The White Hotel

I spent Sunday to Wednesday in hospital, because I picked up a nasty little case of cellulitis. (no pictures at that link to gross you out.) This is not a fun thing to get, it's excruciatingly painful, and if you're like me and you get a whopping 40C fever with it, you get a free pass to the fourth floor for 3.5 days. It is not flesh-eating disease, but it's a nasty infection that started out of what seemed to be a normal split in the skin to a raging, fever-inducing blowout.

I have given too many people the lowdown as to what transpired to get me into the hospital, so now I'll describe the hospital stay itself. For those of you who've been hospitalized, it is no fun to be in a place with a lot of other sick people, and what you mostly want to do is sleep and get better or get more drugs and get better or get your operation or recover from your operation....but the thing you want the most is to get better and get the hell out of there. This, even though they bring you food three times a day, the nurses are usually unfailingly cheery, the doctors are brusque and to the point just like movie doctors, and you feel like you're actually on Grey's Anatomy. (No, I don't watch it.) You don't feel like you're on House but quite frankly if Hugh Laurie came in to have a poke at me I wouldn't complain.

Some parts of the hospital stay are a bit blurry, especially Sunday night into Monday morning. I do remember joking with the nurse who checked me in to the hotel, because she had to ask me a lot of questions that pertained to older patients (Do you have power of attorney over your affairs?) because they're just part of the list. The admissions doc warned me that I'd be asked about whether I wanted to be put on the DNR list, and I was asked this, but I said no, I'm young enough that you can revive me and then reassess. There were some other interesting questions about which we had a few laughs and then after checking my blood pressure (100/65) and temperature (down to 37.8C) giving me more tylenol and a jug of water, she left me. I had an iv in my arm (it stayed there for the full 3.5 days) and it and its stand were my good friends, although the iv isn't such a talkative companion.

After all that joking around though, I realized that my neighbour (I had a semi-private room) wasn't doing so well and that all of her grown children, four of them, were staying on her side of the room on chairs for the night. I also gleaned that many of the people on my floor weren't doing so well, in fact many of them were dying. My roommate passed away in the morning, unfortunately, and her son stopped to apologize if they'd kept me awake in the night. I gave my condolences to him and indicated that my own stuff kept me awake all night, which was quite true.

I got a new roommate and when I left the hotel yesterday she was doing quite well, improving markedly in fact.

It is remarkable how quickly one can become institutionalized. I knew from having babies in a hospital that food comes at 08:00, 12:00 and 17:00. At 07:50 I was waiting for the sound of the food cart, practically salivating when the tray arrived. Utterly Pavlovian. It didn't matter what was on the tray, I ate it. Questionable "omlette" thing rolled around some weird cheese combination? Best eggs I've ever tasted. Watery oatmeal? Not enough of it. Weak coffee? I should be so lucky as to get any coffee at all, so I thanked the South American gods of the coffee beans and drank it down. Milk? Normally I loathe the stuff, won't touch it, but I drank it all, happily. Macaroni and cheese in a runny salty sauce, some of which was congealed on the hot plate? Oh I couldn't have been happier to see that waiting for me. Shepherd's pie or the meat pie? Utterly spectacular (and you should consider the word spectacular and how it can used in many senses). The list goes on. My palate was tested in so many ways: the bland, the banal, the boring. Under normal circumstances, I would have pushed all of that so-called food away, claiming starvation would be a better plight than partaking of any of those particular repasts.

And yet, I could not push away a single morsel. Not the "peach applesauce" or the sugary fruit drinks or the tasteless sandwiches. Every bite went in at its appointed hour.

Twice a day my vital signs were checked, and I tried to have a lowest blood pressure contest with myself, but the lowest I got was 89/55. My temperature didn't go up again. Every day I was administered my antibiotics (ceftriazone, 2g per iv bag) which knocked me out for some reason, I don't know why. I didn't get bored until I got better, and then I wanted to get the hell out of there. Until that time I was totally into the institution and felt no need to know anything about the outside world, to look out the window, nothing. I read my magazines, did puzzles, watched crap tv.

Tuesday was Priest Day! Three of them came in to visit me and my neighbour who was also of the Catholic faith.... and since the priest from my own parish was one of them, he blessed my little head and the room did not implode in a fiery halo of destruction. Priests do the rounds of the Close to Death floor. I should have known where I was when Hub didn't have any trouble finding my room, it was the same floor where both his parents passed away almost six years ago. My sister-in-law confirmed that their rooms were on either side of the one I was in. Oh dear god.

And then I was better and I wanted to go home, which I did yesterday. I'm tired now and my finger still looks like it belongs to someone bigger and more bruised than me, and I still have the iv thing in my arm for the last trip to the hospital (it's not my hotel any more) for the antibiotics tomorrow. After that I'll be on oral antibiotics for a week or so, and then I'll just have to be careful and not have another run-in with the nasty little bacteria that decided to call me their home.

An interesting and unplanned few days.

How Would You Describe Yourself?

