Sails.

Eventually, when I am cooler, older, and tougher (and financially a little more stable, ha), I plan on not only learning to sail but I'd love to purchase a sailboat of sorts. Its always relaxing watching the sailboats from the top of Fort McHenry in Baltimore or from the public dock in Annapolis (Let's be real, I'll find any excuse to be on the water). In my recent foray to the Charlottesville market with Sarah, we stopped in a small boutique next to Feast (a delicious grocery store and lunch spot) that we had never seen before. When I was last in Annapolis, I had spotted some neat bags made out of recycled sails that were right up my alley. Lucky for me, this shop had several really cool Seabags, one of which I may have to purchase sometime soon.

Preferred heroine.

In the recent flurry of young celebs, I feel the need to stand up for one in particular with which I grew up. As much as I can try and appreciate the pop music, glitter, and attitude that come with say, Miley Cyrus, I'm not sure 10-year-olds need to be carrying cell phones and sporting halter tops. Call me old fashioned on this one, but I didn't have my first cell phone until I was a freshman in high school. It was a Nokia, had a Hawaiian flower face plate and came fully equipped with snake and somewhere around 10 texts per month. Side note: It was also about the size of today's cordless household phones. Nevertheless, I recently stumbled across one of my favorite books, Little House on the Prairie, in the bookstore downtown. Laura Ingalls Wilder was my favorite. Having read every book in the series probably somewhere around 7 or 8 times, I couldn't get enough of Laura and her family's adventures. I believe my copy of Little House in the Big Woods was left outside on the porch one afternoon during a thunderstorm, but even the subsequently waterlogged pages couldn't stop me from rereading. It goes along with the aforementioned love of trains; I thought it would have been pretty cool to have been a pioneer. Aside from the life or death choices that came with deciding whether to "caulk the wagon and float" or "ford the river" (thank you, Oregon Trail for those many eventful mornings in homeroom), you could have given me a bonnet and signed me up. Laura Ingalls was a classic American heroine; very much a more modern take on Annie Oakley.

I am fortunate enough to have a house in Pennsylvania that has been in our family since the 1800s. About 30 minutes north of Lock Haven, Mohawk sits on a beautiful mountain along the Susquehanna River. Driving up through the winding roads leads you somewhere someone else could never find (unless of course they knew exactly where to look). Growing up spending Thanksgivings, Christmases, and fall weekends there afforded me many of my own Laura Ingalls Wilder moments, including the fort that my grandfather helped us construct. It was my very own log cabin, and I loved being able to pretend that I too was as adventurous as Laura. Some of my best memories include driving the car in from the gate at age 10 (Thanks, Dad), picking apples from the orchard, hiking and spending hours by the bonfire watching the black bears hang out at the feeder. The last time I was up at camp, I spent the vast majority of one afternoon looking through old scrapbooks from the 1930s-1950s that my great grandfather had put together. Already a sucker for black and white photography, these were absolutely unreal. It was all I could do not to hijack all of the albums and take them back home. So many of the pictures I found enlightened me that my Nana was, perhaps, a Laura Ingalls herself.

Eat, Pray, Love.

