American Idol, Week 2 of the guys. Why do I feel like I should take a shower? Ick.

1. Mario Vazquez- I need to know more about these people's personalities. Using a pre-performance clip to say, "There's a rumor going around that I'm bald. I'm not bald. Why do you think I'm bald? Maybe someday you'll see that I'm not bald" isn't exactly the way to do it. And why is he wearing a strainer on his head? Is someone going to turn him upside-down and strain out all the suckiness?
   
2. Anwar Robinson - Started with a zzzzzz, ended on a meh. His facial expressions are reminding me of someone, but I don't know who it is yet.
   
3. Joseph Murena – Please, no more chest hair! Joe & Constantine, shirts have that row of little round things with holes in them for a reason. Use them, please! Or if you insist on showing your chest hair, at least stop nestling some sort of chain it in. Ick. I like his voice, but I didn't like the song. And I knew as soon as he walked on the stage that Paula would like it.
   
4. David Gordon – I couldn't hear him because Mom was watching with me, and she giggled at his eyebrows the whole time. "Tee hee hee! They look like they've been plucked to match someone else's eyes! Like maybe that Quahog Power employee, the one who is the reason caveman painted on walls:

   

   Tee hee hee!" V. nice of Ruben Studdard to let Dave borrow his shirt for the evening.
   

5. Constantine Maroulis – Eeeeek. Someone please alert his wardrobe person, because it seems that he's being severely pinched somewhere. Sounds like it's somewhere sensitive, too.
   
6. Scott Savol - Zzzzzzzz.
   
7. Travis Tucker – Thinks he's Usher (or Ursher, if you're Lil' Jon) but seems like a likeable guy. I think it's because he reminds me of Nick Cannon, who played an adorable character in Drumline, which I thought was a great movie. I also knew that Paula would like him before he opened his mouth.
   
8. Nikko Smith - Nikko! What about the chirrun? Think of the chirrun!
   
9. Anthony Federov - Well, Clay 2.0 entertained me. That's one of my favorite songs, and he did a good job with it. He doesn't annoy me at all or anything, but for some reason, I want to punch him. I have no idea why that is. I also know a guy in my RL like that. I just want to slug him, for no apparent reason - he doesn't annoy me at all. Maybe I'm mentally ill.
   
10. Bo Bice - Overrated. I think someone should stand up in the audience next week and go, "Freeeeeeeebirrrrdd!" That would amuse me.

Miscellaneous comments about earrings:

• I could fit my entire head through Mikalah Gordon's earring. And I have a big head.
• Paula was wearing very ornate chandeliers.

Miscellaneous comments not about earrings:

• I saw Janay Castine in the audience, and she looked petrified tonight too. Maybe that's just the way she looks.
• It seems a bunch of people are landing here during a search for Constantine's ElimiDate appearance, because I mentioned both "Constantine" and "ElimiDate" within a couple of days of each other. I have since discovered that yes, Constantine was on ElimiDate. It seems that it was all kinds of creepy and skeezy, and there were some very unfortunate leather pants involved, as well as some dancing that may or may not have unleashed an ancient curse. Hopefully that will help those of you looking for information.
• That Burger King commercial with Cowboy Hootie worries me. Hootie, are you doin' okay? Do you have enough to eat? Why are you doing such a thing? And yes, I know his real name isn't Hootie. But it is to me.

Edited to add - oh my heck, the Snarkywood girls are cracking me up with a trip down memory lane, recalling Pauler Abdul's career. So they posted it a week ago, whatever. I just discovered it, and it's funny, and it goes with my post. So pffffft.

God lives WHERE?

I have a ridiculously cute 3 1/2-year-old cousin who is my favorite photography subject. Exhibit A, to the left, from Disney World in October. He's a big ham and loves to have his picture taken, which works out well since I love to take it. :-) He's actually my first cousin once removed, I guess, because his mom is my first cousin - she and I grew up like sisters, and Gabe calls me "Aunt Kimmie" and to hear him say that is the cutest thing.

Anyway, he has an oddly-shaped ear canal, which means it's easily cerumenized (I just made that word up - I think it sounds better than "waxified". Which also isn't a word.) So at the moment, he can't hear very well out of one ear. The other day, he asked his dad where God lives. His dad said, "He's in Heaven."

Gabe leaned in closer and said, "BOB EVANS?" Hee.

And while I'm posting pictures from the Disney trip, here's another one, on one of the Speeders outside of the sadly antiquated Star Tours at MGM Studios. He calls Star Wars "Are Scores".

I love the expression on his face! I told you he's a ham.

Hey Pa, the cows done got loose!

I'm a member of a little country Baptist church that's on a winding, unlined road. On my way to church tonight, I saw a couple of objects in the road that I thought were either obese deer or freakishly huge dogs. No, they were cows. Cows! Just standing in the road, looking around at nothing in particular. I was ridiculously amused by that. They finally moooooved (heh) and as I was driving by them, one decided to dart towards me again. Luckily, I was able to manure-ver (I'll stop in a minute, I promise) to avoid hitting her.

Even funnier, possibly, is that I knew whose cows they were, and he's the choir leader at my church. So when I got there I let him know that his cows were out wandering around.

