Beauty in the Breakdown

I had a conversation with my father the other day regarding the number of forclosures on homes where I live. Too many people felt that even though they didn't have the money for a down payment, even though their credit score was worse than the week-old yeast cultures in my lab, felt that they were owed something - a piece of the American dream, a chance at becoming a homeowner.

Too many people these days have an incredibly sick sense of entitlement. "I deserve to own a home." "I deserve to be married." But in my schaudenfreuden-rich bystander position, I've gotta say, it's rather interesting to watch all of these people who thought they deserved a house, who thought they deserved a marriage after just months of dating have a rather brutal confrontation with reality.

Just because you feel like you want it, like you need it . . . good luck holding on to it. Why are so few people I know actually making sane life choices (*Helen, you are included in the sane group*)?

Gettin' All Twitchy

This weekend, I successfully completed a request for two friends of mine - I swam a mile in the ocean. What I actually did was half-assedly train for 4-5 weeks in order to not drown during the first leg of a relay triathlon (two other grad students on my floor took the bike and run). I was pleasantly surprised to finish the swim leg in 20th place out of 40 swimmers (including the men), and beat my "goal" time for the event. I wasn't aiming for first (after not swimming an intense workout since the age of 17, my cat would sooner begin speaking in complete sentences), and I didn't want to fork over $200 for a swimming wetsuit, but I am pleased.

For those of you who aren't completely up on your exercise biology, here's some useful tidbits. As a 10 year old, I dominated in the 50 meter freestyle. It was also the only event in which I made a not-embarassing time in high school varsity. Described by Olympic broadcasters as a "frenetic splash from one wall to the other," it's the ultimate shake 'n swagger of those boasting a preponderance of short twitch muscle fibers. Muscle is made of bundles of myofibrils (composed of actin and myosin) which together form myosin. These strands of muscle proteins grab onto each other (as if they are rowing), contracting and releasing. Fast-twitch muscle fibers tend to work anaerobically, firing more rapidly for a shorter duration, while slow-twitch muscle fibers help athletes over longer distances, and use oxygen to fuel their motion.

Here's to (temporarily) conquering your genetic destiny of muscle fate and embracing something new! And above, we have unequivocal proof that I did not come in last :)

Yesterday, my friends Jen, Faith, and I threw a shower for Helen. In four weeks, she and her fiance Jon (all of us went to college together) are getting married in what will likely be the most gorgeous wedding EVER (and I'm excited because my bridesmaid dress is actually cute). I did the food with some amazing help from Jen (and also ran around playing photographer) and Faith can be thanked for the beautiful chinese paper lanterns, favors, and flowers. So what's a fabulous shower without photos?






















All photos were taken using a Canon 50mm f/1.8, the new love of my life. Thanks for letting us throw such a fun party, Helen! I was barely functional since I had 2 hours of sleep, due to an excrutiatingly early time point in lab, running to pick up cupcakes, and cooking/assembling the food, but it was all worth it - I think it was lovely!

The boy grad student has been away at a three week training course (where they learn to do such things as insert tubing down the spinal cords of mice), but he came home for the weekend. We decided to be deliciously unproductive, and the highlights of the weekend included seeing Batman (go see it!) and noshing at The Counter. I think I could exist entirely on sweet potato fries . . .

This weekend also began the massive monstrosity that shall be known as Wedding Season '08 (and this doesn't include the wedding we already went to). I picked up a bridesmaid dress, dropped off a wedding gift (yay!) and am driving out of town to attend a shower on Tuesday. The shower is for a dear friend who has been a constant companion since we were two years old, so I am excited.

Things I am Loving

It's officially summer. The air is warm, my cardboard-box apartment is hot, and lab feels like a fabulous air-conditioned retreat (did I really just use the words lab and retreat in the same sentence?). In honor of the early days of summer, I have been obsessed with the following in recent days:

This stuff is worth its weight in gold. You can apply in the morning, forget about it during a whole day of bbqing/baseball game watching/beach volleyball playing, and you realize the sun went down and you didn't get burned. One caveat - it is not exceptionally waterproof, so I still stick to Ocean Potion for surfing.















Yummy, no fake additives, and antioxidants, oh my! The male counterpart to the disillusioned grad student's best friend came to visit for four days recently, and stocked our fridge to the brink with these. I am addicted.















It's pink, with a bit of gold, and it's just fabulous. If you know me (which, of course, are the only 3 readers of this blog), you know that I own about 17 Chanel lipglosses. But I've gotta say, this one's been in heavy rotation since the weather warmed up. It's the anti-scientist lipgloss.

I had a hard time leaving the weekend on such a negative note. On a more pleasant note, cupcakes! For an excellent, all-around great cupcake recipe, I love the vanilla one from The Magnolia Bakery. You've got to take precautions to ensure they don't end up dry (leave one cup empty, and fill it with water to create a moist environment), but they really are fab.



Now go bake, kids.

Yesterday I had two appointments. One was at the University Medical Center, and the other was at a spa (down in the land of rich housewives). During the former, I had an appointment with a surgical oncology nurse - I met her, walked with her to pathology, waited for the attending surgeon to meet us, and watched as they dissected a specimen. I have handled more than one hundred tumors in my "scientific career," and they, along with blood draws, do not bother me. However, this was something different entirely. Here's a warning to the weak . . . it gets graphic.

The nurse unwrapped the surgical gauze and placed the specimen on the counter in the pathology lab. It was a complete masectomy, a full resection - in layman's terms, the entire breast had been removed. While standing with the pathology residents, I nearly fell to the floor, wondering, "Don't they usually just remove the tumor nowadays? Isn't the lumpectomy standard, especially at a leading university hospital?" And then, as the Pathology attending made the first slice, I realized why this case was so different.

The tumor filled the breast in its entirety. The tumor was distinct from the healthy tissue - healthy tissue is soft, pink. There was a hard, beige mass approximately the size of an apple that had invaded this 33 year old girl's body - and there was no escaping staring at the tissue on the surgical slab.

After returning to my lab with my small sample of the tumor in tow, I processed my cells, and set them up for my experiment. After wiping down the hood and my lab bench, I placed my cells in the incubator, and left for my bi-monthly pedicure and eyebrow trip. (I may live in the lab, but I do have some standards)

I'd never really noticed it before, but the place was inundated with signs that proclaim, "Love your body! Celebrate your curves! Your body defines you!" As I looked around, I began to feel sick to my stomach. This anonymous 33 year old girl, whose tumor had somehow managed to evade being detected at an earlier stage, had lost most of what these signs declared defined her. As I thought about it, I realized that what defined her, according to the spa advertisements, was now what was defining me - my career as a research scientist.

I went to sleep with a prayer for the anonymous 33 year old girl, and sending her hope that it is her spirit, her fire, her will to live, that will define her, and not a cancerous mass.