Animal Nutrition

Uh oh. Michael got a scanner! Please beware, this photo is not for the faint of heart. It's a rock python swallowing a full-grown gazelle. Charming, n'est-ce pas? This was taken from a text book on biology in the chapter on Animal Nutrition, as lent to me by Roommate. I was so mortified/mesmerized/horrified/excited by this image, I thought I'd share it with you, too.

Happy Birthday, America.

Hey, how you doin'?

I don't know if I mentioned this, but in about two weeks, I'm off on my first business trip with this new company. I'm going to Mary Land, Gaithersburg-ish/Rockville-ish to be vague. I don't exactly know where the joint is because their website lists one address, and their letterhead says something else.

In any case, the "they" in question is a contract organization currently preparing a final report for our on-going drug submission. In order to speed up the process a little, I'm being sent off for a week-ish to publish the report before it comes to us. I could explain it all to make it make sense, but I won't, so you'll just have to trust me that it does make sense.

I'm looking forward to it. I've never been to Maryland before, and I'll enjoy the heat and the humidity, that's for sure. <sarcasm>You know me, always ready to live in a sauna. That's why when I walked out of my apartment this morning to cool fog across my face, I was like so bummed, you know.</sarcasm> Plus I get to fly JetBlue which is supposed to be really cool. I got a direct return flight from Oakland to Dulles for under $350...and it's not the red-eye! That's way cool. Plus the hotel we're booked in has free high-speed internet for everyone. That's always a plus. Can't stop the internet just because I'm not at home. I'm a geek.

I don't think I'll have time to see the sites of our great capital, though. Wouldn't want to chance a run-in with monkey-brains anyway. What a fucking doofus we have for a commander-in-chief. How does John Edwards compare to Dick Cheney? "Dick Cheney can be president." Well, duh, you stupid fuck! He might as well be president right now. You make me sick. And I'm so a-political, really.

So back to work, I'm here over the weekend. There was a "surprise" revamp of some of the data tables in one of the pivotal studies, and in order to save the time line, I sacrificed my birthday weekend to come in and celebrate in my own special way. I insisted on having off the actual 33rd anniversary of the day of my birth on Monday because it's the only one I get a year, and I'm not wasting it with carpal tunnel, tables, and listings.

I watched all of the episodes of Dead Like Me (I know I keep harping on this show, but it truly is divine, no pun intended), and I forgot how goddamn funny it is. I laughed until I split my gut. Delores Herbig and Roxie make me crack the fuck up. I can't wait to see the new episodes later this month. Hey! Maybe they'll play it on the plane. JetBlue has DirectTV, you know, and if not, maybe the hotel will have Showtime. Maybe that's too much to ask. Oh well.

I wish I had a more interesting life. I would post every day. Wasn't there a time when I did post every day? I know, I'm sad about that, too. Hang in there, maybe it'll happen again one day.

So, I'm at work late...

wandering around the building, going places I don't normally go during the regular work day, checking out the cubes of the people I don't know, trying to glimpse something of their personalities. For the most part, people are very creative with their workspace. That's another refreshing part of this company. They spice it up and show a little leg here and there. I haven't done much with the space I've been given. I'm not the decorating type (Queer Eye be damned), but I would love some plants. I always think that green plants brighten up an area. Anyway, I'm sauntering around, and I peek into one person's cube, a person I try to avoid during daylight hours because she kinda creeps me out, and what do I find? Three, count them, three Buffy calendars and one from Angel. And loads of pics of the big beef from Lord of the Rings (Viggo Mortensen?). It stopped me dead in my tracks. That's the kind of surprise I don't get every day. Now, I wonder how I can play this on Tuesday morning.

I'm too nosy for my own good, really I am.

Happy Big Gulp Day!!

That's all.

Yay!

Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me,
I am now 33,
Happy birthday to me.

Well...

it's about goddamned time they come to their senses. Not like I'm waiting to rush out to the chapel with my boyfriend/fiancé/whatever or anything—mainly because I don't have any one of those—but for crying out loud, aren't there more important things to worry about than a drama of queens and a toolbelt of lesbians who want to get married! Get a life, people!

