Dooney saw Caraway on tv and had already been working on a song called "Pull Your Pants Up." How perfect.

As they played clips of the song on NPR I was laughing out loud in my car. What a great way to start off the morning.

Here's the actual story that they read if you want to check it out.

You really should go to the website and click on the audio file under the picture above to hear the song. It's hilarious.

a little poetry

I was thinking about this poem today and so I thought I'd put it up here. It's one that I wrote for my creative writing class my junior year.

scalpels at supper

It seems they’re hardly ever there together,

but still each night she makes a meal for two.

She understands the weight the scalpel bears;

he takes her place when power shifts at five.

They love their work, but hate the separation.

At times it’s hard to love each other quite enough.

He’s always saying they should quit obsessing

about the cuts: incisions, needles, guts.

She says that it’s ok for them to dwell

on things that they both love, that brought them here

to this: it’s five am, she waits for him

to eat the meal she made for them last night.

She just ate breakfast and he’s too tired

to eat. But for now, they just let it go.

computer woes

You should be able to see the pictures on my last post now. My computer is getting old and sad. I've had to completely rebuild it the past few days. Not take it apart, just wipe it clean and start over. Obviously, like I could take apart a computer.

who says living at home isn't fun?

Well I never had a problem with moving back in with my parents when I finished undergrad. It represented that I wasn' t exactly where I wanted to be with my life, but the actual living arangement is quite nice. When my brother isn't home for the weekend, it's just me and my parents. We get along well. They don't care where I go or how late I'm out. We go out to eat a lot. My mom and I go shopping. Life here is good. And luckily, I have good friends here. We went miniture golfing last weekend and I thought I'd post a few pictures on here.

This would be me- the second place finisher

Robert- the winner

Notice that he was also the score keeper:)

Kent claims I was trying to take a picture of his butt.

Me and Melanie

After this happened for the second time, Kent and I decided that the pink and orange ball just wanted to be together. The pink one was Kent's of course.

And here's a picture of Josh and I heading off to our first of six shows that we have season tickets for! This was Cirque Dreams and it was really good. Next we'll be seeing Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and, true to form, I think we basically already know what we're going to wear:)

And here are a few more pictures. Since I cleaned my room today I thought I'd take a few pictures of my "new apartment."

This is my bedroom

And my living room

And of course my office.

an ode to public radio

I'm just gonna throw it out there: I love NPR. I realize that I am only 22. I realize that many of the people who also love NPR are 40 or older. And I do not care. Because I love NPR. Just in case you don't know, NPR is National Public Radio. And National Public Radio is not songs and commercials- it's programming.

Why am I feeling so complelled to write about my love of NPR? Because all week now, they have been doing their fall pledge drive. Since NPR is programming and not songs and commercials, they need a lot of support from their listeners. Up until about a month ago, I was a part time NPR listener. But for the past few weeks, my radio dial has not left 90.1 WFYI. And I think this is for good. And the pledge drive, as annoying as it can be, worked. They finally convinced me to be not only a listener, but a supporter. I am now a member of WFYI Public Radio. At the age of 22.

Why do I love public radio? The number one reason boils down to this: it's hypnotic. I simply cannot turn the dial. There is something compelling about it. I will not turn the dial, despite the fact that they tell me to call in with my support every 10 minutes. I listen to author interviews about books about subjects in which I will never be interested. If you love NPR too, you understand. It's hypnotic.

I am a practical person, and so it only makes sense that I would love a practical radio station. I feel such a sense of accomplishment at the end of every commute. I have heard the day's news. I now know about upcoming community events. I have been transported back to a time when "shows" were on the radio and not the television.

My favorite show is "This American Life" with Ira Glass, over which I have connected with several friends. More than any other type of radio, NPR is radio which connects people. I like country music, you like country music, so what. But if you listen to NPR, I automatically like you. In undergrad, my friend Brian and I would often begin conversations with, "Did you hear This American Life last week?" And my friend Amy and I were talking before our class the other day and the following conversation ensued:

Amy: You'll probably think I'm crazy, but have you ever heard of 'This American Life'?
Me: Oh my gosh, I LOVE that show.
Amy: You are the first person who has ever answered yes to that question!

Instant connection.

I was meeting some friends to play mini golf last weekend and I was sitting in the parking lot with my windows down when my friend Kent pulled up next to me with his window down. He looked over and smiled, "We're listening to the same radio station." Connection. We now both know that the appendix might be useful after all.

I could obviously go on and on, but I will end with one of the first moments that got me on the road to being hooked. Several years ago, my friend Shane and I were driving home from a late dinner and listening to NPR. We weren't saying anything, we were hypnotized. Finally one of us said, "Sometimes I can't even tell if this was recorded yesterday or fifty years ago!" And I like that. I don't even know what program it was. But it was NPR.

The Alchemist

"Making a decision was only the beginning of things. When someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision."

-The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho-

The Alchemist is a fable about dreams. Not the ones that you have while you're sleeping- the ones you have while you're awake. The ones that drive your decisions and feed both your fear of failure and your desire to have everything that you ever wanted. I read this book awhile ago, before I knew that I wasn't going to medical school this year. At that point, I still wanted to go to medical school. At this point, I don't.

The decision that I made more than four years ago was only the beginning of things. I decided to do the pre-med thing. And I don't regret that decision even for a moment. That path led me to countless mentors. It led me to the three best girlfriends a person could ask for. I know that I made pivotal life relationships in undergrad because of the fact that I was pre-med.

I was pre-med. I hadn't thought about this until about 10 seconds ago. I was pre-med. I wasn't a pre-med major, I was pre-med. The most common response to the question, "What are you studying?" goes something like, "I'm a ______ major." But when you ask a pre-med person this, they usually do not say, "I'm a premed major" or even "I'm a biology major," but they say, "I'm pre-med." More than many other majors, pre-med defines who you are. You are driven. You have what it takes. You live in the library. Most of your friends are pre-med. You love words like phosphorylation and any word that ends in -ase.

But I'm probably biased.

For me, being pre-med definitely infiltrated my personality. Almost everything I did was somehow tied to the fact that I was going to be a doctor. This is why, when I didn't get into medical school this past year, I felt like my world was going to fall apart. Truly. I didn't know who I was anymore. And this wasn't just because I didn't get into medical school. It was because I started thinking that maybe it was a good thing that I didn't get into medical school. I started thinking it even more when I did horribly on my MCAT exam, and even more when I began graduate school. Graduate school that I was doing to improve my chances of getting into medical school which I was no longer sure I wanted to get into. That's where I am right now- graduate school that I don't like and don't have much motivation to do well in anymore.

So what I'm trying to decide right now is who I am. The two things that I think about most often are being an English teacher and being a Physician's Assistant. I could be an English teacher next year through a program that places willing bodies in needy schools. I would have to take another year off before applying to PA school in order to fulfill their prerequisites. There's also the more immediate question of whether or not I will finish the second semester of the grad program that I'm in.

I still have a lot of decisions to make. And I realize that I'll be making important decisions for the rest of my life. I do know one thing though, I am no longer pre-med. I no longer have the desire to spend 8 more years in school.

And it feels good to finally be free of that.