I love my little church. Tonight was a great service, even if I had to get through a blockade of cows to get there.

Also, is there something wrong with me if I couldn't care less about the Oscars and the celebrities with their idiotic foreign policy and their overinflated egos? Because I really don't.

Loooooooons, part something-or-other

One of my old buddies from my Clay Aiken fandom days (shut up) sent me an IM earlier, and I ended up in a AIM chat with her and another old imaginary friend. Anyway, I haven't been following Clay or the fandom at all lately, so I inquired as to whether the resident nutbars of the fanbase were still as nutbarrish. You know, considering American Idol 2 began in January 2003, and some of these people have been going full-speed ahead ever since. So we decided to have a look, to see if any tumbleweeds were blowing around the place or if the tumbleweeds had run away screaming in horror.

Well, we picked a good night to drop by, because Clay apparently spoke at a Voices for Change Gala in Hawaii today. It took a little digging to find out what he was galavanting about to change, but it seems his speech was advocating educational inclusion of children with disabilities. When he does something like this - speaks about kids, hugs someone's grandma, sings a high note, sings a low note, sings a middle note, clips his toenails - this loony part of the fandom gets ridiculously emotional. For example, and I quote, believe it or not:

*sob* I just listened to Clay's speech....thank you so much to those who've brought it to us! My heart is full to bursting with love for this man and I'm moved to tears. It seems unreal to me really, but I love Clay more than I've ever loved any other man. Now, there have been good men in my real life, whom I've definitely loved, but never like this.

Good grief! Why do hundreds of other adult women read this and sob right along with her, and think it's all perfectly normal?

Someone else confessed that her heart was just not big enough to love Clay. Well, this certainly shrinks the fandom. By my calculations, only those with an enlarged heart due to Chagas Disease, rheumatic fever, or some other infection, and the Grinch (at the end, of course) are capable of loving Clay. Or possibly giants, as in Andre the. I'm not sure if the heart size to body size ratio musn't drop below a certain value, or if the stand-alone size of the heart is what's important -the crazed woman was too busy weeping to clarify that point. All I know is, I have a big head, but only an average-sized heart, so I'm unable to love Clay sufficiently. Ah, well. I have more important people to love anyway. Like Scott. And my parents. And Josh Hartnett. Just kidding.

Hmm, I wonder about animals. There are animals with large hearts - can they love Clay adequately? A whale, for instance. Again, the ratio question becomes important. What's the heart:body ratio for a chicken, an elephant, a mongoose? Knowing these ratios (and whether the ratio is important or if it's just sheer size) would help in compiling a list of creatures with hearts big enough to love Clay. What about artichoke hearts? They're all heart - surely they would be able to love Clay. And if I agreed with the evolution theory, I would predict that the next humans may have five-chambered hearts, greatly facilitating the loving of Clay. It is necessary for survival, you know, since he is the most fantastic human being that has ever existed, anywhere, in the world.

Man, those people are just berzerko. He could burp in a jar and they'd buy it. And then travel to 35 locations to see it live from the front row.

My mom is Granny Clampett

Mom and I were driving along this morning (since it's a 40 mile drive to get to anywhere (malls, decent-ish doctors, universities, etc.) from my house in Podunkville, USA, she usually rides to work with me if she has shopping to do or an appointment or something.) Anyway, she was putting on Chapstick when she met a vehicle driven by someone that she knows, so she just raised all available fingers in a wave. Actually, all available finger. Yep, she gave this guy the tall man salute. I was like, "Mom! What are you doing?" Heeeeee. I don't think he noticed, though.

I had a very unconscious day due to the fact that I had various procedures ending in -scopy this morning, and my very kind doctor gave me a magic combination of Demerol and Versed, so I don't remember a thing. Except for the fact that he said that the whole ordeal may change my mind about going to medical school, and I blathered my way around an incoherent reply - something about I'd rather be on his side of the procedures than mine - I don't know if that's true or not. But I fell asleep before I could weigh the pros and cons of each. And then I stayed asleep, more or less, for about 8 hours.

I woke up just in time for American Idol - I am usually pretty bored with this stage of the competition, and this season is no exception. There is just too much "meh" left. I had a handful of thoughts about tonight and last night's performances:

• Is that Rob or Fab?
• I hope Janay Castine's post-performance appointment with a firing squad went well - or, I hope her Parkinson's clears up.
• Nadia Turner's hair is GINORMOUS. It's like Corey Clark, except without the spin and the refreshing upper register. And the sweat towel.
• Why can't parents just give their kids normal names? I can't remember most of these kids' names because they're like random constantants thrown together.
• Aloha is going to be like Jasmine with the flower, isn't she?
• I think I would like Constantine better if he had more of a chin. I'm not sure why. But when I was watching him, I was thinking, "Where's the rest of his chin?" He can have some of mine - I have enough chin for at least 2 1/2 people.
• This guy should never be in a group of people referred to as "The Dog/Dawg Pound".

  

  I mean, not ever. Actually, it's probably better if I say that no group of people should ever be referred to as "The Dog/Dawg Pound." I mean, not ever. Well, it may be okay if it's 1991.