As far as books go, I tend to gravitate toward those with intriguing characters. Non-fiction, fiction, either way, I've read both and that fact absolutely remains the same (Think Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird, Pat Peoples in The Silver Linings Playbook, or Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein in All the President's Men). A couple summers ago, Elizabeth Gilbert published her autobiographical Eat, Pray, Love, which became quite literally an overnight phenomenon. I was hesitant to get on the bandwagon because I shy away from philosophical, life and self-analysis style literature. You'll never find me reading Chicken Soup for any kind of soul and the vast majority of poetry still escapes me a little (Aside from some T.S. Eliot, Tennyson, and more recently Mary Oliver). There's a fine line for me between "depth" and less concrete, spiritual self-pondering. Either way, it took me a couple months to cave and pick up Gilbert's book while at the beach. I could not be more thankful that I did. When Gilbert refers to herself as "the planet's most affectionate life-form, something like the cross between a golden retriever and a barnacle," I knew I'd found a good one. Though perhaps not that affectionate, a friend once said that I "haven't stopped laughing since 1997." This is pretty valid. Gilbert's path from her lonely apartment in New York through Italy, India, and Indonesia leaves her with a greater understanding of not only herself, but what it actually means to be happy. While reading, I was actually reminded of the line in Where the Wild Things Are, where Judith states that "Happiness isn't always the best way to be happy." Gilbert echoes this sentiment, not by underrating happiness in any way, but acknowledging that its so much more complex than that. The spectrum of emotions within that overarching category is pretty expansive; oversimplifying that concept is only doing yourself a major disservice. I recently began re-reading Eat, Pray, Love upon hearing the movie will be out in June, with Julia Roberts starring as Elizabeth Gilbert. The trailer had me sold with the Florence and the Machine song (Dog Days are Over) used to accompany the amazing cinematography, and I really hope they can convey the sincerity of Gilbert's writing on the big screen.

Choo choo.

I may or may not have mentioned this before, but I have a closet love for various forms of transportation, particularly planes and trains. I often think I was born in the wrong time period for a number of reasons, one of them being the fact that trains were a complete novelty in the 1800s, making them the definition of adventure. I would have had a field day. Either way, I'm lucky enough to have an apartment situated directly next to the train tracks that run through the city of Charlottesville, which allows me full access to the comforting noise of the train rolling by every so often, as it is right now...

An ode to never growing up.

"Its important to be a fairy scientist because you're learning something that no one even thinks they exist. Except for some people. And not that many people that are even grown ups. Well when they were little girls they might have believed in fairies; when they grow up not many of them believe in fairies any more."

Yes, please.

A small diatribe...

Okay, so this might be the pot calling the kettle black seeing as I have a blog, Facebook, and am an active user/abuser of gchat. Not only that, but I do have a BlackBerry, which affords me constant connection to my email, text messages, and phone calls. In the recent flurry of job-related endeavors, school work, and fun spring events, I have become acutely aware of the number of available social networking devices and am frankly slightly overwhelmed. I recently re-watched "He's Just Not That Into You" for the first time since I saw it in theaters. I loved when Mary at one point laments, "I had this guy leave me a voicemail at work, so I called him at home, and then he emailed me to my BlackBerry, and so I texted to his cell, and now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies." Mary, I feel you - its too much. This realization came about this morning in my 9:30 class, which was a negotiations exercise on job-related maneuvers (read: teach engineers how to communicate effectively). Not everyone knows how to discuss things in a professional manner, which I realized when the boy next to me asked if children could be used as "leverage" in a business deal. Anyway, the root of the hypothetical negotiation was an employee whose boss wanted him to relocate to the San Diego office despite his desire to remain at the Richmond office with his family. After discussion, my professor wondered why more people didn't discuss "telecommuting" from the Richmond office, or a part time residence in San Diego with home base in Richmond. When she got 50 blank stares, her response was, "well, you ARE the Facebook generation." While her point is definitely valid, by no means do any of these internet/technologically-based networking devices substitute effectively for face to face communication. Its definitely nice to be able to keep in touch with friends and family so actively; I know my high school friends and I have remained close in part to our weekly email threads. Not only that, but the ability to communicate with people over the course of the day makes accomplishing pretty much everything easier. However, I think those of us labeled the "Facebook" generation need to be pretty careful to make sure we can separate ourselves from the technology. As someone who is making a conscious effort to remove the cell phone from its position as an extension of her right hand, I think taking a step back is just plain necessary sometimes.

"I told you so..."

