cleverly disguised as a responsible adult

*aside*jrug, this is all for you. */aside*

Perhaps I've been reading Mismeasure of Man too much, but after looking at pictures of the men who won this year's Nobel Prize in Physics, I'm going to postulate that receding hairlines and prominent noses correlate with physics aptitude.

God, I'm a nerd...

Perhaps I was a wee bit overambitious this morning. Normally, I'd only be running two, maybe three columns. Nope, I've got six today. Why did I decide on this ridiculous number? I figured that I'll need the protein purified as quickly as I possibly can. That, and Boss has expressed the desire to see me more often at my lab bench. I'm not entirely sure how to explain to him that most of my work is of the "hurry up and wait" variety.

I'm extremely caffeinated in an attempt to convince my body that I can be awake, alert, and involved in reality today. My immune system is currently launching a retaliatory strike against the influenza virus that's attempting to invade my system. One of the rotating students today was concerned that I have meningitis, due to my neck hurting. My neck always hurts, and the "I'm not feeling well" aches are not that localized.

I have this image of my immune system being rounded up by the cellular general. He gets up in front of the other white blood cells. The speech begins by reminiscing about the victories of the past: the bronchitis of '98, the influenza of '02, and the stomach flu of '00. He makes brief mention of the error in judgment that led to overreactions in the form of allergies. He then launches into the patriotic rhetoric exhorting the troops to be more vigilant and confident in their defense of the rest of my body against the microscopic invaders.

As the speech crescendos into its emotional conclusion, the newly motivated troops surge forth to attempt to conquer the enemy. This battle is currently being waged in my respiratory passages. My immune system has seemingly determined that a little collateral damage in the form of inflammation and cell death is an acceptable price to pay for the destruction of the insolent virus.

I think I can justify skipping group in order to go home, hydrate myself, and pass out early. I hate being sick. I really, really hate it.

Oh, and I do know how the immune system really works. Boss is an immunologist, and I actually taught a couple of the lectures in his graduate course last year when he was out of the country. I just like this way of looking at it better. *grin*

Once again, I have to "watch" my Cyclones play in an online GameTracker. Damn Big 10. I like living in Madison and cheering for the Badgers, because I can still hate the Hawkeyes with much passion.

Grr. C'mon, Cyclones, shut down those 17-yd passes. Grr.

As downwood remarked about half an hour ago, there's something a bit wrong when the girl says to the guy, "Stop shopping, there's football that needs watching."

Yay! Field goal attempt blocked!! Yay!!

ahem.

I'm going to go back to paying complete attention to the ball game. But, before I do, here's an open letter that really needed writing.


Dear Girl in the Next Stall,

I understand that it was critical for you to talk to your boyfriend at length to figure out which bar would be your afternoon drinking establishment. However, the other women and myself would appreciate it greatly if you would wait until you were out of the stall, and preferably the bathroom, before you hold this conversation. I am assuming, of course, that neither of you is comforted, excited, aroused, or otherwise moved by the melodic sound of people actually using the toilets. If this assumption is incorrect, I don't want to know about it.

Many thanks,
Sabine