• I would give my predictions on who is going home (by the way, ezPRoCers, is the Goldie Nugget running again this season?) but I've forgotten most of the guys already (except for RobOrFab, NotEnoughChinstantine, Quasi-Clay Aiken up there, and Bo "only 15 years too late for Firehouse" Bice. As for the girls, I think Janay and Amanda Avila will be gone tomorrow.

They can all sing better than me, though.

The other day, I went to Kroger on my way home from the lab (if I'm out of vanilla soymilk* and frozen blueberries, then the universe may implode. And I really don't want something like that on my conscience, you know?) Anyway, for some reason, I left everything in my car when I got home. The reason was probably a very good one - like laziness, or having 27 seconds before I needed to start recording 24 on my ATI All-in-Wonder card - something important such as that. By the time I headed to the garage to unload, Mom had beat me to it - she came crashing through the door, all of my bags in tow, knocking over the garbage can in the process. Then one of the high-quality plastic bags broke, and Mom had this to say about the situation: "Well, shoot fire and save the stupid matches! I was just about to tell you that whatever doofus bagged your groceries made the bags way too heavy."

I watched a can of chunky mixed fruit roll across the floor and come to rest at my toe, and then said, "Uh - I went through the Especially-for-Introverts-Whoopee-I-Don't-Have-to-Make-Small-Talk-With-a-Cashier UScan."

So I bagged them myself. *sniff* My mom called me a doofus, y'all! She insulted my bagging skills. I feel like such a failure.

* I don't drink soymilk because I'm an environmental wacko or a cows' rights lobbyist or anything, I just prefer the taste. That reminds me of the Friends quote from one of the Thanksgiving episodes, when Monica isn't going to bother with a turkey because Phoebe doesn't eat meat, Chandler hates all things Thanksgiving and Rachel is going through her poultry aversion pregnancy phase:

Phoebe: Turkeys are beautiful and intelligent animals!

Joey: No, they're not! They're ugly, and stupid, and delicious!

Heh.

Things that decrease my IQ

There are certain things that cause a palpable drop in my IQ when I watch or listen to them. One is the ridiculous show, ElimiDate, which follows the 11:30PM syndicated Seinfeld episode on Sunday night on Fox. I usually watch Seinfeld at 11:00 and 11:30*, and then, before I know what's happening, I'm sucked into ElimiDate because sadly, I actually want to see which airhead is picked by the superficial, doesn't-think-with-his-brain guy.

The show focuses on one guy and four girls as they go on various group dates (bowling, dancing, etc.) and one girl gets eliminated after each activity. I can always tell who will be given the boot first, because if a girl has any semblance of modesty or class, she's gone. And oh my goodness, the girls are so catty.

What, you're bowling in stilettos?

Well, I just didn't want to wear the $29.99 bowling shoes, quality that you girls are obviously used to.

Insulting each other's taste in shoes? How low can you go, really? And also, what's wrong with $29.99 shoes? I'm all about comfort, myself. If the cattiest girl is also the most well-endowed and the most scantily-clad, the others might as well just go home - because it's obvious that ElimiDate is trying to form relationships based on love, shared interests, trust, and complementary personalities. Except not.

The other thing that decreases my IQ is that TrimSpa commercial with Anna Nicole Smith, where she uses her three remaining synapses (the ones that aren't all clogged up with quaaludes) to form phrases like, "Want some money?" and "Wanna Viper?" Ugh.

In other news, I've diagnosed myself with vertigo. I feel dizzy, weak, and weird-in-the-head (that's a technical term, so don't feel bad if you don't understand my lexicon.) My heart is fluttery, I'm having trouble breathing and, inexplicably, I'm counting non-sequentially in Spanish. It's no fun at all.

*Except when I watch SoapNet's Sunday night 5-hour marathon of the previous week's Days of Our Lives episodes. Shut up.

Because I love y'all so much, I must share my pain with you. I recently discovered a great blog, Insane Troll Logic, which is hilarious and also well-written. (I was all set to make a Travelocity joke, too, and then I realized that it's "troll" and not "gnome" and while they're both short and unusual little creatures, the two terms are not interchangeable. The difference is that trolls live under bridges, while gnomes spread outrageous lies about jellyfish. Drat.)

Anyway, she posted a link to an INDC article (to be fair, she also posted a negative description and this picture of Homer Simpson, which should have warned me.)

Oh the horror; WHY?????; please, I just ate; bleeeecchhh; and all other expressions that mean "Ewww!"

Her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard (I was going to use "Knockin' us out with her American thighs" as a link, but I thought the milkshake line was more appropriate.)

When I saw this yesterday while I was taking a break, I was really glad I work in a laboratory. I can usually find some 10M hydrochloric acid around somewhere that I can use to rinse my brain, and some bleach for eyeball-soaking. Ew, ew, ew.

Okay, the Google ads are gone for good - I don't want ads for online dating or married women's personals or any of that stuff - it wrecks too many families. Boo to wrecked families! Maybe somebody will use my general Amazon link, or one of my Amazon book or DVD links over in yonder sidebar. Or, I could just pay my hosting costs using my hard-earned (ha) wages. :-)

Also, I need a haircut so badly that I'm contemplating cutting it myself. Someone talk me out of it, please. Seriously - when I attempt to cut my bangs, I end up looking like I'm seven. If I tried to cut the back, I'm afraid I would be sporting a flock of seagulls haircut or something.