As mentioned previously, my spring break was spent on a house boat (I prefer "ship") docked in Fort Myers' Snook Bight Marina. The weather was absolutely phenomenal (aside from one day of torrential rain and some solid flash flooding) and it was really very unfortunate to leave. A friend described me as a "child of the summer," which is frankly dead on. My biggest problem with Charlottesville is the fact that it is completely landlocked. Its pretty hard to grow up in Baltimore and not develop a love of sun, water, and great seafood. Unfortunately, the real world calls, and I arrived back in Charlottesville this morning after what was supposed to be a 2-day trip back took a little layover in Roanoke. Though I don't claim to be particularly poorly traveled, I will say that the south has (unfortunately) escaped my radar. Most of the architecture classes I've taken here have made me want to take a road trip down the coast to see historic towns like St. Augustine, Savannah, and of course, Charleston. So, when the opportunity arose to stop at the College of Charleston on our way back and spend the night, I can't say I was mad about it. My best friend Katie has been telling me how she can't see me living anywhere else but Charleston since she and her family visited last Easter. At the time I brushed it off, content with my mid-atlantic latitude; but now having visited (even for just over 24 hours), I had no idea what I was thinking. A slightly undercover architecture nerd, I was in absolute heaven. After dropping my friends off at C of C to get ready with our high school friend, I went over to the battery on an adventure to see as much as I could. The lights of Fort Sumter were just visible in the distance, and even in the darkness I was in complete awe. The houses are just absolutely unbelievable - authentic, early 19th century, uniquely southern homes lining an expansive harbor with so much character. Historically, most of the residences have remained in their original families, having been passed down over the years. The photo to the left is 21 East Battery, which is right behind the 1825 Edmondston-Alston House, one of the first homes constructed facing Charleston Harbor. In 1838, the second owner Charles Alston completely remodeled the house, adding Greek Revival details. This is just one example; East Battery street is lined with some of the most interesting, and historic homes I've ever seen. The fact that the majority of the residences are original (or as close as you can get) is what makes so much of a time capsule - and I love it. The architecture is really just the beginning - life moves slower in Charleston; the urgency that can sometimes overwhelm up north is nonexistent. Not only that, but Charleston is the mecca of fraternity fashion. There was no shortage of croakies, colorful khakis, and button downs. Truth be told, I have a soft spot for a good bow tie and blazer. Hopefully someday I'll have the opportunity to live there; I'd take even a cardboard shack on the Battery any day.

I'm on a boat...

Actually realistically I'll probably try and work that phrase into each day I'm here just because I can. I'm currently in Fort Myers, Florida, on a 14-person houseboat docked in Snook Bight Marina. Though I find it a little disturbing that one of the "most common fish" (as per the marina's brightly colored and annotated poster) is black fin shark, I am thoroughly happy to have successfully made the 15-hour trek from Charlottesville. Don't ask me how precisely this plan came to fruition, but I'm not mad about it, that's for sure. My skin is thanking me epically for this foray to the 75-degree sunny, water-logged coast. After my rapid fire trip to Atlanta on Tuesday and my 2-day drive here, I'm a little travel weary, and this is certainly the place to solve that issue. In light of this, a few observations:
1. Everyone in Florida drives trucks. The bigger, less fuel efficient, and more intense in appearance, the better. I can't imagine living here sans truck- I would be completely uncool.
2. Florida is a long state. Completely underestimated that one when I looked at the map.
3. One can drive 85-90 mph on the interstate and be fairly assured that no traffic violation will be incurred. The speed limit is usually 70, and I ventured a casual 80 to find myself being passed rapidly left and right.
4. It is completely okay here in Fort Myers to wear a neon bikini with a fur vest and hot pink platform flip flops.
5. There are lakes more or less everywhere. It is particularly awesome that houses are just interspersed around lakes with docks and boats and general fun. I am in full support.
6. Publix is the best grocery ever; they have the best selection of food and most delicious (recent discovery) sweet tea.
7. After entry into North Carolina, every single rest stop contains a Waffle House. How all of these Waffle Houses remain in business is a mystery, but having never eaten there, for all I know it could be awesome and worth placing at every exit of 95 south.

On that note, I cannot express how happy I am to be immersed in beaching and sunshine. The marina here is absolutely beautiful and has pretty much everything you'd need for a relaxing week (including coffee a mere 100 feet from our dock). Tomorrow night will be our first venture into the local Fort Myers bar scene and I, for one, cannot wait.

