Slumber Party, Not to Be Confused with the Donner Party, Even Though One Person Present Had the Surname "Donner"

My mom has never complained, even in the days when she found me almost insufferable, about the standards by which I maintained order and cleanliness in my room. It's one of the two  areas by which, even in her biased mind (the other being piano-playing ability and ability to master singing harmonies; Matthew does [honestly] have the better overall singing voice of the two of us) I am not inferior to my brother.  My mother loves both of as much as any other mother loves her children, but Matthew comes up on top in most head-to-head comparisons in her opinion. I'm old enough not to be terribly bothered by it anymore, especially since she seems to try to be fair. Where my room is concerned, she mostly thinks I go a little bit overboard. She thinks I'm the bedroom equivalent of the little kid who always has to have his toy cars lined up in a row as opposed to ever actually playing with them,  as in  "on the spectrum." I think we're all entitled to a few little quirks without being labeled as autistic or  anything close. I don't throw fits when people pull down the covers to the bed or extra bed and get in if it's someone who's supposed to be sleeping there. We all should be  allowed our little quirks. My quirk is the degree to which things in my room must match and the cleanliness upon which I insist, which necessitates a no-food rule.

Alyssa, Jared's cousin, arrived tonight instead of tomorrow. I only have two beds in my room, and one is a roll-out I keep in my closet, although it has Westin mattress and box springs I pull out of my rather large walk-in bedding, rug, and linen closet, so the bed is very comfortable. Alyssa could have slept in the guest room, which is also very nice, but she wanted to be in with us, so she was going to sleep in my recliner but we felt sorry for her because she has cramps and decided she should sleep in a real bed. Meredith took the recliner and let Alyssa have the bed.

We watched movies downstairs first, because I don't serve popcorn in my room. I do serve drinks, but not food, and certainly not to a group as large as three, and certainly not popcorn, as that's when things start to get messy. I might consider letting someone eat Halloween candy there, but that's about the extent of it. I'm sure everyone thinks I'm way to picky about my room, and I almost admit I am, but it's a very nice room and has to be treated well or the furnishings won't stay nice. Most of the bedding I'm taking with me when I move to an apartment and later a condo, which is a real incentive to take care of it.

There are times when I'm practicing so much that the musical motif is overpowering, and I'm sick of looking at musical symbols, but such is not the case now, so I have the musical motif out.  Even with my OCD-ness, we were able to make the decor work. 

Everyone was  asleep when the boys showed up, making the sort of racket that would wake up even any dead people who may exist as ghosts in our house. The other two girls went back to sleep a few minutes later, but I'm still up. I'll have to sleep a little later, and the others know they can go get breakfast without me. I can also sleep on the beach tomorrow as long at I remember to thoroughly coat myself with SPF 50 sunblock every hour or so. The smartest thing to do would be to thoroughly immerse myself in the frigid Pacific for just long enough to get chilled. Then I  can dry off and coat myself thoroughly with sunblock, then lie down on a towel on my tummy and cover my body with another towel. I should get a good nap and with minimal sun damage.

Regardless of what I down, I'll have a Frankie-and-Annette day on the beach with minimal skin injury so that I will be OK for surfing on Sunday. We'll probably even play beach football or volleyball, which is such a Frankie-and-Annette thing to do.

guest bed

my bed

blanket throw we threw over recliner because it's leather to make it feel warmer and cozier

fleecy blanket we threw on top of Meredith on the recliner

Funeral Talk

funerals are a topic of discussion society in general avoids

The topic of funerals, or death in general, is something most of us would prefer to avoid either in conversation or in thought.  My dad's longest-term secretary is forced to think about it right now. Her husband is in what is believed to be the final stages of hospice care due to a mitochondrial degenerative disease. If he makes it through the night, he probably won't make it through tomorrow.

While he was still lucid,  which was not long ago, as this particular illness acts on the body while leaving the mind clear until the very end when the patient is basically comatose, the man told his wife where to find an envelope with information concerning his final wishes.  They'd discussed the topic at length, and she was surprised to hear that there was more he hadn't already told her.  When he slippped into a coma, she looked for the envelope. It was where he told her it would be. She opened it. It didn't contradict anything he had told her previously. It merely said he wanted no organ music at the funeral -- that piano was fine, guitar was good as well, but no organ -- and named a song he wanted at the funeral and another one that he wanted sung at his graveside.

The song he wants sung at his funeral is Paul Simon's "American Tune." I would assume he wanted to make a statement of some sort with this, as it's not particularly funereal. What he wants at his graveside is a little odd. He wants the Eagles' "Take It to the Limit."  No one who knows about this can figure out why he chose this particular song. It's certainly not funereal, and, as far as his wife knew, wasn't a particular favorite, although he liked classic rock and roll.  I've played stranger requests at funerals, the most bizarre of which was probably  "Funky Town," which makes "Take It to the Limit" seem like standard funeral fare.

The wife asked my dad to do those two songs at the funeral, in addition to "The Lord's Prayer," as the funeral service itself will be held in a church.  My dad can't say no to a woman who has been such a loyal employee and friend for twenty years -- longer, I supppose, as I think she worked for him before my parents lost their first twins.  My mom will handle the prelude on piano, and my dad will sing the three requested songs, although my mom would probably do a better job with "The Lord's Prayer."

It's somewhat unusual to discuss the funeral before the guy has passed, but his wife brought it up to my dad. He may take my pseudoaunt's younger brother along, as he likes the version of "American Tune" that Simon and Garfunkel did together better than Simon's solo version, and the Eagles always had harmony.

The funeral will presumably be late next week unless the guy unexpectedly lingers, and will be in the town in which my family formerly lived before our most recent move.  As the funeral will be well-attended and I personally did not know the man, I won't attend, nor will my brother.   It still seems odd to make arrangements, other than the pre-arrangements that a lot of people make for themselves far before the fact, before the man has passed, but perhaps it's easier this way for his wife. Maybe she thinks she won't be able to hold herself together well enough to make coherent decisions once her husband has made the official crossover. Regardless, far be it from me to judge her or any decision she makes.

                                This is Simon and Garfunkel together singing "American Tune. " The video is probably from the Concert in Central Park.

This blog is now ended.   Go now in peace to love and serve the Lord or whomever it is you serve.

frolicking in the sun like a couple of living Annette Funicellos; just no Frankie in sight yet

an example of some of the alleged frivolity we will experience tomorrow

My friend Meredith is here to spend her final days before going off to begin her third year of college. I still have another almost two weeks off. Don't feel too sorry for her, though, as she attends one of the prettier campuses in the U.S. with extremely mild weather.  It's just the idea of giving up the freedom of summer for the grind of acadaemia. She has a tougher year in terms of course load than I do, as I did most of the toughest work over the past two years. What she doesn't have -- just as no one at my university other than I will have this year --- is two separate senior performance major recitals. (Music education majors have recitals as well, but they're far less demanding.)  I therefore reserve the right to  pull the martyr card if I feel the need at any time between now and February.