I watch a lot of TNT. Of course, I don't mean that I keep an eye on someone's large stockpile of explosives - I'm talking about the network. You know, TNT: All Law & Order, All the Time, with an Occasional ER or Judging Amy, or the Long, Long Nights When All that Can Be Seen is an NBA Game, With Cries of "WHY?????" Echoing in the Background, As the Addict Desparately Searches the TV Guide for An Episode of SVU or SOMETHING. Ahem.

My mom loves her some Law & Order - sometimes she gets it mixed up with the news, and she'll be telling me about some unsolved murder or a drug bust or what have you, and then she'll add, "Oh, and then Lenny had this great line ..." That tips me off, and I have to say, "Is this the real news or the special Channel 16 news?" Of course I'm kidding. TNT is channel 17.

The problem I have with TNT, aside from the fact that they insist on airing NYPD Blue in what would otherwise be a perfect lineup (I just can't get into NYPD Blue. Nothing against Dennis Franz's rear end, you understand, I just don't find it interesting. The show, I mean. And his rear end too) are those horrible commercials for Smoke Away that show up every other commercial. Haaaaaate!

"I smoked for 47 years, and I quit in three minutes with Smoke Away ... [Cut!] ... and this is minute five and somebody give me some Nicorette or something, please!"

I only find one of the endorsers tolerable, and that's the last guy, Mike - the "SMOKE AWAY. Is the BEST product. On the MARKET. TODAY. For quitting smoking" guy. I wish someone would sue them for false advertising and make the whole lot of them - including Dr. Whats-Her-Face, D.C. - go away.

Being the responsible little (well, not-so-little) lab employee that I am, I planned yesterday what I wanted to get finished today at work, and I made the culture media necessary so I would have it today. When prepared, two of those types of (liquid) media look almost exactly the same, and are stored in glass bottles with the same color lid. So, I always store them in separate areas of a cabinet, and label one bottle of one group with a "L", so I know that that group is letheen broth and not trypic soy broth.

This evening, I discover that someone has decided it would be a good idea to use the one labeled "L" and then to mix the two groups of bottles together, because surely someone wouldn't have separated them on purpose! What a wild-haired, outrageous idea that would have been.

Ugh. Now I have to try to tell them apart, because I need one group for what I'm doing today, and if I use the wrong one, I'll have to repeat it tomorrow because it won't work.

On a happier note, I think I've finally killed the evil Adtomi adware that kept resurrecting itself. If it's still dead after a couple of restarts, I'll tell y'all how I did it, and then you can laud my brillance. Ha.

Speaking of brilliance, that situation up there is the opposite of it. Sheesh. I just had to go off the clock for a minute and complain to someone!

ETA - uh, why are all of my Google ads about "not-cold, not-frumpy not-husbands" a.k.a. "hot sexy wives" all of a sudden? *tap tap tap* Is this thing on? Google, paging Google. Your AdSense network is being spammed. AdSense is spammed. I'll replace the code when it's fixed. Geez, people are dropping the ball all over the place today!

EATA - Hm. I had to put the code back so Google could see it, and now the ads seem to be whistling, looking around and innocently twiddling their thumbs. Maybe it's just intermittent spam, or maybe I'm just crazy. But I just may be the lunatic you're looking for - words to live by, indeed.

One more edit - I think the person who took some of my media and then jumbled up the rest was a student who has been working on a research project in our lab, and since I've made eight hundred quadrillion stupid mistakes myself, I was probably a wee bit harsh. But still, it was annoying to suddenly have my two types of broth desegregated, you know? I only make my own media because if I use any of the media made for the lab's general use, then the guy whose job it is to prepare the media wigs out and leaves a Post-It on the remainder of the media I used. I discover it the following day, and it always says something really friendly, like, "For [insert test method name here] use ONLY!!!!!!!!!!!" It might as well say, "Keep your grubby paws off, Kimberly!!!!!" Doesn't that just encourage employee comraderie? It makes me feel so welcome at this establishment - especially since I use the media for lab testing, not for my own personal research or for the development of bioweapons or something. So, because I hate conflict, I just make my own stuff and store it separately from all the rest. Besides, then I know that it was made correctly, and it also saves Post-Its.

Scott is a man of few words (unless the subject is hunting, chemistry, something Biblical, or a few other things.) So one day last week, during our nightly phone call, I was thrilled when the first words out of his mouth were, "Well, I actually have something interesting to tell you tonight." I think that's the first time he's said that in 7+ years. I was a little afraid he was about to tell me that he'd just gotten a job in Zimbabwe, but instead he said, "Uh, we had a little explosion today."

Eeeek.

He said everybody was all right, then explained something about blah blah blah ozone has no liquid phase, and therefore the chamber and purple monkey dishwasher, and then it exploded. (I promise I listened to the explanation, but I'm not smart enough to retain half of the technical details he gives sometimes.)

I asked him if this means he's mutated himself - will he start growing a third ear or an eleventh toe? Will our kids to have six kidneys and 3/4 of a frontal lobe? He said no. We shall see.