And no, Rick Santorum, you pompous moron, the future of our country does not hang in the balance because "the future of marriage hangs in the balance." Are these people for real? Are they even paying attention to what Hollywood is doing nowadays? I don't watch the crap, but I hear that there is a reality show coming along that attempts to make spouses unfaithful to each other, tempting each other with extra-marital affairs and shit like that. And they're all worried about a bunch of gays who love each other and want to spend their lives together and enjoy the legal and social benefits of marriage? You stupid mother fucker. Priorities, people! Wake the fuck up already.

That's all, I'm stepping down from the soapbox for the rest of the day, I promise.

Mise-à-jour

OK, I've been meaning to write about this all week...or all month at least, but I've been so busy that I can't find the time to sit and write for any extended period. It really sucks, but it's submission work, and I love the constant busy-ness no matter how much I complain. So keep that in mind.

There's this new director in my department who is as fake as you can get. We'll call her MAC, which I know is an insult to the fabulous cosmetic company and to anyone who wears (or sells) the stuff, and I apologize, but it's fitting. She's got a face that won't die or smear or smudge or crack. It's painted on. And her hair is shellacked into place. The first time I met her she reminded me instantly of matabang kalabaw, who you may remember as being a manager from hell. MK was fake and see-through, she lied about her achievements and her abilities, she stole the credit for good work from her employees and dumped the blame for not-so-good work on her employees. She was a total hosebag. We hate her. MAC is just like that. Always changing her story to match her needs, she can't admit that she's wrong, she can't abide an underling knowing more than she does and exhibiting that knowledge. And what's worse is that, just like matabang kalabaw, she is that sickeningly sweet, fake nice. It's just gross.

Anyway, so I was sitting in the new hire orientation earlier this week listening to some of the senior management talk about their respective departments. There was one person in that group, with whom I've already had a couple of run-ins, who was just as full of bullshit as MAC is. This guy is the associate director of IT, and it's so obvious that he depends on his people knowing more than he does. Now, my former boss used to say that it's a testament to good management when the subordinates know more than the "ordinates"—and I have a hard time understanding that, but whatever—but there comes a time when the "ordinates" really ought to know of which they speak. Orientations like this one, where you're explaining what your department does, really are these times.

And I'm sitting there thinking, "How do I take these fools seriously? Or should I? OK, I shouldn't. So, how do I suffer them gladly or otherwise? Because I can't suffer fools, it's just messed up. I hate suffering fools. And I hate that plaid. What was he thinking? Did his wife dress him? Have you seen his wife? How do I learn to not get upset at having to just smile and nod?"

I know, these are relatively simple questions. You just have to do it. And I'm trying, but I still feel like a little part of me dies everytime I have to smile and nod.

I've had a slight change of plans in my travel going on next week. I was talking with soon-to-be-former boss...oh, right, he's leaving, too. I'm all, WTF, bitch? Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have taken this god forsaken job if you had told me that you were leaving! How rude. He says to come work for the company, not for the person. Bullshit! I knew he was a good boss, I knew he was supportive and educated. I knew that working for him would be cool, and I knew that I could help him with his goals. I didn't give a rat's ass about the company. I mean, I do now, but then it was just another building in Silicon Valley. So, as it happens, the department will be split up between two people, and my little group of one will be under none other than MAC herself. Bitch. I will be livid, screaming from the hills, if that wanker (can women be wankers, too?) has anything to say about my review. That makes me wither even more. No wonder I don't have sex anymore.

So, I'm talking to Muscle Man Boss about the trip, and he asks me where I'm staying. "You're what? Out where? In the sticks? You can't do that! You need to be closer to real people! You're going to be there for a week. You need access to good food...and Dupont Circle!" So he briefly explains what he does on his numerous trips to DC per year, Eagle and all, and suggests that I bite the "bullet" and just stay in the Hyatt in Bethesda. So there, you go, if you need to reach me. I kinda liked the idea of the high-speed Internet access of the Marriott in Gaithersburg, but being on the red line, a mere stone's throw from the nation's capital, seemed to be a little more tolerable. No offense to anyone who lives in Rockville/Gaithersburg, of course. I've never been there, so I can't (and won't) judge it properly until I see it for myself. That's Sunday. I hope I can smile and nod until then.

Out of Left Field

Some people have too much time on their hands. I was pointed to this to watch a very funny political comedy spoof on our two presidential hopefuls. I think this kind of stuff has been around as long as politicians have, but it seems to have reached a new level thanks to the Internet. I thought it was hilarious.