I mostly haven't practiced since she's been here. I did get in an hour each of both piano and violin while she was sleeping, but that's barely scratching the surface in terms of practice for me.  I'll do what I can tomorrow and Sunday, but my best friend and I don't get to see each other every day anymore. I'll be lucky if I get to see her in December.

Tomorrow the boys and my friend Alyssa arrive, so we'll have the more typical "Beach Blanket Bingo" experience. I have enough  SPF 50 sunblock for all of us, and I have campus privileges and a dorm room, so we can find a nice shady spot or go inside and cool off. We'll have a nice day.

Sunday we're going to try surfing.That should be a laugh.

This blog is ended. Go now in peace to love and serve the Lord or whomever it is you choose to love and serve.

I WON that freaking fecal smear contest, barf or no barf.

This is SO not my friends and me that it almost makes me sick -- not as sick as fecal smears make me, but sick just the same.  Were young people ever really like this, or was it merely Hollywood's impression of what young people are supposed to be like?

Tomorrow my friend arrives in early afternoon. I was up late last night, so I'm sleeping late tomorrow at aunt's and uncle's house, then driving home in late morning. I could seriously get used to living in a house that feels like a Dakota winter when it's just past Labor Day.  I was prepared this time and brought sweats, thermals, and warm pj's.

I won the war of the barf videos and bestiality pedophilia rumors. Jeffrey deleted.  By the way, all the interns working on the previous two days had to test that particular specimen. I was the only one who deleted my breakfast, but also the only one who got the diagnosis right.  The chief pathologist came by my work station and gave me a high five.  He said he threw up on his first fecal smear, too.  He told me to put Mentholatum or Vicks Vapo-rub  in my nostrils before putting on my mask next time. He said it still looks gross and you have to look, but the smell factor can be greatly reduced.

Tomorrow my friend and I are hanging out at the beach, but we can't stay for too long, because even with sunblock, she'll burn with too much exposure. She doesn't live in a sunny climate now. We want to spend more time there with other friends on Saturday, so it would be foolish for her to dangerously burn her skin tomorrow.  Sometimes really late afternoon is a good time to go.

I'm going to try to talk her into surfing lessons. She was on the diving team with me and is a strong swimmer, so she shouldn't be terribly afraid, although a pool is different than the Pacific in many ways, from undertows to sharks. In terms of undertows, I listen to the experts and don't go in when they say it's unsafe. In terms of sharks, what are the odds? I suppose it could happen, but I don't lose sleep worrying about it. I don't go out terribly far when I'm swimming in the ocean, as I see no need to expose myself to unnecessary risks, but if I take surfing lessons, I'll go out however far the instructor says to go. I'm not afraid.

On Saturday my brother, Jared, Alyssa, and one of my brother's friends, in addition to a few of my friends will join my friend and me for beach frolicking.   No one will frolick with his or her blood relative, so it won't be disgusting.

Peace. love, and try not to play poker on your smartphone when war is the topic of discussion.

INFORMATION CONCERNING MY COWORKER'S RUMORED (ACCURATELY OR OTHERWISE) INTEREST

This post is in discussion of the fetishes which may or may not be possessed by my co-worker. He would say I'm displaying delusions of grandeur by even referring to myself as his co-worker, implying I'm somehow his  professional equal, where he's a degreed (bachelor's degree, to be specific; I don't want anyone to consider him more academically accomplished than he really is; at least he didn't stop at an A.A. -- I'll give him that -- but he's not exactly a PhD)  lab technician, while I'm a lowly intern who is two quarters shy of my three bachelor's degrees, one of which is in biochemistry, which is the field of his degree. He's leaps and bounds above me -- so far that it's surprising  he even acknowledges my existence.  I should consider myself honored that he bothered videotaping me as I was tossing my cookies while preparing the fecal slide. I should feel flattered that he is threatening to post the incriminating footage on YouTube or anywhere else.  The fact that he has noticed me should cause me to feel all warm and fuzzy.

I won't discuss pedophilia, regardless of any real or falsely implied connection my co-worker may have to the practice. It's disgusting enough that I cannot bear to think of it, much less write about it. And, if truth be known, I seriously doubt the man, obnoxious though he may be,  has any connection to the practice. I can't exonerate him entirely, as some of the rumors have even been on the Internet, and we all know that anything on the Internet cannot be automatically discounted.

Let us instead focus our attentions upon another rumored aberration possibly [or possibly not] possessed  and/or practiced by this rather obnoxious individual. The topic is, if you have not yet predicted, bestiality. (I misspelled it earlier. The other spelling [beastiality] makes more sense to me, but according to the experts, it is incorrect.) I'm glad, just in the even that my co-worker ever finds this blog, that I corrected the spelling myself before he found it and pointed out the error of my spelling. He would take great pleasure in doing just that. Then again, if he did that, it would further confirm his interest, and perhaps expertise, related to the topic.

A synonym to bestiality is zoophilia. I would not have guessed merely by looking at the two words that they were synonymous. I would have assumed that zoophilia was reserved for amorous relations with wild and/or exotic animals. (This was silly of me; just because zoophilia has the word zoo in it should not infer that it would refer inherently to animals commonly found in zoos.) Such is not the case, however, and the two words are, for all intents and purposes, interchangeable. Some experts (seriously, while I admit to being the author of a blog on this topic, why would anyone devote serious research or make one's life's work the study of such a topic?) reserve the term zoophilia to describe either the desire or the tendency to engage in such acts, while bestiality to refer to the specific act of engaging in such practice. Former President Jimmy Carter would probably consider the two terms one and the same, as if you've committed sex with an animal in your heart and mind, you've, for practical purpose, actually done the deed. Others would say it doesn't matter what you think about, but matters only if you act on said desires.  I have no answer to the overall question, but, all things considered, I would prefer to keep my distance from those who contemplate such relationships whether or not they act on their bizarre desires.

I'd now like to toss out a third term for your consideration:  zoosexuality, which refers to those whose sexual identity is defined by a desire to have romantic and sexual relations with animals. I can't quite wrap my mind around this one. As a true  liberal, I had to learn to  accept that perhaps heterosexuality was not the  One True Way, but I must draw the line at zoosexuality, if only for the reason (and it's not the only reason)  that I don't believe an animal can truly give consent for a sexual act. Even if he or she were to appear to enjoy what was being done to or with him or her, is that, in and of itself, informed consent? (Sort of like a woman's having an orgasm during a rape   not negating the distinction of rape in describing the sexual act.) Just because a sheep appears to enjoy the act, does that negate the non-consensuality of the encounter?) I have no guess as to whether or not sheep appear to enjoy sexual activity, whether with other sheep or with humans, but I'm not sure that their mere sexual response can be rightly inferred as consent. (Once my neighbor's female kitten [six months old, so sort of a kitten], for who I was responsible while her owners were on vacation, apparently went into heat. She sounded as though the male cat was killing her, and I scared the tomcat away, but then she acted seriously pissed at me for having frightened away her suitor.)

similar to what I witnessed with my neighbor's cat, whom I had not previously known was a slut; does my cow-worker want to be that top cat?