Ooooh, what if he turned himself into a supervillian in this laboratory experiment gone awry? I'll have to be hypervigilant, listening for maniacal laughter ("Mwahahahaha HA HA HAAA!"), and watching for crazy eyes or the addition of a super-suit to his wardrobe. Also, the appearance of a superhero (accompanied by a groundswell of confrontational music, of course) would tip me off. Hey, that might not be so bad after all. I'd like to request Tobey Maguire (who I think is cuter as Peter Parker than as Spiderman, for some reason) or Val Kilmer, please, and I'll be the damsel in distress.

If you like pina colada, getting caught in the rain ...

I was reading the new issue of The Week (which, by the way, is my favorite newsmagazine ever, EVER, it's like the Reader's Digest for news. My dad and I fight over it when it arrives every week) and saw an interesting story right out of a Rupert Holmes song:

Budding Jordan cyber love ends in divorce

A budding romance between a Jordanian man and woman turned into an ugly public divorce when the couple found out that they were in fact man and wife, state media reported.

Separated for several months, boredom and chance briefly re-united Bakr Melhem and his wife Sanaa in an Internet chat room, the official Petra news agency said.

[snip]

Cyber love blossomed between the pair for three months and soon they were making wedding plans. To pledge their troth in person, they agreed to meet in the flesh near a bus depot in the town of Zarqa, northeast of Amman.

[snip]

Upon seeing Sanaa-alias-Jamila, Bakr-alias-Adnan turned white and screamed at the top of his lungs: "You are divorced, divorced, divorced" -- the traditional manner of officially ending a marriage in Islam.

"You are a liar," Sanaa retorted before fainting, the agency said.

Heh. I guess they're not headed for the dunes on the cape.

I'm running some spyware scans because I have these popups from Adtomi and etightstrings.net that are driving me totally berserk. The scans always find them, I delete them, and after I restart, they somehow manage to rise from the ashes. Like starfish that will grow a new arm if one is amputated, these things grow a new .dll or registry entry or something, and resurrect themselves, stronger than before. Urgh. Look, if I want party poker, I'll find YOU, okay? Leave me alone!!

Anyway, I was updating the spyware database on Spyware Blaster (basically just a blocking tool, it doesn't actually remove anything) and as usual, it gave me a progress bar with a download rate and time remaining below it.

That's good to know, because if my download rate drops below 267.903930664062 bytes/sec, I terminate the file transfer. I just don't have that kind of time.

Also, I hate dialup. HAAAAATE.

And finally, lookie what I have! A Family Guy font! Thanks to Katrina, who has seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. :-)

Last night, I visited a post of mine from back in December (Games, stinkbombs and fake languages) so I could send a link to a friend who was at the event that I was describing in the post. Anyway, a curious Google ad showed up on my little ad banner up yonder:

"T-shirts so funny, makes me wanna slap your momma"? Whazzat mean? I would have clicked on it so that I could see such a T-shirt, however, when I signed up for Google's AdSense, I had to agree to certain terms. Apparently, I now have a Google goon (a goongle?) watching over my shoulder 24/7, and if I click on one of my own links, he'll crash through my window, give me a stupid haircut, poke out one of my eyes and then cut off my thumbs. Or something like that. Because Google doesn't want to pay me 3 cents unless I deserve it. And I didn't want to see a momma-slap-inspiring T-shirt THAT badly.

My good buddy Hellman (no relation to the mayonnaise), who is my most faithful commenter, mentioned in a comment a few days ago about me being a contender in "Hellman's Hottest Blogger" contest. I thought this was a big joke, see. But then last night I was talking to Mia, and she observed that we didn't win Hellman's Hottest Blogger. So as it turns out, there WAS such a contest, and with Hellman's blog readers, I placed -

drumroll ...

SEVENTH! Seventh out of -

drumroll ...

SEVEN! I am saddened and dismayed. It wasn't an honor just to be nominated - now that I know it was a real contest, I wanted to WIN, darn it! I did get a really nice description, however:

In seventh place, the truly special Kim from Ramblestrip. Kim is a really cool, sweet person who chronicles her life in a laboratory in West Virginia, has an obsessive order in her catalogue of music and has a science-geek boyfriend who likes to shoot stuff. But this does not do justice to what a great person she clearly is. She also looks fantastic as a man. I love Kim and want her to be my Republican confidante. What a sweetheart. I want your life to go really well and I know it will. You will continue to be blessed.

Say it with me - awwwww! Some guy across the pond that I don't know thinks I'm nice! Awww. :-)

I don't know, though - I'm hearing reports of disenfranchised voters - some had to wait four hours for the poll to load! And some accidentally voted for Pat Buchanan! Michael Moore is making a tell-all documentary about it, with no clever editing tricks! The race card was totally played! I demand a recount! The scenario is making Barbara Boxer cry! Right before she asks for money!