"That's what she said" (and other immature things I find funny)

For many people in the collegiate world, Thursday is really just an extension of the weekend. I can name countless friends whose freedom begins when their last class gets out somewhere around 12:15. One of the infinite perks of being a Biomedical Engineering major happens to be the fact that our department has spared us the agony of Friday class (believe me, they use the rest of the week to their full advantage), but unfortunately, Thursday has become the bane of my existence. Leaving my house around 7:30 every morning and usually returning around 6:30 or 7pm leads to some major fatigue and a little delirium. My 11am materials science class always gets the ball rolling as far as immaturity goes. My professor is a pretty stoic, but really interesting guy who spent a good part of his life doing Naval Ship R&D. As someone who finds most forms of transportation very cool, I have gotten a lot of enjoyment out of his flying and sailing adventures. Additionally as the only girl in the class, I get a serious kick out of all of the bros discussing the merits of certain materials and arguing whether or not a particular item will implode. Nevertheless, corrosion (yes, this is a class about how to prevent things from falling apart), has a vast number of really good "that's what she said" opportunities. The problem is that no one else really picks up on them (the lack of sociability of engineers does, in fact, hold some water). I'll spare you the specifics, but when you're discussing various holes in materials, there are some verbal mistakes that are just too good. As my friend Kiki says, the word "motorboating" is just always funny. After spending the class unsuccessfully trying to stifle my laughter, I resigned the rest of my afternoon to a two and a half hour Architecture seminar. Typically, I sit on the far side of the room, but last Thursday I decided to switch it up and put my stuff down next to a particularly fratty kid wearing (shocker) a Patagonia fleece, camouflage hat, and boat shoes. As you may have been able to garner from my earlier discussion, I have a history of laughing uncontrollably. I used to be embarrassed by it, largely because there are a lot of times (class, church, operation of motor vehicles, etc) when completely out of control laughter is not appropriate. Usually, something mildly funny sparks some kind of subtle laughter, which slowly progresses as I continue to laugh at whatever is going on in my head (I'm not a freak, I know you've all experienced this). There are certain people whose texts I'll never read in class solely to avoid cracking up. Anyway, one glance at this kid's laptop screen and I knew it was a lost cause. After watching him peruse his Twitter page briefly, he switched over to Youtube. His first video of choice? "30-year-old trainer attacked by Orca whale." Then using the"related videos" link to the right, he explored additional animal encounters (squirrel, flamingo, and bear) before heading on to Facebook to his virtual farm and aquarium. I think he realized that I was cracking up at his interweb activity about 2 hours into class, and began actually taking some notes. The sideways glares I got from my professor as I tried to contain my hysterics via my coat sleeve were probably well-deserved but hey, it wasn't totally my fault. Moral of the story? Sometimes acting your shoe size, not your age, isn't such a bad idea.

I've got long division covered, thanks.

So the world may have taken a toll on my blogging, but now that I have things under control (or so I'd like to think), I'd say its about time I returned to the internet. After spending the afternoon in a job interview where the interviewers more or less assessed my ability to solve SAT-style math problems (think logic puzzles and long multiplication) on a white board in front of an audience, I could actually probably use a gin and tonic. Nevertheless, the inspiration for this endeavor (credit where credit is due) largely comes from my best friend Sarah, who finally started a blog (More Olives Please). After starting so many sentences with "Well one of my bloggers says", I for one am so excited that Sarah has decided to make the foray into online journalism. That being said, this return to blogging is one of my New Year's resolutions that has been a bit neglected up until this point. Though typically I don't make New Year's resolutions, this year I felt compelled to write down a few of the things I deemed worthy causes for 2010:

1. Learn to like Diet Coke (and other more readily available diet sodas - no one serves diet root beer, its just a harsh reality)
2. Get a salaried job (To pay for an apartment, ideally somewhere warmer than this icebox)
3. Read books (that I like) while I am at school and revive the blog
   