In most parts of the world, bestiality is frowned upon if not outrightly banned by law. (In the U. S. the practice is banned by law.) In no part of the world, according to my sources, is it condoned. Imagine that!  There's one thing on which we as a species can agree, which is that animals are not meant to be boinked by humans.  It may be the only thing upon all nations agree. (Obviously the zoosexuals don't agree, and apparently have websites declaring just why their exercising of their sexual expression should not be considered  deviate, strange, wrong, or illegal. I didn't visit any of the aforementioned sites because I don't want any of that smut on my hard drive.)

Mt co-worker (I'll continue to use the word  to describe our work relationship whether or not it harms his sense of self-worth and feels that it cheapens the value of his degree)  may no more about the information that that which I have  shared. Then again, maybe he knows even less. Rumors, even though they sometimes turn out to be rumors, are nothing more than rumors until proven otherwise.

Jeffrey, if you're still even thinking of posting your disgusting video on YouTube, you should seriously consider the ramifications your actions shall bring upon your head. (A pox on you and on your entire household if that video ever sees the light of YouTube!) I have not yet begun to fight.

CO-WORKER THREATENING TO POST ON YOUTUBE

Today when I was preparing the lovely slide and became ill in the process, one of the for-real employees -- a 24-year-old smartass --  videotaped my incident of illness. He's threatening to post the footage on YouTube. He says first he'll check with the legal department to ensure he's not violating any existing policies, as it would be funny to post the video, but not so funny that he wants to lose his job over it.

Since we're on the subject of 24-year-old smartasses, I'll post his picture.  This man may -- or may very well not --  be a pedophile. You can decide for yourself, and decide what chances you wish to take with your children, and with your animals as well, as there have been occasional rumors, which again may or may not be based in actuality, that he likes to get it on with dogs, cats, and farm animals.

Are yourchildren and pets safe with this man on the loose? Only you can make the call.  P.S. Please avoid Youtube for a few days.

the joys of being a flunkie

I could've used one of these today. As it was, I had to make do with a not-very-clean trash can.

Today I had a rather delightful [italics used to denote sarcasm] experience at the lab. I had to prepare a fecal  smear. This involves, in the event that the cognitively disabled (who used to be known as mentally retqarded but are no longer termed as such thanks to rosa and her law) are now reading my blog, donning major protective gear, using a small tongue-depressor-like stick to spead a sample of human feces from a jar onto a glass slide, then finally topping the slide with another glass slide.

Doing this would not have been so bad had it actually mattered, but another slide had already been prepared from the same sample by one of the professionals.  I was merely doing it for the experience.

It did make it better that I got the diagnosis right on the first try. It was giardia lamblia. I have no clue who the lucky victim might be.

I tosssed my cookies during the procedure. I can't wait until I'm a for-real pathologist and can make an underling prepare fecal sample slides for me.

"Deliverance" relationships, family reunions, and everything that goes along with it

Jared's sister has unusual beverage preferences.(not actually jared;s sister, though she looks similar; I can't post her for privacy reasons; she was actually  drinking her sea water out of a pail before someone got to her and stopped her)

I don't think it's an actual "Deliverance" relationship; I think they're only related by marriage. At least I THINK such is the case.

I just took a Lunesta and am waiting around for it to kick in. I didn't sleep much this morning and stayed active all day, so I should  be able to sleep before the wee hours of the morning.  my supervisor said not to worry about getting there especially early. i can modify my schedule and work later, as the lab operates 24 hours, although for insurance purposes among other things, interns aren't allowed there after 6:00 p,m.  I suppose the people who run the place think they're less likely to run into Bill Clinton Monica Lewinsky cigar and blue dress situations in broad daylight when the place is so crowded one couldn't find a space private enough to take advantage of an intern even if one was so inclined.

Today was fun.  I skipped out on the zoo portion of the festivities, and only barely participated in the park activities, but I went to the beach with the large group, and then went to Uncle Jerry and Aunt /Ilianna's house for a dinner of deep pit beef, rice, beans, and whatever else was there. As meat goes, I like deep pit beef OK, but I don't eat protein in huge quantities because I've had my first kidney stone, and I don't want to do anything to make another one anytime soon.  I've also been told calcium supplements contribute to kidney stone production. I suppose I'll have to keep drinking milk. It's weird, I don't know how the body can tell the difference, but it can. It uses calcium appropriately when it comes in the food you eat and drink, but if it's in pill form, it goes to the bloodstream and helps the kidneys make stones.  I can tolerate chocolate milk, so I suppose that will become my new favorite beverage.

The crazy lady replied OK when I told her to please leave me alone. I hope she means it. I still don't know what it was about, but as long as it's over, most things are well if they end well.

I'll spend tomorrow night at my aunt's and uncle's house near the lab, If I sleep decently Tomorrow night, I'll drive home Wednesday.Otherwise, I'll need to wait until Thursday. My friend from high school will arrive here on Thursday. We're going to do a few aquatic things, as she doesn't attend college near the ocean and wants to take advantage of the access.

After this week, I still have two more weeks to kill, and only about ten more hours to put in at the lab. that gives me high-quality practice time.  If I were more industrious, I'd look for a way to earn a bit of money, but I don't want to work. I'm an industrious student but , overall, a rather lazy human being.  one can only go so far against one's natural instincts.

taking the day off, though not by my choice; near drowning

It's not I, but accurately depicts how I look tonight/this morning.

I'm not going in to the lab  today. It's an hour's drive on the freeway, or mostly freeway (US101 is a highway in a few places), and my mom said I cannot safely make the drive  at 7:30 if I'm still awake at 6:00 in the morning. I could go, as I'm 18, but I'm living in my parents' home, so I need to follow their rules.   I'm not the defiant type, anyway. I really think I'd be OK, but I can't go and it's final.

My mom asked if anything is bothering me. I told her about the Internet problems She said just to block the lady of I could, and to ignore her otherwise, and as far as the author, she probably has better things to do than to worry about the accuracy of anything I did or didn't write, but that I should be cautious. I thought I was being cautious and relying on the horse's own mouth in terms of things that the authors or the author's siblings had said in books. She said the author has to have better things to do, but if I can think of anything I might have posted that might have been the impetus, I might want to remove it.

All we have to do is put in our required number of hours, and I'm ahead on my hours anyway. We have five days that we can call in before we're put on any sort of probation, and I haven't used any. If my dad calls, they'll take the excuse seriously and I won't even get any mental black marks next to my name.

I hate to waste the day. Once I go to sleep and wake up, I can do what I want, because my dad isn't lying and saying I'm sick. I'll probably hang out with Jillian's extended family, many of whom are here from Florida for an anniversary party for Jillian's parents. There are lots of babies and really little kids. Jared's Aunt Brooke is bringing her six little girls, and Jared's mom is bringing her children except for Jared, who doesn't want to hang out with a horde of little kids. Alyssa, my friend who is Jared's cousin, is here. we'll help keep tabs on the children together,  They'll go to the zoo while I'm asleep, but later they'll go to the park and to the beach.