Seriously, Hellman, that was nice of you to include me. :-)

In other news, Scott will be graduating soon, and there was a snowball's chance in h-e-double hockey sticks that he would find a job in our area. Well, lo and behold, a local professor (who is ridiculously good at bringing money to the university) is applying for a grant that includes funding for a post-doc position, in Scott's particular field of chemistry. I think that this opportunity was so unlikely that it has to be sent by God (all good things come from Him, of course, but this one just really has His signature all over it for me, and I am so thankful for it) and I just know he'll get the grant. I really feel at peace about it. I would like to know if the professor has a certain timeframe he expects to hear something, though, so I know how many bottles of antacids to buy to treat my ulcer. :-) My brain and my heart may know everything will be okay, but my stomach lining doesn't. Stupid GI tract.

I've had enough of this long-distance relationship thing - 3 1/2 years is enough! I just miss him too much - I need him here with me and I want him back home with us where he belongs.

Romans 8:28 (KJV) - And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.

Jeremiah 29:11 (KJV) - For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

Amen.

Okay, I could use some input, y'all. To supplement my income from the lab, I do a little bit of microbiology tutoring during the fall & spring semesters, since I have a B.S. degree (heh) in microbiology and I'm several pages of a thesis away from a M.S. Anyway, the first exam in the undergraduate micro class is looming on the horizon, and I'm starting to get a little flurry of calls regarding tutoring. I always have trouble making up my mind about what I should ask for my vast wealth of knowledge (heh). I don't want to make people eat ramen noodles or a lint sandwich or something in order to get my help, but I can't decide how much that help is worth. And I don't want to ask people for a copy of last year's tax return and charge based on income, either. :-)

So if you're here from BE or BC, you've got 30 seconds to kill anyway - what do you think? I have 40+ hours of microbiology/immunology classes, and over 100 total science hours (chemistry, math, physics, biology.) I want to help people understand the material in the class (I love to see a lightbulb go on, accompanied by an "Ohhhhhhh!") but I also want to make a little extra money that I can put toward my medical school tuition or books or something later. What's an hourly rate that's fair for both me and for them? Thanks in advance for the input. :-)

Rrrrrearrrggg!

The February 7th Cox & Forkum is making me giggle. I think it's the "Rrreeearrggggg!" part that I like.

Heh.

That reminds me of my favorite joke from American Dad - the headline that read "Democratic Party missing - feared dead." The pilot of American Dad was about 1% as funny as Family Guy, but I don't think pilots are very good predictors of future show quality, for some reason. Except for the horrid U.S. version of Coupling, which was cancelled after about a half an episode, IIRC. The British version is funny (although I miss Jeff!) - the U.S. version, not so much.

What? You say my posts should have a central theme and not jump from American politics to cartoons to British sitcoms in one paragraph or less? Huh.

Another time waster

There's been 6.02 x 10^23 mentions of this on various blogs so far, I'm sure, but I'm going to link to it anyway, because it's amusing me so.

Gizoogle - Fo all you beotches who wanna find shiznit

Since I happen to be a beotch who wants to find shiznit, this is right up my alley. It basically transforms everything into Snoop speak, which is, obviously, a very productive addition to technology.

And just because I feel like adding another random bit of information, my first Gizoogled query was "corrie spoilers christmas 2005" because that's the most bizarre search that landed someone on my blog in awhile. I've since learned that there's a UK soap opera called "Corrie". But when I saw that Google query in my stats, I was all set to post a super-secret message to my veerd Dutchlandian friend Corrie so that she wouldn't accidentally include her Christmas 2005 plans in a comment here. Because some people don't want to know what's in her veerd Dutchlandian planner for December 25, 2005 - there's something to be said for the element of surprise, after all. Corrie, you'd better do that anyway - whatever you do, put your plans for Christmas 2005 in spoiler tags, or feel the wrath of ... hmm. I don't know, the wrath of someone. Anyway, keep them guessing.

Money contaminated with viracterium toxin!

I read about this first at MuD & PhuD, then saw the link on a later visit to Drudge - the inaccuracy just makes me cringe, so I thought I might as well cringe publicly here.

Contaminated Money

Money that has been contaminated with a virus; it’s a whole new possible direction for bioterrorism. It is a case that the FBI terrorism unit has taken over from state police that involves several cities, including Philadelphia.

As CBS 3’s Tamsen Fadal reports, the unit is trying to determine whether or not a virus was actually placed over money to protect the interest of the Russian mob.

In an exclusive investigation, CBS 3 has obtained documents detailing a bizarre criminal plot involving a virus, suspected drug money, and the Russian mob in Northeast Philadelphia. (emphasis added)

Then later:

Sources tell CBS 3 that tests on the cash counter revealed the presence of a toxin derived from the bacteria staphylococcus.

Somebody wasn't paying attention in biology class. "Bacteria" and "virus" aren't interchangeable terms. Also, it needs to be "a toxin derived from the bacterium staphylococcus" but I'd be happy if they would just not crash two completely different genera together. To my trained(-ish) eye, it makes as much sense as saying:

Money that has been contaminated with a kiwifruit; it’s a whole new possible direction for bioterrorism. It is a case that the FBI terrorism unit has taken over from state police that involves several cities, including Philadelphia.

As CBS 3’s Tamsen Fadal reports, the unit is trying to determine whether or not a kiwifruit was actually placed over money to protect the interest of the Russian mob.

In an exclusive investigation, CBS 3 has obtained documents detailing a bizarre criminal plot involving a kiwifruit, suspected drug money, and the Russian mob in Northeast Philadelphia.

