| At home, when you graduate college, there's a big, long, boring ceremony in which you dress up in a stupid robe and formally receive your diploma before an audience of everyone you've ever met. The university organizes the whole thing and it will happen without any input on the part of the student.
Here, it's a little different.
First you have to request an official list of your grades and send that to the school- that's right, you request your transcript from the university's administration and then immediately send it back to them. Then you fill in another form requesting an official diploma, which takes some six weeks to prepare. If, like me, you need proof of graduation before that time elapses, you can also request a somewhat less formal letter stating that you've completed the requirements. I think there is a small ceremony, but attendance is strictly optional and literally no one I knew was going. The whole thing is a bit of a beauracratic nightmare and clearly a much less sentimental experience than graduations are at home, which typically feature proud, tearful parents and ebullient ex-students.
Anyway, I requested my bachelor degree months ago and then immediately forgot about it. The informal letter stating that I'd completed the requirements was sufficient to get me into my master's program, and once school began again I was kinda busy. But today I had the day free, and having had all sorts of awkward experiences with school administrators losing shit or just not knowing what I'm talking about, I decided to call the service center and make sure they didn't throw requested diplomas away after a couple of months.
For some reason, the woman I spoke to thought this question was hilariously funny. "Of course we don't!" she said, between fits of laughter.
Well come on, lady, how should I know what your policy is here? Perhaps university policy is always so "consistent" and "logical", I should simply be able to intuit the next move? Diplomas are handled so differently in the Netherlands than they are at home I honestly had no idea what to expect. But from her reaction, you'd think I'd asked whether diplomas are fireproof and/or glow in the dark.
Anyway, I should stop gabbing and start heading out. The school office is closer than it was to our old house in Haarlem, but it's still a bit of a trek. | comments: 1 stickit or Tell me where to stick it   |
| So I've resurrected my facebook account. Not out of any desire for yet another social networking tool, but because apparently there are lots of nifty web-based games available, and this is a slow week at work.
I should explain that I deleted my old account years ago after totally failing to use it for months at a time- or at least, I thought I deleted it. Turns out it was merely deactivated, and upon receiving the breath of life it immediately conjured up every person I've ever interacted with. Most of them I haven't seen since high school, and let me tell you, this is WEIRD. One of my high school mates appears to have married a dude easily 20 years her senior (and is she pregnant in the wedding photo or is it just the angle?) There's a backlog of about a hundred invites to some game called Triumph from a single friend (what's up with that, Shannon?) I have half a dozen friend requests from people whom I don't recognize but whose names sound familiar, which means we were probably best buds at some point and I've now forgotten them (Remington... unusual name. Do I know a Remington?). :S Also the people I do recognize are... well, a lot older than I remember them. Remind me not to upload any recent pictures of myself.
Furthermore, Facebook is still an incomprehensible maze of circuitous links, fragmented conversations, and baffling, apparently useless features. After 5 seconds of trying to reacquaint myself, I remembered with crystal clarity why I'd never been taken with the site. Hopefully the games will be worth it, or my newly reanimated Facebook account will be not long for this world. | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
| After hearing a radio story on the subject, I wondered whether or not it really was impossible for people to tell crows apart. So I decided to try for myself.
Well, I suck at it. Three or more wrong before I picked the correct crow out of the lineup. It is surprisingly difficult. And more than a little creepy that they apparently can tell humans apart with high fidelity.
Beware the crows. | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
| Had a strange moment when reading an email from my advisor today. Apparently he is not available Monday morning because:
"Maandag ben ik zelf een milt aan het oogsten van een kip."
Or in other words, he won't be available because he will be harvesting a spleen from a chicken.
You have to admit, it's an absurd sentence. Because it was so unexpected, I initially thought I had made a translation mistake. Maybe it was some weird Dutch saying I'd never heard before. You know, "Monday is going to be like harvesting a spleen from a chicken." I tried to puzzle out the meaning of such an odd analogy. What exactly is chicken-spleen-harvesting like? Is it time consuming? Messy, I would think. Perhaps it's really difficult and he was saying he'd be too busy. Or maybe it's the Dutch version of "venting your spleen", but then I didn't see where the chicken came in.
Once my train of thought got back on track, I realized that he meant it literally. One of the advantages of being in the veterinary department is that you can just wander downstairs and... harvest a spleen from a chicken.
Now I've got a helluva mental image. Also: "harvest a spleen from a chicken" is a hilarious phrase. Not sure why. | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
| Clinical Immunology: 8.0 Exam 7.6, participation 8.2.
That's right, bitches. I am AWESOME.
No seriously, I was really worried about the immunology exam. I feel as if an enormous weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
Now, let's hope Bacterial Pathogenesis comes out just as nicely! *crosses fingers* | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
| A professor related a telling story during one of the lectures today.
When my professor had been a young student, he shared a department with a famous and very elderly clinical immunologist. The elder immunologist, known for his work on rheumatoid arthritis, had long since retired, but still took a strong interest in the (then) current research being done. As such, he would frequently drop by the lab to see what people were doing and discuss the latest trends.