On a completely unrelated topic, I have a couple of questions, probably rhetorical, with regard to Star Wars. In Episode Four, when Obi-Wan Kenobi meets Luke, C3PO, and R2D2 for the first time, Luke mentions that the droids belonged to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan replies that he doesn't remember ever owning a droid, which is clearly a mistake or a lie unless he has forgotten about the droids being part of the early episodes. He's old then, I'll give that to him. Of course, I have to consider that the first three episodes hadn't been "written" at the time of the fourth episode, but I always understood that George Lucas had the entire saga in his mind when he wrote the fourth, fifth, and sixth episodes. Perhaps he just can't be bothered by the minutae like I can. Further to that, in Episode Five, when Han Solo, Princess Leia, Chewbacca, and C3PO are captured on the Cloud City, does Darth Vader not recognize the droid (C3PO) that he built as a child? Granted, we, the viewers, have seen other protocol droids that resemble C3PO in other parts of the movies, but I would think that one would remember the droid that one built from scratch. We can probably dismiss his disregard for the droid as being part of the life that was killed when Darth Vader was born. And again about Darth Vader (who is probaby my favorite character in the story): at the end of Episode Six when Luke severs Darth Vader's light saber hand, he screams and groans in pain. However, in Episode Two, when Anakin has that same hand severed by Count Dooku, it's replaced with a prosthetic arm...a rather narly looking one at that. It would stand to reason that, regardless of what form Darth Vader took from Anakin Skywalker, his right forearm would still be prosthetic, not flesh and blood, so why would Darth Vader react in pain when it was severed again by his son?

These are the things that keep me up late at night.

And do you know how long I fretted and angsted about Luke being Vader's son between the release of The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi? I denied it for so long. I was twelve. I was allowed a certain amount of denial, but for someone of that age, we'll call it innocence of the ways of the world. It was only a couple of years after that that I lost all of that innocence, thankfully.

Thank God for giving us Joseph Campbell. He was a remarkable person.

I'm very excited about the DVD release of the last three episodes of the saga. Like totally excited. I've even preordered it on Amazon, have I mentioned that? And not only that, in the same month of September 2004, my very favorite movie of all time, Dial 'M' for Murder is coming out on DVD, too. I love love love that movie like there's no tomorrow. When I was stationed in Monterey (as opposed to just living there as a civilian), the now-demolished Dream Theatre showed Dial 'M' in its original 3D. I never knew that it was a 3D movie, and it makes total sense as to why some of the shots are at such odd angles. I know that Alfred Hitchcock was fairly creative when it came to his movies, but some scenes are a little weird. When I saw the show in 3D, it all made sense.

Today's Friday, and I'm so busy for the rest of the weekend and through next week. I don't remember a time when I've had so much to do and so little time to do it all. I'm looking forward to the trip, though. It should be fun.

Misty, Watercolored Memories

Reading the first paragraph of this entry from the Cutie Down South reminded me of a memory that I cherish to this day. When I was in the Navy, I was only 19. My roommate at the time was my age, the big queer (BQ). His boyfriend on base was in the Army, an older man (OM). OM used to go to the After Dark, Monterey's gay bar at the time. Even though the two were "in love," BQ was intensely jealous of OM and his frequent trips to the bar. One night, BQ tried to weasel his way into the bar with a fake ID he got from who knows where. The door staff at the After Dark were a little more quick than that, and they quickly denied him entrance. That enraged BQ. He came back to the barracks fuming at how he was humiliated and how his fake ID was confiscated. He's lucky he wasn't arrested by the paranoid Monterey police, let alone discharged for being a big ’mo. (That would come later.) Our mutual friend Marge (not his real name) and I tried to persuade him to give it a rest. It was not a good idea to try to infiltrate the gay bar, especially when we all had so much on the line. We tried to convince him that OM wasn't really all that, and if he were fooling around, well, who cared? We were all young; there would be plenty of time for true love and all that.

Anyway, after the big refusal, he went back down to the bar and this time circumvented the front door and ID check and went around to the back of the bar, scaled the wall of the bar, and dropped in on the Back Lot. It wasn't as graceful as that, either. No James Bond moves, no Catwoman twisting around to land on her feet, just a silly, inexperienced queen trying to one-up the man who was cheating on him.