Then later:

Sources tell CBS 3 that tests on the cash counter revealed the presence of a toxin derived from the Spanish hedgehog.

Anyway, I'm not sure how concerned I'm going to be about bioterrorism involving only a toxin, not a toxin-producing organism, because I don't think a toxin would be stable enough to still be harmful on an inanimate surface after a period of time (being a protein, it's sensitive to environmental things like temperature).

I am concerned about something like smallpox, though - and if you're not, get yourself a copy of The Demon in the Freezer by Richard Preston. It's a true story that will make you do crazy things, like not mind if someone kills or locks up a terrorist. It's also written very well and you don't have to be a scientist to understand it.

The Pepsi cap collecting begins again! Wheee!

Last spring or whenever it was, I was obsessed with collecting Pepsi caps with those iTunes song codes on them. I was floating in Diet Pepsi, until I discovered that you could tell by holding the bottle at a certain angle whether it had a code on it or not. Then, I felt kind of like I was stealing - I decided if I was going to check for a code before buying the bottle, I might as well illegally download music.

It was a fun little promotion, and sadly, gave my life meaning. Just kidding - my life has plenty of meaning anyway. But it gave me something to do. I'm thrilled to see that the promotion is starting again, though, because like my imaginary friend Mia, I am obsessed with collecting every song I've ever heard. I must have them all! And then, I must categorize them according to decade and then alphabetize them.

Hm. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll turn into Monk. Poor guy, I really want to give him a short course on the immune system. It's amazingly complicated and there are several lines of defense in place. Are you listening, Mia? You know you're my favorite quasi-germaphobe. We need an Odd Couple-like sitcom - a quasi-germaphobe and a quasi-microbiologist. Have I said that before? I can't remember. [/babbling]

Blogging clogging.

I have a clogging performance tonight - yeeeeeeeehaw! It's a Jamboree held about ten times a year at this beautiful old theater, and it's a hoot. By the way, clogging is kind of like Riverdance and square dancing crashed into each other, in case you didn't know.

In the event that you're really, really bored, I put a couple of old performances on my server. So don't say that I've never entertained you - unless, of course, I've never entertained you.

Right-click, "save as", and don't make fun of my floufy dress or my braids. If you do, I'll have to kill you and make it look like an accident. Yes, those are pansies on my dress. No, I didn't pick them - our director picked that fabric, I think the evil pansies hypnotized her somehow.

At the Hop - This is a couple routine, about 25MB. Watch my partner (I'm the one with the braids) because he is an awesome dancer. I think he has about 10 extra joints in his legs, because "they flail about as if independent from his body!" (tm Chandler)

Sin Wagon - A line dance to a song by the Dixie Chicks. I'm not wild about some of the lyrics, but it's a fast routine and I love it. Again, watch the guy to my right. (~37MB)

Oh, and the file may say something about the WV Pumpkin Festival. That's an outrageous lie - it was a county fair. You can tell the difference because at the fair, everyone appears to be wearing Eau de Pig Toilette.

Cheetahs!

Oh my goodness, these are so cute that I just want to barf.

Washington Zoo Unveils First Cheetah Cubs

I want one. I mean five. Nevermind, there's only four. Okay, four. I will hug them and squeeze them and love them - that is, until they decide to maul me.

Aaaaand, the crawling back to Blogger commences. Everything is working, except my template is completely screwed up due to the fact that Blogger and WordPress use two different tags for everything. Isn't that nice? So my old template says <$BlogTitle$> and WordPress goes, "Huh?" All my CSS stuff seems to be fine, though.

So, I'm stuck until I figure out the corresponding WordPress tags for all of the Blogger tags. Urgh.

In other news, I left out one of my "I'm dating Bill Nye the Science Guy" moments. We went to The Olive Garden, and Scott was having trouble deciding between two menu items. So he asked me to pick a number between one and ten. I did, and then I asked which one he assigned to odds and which one to evens. But oh no, he couldn't use a simplistic system such as that. He was actually leaning toward one thing more than the other, so he assigned that dish to non-prime numbers and the other to prime numbers. Bwah. I just love him, even though his mustache doesn't get very dark when he tries to grow a beard, and therefore he looks Amish.

And finally, to make up for my template frustration at Blogger, I'll share this old picture that always makes me happy.

Eeeek! I'm topless!

Not that my mom let me run around nekkid all the time or anything - it was my Grandma's sideyard and I was like, 2.

Edited to replace the picture with a link, just in case it's controversial! :-) Seriously, should I not have posted it? I don't want to offend anyone with my scantily-clad two-year-old self. I just think the jumping and the hair frozen in midair is cute.

It's deja vu all over again. (Oooh. That was bad. Sorry.) I'm making attempt #493 at moving my blog to WordPress (shhh, don't tell the Blogger people) and getting PHP/MySQL/Apache to run. I'm fairly pleased the fact that I'm on #493, considering that Salvarsan, the anti-syphilitic drug developed by Paul Ehrlich, is also known as Compound 606. He called it Compound 606 because Compounds 1-605 went in the trash, possibly accompanied with some choice German curse words. I mean, I wasn't there or anything, it's just a guess.