4. Pay off all parking tickets to the University of Virginia and not incur any others (already failed, but earnestly attempted)
5. Look nicer for class (use a bag for gym clothes, it never hurt anyone)

So, in the spirit of resolution #3, I present A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers (also responsible for the screenplay of Where the Wild Things Are). Published in 2000, I was slow on the uptake with this one, which irks me a little considering I fancy myself a bookstore connoisseur. In a quest for new material over winter break, a good friend of mine told me this was a personal favorite of his. After investigating, purchasing, and reading (probably in less than 3 days), I can completely understand why. Eggers' humor is presented in the novel's very first page, which states very simply, "This was uncalled for." After a preface and introduction that, among many things, defend Pluto's planethood ("Why did we do that to Pluto? We had it good with Pluto."), it is apparent that Eggers' writing style is truly unlike any other. As someone who tends to write in a stream of consciousness (friends can attest to my paragraph-less emails), it took me no time to adjust to the quirky phrasing and syntax of Eggers' prose. Whether or not you've lost a parent, as Eggers does twice in the novel's beginning, the feelings expressed are ubiquitous for those of us teetering on the edge of adulthood. Eggers describes his parents' death without the soft glow so often found in the movies (think The Notebook). His father's passing in a haze of cigarette smoke and alcohol consumption in conjunction with his mother's prolonged battle with stomach cancer leaves Eggers without a sense of purpose and direction. It is in his younger brother, Toph, that he finds the project that will sustain him through his early twenties. After relocating from their suburban Chicago neighborhood to California, Eggers begins to understand the complexities of Toph, for whom he feels completely responsible. Though often framed as a burden, the reader quickly realizes that the relationship is as much a necessity for Eggers as it is for Toph. The other aspects of Eggers' life (namely women, alcohol, and work) are presented superficially and tangentially, which only further emphasizes the anchoring relationship of the two brothers. As Toph becomes increasingly self-reliant, Eggers realizes he not only depends on Toph's companionship, but validation that he serves a purpose for another individual. You find yourself rooting for each to find a place in their own life as Eggers' novel resonates with honesty, sadness, and the humor derived from life's subtleties.

"For example, we soon discover that, because the floors of the house are wood, and the house sparsely furnished, there are at least two ideal runways for sock sliding. The best is the back-deck-to-stairway run (fig. 1), which allows, with only a modest running start, one to glide easily thirty feet, all the way to the stairs leading to the lower floor, the first half of which can be jumped, provided one is prepared to drop and shoulder-roll upon hitting the landing, which, if stuck, should be punctuated with a Mary Lou Retton arm-raise and back-arch. Yes! America!"
- Dave Eggers, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

More than James & the Giant Peach

Monday

Three things I swore I'd never own (but now do)