My Aunt Ilianna and Uncle Jerry's  neighbors nearly lost their 20-month old daughter to a drowning accident. Her mom was going to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. The baby's father was doing something with the pool for just a minute while the baby was playing with toys in the family room. He left the gate unlatched because he was going back out. The baby, Roxanna, can open the safety latch on the sliding glass door and she did. She walked right out and into the pool. The father walked through the house to the garage to get a tool, then walked back and saw the sliding glass door opened. He screamed and the 3-year-old was so smart that she got up out of bed (she was sick) and called 911. She carried the phone downstairs to see what was going on and was able to tell the dispatcher that the baby had fallen into the pool and that daddy was getting her out.

The baby was probably in the water a total of about two minutes. The dad started CPR immediately, and the paramedics were there in about seven minutes.

She wasn't conscious for about eleven hours, but then she woke up. She's walking and talking. She should be released from the hospital this morning. There's no guarantee that there won't be some learning disability down the road, but from all appearances, the child is fine and no neurological damage was detected. Their pool isn't heated and has a lot of shade from trees, and they live in kind of a fog pit, so their pool is somewhat cold..That may have worked to the child's advantage. Whatever the situation turns out to be, they're lucky she even survived. If she has difficulty learning to read, they'll deal with it.

We don't even have children at our house most of the time, and we keep our pool locked unless one of us is in it or lying on  recliner beside it, just in case someone with kids comes over and we don't think to lock it when they arrive.  If you actually have kids, you have to be even more careful. I don't suppose Roxanna's father will ever make that mistake again. Their baby had been given one round of swimming lessons, but there is no such thing as drown-proofing a baby or very young child.

I suppose maybe I can go to sleep if I don't have to try so hard. I'd rather go to work, but I don't have the option.

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Spookiness on the Internet

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Spookiness on the Internet: This picture is intended merely to epitomize the spookiness that is out there on the Internet, and has no basis in reality in my life or,...

Spookiness on the Internet

This picture is intended merely as a metaphor for the spookiness that is out there on the Internet, and has no basis in reality in my life or, I hope, in anyone else's.

Sleep eludes me.  It's pointless to lie awake and stare at the minute-by-minute movement of the clock on my cable box.  I wish I had something profound to share.

A crazy lady has been bugging me on Twitter and telling me I'm mean to old opeople and that I must be Judge Alex's wife and that Judge Alex hacked into some account of hers and continues to do so on a regular basis and she can tell all of this by his shaky voice and by mine, which she's never heard unless she's a person I know in my real life, in which case she would know I'm not married to Judge Alex or anyone else. She said all sorts of other crazy stuff. I told the crazy lady, who may not even be a lady, that I'm an eighteen-year-old and I want her to leave mealone. i think you can block people from twitter, can't you? I'll check it out. She probably lives in Wasilla, Alaska or something and is no danger to me, but I'll err on the side of caution.

I did have an experience I'm not supposed to discuss much, but i had communication online with a child predator when I was in eighth grade. I never gave him enough information to find him to locate me; I was only outed when the feds were using fake identities to out child predators, and they and I came into contact with the same one. My contact with him was perfectly innocent until he sent a lewd picture, at which time I deleted the particular email and MySpace account (this was inthe olden days). Six months later when the feds caught up with him, they showed up at my school. It was totally dramatic,  and the school tried to blame me for having violated district technology policy,  but I never contacted this guy or anyone else I wasn't authorized to contact using school computers.  It was all on a  home computer, and all the guy and I talked about was the LSAT until he sent the inappropriate picture, and I deleted the account.  I will admit  way after the fact that I used a proxy server to bypass the district's filter, but everyone I know was doing the same thing, and it was only to access mostly sites I needed for research that were blocked, and a few sites I wanted just for pleasure, but that were not even pG-13.  If it had been something truly wrong that I did, the fact that almost everyone else did it would not have excused it in anyway, but what I did was harmless. For all I know, others may have acccessed hard-core porn using the proxy servers. I think districts have a little better handle on who is accessing proxy servers now, but back then, they had no way of tracking it. Anyway,  I know from my past experience that bad guys lurk out there, but I'm a little more savvy now about avoiding them than I was then, even though back then, I did OK. I just should have let my parents know about the picture so they could have alerted the proper authorities, which might have averted the mid-day visit from the FBI at school.

(The school had a really tough time processing that I was never a suspect; the feds wanted to ensure that I wasn't victimized.  It took two agents a long time to convinced the district that I wasn't a suspected terrorist, which was your tax dollars and mine at work.)

Additionally, a quasi-celebrity and author, whom I will not name nor give out any key words that might trigger this in a google search, but Becca or Knotty might guess with a few cryptic terms such as eating disorder and evangelical Christianity, sent me a Tweet PM. It freaked me a bit, as I wasn't sure what this person was talking about, and I certainly don't want to he sued if this person thinks I said something that was inaccurate. I deleted myself as a Twitter follower of this person, which I hadn't been of this person for long. It spooked, me, though.  I'll change my password just in case I've been hacked and someone wrote something to her on my account. I was hacked once before. Then I start wondering if, in a really tired state,  I Tweeted the person a question or comment, and the PM back  to me was perfectly innocent.  Since I deleted the person, I don't think any Tweet I might have sent the person would show up now.   I don't think I do a lot of sleep-tweeting, though. I still wonder what brought it on, and I'm a little scared. part of the problem is that I really don't understand Twitter's workings all that well. I've never spent enough time on it to know anything but the most basic workings.

I have to leave to drive to my [unpaid] lab job at 7:30 this morning. I'll stay at my aunt's and uncle's house until Wednesday late afternoon. My good friend is coming then, and she'll be here until Sunday. We'll have silly times , which will get my mind off Internet scariness.

I'd rather not do my job asleep on my feet tomorrrow, although no one's life would depend on it if I did, as this lab does not let anyone's diagnosis rest on the opinion of an unpaid intern with no degree.

Happy Labor Day, everyone. 

Judge Alex's Inferiority Complex

Judge Alex Ferrer

Pinterest didn't like the previous photo. We'll see if we have more luck with this one.

Judge Alex Ferrer recently visited an art show or art gallery or something of that nature.  If His Honor is not exaggerating his lack of artistic talent or being overly modest, it seems that he is not particularly gifted in the area  of visual arts, and his visit to the art show or gallery highlighted his lack of artistic ability. It is therefore time to restore Judge Ferrer's sense of self esteem

Judge Ferrer came to the U.S. as an infant. His brother were older, and presumably (especially the oldest of the three brothers) began  mastery of the the English language as Judge Alex was just beginning  to speak. The Judge's parents were probably also eager to learn English or to perfect existing English language skills, so they likely relied on the oldest brother's emerging language skills to master or perfect English themselves. At the same time, Spanish would have been spoken in the home as well. The judge's grandparents probably spoke only Spanish.  