Anyway, should my blog explode in the next few hours, at least my legions of readers (ha) will know why. Never fear, I shall crawl back to Blogger if necessary.

Oh, and I LOVE these writers at SitePoint. Without them, I'd still be banging my head against a wall. If this works, I will travel to the following address:

Those Tutorial Guys
SitePoint
Some City That is Likely to House a Plethora of Geekish Types, State Where That City Lives
Appropriate zip code because the U.S. Postal Service likes that

And upon arrival, they are going to get one ginormous hug. And possibly some cookies. That is, if it's okay with Scott.

Ooooh, that smell ...

I was working at the lab late last night (I prefer to go in later in the day for many reasons - I can listen to my talk radio without bothering anybody, and I can turn the thermostat down from 78 so that I don't bake myself alive, among others.) Anyway, my eyes beheld an eerie sight, when the monster from his slab began to rise - just kidding. Actually, my nose besmelled a disgusting smell, which was coming from the back of the lab where the autoclaves live. [Billie Nye the Science Girl] An autoclave is like a giant pressure cooker. The pressure increases to 15 psi, which allows the temperature to reach 121C, high enough to brutally murder spore-forming bacteria. [/BNtSG]

It turned out that someone had used the autoclave to kill some of our used cultures, and the autoclave bag containing the petri dishes burst, leaking ooze everywhere. Fortunately, the bag was sitting in a metal bucket. Unfortunately, the hole in the bag was big enough that the ooze escaped the bucket and ended up in the bottom of the autoclave. Also unfortunately, the ooze contained not only a bazillion dead critters, but agar, which solidifies when it cools. So, when I tried to drain the autoclave, I only got a sad little trickle out of the tubing, since everything else was trapped behind the solidified blob of bleeecccch.

I went ahead and sterilized what I needed to sterilize, then I ran the autoclave again empty, and immediately drained it - spewing forth hot, liquified ooze. Nice.

It still didn't win the award for Most Digusting Autoclave Concoction, though - that belongs to the people who used to use the autoclave on campus to kill their used fruit flies. Remember children, autoclaved fruit flies smell really, really horrid. Be kind and use ether instead.

It's a good thing that working in the lab has burnt out some of my olefactory receptors. Seriously, I think it's a survival mechanism. These days, I can't tell when a baby has a poopie diaper to save my life. That may present a problem some day.

Napoleon DynaUGH and Flirting With Flirting Flirting With Disaster With Disaster

Insomnia again. David Oreck is behind this, I know he is. And I must say that it's an excellent marketing strategery. Oh well, I've still haven't done my movie post, so this is a good opportunity. Until my eyeballs shrivel up and fall out of my head, of course.

Napoleon Dynamite

Ugh. I read all kinds of good things about this movie, which should have tipped me off, since I was sorely disappointed by the (IMO) waaaaay overhyped Lost in Translation. (Sorry Mia. Sorry Bill. Sorry Scarlett.) Was it quirky? Yes. Was it funny? Not so much. I think part of my problem was that I had zero sympathy for the main character. Sure, he was normally alone except for Girl With the Side Ponytail and his 30-year-old exchange student friend, but he also had a horrible attitude and I wouldn't have wanted to be around him, no matter how he dressed.

Then again, it's kind of a chicken-and-egg thing. I went to high school with a girl that most people made fun of, and most people were of the opinion that having her around was not the best idea. However, she was also grouchy and generally hateful to people, but I don't know if she was grouchy first or if the grouchiness was born out of all the teasing and exclusion. Anyway, I think the movie was supposed to show that the unconventional and slighty greasy guy with a bad attitude = good, while the evil cheerleader-types deserve to have Nair put in their shampoo bottles for not working their way through his quirktacular outer lipid layer. His 30-something uncle who can't let go of his high school football glory days, I think, is how we're supposed to think high school athletes deserve to end up.

But to be fair, it wasn't all bad. The opening credits were done in a way that interested me, and a good song played during the end credits. You can skip all the stuff in the middle, because you'll probably want to clean Napoleon's glasses, tell his idiot uncle to get a life, and send Side Ponytail Girl for a good shampoo.

So in conclusion, meh.

Flirting With Disaster

Not much to say about this one - Ben Stiller is married to someone who I kept expecting to be Christine Taylor but she wasn't because she's Patricia Arquette, and I didn't like that about her. He goes on a search for his birth mother, and in the process he says a huge amount of words. I got the feeling that the writers wanted to include all of these lines that they thought were great, but since that would have caused the movie to be five hours long, they just had all of the characters talk at the same time instead. I would have liked this movie much better had everyone shushed it up a little and stopped talking so freaking much.

Flirting With Disaster was better than Napoleon Dynamite. And just so you know, Napoleon Dynamite comes in last in every comparison. Counting how many times my cursor blinks in 2 hours is more exciting. And as an added bonus, I don't feel the need to blot my cursor with one of my beloved Clean & Clear Oil-Absorbing Sheets.

Okay, remember that thing I said up there about my eyeballs? They're about to do that, and I really wish they wouldn't. So I think I'll try sleeping again.

ETA, boo! I wrote a considerably long section in which I gushed over Wicker Park, and Blogger selfishly ate it. Just to reiterate, boo! I'll redo it later.