As far as fashion goes, there are always things I claim are a) dumb, b) a waste of money and c) will be out of style within the next 6 months. As a result, I earnestly vow never to purchase these items. Unfortunately, sometimes I fail. After trying on some trendy, yet tantalizing items, it is clear that they a) may not be dumb, b) may in fact be a good use of money, and c) could potentially be a long-lived style change.
1. High-waisted skirt: I happen to be obsessed with all things high-waisted, but skirts and shorts primarily are my favorite. I tend to shy away from high-waisted jeans because they often come with a trouser style leg, which makes one look increasingly like a 70s-esque go-go dancer. Add a pair of platforms, some disco ball earrings, and you're set. However, nearly every skirt I currently own is high waisted. I love the way you can choose how much you want the top to play into the outfit as a whole. You can use a simple, plain colored high waisted skirt with an elaborate top tucked it to emphasize the top, or you can make the skirt the focus with a simple, plain colored tank or t shirt. Either way, high-waisted skirts are universally flattering. They can add volume to the bottom if the skirt is full, or can be extremely slimming with a pencil style. They generally lengthen someone, giving the illusion of longer legs. Either route you choose to take, the high-waisted skirt emphasizes the smallest part of you - your waist, which makes anyone look trimmer and infinitely more polished.
2. 40's style maillot: I was absolutely convinced that there was no reason to bring back the bathing suits of the 40s', more covering and generally more conservative in pattern. I was absolutely wrong. After ordering a navy and white striped maillot from Anthropologie on a whim (I am a sucker for navy and white stripes), I was sure I would either love it or hate it. I did in fact, love it. Attempting to look more mature is something I am usually trying to do, and I realized a few weeks ago that the string bikinis I so frequently bought at age 14 would no longer fly. If one is actually trying to swim in the ocean, a bathing suit that will stay in place is, I would venture to say, crucial. Not only is this suit flattering, but it dispels a common fashion myth that all stripes make one look bigger, particularly in the form of a bathing suit. Stripes can be worn by virtually anyone, but in the form of a small stripe (as opposed to the Blue's Clues look). J.Crew makes great basic bathing suits that resist color fading and come in a plethora of styles for all body types, but I was looking for something a little more fun, and found it in this Rachel Pally suit.
3. The romper: I was absolutely thrown by the concept of attaching one's shirt to one's shorts. This was something I actively wore when I was around 6 or 7. In fact I remember the romper I loved most - It was white with a yellow and pink fish pattern. Right...well here in 2009, the romper made a comeback I wasn't quite comfortable with. Confused at how one actually would wear a romper (day, night?), I generally avoided them like the plague. It wasn't until I came across the loose-fitting black romper by Sine that my mind was forever changed. This particular romper, made out of a lightweight black or navy silky twill, has amazing brass buttons and large side pockets. At first glance, it appears to be a dress. Maybe that's why I liked it - it fit basically as a dress, the bottom "half" sitting lower on the body and allowing a free flowing line from top to bottom. I am also a sucker for pockets, and these pockets are ultra amazing. The waistband itself acts as a belt, accentuating small waists and giving the romper a little more shape than the fabric initially implies. After trying it on, I was sold - Since I am naturally about 6 years old, the romper is very much appropriate.

Three Lists

The 6 best places to obtain coffee (3 universally found, 3 location-specific)
1. Dunkin' Donuts
2. Panera Bread
3. Wawa
4. Fox Park (Charlottesville)
5. Para Coffee (Charlottesville)
6. Atwater's (Baltimore)

Why the new Harry Potter movie is excellent
1. Alan Rickman as Severus Snape - He recites his lines with. perfect. delivery.
2. Ron Weasley's girlfriend Lavender Brown - Perfectly cast, puppy eyes and all
3. The motif of things blowing up, catching fire, twisting, breaking, blasting to pieces, etc.
4. Harry Potter consuming the Felix Felicis potion - whatever intern on the set of HBP told him to act drunk during that segment should be commended and promoted, as it was fully entertaining
5. The consistent undertone of witty banter throughout the film - Harry finally is overcoming his angst and going for a lighter stance on life

Things I do that are bad/potentially deadly but I do them anyways
1. Use a lot of Equal (Aspartame is a silent killer)
2. Eat Tuna fairly often (Mercury?!?!)
3. Sit in the sun, very frequently, sometimes sans sunscreen
4. Sleep < 8 hours (Actually in reality, << than 8 hours)
5. Bite my nails (Basically, I will get Swine flu)
6. Chew ice chips (Apparently this signifies an iron deficiency)
7. Run outside with headphones on (Surefire way to get nailed by an auto)
8. Drink coffee innumerable number times per day (Always including Equal, so this is horrible squared)
9. Fly in airplanes (Its a pressurized cabin moving hundreds of miles per hour at an about 30,000 ft, tell me what sounds safe about that)
10. Mix liquor and beer throughout the evening (They said these should not be consumed simultaneously, but that is un-fun)

Ace of cakes and the state of drivers in the U.S.