It's a great thing to be able to speak two languages, and the more fluently, the better. At the same time, I know because my mother worked as a school psychologist for most of my life, and parents tend to bring their work home with them mentally if not physically,  that many children in such situations become caught between the two languages being spoken in the home and fail to master either language fully. They develop language disorders that slow their development of fluency in either language, which greatly interferes with the ability to read and write, and often even seeps over into the logistical / mathematical side of learning. In any event, my mother says, one of the major causes of learning disabilities in today's students is the quandary of being caught between languages and failing to become fluent in either language.

For whatever reason, this did not happen to Judge Ferrer. Perhaps he was just smarter than the average baby caught in such a situation, and maybe Chinese and Norwegian could have been thrown into the mix as well, and he still would have come out in a linguistically strong position. Perhaps his parents were smarter than the average parents and handled the language acquisition  carefully. Maybe they ensured that he mastered one language before allowing another language to be spoken in the home, or maybe they simply spoke either Spanish or English, and did not mix the two in a given conversation.  Either he was very linguistically gifted  or his parents  managed his language acquisition perfectly, or both. Tens of thousands of nearly-one-year-olds speaking a language other than English enter this country yearly. Most do not grow up to be judges, either in real life, on television, or both.

Judge Ferrer probably could have become an athlete -- perhaps a football player -- unless his build has changed drastically since  he was young. In his day, 170 to 180 pounds spread over  a 6'1" frame probably would have been ideal for a high school defensive back or a safety. If he had much of a throwing arm, he might have been a quarterback. His build also might have allowed him to become a skilled tennis player. Instead, he spent his free time working and studying. He worked at a gas station in high school, beginning at the age of fifteen, gradually earning more responsibility at the job and presumably higher wages. He learned not to spend everything he earned.

His persistence eventually persuaded someone in charge to allow him to enter a police academy at the age of eighteen -- while he was still wearing braces that he probably paid for at least in part with his own earnings. He completed police academy and worked  for the Coral Gables Police Department at the age of nineteen, which made him at the time the youngest police officer in the State of Florida.  His parents advised him to continue his education, because being a police officer might not be what he would want to do for the rest of his life.  

Judge Ferrer juggled his schedule and took classes at whatever college in the area worked for him at a given time, depending upon his work schedule as a police officer. He plodded on until he earned a bachelor's degree. Then, with sufficiently high GPA and LSAT scores, he was admitted to the prestigious University of Miami School of Law, where he was a published member of the school's Law Review. He earned his Juris Doctorate and practiced civil law  until he ran for and was elected to the post of Circuit Court Judge in the Eleventh Court judicial Circuit. I believe he was the first Cuban-American in the jurisdiction to be elected to a judicial post.  In this position, he presided over many high profile cases.

Judge Ferrer asked that his name be removed from consideration by then-Governor Jeb Bush for a seat in Florida's Third District Court of Appeal. (He was the only unanimously recommended candidate for this position.) Soon thereafter,  "Judge Alex, " a syndicated small claims courtroom show, premiered on September 12, 2005. Eight years later, the show continues its run.  

Jude Ferrer has been married to the same lovely woman since the late 1980's. He has two children, one of whom is [I think] in law school. The other is completing his undergraduate degree. Both of his children are, from all accounts, law-abiding citizens. Much credit for his children's success in life in general  and lack of trouble with school or the law likely belongs to their mother, yet Judge Ferrer, too, undoubtedly deserves a share of the accolades.
 
Judge Ferrer tragically lost two brothers in adolescence and young adulthood, one to Type I Diabetes and another to lymphoma.  As his parents' only surviving offspring, he assists them when necessary, accompanying them to doctors' appointments, helping them to make car purchases, killing bugs which sometimes turn out not to be bugs, and other such tasks for which elderly parents who are fortunate enough to have dutiful children rely upon those children.

Judge Ferrer earned his pilot's license in his teens. He plays the bass. He plays golf. He scuba dives. He runs marathons. He has an almost unparalleled sense of humor. Other TV judges may be funny at times, but not as consistently as is Judge Ferrer. An honorable aspect to his wit is his sense of self-deprecation. (His bailiffs, too, are fodder for his humor, but it seems that they understand such comes with the job.) His litigants bear the brunt of his jokes only when they earn it either with ignorance too blatant to be overlooked or with disrespect. In terms of repeated disrespect from litigants, he responds not with humor, but by throwing the litigants and their cases out of his courtroom. His courtroom is consistently  in order except for the times the audience is laughing uproariously at hysterically funny comments the judge has made.

Judge Ferrer does not draw well. His artwork, it seems, is limited to stick figures. Neither does he play the violin nor the piano.  Does anyone really feel sorry for this man because of his flagrant lack of talent? 

I didn't think so.

The End of Summer

Wouldn't it be nice?

The Beach Boys had a CD or album or whatever entitled "Endless Summer." Except for those living in desert or highly humid climates, wouldn't it be positively transcendent?

I have about three-and-a-half-weeks before resuming classes. As much as I'd love to spend it in drunken revelry, there's too much practicing to be done for me to wake up hung over every morning, or even any morning. I do have my internship as well on which to concentrate. I'm trying to actually get something out of it, as opposed to putting in the required time and being finished with it. Additionally,  it would be nice to enter medical school with a solid background in something and even a vague idea of the branch of medicine which I might ultimately desire to follow, although there's much time to decide and plenty of opportunities for me to change my mind.

I am having a little pleasure time before the grind of school hits. One of my high school friends is coming and spending three days next week. Her university starts the following week, and her summer job wraps up on Labor Day.

I've been at the pseudorelatives' home since Tuesday.  I've helped pseudoaunt out with some legal work, as well as helped her with details concerning a project. Other than that, I've mostly practiced my instruments. The pseudorelatives have a very nice piano I can practice, and Jillian genuinely seems not to mind if I practice in the daytime. She doesn't even mind the violin practice, although I mostly go into my bedroom and close the door to reduce the impact while practicing the violin. The sound of the violin is a little less mellow than that of the piano, and I don't wish to be an obnoxious guest. 

Because Scott works long and hard days, I do not play at night unless he specifically requests that I do so. Each night he's asked to hear a particular piano piece and a particular violin piece. He's accompanying me on the three violin pieces that require piano accompaniment.

On piano, he's wanted to hear Chopin's Fantaisie Impromptu, Billy Joel's Fantasies and Illusions, and Handel's The Harmonious Blacksmith.

In regard to Fantaisie Impromptu, he said it's as close to  perfect as it will ever be, and I should continue to play through it two to three times a week, but anymore might make the performance perfunctory and routine. 

In regard to the Billy Joel piece, he said the basics are all in place, and it's impressive that it's already memorized (I handed him the music to each of my pieces when I played them). He said I need to work on dynamics, pacing, and making it not sound just like the recording Billy on Billy Joel's CD but making it more my own. 