One day the elder immunologist showed up early in the morning, yawning and seeming generally older than usual. "I didn't sleep well last night," he complained. "I had the Dream again." My professor asked him what he was talking about. "I haven't told you the Dream?" asked the immunologist. "I've had it periodically for the last 60 years."
The elder immunologist's dream went like this: He is pulling into the parking lot at the rheumatoid arthritis clinic he works at. The parking lot is utterly empty, which is odd and unsettling. Normally there are patients in varying states of pain making their slow way towards the clinic door, but not today. It's silent. He goes inside, into the waiting room, which is similarly deserted. In fact, the entire building is empty, every hall all the way up to his office, in which he finally finds his secretary.
"What's going on?" he queries. "Is today Sunday or something?"
"Didn't you see the news last night?" she shakes her head. "They found a cure for rheumatoid arthritis."
And the immunologist would wake in a cold sweat.
I don't think this makes him a bad man or anything- he sounded like a good doctor who loved his job and didn't want to see it disappear. In fact, while listening to the story I was reminded of the time I asked my coworkers in the National Meningitis Lab for the most recent statistics on meningitis in Europe. The statistics were still being analyzed and in the process of looking them up, it became apparent that meningitis prevalence in the Netherlands has fallen sharply in the last couple of years. The news quickly spread around the lab and soon a small crowd of visibly worried analysts had gathered around the computer.
"But fewer people are getting sick!" I protested naively. "Isn't that good?"
"Not for us," responded the senior analyst grimly.
Do your job too well and lose it. It's funny, sad and stupid all at the same time. | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
| | One of my brother's bands, Labrador, played a show recently and the video is now on Youtube. The video is mostly of his back, they are literally in someone's living room, and the sound quality is awful, but, well. Have a look anyway. I quite liked the music. | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
| "Here you are," said the pet store manager, fetching a cage down from its shelf with the help of a nearby ladder.
I looked at the cage's denizen. In my nonsense dream world, it looked sort of like a cross between a cow and a triceratops. It was mottled like a cow but horned like a dinosaur- and why not, I thought. What were triceratops besides prehistoric cows? As I watched, the animal began to hum an odd musical tune. It was persistent and repetitive, somehow unpleasant.
"They can make quite a ruckus," the pet store manager confessed. "Some people like that sound they make but it just drives me crazy."
I took hold of the cage for a better look. He was right, I thought, the sound was irritating, and getting louder every second. But the little animal's tune was also oddly familiar...
And then I woke, suddenly, to cacophony. My cell phone, the house phone, and the door bell were all simultaneously going off- the familiar tune I'd heard in my dream had been my phone's ring tune. I blinked blearily at my phone- 4 missed messages, it displayed accusingly. I staggered first towards the house phone, then towards the door. It took me a few moments to piece together what had happened, which was this:
After dinner last night I'd fallen asleep for several hours, which left me wide awake and rested at midnight. Because I'd agreed to stay at home and accept a delivery of moving boxes the next morning, I took a sleeping pill. It was supposed to only last 5 hours, but, well, these things can be variable. I'd slept straight through my original alarm, and then straight through the door bell and then straight through poor Tijs' first four attempts to wake me. I opened the door to let in the fellow delivering the boxes, who laughed at my bed hair and left amiably enough. (He kinda sounded familiar... I hope he wasn't anyone I know. It's hard to tell without my glasses.)
The choice of whether or not to take a sleeping pill when you have commitments the next day is kinda a damned if you do, damned if you don't scenario. Usually they wear off when they're supposed to, but when they don't... well, it was a good thing it was a delivery and not the first day of school. | | comments: 1 stickit or Tell me where to stick it |
| It may have nothing to do with my entry, but I find that phrase highly amusing. It's a snippet of lyric from an album I've been listening to.
On my way back from the bank today, I had a frappocino. Well, not really. The Netherlands is practically the last civilized place on earth without a Starbucks on every corner. But on my way home I took a different route from normal and came across a Dowert Egberts store. "Koffie en Kado" proclaimed the sign, and I went in with visions of lattes dancing in my head.
They sell a huge selection of Senseos, accessories and mugs in there, for those who may be interested, but I was concerned only with the coffee bar. There, on the menu, read "Ice Cappucino with Caramel", and nearby stood a picture of a drink with a strong resemblance to my beloved frappocinos. I ordered one.
Was it every bit as overpriced as it would have been in Starbucks? Yes. Did it contain a million and one calories? Probably. But was it absolutely and totally delicious? Hell. Yes.
I guess I'm blogging about it because it reminds me of something I used to get a lot when I lived in the US and have somewhat missed. It wasn't exactly the same- the Starbucks version has whipped cream, but grownups probably shouldn't have drinks with whipped cream in them anyway. Regardless, it was close enough to fill me up with warm memories of home. | | comments: 1 stickit or Tell me where to stick it |
| So, guess who isn't dead. This is much more in line with what I expect from Bioware than that cheesy Manson trailer for Dragon Age.