For anyone not a frequent Food Network watcher, I highly recommend it. Like other networks, there are some unfortunate shows, but really the only one of which I am not a fan is Paula Deen. Paula Deen actively makes foods more fattening, which is hard to watch. Last show I'm pretty sure she took a hamburger and deep fried it. I do believe that is the antithesis of healthy cooking, or for that matter even cooking that doesn't cause an instant heart attack. She also makes compound butter - which she describes as butter with "goodies" in it. Goodies being cheese. So she is combining butter and cheese. Again, my arteries are screaming. Anyhow, aside from Paula Deen, the best show on the Food Network (in my opinion) is Ace of Cakes. Being a Baltimorean, I really appreciate any attribution to our city that doesn't focus on homicide, STDs, or drug trafficking/use. This show goes 3/3. Duff Goldman, the bakery's chef, graduated pastry school and decided to start making cakes for friends and family. His cakes went above and beyond- lights, spinning objects, general debauchery - and as a result he decided to open up his own bakery here in Baltimore on Remington Avenue in March 2000. Duff's cakes are absolutely amazing - he bakes for any event you can imagine, and his staff are "eleven friends who make cakes, listen to music, and eat a lot of sushi." This is a place I could work. The show basically chronicles the most exciting projects of the group, with new shows airing Sundays at 10pm and additional episodes Tuesdays and Thursdays at 10pm. You can see a whole gallery of cakes here - so many of them look like artwork more than cake, but most everything is edible on all of the bakery's creations. After stumbling on the bakery when I got lost driving home from work one day, I basically freaked out and took 10-15 pictures. Unfortunately you can't go inside without an appointment, so I could only look longingly at the doors. The best part was that I basically only found the bakery due to the heinous traffic on the JFX, which forced me to exit and take an alternative route home. I have had constant amusement driving to and from work, mostly in the form of people that don't know how to drive in a city or otherwise. Driving 35 miles an hour on a highway is generally unacceptable in most places. Completely stopping on the on or off ramp, also unadvisable. Travelling with small dogs on your lap, I would think, would obscure your vision and general motor coordination, and it is also common courtesy to close your trunk when driving. Two major issues the American public needs to tackle are the blinking road work sign and the parking garage. The blinking road work sign, placed to the right of the road in the shoulder, is typically there to warn drivers of road work, lane closings, or future driving impedences. Most recently, this sign was used to warn Baltimore drivers of the closing of the Mt. Royal exit on 83 South due to Artscape. The sign was placed about 2 miles ahead of the exit on Monday (Artscape began the Friday after). Each subsequent day, Tuesday-Thursday. Traffic backed up from the sign itself to the Northern Parkway exit at which many get on the highway, about 3-4 miles in total. Honestly, there is no need to slow down to the point that traffic stops. Its as if everyone is like instantly reacts with "FLASHING LIGHTS, OH MY GOD, BRAKE!" The panic instilled in everyone is completely unnecessary, and could be completely avoided if everyone would just drive at an appropriate speed past the sign. Once I make it past that and get into the parking garage, it gets even better. The 7 story parking deck at work is primarily packed with patients (I work in a hospital), doctors, and students. It is blatantly obvious once entering the garage (as easily judged by the 8-9 car line waiting to get in each day), that you are not going to find a parking spot on one of the lower levels. Thought process says to drive quickly to the upper level, and park. The only problem that many people seem to have with this is the additional 60 feet they would have to walk to get to the elevator. So, they inch along at about 5 miles per hour through the first five levels of the garage, clinging to the hope that they may find a closer spot. Needless to say, not the smartest of choices.

To read...