He said The Harmonious Blacksmith is quite polished, but that I have two approaches to consider. One is that it was written by Handel in an era in which keyboards had no damper pedals and no ability to vary dynamics. Everything was at one volume, which could not be altered. Some people play it that way on the piano. On the other hand, he said, and which I already knew, Handel was an innovator. If he'd had access to a damper pedal and a keyboard that would play as loudly or as softly as he wanted it to, he would have taken full advantage of that technology. The common school of thought is that a compromise is the way to approach Handel (or Bach) keyboard works. Use modest dynamic changes, and make light use of the damper pedal when necessary. According to Scott, this is wishy-washy. He said that light use of the damper pedal is appropriate, as it always is, as he thinks it's a cover-up for poor fingering. Regarding dynamics, however, he believes, that Handel would have made full use of them. He said that I should use them freely, and that he is willing to give me his opinion of where the variations should occur, but that he wanted to hear my interpretation first. I'll play it for him again sometime next week. He also said that I should consider performing the piece on harpsichord rather than piano. I had thought of it, but I'm concerned about the size of the rehearsal hall and if it would be heard in the back rows. It would be easy enough to try it out.

Each night we've played through one of the pieces on which he will accompany me for my recital. He said he's in no position to critique my playing of the violin. We just don't know how many opportunities we'll have to practice together, so it's  a good idea to play together when the opportunity is available.

My parents are arriving at LAX in the 9:00 range tomorrow, although with a flight from New Zealand by way of Australia and Hawaii, many variables are present. I'm picking them up, and they're even trusting me with my mom's car. I'm prepared to hang out at the airport for awhile and, if absolutely necessary, get a hotel room. They told me to arrive thirty minutes after their scheduled arrival time (which means, if I'm going to beat traffic, that I'll have to hang out in a restaurant for an hour or two) with the hope that everything is on schedule and they can just meet me outside with their luggage. If such is the case, they'll call me on my cell phone so I'll know to drive directly to the pick-up site and not go to short-term parking. I hope a hotel stay isn't necessary, as a social event at which my parents should be present happens tomorrow night. Please pray or send positive wishes in terms of flights leaving and arriving on schedule.  I'm leaving very early in the morning to beat traffic. If the flight is delayed a bit, I can triple wrap my purse strap around my arms and legs and tuck the purse itself into a place where it cannot be accessed without my waking up, then curl up and go to sleep near their baggage carousel.

They've been gone two weeks. I've missed them more than I thought I would, although I am accustomed to their taking extended summer trips. This summer's trip was actually short in comparison to most. They'd already seen a good deal of Australia when their trip was abruptly interrupted by my car accident last summer. They saw the remainder of Australia that they wanted to see, then headed to New Zealand.  They liked it enough that they said they'll take me next year for a college graduation present if I want.

Have a fun and safe Labor Day weekend.

#

Going Greek

Go Greek . .  . Then again, maybe don't.

I've practiced violin until my fingers are almost ready to fall off. Enough is enough. I've practiced piano even more.I need to practice a bit less in the next few days. One can over-practice and over-learn, which can result in a mechanical sound from the musician. Where violin is concerned, I'd love for that to be my biggest problem. Having violin music that is too well-prepared would be, for me anyway, a nice problem to have.

I  was thinking about fraternities and sororities today. Some people may have fond memories of them, but still I cannot help being struck by the somewhat insidious nature of the whole system.  The girls in many sororities elevate snobbishness to a whole new, previously unseen level..

 I had one class my first year -- introductory biochemistry -- that had quite a few frat rats and their female sorority counterparts. It was to be taught by a  new associate professor. This may have given the Greek system students the feeling of a bit more power than they otherwise might have had.  It's as though they took over the classroom. Even though it was my first official course, I'd been on campus in the previous semester for music lessons. There were girls in that class among the sorority girls who would be perfectly friendly to me in other settings, but once we walked through the door of that classroom, it was as though they'd never before seen me  in any of our entire lives. They had mapped out about two-thirds of the seats in the classroom for themselves and their own kind. If a non-Greek sat in one of those seats, he or she would be told to move. I unknowingly , on my very first day of classes as a university student, made the mistake of sitting in one of those chairs. "Get up, bitch," was the response I received from a sorority girl.  "It's not your seat."

Still being clueless, I responded to the girl, who was sitting two rows away, that it was the first session of class and we didn't know yet if we would have assigned seats. (I assumed we wouldn't because it seemed like sort of a high school thing. This was less than a year after my restroom attack, so I was a little scared, but doubted anyone would actually beat me up over this.) The girl told me that the seat was reserved for a fraternity or sorority member -- apparently they dislike even the non-Greeks even more than they dislike those from rival frats or sororities, sort of like Alexander Hamilton  hated Thomas Jefferson but hated Aaron Burr even more -- and that at the rate I was going, my chances of being rushed were diminishing by the second even had I had any desire to join up with the Greeks, which I most definitely did not.

I told her that I really didn't feel like moving.  She glared at me and whispered to each succeeding person who entered who appeared to have Greek affiliation.  No one stuck up for me, but no one said anything to me, either.

Then the professor entered. Before he said a word, a girl who was tall, thin, bespectacled -- the prototypical serious student. -- raised her hand. "Excuse me, Dr. Brum," she said. "There seems to be some confusion here.  The fraternity and sorority members have some reason to believe they can reserve a large block of seats for people who belong to fraternities and sororities.  Is that an established policy in your class?"

The professor looked at her quizzically. Some frat rats and sorority members looked uncomfortable, while other looked smug.

"No," the professor responded,  "It most definitely isn't." Some of the Greek sytem affiliates appeared  possibly to be trying to indimidate the professor with stares. He stared right back.

"I think with this class,"  the professor continued, "just for my convenience, we'll sit in alphabetical order. That will make it easier on days when I choose to take roll."

"You take attendance?" one sorority girl groaned, while another whined, "This is so 'high school.' "

"Yes, it certainly is,"  the professor responded. "If you choose to act like you're in high school, my only option is to treat this like a high school class."

"Im outa here, " one frat rat announced as he took his belongings and left. Two others followed.

"I'd love to to drop," I heard a sorority girl mutter, "but I need this class to graduate and can't put it off any longer."

The professor called out each name on his roll sheet, and pointed to the seat he designated for the student. The sorority girls and frat rats glared as they were called to move. The non- Greeks just moved to the designated seats with no obvious expression or emotion.

The profesor took a few notes on a piece of paper, apparently in relation to  the assigned seating arrangement. "There are are univeristies who segregate or discriminate, legally or otherwise, on all sorts of bases. This university isn't one of them. If you have a problem with that, come to see me during my office hours," he said, "which are listed on the course syllabus I'm handing out now. If you can't deal with non-discriminatory policies, I'll give you a list of universities and colleges that do practice official if illegal discimination."   He continued. "If you choose to remain in this class anyway, you'll sit where I tell you to sit, and you'll speak when I tell you to speak, and if I don't like what I hear coming from your mouth, I'll tell you to shut up, and you will."

Only about ten of the original seventeen or so Greek system students stayed in the class, which altered the dynamics significantly. Having the Greek system students become a minority in the classroom significantly changed the dynamics of the class. They weren't bold enough to act as though they owned the place when they comprised maybe one-third of the class, and it was soon impossible just by visual scan to tell the Greeks from the Romans or anyone else. Strangest of all, they began speaking to the rest of us as though there was no actual class distinction.