The Back Lot was the best part of the bar, if you could say there was a "best part." It was an outside, garden-like attachment to the main bar. There were two fire pits that provided heat on those cold summer nights, and freedom from the annoying steam/mist/fog machines in the front of the place. The plants and bushes provided for discreet places for people to revist their last meals should the need arise and if the head was occupied. I speak from experience and don't know what use anyone can make of this little tidbit.

Anyway, that night, BQ found OM in conversation with something else, and BQ went off in a rage. He started screaming and yelling and name-calling and everything else undignified and unbecoming of such a Southern belle. He was promptly escorted off the premises and ordered never to return, regardless of his age.

Because I wasn't there, I only know of this from BQ and other queer sailors who were there at the time. DLI was a hot bed of gays, I'm sure I've mentioned this before. The Navy barracks alone were like a bathhouse: leave your door ajar, and sooner or later someone would bite. I kid, although, it could happen, I'm sure.

Somehow, the two of them made amends, both chose to leave the service, and moved in together in Monterey. I didn't keep in touch with them too much. I never liked OM. I had plenty of reasons not to, and maybe I'll share them at a later time. Last I heard of OM, he OD'd on Benadryl (if that's even possible, and how tacky if it is). As for BQ, he moved back to Louisiana, whence he came, and went back to school. Good for her.

BQ gave me lots of good, sordid memories while we were at DLI. I think of him fondly, and almost wish that we were still in touch with each other. But then again, I have enough drama in my life to make up for the loss.

Without getting all sentimental and philosophical, I think it's incredible how so many of us have such similar life experiences. Sometimes it's like we all have the same obstacle course to run in life and it's cool to see how others solved the same problems, or perhaps how we could have done it different or better.

Our Nation's Capital

I'm having a ball in Bethesda. It's hot and humid as fuck, and tonight I was treated to an awesome display of Mother Nature, the kind we just miss out on in sunny California. There was a big, brightly lit thunderstorm tonight. It was great. I sat in my room for a while, the lights off, my wine poured, watching the lightening, hearing the rain hit the windows. It was great. Then the satellite TV went out, and I had to retreat to the high-speed Internet connection of the lounge off the lobby. Why, in the 21st century, in a Hyatt no less, do we not have high-speed Internet in every room, if not wireless?! Please, people, let's think about it. At least it's free.

The work that I'm supposed to be doing is not being done. The contract research organization (CRO) is taking their own sweet time to get through it all, blaming it on their review time. What the fuck, people? Review time my ass. I hate CROs. They suck. We pay them to do the research that we can't do, they write up the reports, and that's that. But nine times out of ten, they're late, the reports are shittily formatted, and we waste our money. What's worse is that if we ask them to light a fire under their own asses, they charge us more for expediting a process to meet a deadline to which they agreed in a legally-binding contract. It's a scam. Every pharma out there that relies on CROs goes through the same thing. I hate them; they suck.

Except, this time, I get a day off to explore our nation's capital. I've never been out here before, and so I've decided to take the fifteen minute metro ride into DC and explore. I hope it's not raining. I've got it all mapped out, and no, I'm not spending the day in Dupont Circle. Now I'm wishing I had more time, and I'm wishing that the National Portrait Gallery was not closed; that sucks, too. I would love to see all of what's over there, and I'll have to be a little choosy tomorrow.

And OMG! What's up with not being able to buy wine at Safeway! And did you know there were Safeways in Maryland? I knew they were in London, so why shouldn't they be nationwide as well? I go aisle by aisle looking for a simple bottle of Cab, and no, "we don't sell wine here." I get a look like I just fell from Mercury or something. So I go in search of a liquor store. When I find it, it's a tiny little house-like structure on the corner of the street. It's all beat up on the outside, and I feel like I'm doing something illicit, like drinking wine is equal to commiting some kind of sex act, but then again, I don't consider sex acts to be illicit. Anyway...

I buy the Cab and hoof it back to the hotel. It's only about 80°F (27°C), but it's so humid, I'm drenched with sweat by the time I get back to the hotel, a mere two blocks away. How unseemly. I grew up in the midwest, knew people who showered three times a day during the summer, and have forgotten all of this. Even in California in August, I wear a coat. It's a different climate, a different culture. The men are cute, and it seems very tolerant and diverse here. That's cool. It should be.

Oh well. I'm getting kicked out of the lounge. They're closing and want to go home. I understand. Maybe I'll have a great report of the sites tomorrow.

Cheers.