A current obsession of mine in the literary world is The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet, a novel by Reif Larsen. Written through the honest voice of a 12-year-old, Larsen's book evokes a childhood nostalgia for adventure and the desire to understand. Tecumseh Sparrow (T.S.) Spivet is just one of a long line of Tecumseh Spivets, though his curiousities lie in a far different realm from his predecessors. At the Coppertop Ranch, just 4.73 miles north of Divide, Montana, T.S. lives with his mother, "Dr. Clair", father, and older sister Gracie. From the novel's outset, it is clear that T.S. is far different from his father, a traditional rancher who when he speaks uses only one of several cowboy-esque phrases. Dr. Clair, an entomologist of sorts, has spent her entire time at the Coppertop and its surroundings searching for the Tiger Monk Beetle, or so T.S. believes. Like his mother, T.S. fancies himself a scientist, more specificially, a cartographer. Mapping everything from land, McDonald's locations, facial expressions, migratory patterns, and the timing at which his father sips whiskey, T.S. observes and records everything around him. Part of T.S.'s desire to map the world stems from the death of his younger brother Layton. Unlike T.S., Layton was a hero to his father, a born rancher who had a knack for the manlier aspects of life - guns, country western films, and helping out around the property. Layton's accidental death, for which T.S. feels immense guilt, separated his family members in an inexplicable way. A boy well beyond his years academically, it is clear T.S. wants more out of his relationship with both of his parents despite his already deep knowledge of their inner workings. One evening while T.S. and Gracie are out on the porch shucking corn, the Smithsonian calls with regards to an award T.S. has won. Apparently, T.S.'s mentor, Dr. Terry Yorn, secretly submitted a portfolio of T.S.'s drawings and maps for the prestigious Baird award. Confused as to how this could have come about, T.S. turns down the award, informing the caller that he couldn't get to Washington DC to accept it. After a day or so, T.S. realizes that he should go and accept his award, despite the fact that the Smithsonian thinks he is in his twenties (or older), and a PhD-carrying colleague of Dr. Yorn. So, after carefully packing (and repacking) his suitcase, T.S. stows away on a freight train out of Butte, prepared to journey across the country, mapping and drawing the whole way. The adventures he has along the way, through "wormholes" of the "middle west," the depot of Chicago, and finally making it to the Smithsonian, are comparable to a modern day Huck Finn. The adult concept of cartography mixed with the very child like persona of T.S. leads to a truly remarkable adventure through the human spirit. The desire to know, understand, and connect is intricately woven throughout this entire novel, leaving one with a sense of hope and reminding them of the importance of celebrating little victories. I highly recommend Mr. Larsen's book, hoping only that he write more stories that celebrate the family and the revelations that come with understanding the past.

A note on science

Working in a lab has given me a) a headache and b) a lot of insight into the types of people that populate the field of science. Having spent time in both a clinic and a lab, I have come to the conclusion that the phrase "happy medium" does not apply to the scientific community. Before you get your knickers in a twist (I saw Harry Potter a mere 36 hours ago), let me explain. It appears to me that there are "social" science people and "antisocial" science people, and that the two rarely cross paths. The social science people obviously enjoy working with patients, one another, and tend to speak to each other fairly often. This is evident in the clinic, where the colleagues share a large round table with one another and take turns bringing breakfast for everyone each day at the ungodly hour of 7am. In my realm, the Cancer Research Building (CRBII if you like formalities), there is minimal conversation. Cooperation is encouraged from the research aspect of life, but it wasn't until yesterday that someone here acknowledged that they were dependent on another for their work. Who knows, I'd like to think I help the atmosphere by saying hello to everyone and asking them basic human interest questions like "How was your weekend?" Dare to dream. Contrary to how this may sound, I have found the people I work with have to be some of the most interesting I've met. I have gained some major appreciation for research, which I think I initially struggled with due to its lack of tangibility. In the lab, it could be a year before you finish something that makes even the smallest dent in the surface of improving pancreatic cancer treatments and detection. The people I work with are so dedicated to what they do, its easy to take a lesson in self-discipline. Most of then are there until 7 at night after arriving at 8 in the morning, still working and finishing projects. This aside really is rooted in the fact that I am a nerd at heart, which brings me to one of the most original things I've seen in a while. For someone who runs PCR gels all day, this has to be one of the coolest and toughest applications. At www.dna11.com you can buy personal DNA art, which is basically an electrophoresis gel of your DNA band pattern (Read: abstract looking art that is based on the genetic material in your cells). Basically, you customize your artwork, and they send you a kit in which you place a Q-tip of material from your cheek. I fully intend to purchase one of these someday, unless of course I can't figure out how to do it myself...