It was an enlightening experience to me. I came to the university  from another university town -- an area of modest wealth but of high educational level among the adults in the community. If a snob empire existed there, and it probably did to some degree, it would have been based on everyone's parents' levels of education and not on family finances.  This was my introduction to the idea that how much money one's parents had stowed away  had any correlation with how one might be seen and treated by his or her peers. I, for one, refuse to be pushed around by the frat and sorority members and will continue to refuse to be intimidated in any way by them. I'm seeing my peers grow increasingly less bothered by the snobbishness of the Greek system. Its members are, to me anyway, irrelevant on our campus, and it seems to me that others feel that way as well.

more philosophical than usual

What can you tell people who already know everything?

My Uncle Michael picks up mail at my house when everyone who normally lives at my house it out of town. We have a locked mailbox, for any thieves who are reading and who actually know where I live, but those things eventually fill up, and one never knows when one will have an especially heavy mail day.  My Uncle Michael and his family came here to my Uncle Steve' s for dinner tonight, and he brought a few pieces of mail that were addressed to me. Most were credit card offers, but one was from my old high school.  It was with much curiosity that I opened it.

It was an invitation to give a brief (10-minute) address to the graduates at the 2014 commencement ceremony of my high school alma mater. Thinking back, because I attended a few ceremonies other than my own due to playing piano for the choir or playing in band or because a relative was graduating, it is neither the norm nor the exception to have a speaker besides the graduate speakers. The year I graduated, there was not one. I didn't attend commencement ceremonies my junior year because I was wheel-chair-bound and practically in a body cast. my sophomore, I believe some guy who had attended our high school and had gone to MITspoke.

Why they would want me is one of life's great mysteries. They said it's because my university reported to them that I'm definitely in the top ten of graduates for 2014 even though I'm finishing in three years. (The triple major with a minor figures into my being in the top ten graduates.) The reason may also have had to do with some of the adversity I faced at the high school. Perhaps at some point they'll comunicate to me that they want the focus of my speech to be overcoming adversity or some such thing. I hope they don't tell me that, because it is not a subject which I would choose as a theme for an address.

I didn't even speak at my own graduation even though I was the #1 valedictorian. Instead, I wrote the speech and let the #2 valedictorian, my brother, give it. I wish we could do it that way again, as I'm a decent speechwriter, and Matthew's a gifted public speaker. He's probably wasting his talents in medicine, and maybe should go into politics instead, but he says he has a chance to  accomplish something good in the world if he goes into medicine. I respect his point of view. He won't be the world's most brilliant doctor, but he will be thorough, hard-working, compassionate, and will have studied hard and will continue to update his education. I suppose the patients who have him for a doctor someday will be lucky.

I must give these people a decision. My gut reaction is to say no. My second gut reaction is to go there and to say something a bit controversial. (The speech I wrote for Matthew was controversial, but it was delivered so perfectly that it was never clear whether the occasional slam at the institution was serious or in jest.) I don't have that skill as a speaker. If I wrote the sort of speech for myself to give, I would be booed. I won't do that.

It will be at a time before my own finals, but after all recital and projects had been done. I would recommend Matthew for the job, be he'll be in the middle of a baseball season and won't be able to skip out on anything just for a measly high school commencement ceremony. It's either do it myself, or not at all.

In making the decision, I must consider what if anything I have to say to the graduates that would be of benefit to them.  Will they listen? Will it make a difference? If not, it's pointless, unless I can put it on my medical school resume far before the fact. If it would be impressive to a selection panel, it might be worth doing even if I might be mediocre. I won't be terrible, because I'm too meticulous and OCD to walk up there and have nothing to say. I'd hate to be mediocre, though.

It came to me that my words don't have to be my words alone. I have just over eight months to come up with a high school keynote address.  In that time, I can get words of wisdom from a lot of people I know. Even my own father, when he's polished off a Guinness or two, sometimes has profound things to say. My Uncle Scott is articulate and very deep, and funny as well. My Aunt Jillian is a brilliant writer. I could possibly gather material, have have Aunt Jillian write a draft, and then turn it into my own.

What do I have to say to the graduates at my old high school?  It's an extremely educated community, and 95% of the graduates are probably going off to 4-year colleges. Perhaps there's something that needs to be said to the remaining 5%.  The reasons why they're not going to 4-year institutions are, unless they really desire to pursue a trade,  probably financial. They're smart enough to graduate from a really competitive high school, but not sufficiently spectacular (or maybe didn't study quite diligently enough) to have scored any major scholarships among a graduating class that's roughly as competitive as any public high school in the nation. It's like a private school except no one pays any tuition.  Their parents  won't or more likely can't foot the bill. Their parents may make too much for them to qualify for financial assistance based on need, but not enough to help them significantly with college expenses, Those students need to know that if college is for them, that when they graduate ultimately from whatever four-year  school at which they end up, no med school or law school will care that they did time on a JC campus as long as their GPAs and MCATs or LSATs are sufficiently high.  There is no shame in having attended a community college. Anyone who would suggest otherwise is a snob whose opinion does not matter.  It goes without saying that I would never discuss during the speech why anyone is or isn't going to a four-year-college. I would merely insist that a quality education can be obtained there for a fraction of the cost of that they would've paid at a four year school for the same thing, and that if they go on to succeed at a four-year school, in the grand scheme of things, time spent on a junior or community college campus will not be a detriment to their future.

What would I tell the other 95% ?    I'd love to give the student body my opinions of frats and sororities, but they and their parents have made up their minds on that issue, and nothing I can say will sway anyone's opinions. If there is a subtle way to work in the idea that they're no longer in junior high, and that the purpose for affiliating with Greek associations should not be to make others feel inferior about themselves, I would like to find it and convey that thought.  I would also tell the students to be cautious, especially if one is a female, at parties, and especially at fraternity parties. I'd remind them about not drinking anything they didn't open themselves, and not to leave a drink unguarded for a second.  I'd tell them to go to a party with one or more other people, and not to leave or stay without all of the people with whom they arrived.  I would tell them that a close friend of mine who didn't follow that rule was drugged and raped at a fraternity party. I know it would be a buzzkill  to hear such a thing at  graduation, but were it to prevent even one future rape, it would be well worth it.

I would advise them not to take an 8:00 a.m. class their freshman year. College is hard enough without significantly damaging one's GPA as a freshman just because a person took a course that was too early when he or she didn't have mom or dad to prod him or her out of bed and on to class.  After freshman year, a student should have a decent handle on whether or not the early class is workable, but don't risk it as a freshman.

If your math or science comes with a tutorial section, TAKE IT, I would telll them.  Students may think they've been so well-prepared or are so naturally brilliant that they don't need the extra help tutorial sections offers, but they'll be surrounded by well-prepared and naturally brilliant competition. Take the tutorial whenever it's offered.