Oh, Mass Effect 2. Spring 2010 just can't come quick enough. | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
| I was making a graph in Excel today out of numbers between 0 and 2. After going through the chart wizard I had a line that suddenly jumped from about 0.8 to over 1000. I fiddled with it for longer than I care to admit, unable to figure out what was wrong, until...
...I remembered that Europeans write "eight tenths" as 0,8. Apparently Excel isn't too bothered by numbers less than 1, but it was reading 1.012 as 1,012 and that's no good.
*mutters darkly* You know, there are times when I really get sick of the nuisance of living abroad and I just want to go home to where I know how to work the damn computer. | | comments: 4 stickits or Tell me where to stick it |
| It's beautiful sunny weather today: warm with a pleasant breeze. A group of little blond children sit dabbling their toes in the water of a canal, eating ice cream cones. Nearby a young couple in a small boat are holding hands, Dutch flag flapping merrily above the stern. Seagulls fly, elderly folks carry groceries, and everywhere are scenes of peace and happiness.
Quick! Someone deputize a Dutch Normal Rockwell and get him to Haarlem, stat! If I've ever seen a day that should be painted, it's today. :) | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
| I must not hurry.
Haste is the experiment-killer.
Haste is the little mistake that brings catastrophic fuckups.
I will face my impatience.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the UV filter to see my data.
Where the impatience once was, there will be nothing.
Only kickass results will remain. | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
| Cost of DNA sequencing per sample: $5
Average number of samples per batch: 10
Average number of batches per hour at the AMC: 15
Hours in a working day: 8
Days in a week: 7
Weeks in a year: 52
Total: $2,184,000/year
Might be more, might be less. I guesstimated the average number of samples and batches per hour based on what I see in the logbook when I drop my own samples off.
If anything, though, I suspect that number is conservative. Pricey! :P | | comments: 3 stickits or Tell me where to stick it |
| I heard a story on the radio the other day I haven't been able to get out of my head since. It was about false confessions- people confessing to a crime they didn't do, which apparently happens more often than you think. The case in point was a totally normal, suburban 14-year-old who confessed to the brutal murder of his little sister (DNA later exonerated him). No, the cops didn't beat it out of him. Aside from lying to the kid's parents about the interrogation, the police didn't even do anything illegal. Ethically shady perhaps, but not illegal. The entire interview that led to his confession was recorded and played on the radio. This is how it happened.
( Read more... ) | | comments: 4 stickits or Tell me where to stick it |
| I spent my entire morning setting up a colony PCR, which allows you to screen bacterial colonies for the presence or absence of a certain DNA sequence. This takes a loooong time. Normally I can get at least two or three procedures done, but colony PCR always takes up the whole fucking day. And this is why:
( Read more... )
Anyway I've had to do like 6 of them in the past two weeks, so I thought I was entitled to whine just a little. ;) | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
| All right, this thing with the economy is getting out of hand.
Everything I read or watch is about the recession. It isn't just Senator Grandstand McDouchebag and his suicide tips for executives anymore. Supernatural did an episode about the recession. On the Neverwinter Nights forum, where a certain adventure pack has had its release delayed for two years, forum trolls are making jokes about Atari investing money with Madoff.
This is how I can tell that things have reached critical mass. Fanboys of role-playing games on the internet are invoking Ponzi schemes to troll forums. In any other time, these guys wouldn't know a CDO from their OCD. (Neither would I. A few month ago I called to ask my mother what a Fonzie scheme was, thusly confusing, once again, large-scale fraud with "Happy Days".)
Clearly, the apocalypse is nigh. I hope the economy gets better just so financial references get less ubiquitous. | | comments: 4 stickits or Tell me where to stick it |
| A few weeks ago, my supervisor ordered growth plates with antibiotics on them from the downstairs lab, with the idea that it would save me the time and effort of spreading antibiotics myself. We'd already tested the concentration, so we knew the dosage was correct... and I figured that if a professional was making the plates, there'd be less chance of a mistake than if I made them myself.
It now looks like the plates were not correctly made, and the insufficient antibiotic concentration has been screwing up my experiment for weeks.
Honestly, I'm not sure whether to be relieved (that this was the problem and it's not directly my fault) or really pissed (that some idiot screwed up a simple task and has caused me weeks of frustration). Is it worse to lose time because of a mistake you yourself made, or is it worse when it someone else's fault? I guess I feel it doesn't matter much, but it will be really great if the damn transformation finally works this time. If I get colonies (not confluent growth or nothing at all) I'll be too pleased to care whose fault it is.
Plus, as my boss pointed out, I should have tested the batch of plates we ordered instead of just checking the first one I'd made myself. "This is an important lesson on the value of negative controls, lack of which has cost you two weeks," she said, and she's absolutely right. Therefore I find myself feeling foolish rather than relieved or pissed, even if it wasn't directly my fault. But it wasn't in the protocol and it was frankly inconceivable to me that an experienced professional might make a mistake doing something as simple as this. Apparently, the people we order the plates from screw up all the damn time... but naturally, no one thought to mention that to me until now. :P
Let's just hope it works this time. It'd be really nice to be able to move on to new stuff, instead of repeating the same damn step ad infinitum. | | comments: Tell me where to stick it |
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