I would advise them not to miss a deadline on an assignment. Once one does it, it gets easier and easier. Don't miss class unless one is legitimately 103-degree-fever-and-contagious sick. Even if you have a note from the health center excusing you, the note is worth about as much as the paper on which it's printed, and it's probably not printed on a hundred-dollar bill.  Professors don't care. Some don't take attendance either, and a student may think he or she can get the class notes from someone else. That's certainly better than nothing, but notes from the best note-taker on campus are not as good as actually sitting through the lecture. If one is lucky enough to get that great note-taker to study or share with you even when one has been in class, go for it. Some people have uncanny instincts in terms of what's going to turn up on a test, and or what a professor wants to hear. If one of such people is willing to study with a person,  it would behoove him or her to give up the move you were going to watch and put in the time studying. Mainly, though, go to class.

Speaking of what a professor wants to hear, I've said before and will say again, in subjective courses, every professor has something he or she wants to hear.  One should learn to unlock that professor's "truth" as early in the course as possible, and be creative about restating it to him or her in as many ways possible. There are many ways, times, and places, to be true to oneself and one's beliefs. A subjective college course is not one of them.  Find out what a professor wants to hear, and tell it to him or her. That, and doing so in an articulate manner, is the secret to succeeding in subjective college courses. Don't feel that doing such is compromising one's values; a person has a whole lifetime to be true to yourself. This just isn't the time for it.

A student should not purchase any papers. Especially avoid the Internet for that purpose. A student's only chance of not getting caught is if the paper was written right in front of him or her by a close friend or relative. (At that point, why not just do it yourself?) Otherwise, that paper was turned in before and is  in a database, and the student will be caught.

How does one verbalize in a non-cliche manner the cliche yet essential truth that college can and should be fun, but one is there to study and to get an education? It's as true as ever it was, but the closer one's college is to the beach, the harder it seems to be to follow such advice.  Yet young people have heard it too many times already, don't want to hear it again, and don't think it applies to them.Would a slide presentation in that regard be effective along the vein of a picture being worth a thousand words?

The street closest to the beach in the off-campus community  here  is inhabited mostly by former students or marginal students who once had high hopes of graduating but are now going to need serious rehab and probably to return to colleges closer to home if they ever hope to complete a bachelor's degree. The street by the beach is the rough equivalent of Bourbon Street during the Mardi Gras, except that it is that way on any given weekday at 1:00 P.M.  It only gets worse on nights and weekends. Should I just walk up to the partiers along that street after snapping their pictures,  and see how many are willing to share their transcripts with me, redacting names, of course? Many are drunk enough  at any given moment  that they'd agree to just about anything. Would this convince students that fun is essential to college life, but one can have too much of a good thing? Or is that something every college or university student must learn on his own, hopefully before it's too late, and are words and even pictures futile?

What can I or anyone say to these young people that will inspire them, yet not create a false sense of hope? That will warn them, yet not paralyze them and their parents with fear? Now that I'm almost out of here, I know that both good and bad lurks around every corner; what can I possibly say that will help them navigate their way through the bad and toward the good? It seems futile. Do I even try?

In the end, I think my best bet, if I do this at all,  would be to entertain the students with a few mildly funny stories that makesome of my more essntial points, and to insert  a few truths in such a discreet way that the students don't realize they've been given advice. People who already know everything do not like to be given advice.

Still obsessing on recital attire, and "Surrender, Dorothy"

The color of the blue in the stripes is too light, but seriously, can you imagine if I shouled up at my piano recital in this ensemble. I might actually do it except that A)I need an A for the recital, and B) my mother might go into cardiac arrest. For shoes, I'd probably want Dorothy's ruby slippers. My encore would be something I made up myself on the spot, and I'd entitle it "Surrender, Dorothy."

I still might compose an instrumental piece with that title someday.

Imagining truly outrageous acts is, I think, one of the things that  keeps us from actually doing them.

-emias and -omas

This is a stain of acute erythroid leukemia,which is a rare and aggressive form of acute myeloid leukemia..One of the pathologists showed this to me today when  it came through the lab because it's one of my dad' s  particular subspecialties.

I stayed and worked an extra day o the lab. I didn't want to staywith Scott and Jillian tonight because it was scott's day off today and if they're feeling especially frisky, I don't wish to be in the way. may Aunt heather and Ubcle Steve ddidn't want me driging home tonight, anyway, becuse i ws up late last night.

 I'll stay with them until my parents are home Friday. Scott works all week, and Jillian is only telecommuting, so she probably won't mind the company. I'm sure her cat. Claudia , will be less that thrilled with the Pope's intrusion, but the two of them will have to deal with it. Jillian never minds when I practice piano  or violin. I have my cheap violin with me, but Scott ha a better one that i can play. His dadgot it really cheap when a neighbor was disposing fof th eestate f another relative nd didn't know what it was wirth. scott's dad did't know what it was worth, either, so it's not like he took advantage of the guy.  it's not worht as much as the violin my Godfather picked up for me, but it'll easily do in a pinch.

I don't want summer to send this year. A bit of it was stolen from me when I had the surgery for the adhesions, but still, I've gotten lazy.  I wnt to goto the beach and practice my instruments. I'll go to my internship two or three days of the week, but otherwise I want to tay up late and sleep late. I'm a hedonist at heart.

Someone t the lab asked me axactly what it is my dad dioes fr a living. it changes from stim to time so I was unable to offer a straightforward answer. I know that in general, he looks for cures as opposed to causes, although there's some cross-ver, and that he specializes primarily in two types of leukemia and a particular form of lymphoma, but that he consults on matters related to other keukemias and lymphmas, Anything he finds has ramifications to othe forms of leukemia, lymphoma, and cancer in general. Sometimes he gets stuck in side projects that interefere with his main work, but  he's mostly involved with the curing side of the particular illnesses.

He's never hd a lab in our home for several reasons -- mainly because would it make our home more attractive for drug-related burglaries -- but he has people working around the clock at four different laboratories around the state, and sometimes  he gets up and calls someone at 3:00 a.m. if something in particular occurs to him. He says the end results to some of what he's doing won't come to fruition  until after he's dead and gone, but tht he's laying he grundwork so that whover takes over can find the answers. he's neing overly modest. Some of the answers he obviously hopes to find himself. He's alreday found some  in terms of which forms of chemo get the most mileage and the least damage with treatments for particular forms of the cancers he studies. other answers will coe sooner rather than later. Still his job isn't one for someone who is impatient for instant results, as those instants results not going t come. the Rel world doesn't work the waymost epiodes of House did, all neatly wrapped up in one hour that's mybe supposed to represent a week in real time.

I'm not sure how well-suited I m for something so long-term.  I know  I can live without instant results, but I don't know if I want to work for a number of years toward one smalll aspect of a remedy for a particular form of cancer.  My dad is at least working on more than one thing. That what may be what allows him to survive in the field. Maybe I'm too ADHD for that though people who knew my dad whe he was young say that he was not much less ADHD than I am. You just have to really focus when it counts. Hyperactivity isn't that much of an issue. It's all about focus when focus is important. Maybe I could do that sort of work. I'd have to approach it from a different angle, though. I would want a residency in pathology rather than in hematology or oncology. The nice thing is that it is an option. I could complete a residecny in pathology and, for all intents and purposes, end up doing what my dad is doing now. Sometimes different  roads lead to the same place.