The words and phrases that people use to describe themselves have always fascinated me. How do you capture yourself in one short sentence? I haven't managed to do it, but any and all of the quick one-liners below describe me. What would you do?

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I cook, knit, and can solve your problems in reciprocal space.
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Female PhD in chemistry. Unemployed.
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Mid-forties divorcee, remarried, two children, dog, house.
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A lot smaller than you expect me to be.
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There are many others, obviously, but these are the ones that immediately spring to mind. When you read a sentence about a person, you'll form a mental image based on your own experiences. It is unlikely that you will form an accurate mental image, but you will begin to form ideas about a person, and you will probably fill in the blanks they've left for you. You will likely make judgements and you may even decide whether or not you like the person. Isn't that a strange thing, to make a decision like that based on a few words?

A Break in the Weather

It seems to me that lately I have had fewer than the usual number of intriguing ideas, flashes of brilliance or unusual thoughts. I generally have a running narrative going on in my head and sometimes it makes it to the keyboard, most of the time it doesn't. This could be due to my current state of mind-numbing unemployment, or it could just be that now that I'm getting used to the whole idea of not working, I'm not bothering with the thinking part of my day. Some people retreat from the world and stop normal daily hygiene practices. In my case it seems that my brain is taking a mini-vacation and has stopped brushing and flossing.
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Speaking of which, and who doesn't want to talk about dental maintenance....Fab Former Student was unsuccessful in his bid to enter dental school. Fab Girlfriend is also not in, and together they are having a hard time with this news. What seems most difficult to understand is the amount of preparation they put into their applications, the DAT (which isn't taken very seriously at most dental schools in Canada, but it's a hoop through which one jumps) and their interviews. And yet, they are watching some pretty doubtful characters gain entrance to said school, while they are left in the wake. It's not a good place to be, left behind, especially when you think that you really should be in the program.

Big One asked me what I was doing earlier. "I'm writing a note to FFS because he and FG didn't get into Dental School and they're very sad about that."

She looked at me seriously, as one with seven years of hard living under her belt can do, and said, "Couldn't they open the door?"
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I have been thinking about what I'm going to do with The Darlings once school is out. I've applied for a job that I really want, but it doesn't close until August and quite frankly, I'm going to wait that out. Somehow then, I have to develop an affinity for play.

This is no mean feat, because as my children will readily tell you, "Mumma doesn't play. Mumma works," which isn't quite true, but mostly so. I don't play. They convinced me to play Snakes and Ladders with them on Sunday, and it was not a pretty sight. I argue. I don't let them win. I just want it to end. I don't know why this is, and it probably sounds very curmudgeonly of me, but play makes me grumpy. I don't mind the wrestle-fights, and I like to ride bikes and play sports, but just regular play, where we sit around and do imaginary stuff or where we don't really compete? Not for me.

Or at least, not for me with other people. I've got a vivid imagination and I like to wander around in it, but I don't want to act any of it out.
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BF2's stuff is leaving London soon and moving across the ocean. He's heading to Istanbul for a break before joining his stuff over here in North America, and then it's back to work in a new office for the same company. Different work apparently. Let's hope.
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This has turned into a mishmash of thoughts, and it wasn't really supposed to be, although I think it's related to the opening paragraph and my recent lack of focus. I have had quite a few "things to do", and that is possibly contributing to my problem. Tomorrow for example, is busy with a list of disparate things to do. I am not taking the time to think, I am doing things that take very little brain power. It's possible that this is another manifestation of the very mild depression that can accompany unemployment, and it's possible that I'm trying to figure out where I belong in a world where I don't work ... at least not right now ... I make lists in my head as usual, but I don't carry out any of the things on the list. I either forget the items or I just don't bother doing anything at all. It's annoying me. It's a stage. I am sure that it won't last, but sometimes I get a bit worried that it will, that I'll just descend into idle chitchat and never bother thinking beyond my own face. I was able to reassure myself last week however, when I went to a nearby university to tour their X-ray diffraction facilities and to request some training.

In other words, I can still talk the talk. So if I can do it, maybe I should.

Conversation BetweenTwo Adults with PhDs in Chemistry

Me: You want an IcedCap? We're early, we've got some time.

Him: That's from Tim's, right? What're those things from Starbucks called?

Me: Yeah, that'd be The Frappacino. I hate that name, what were they thinking? It's like a name for something awful.

Him: A wet fart perhaps, as in "Oh sorry, that was a Frappacino. I have to go change my pants now."

Me: Please, I'm trying to drive here.

Him: Especially bad if it's a cold one. An icy cold Frappacino.

Not $40M Richer

No lottery winnings this morning; we have not joined the League of Millionaires. This should not be surprising, but it always is. When I buy lottery tickets, I expect to win.

A couple of days ago I went to the Employment Insurance Seminar presented by Services Canada. I didn't just go to this because it occurred to me that it might be a good idea (because that wouldn't have occurred to me) but because I was instructed to do so, and to appear in a room with 14 other hapless souls who find themselves unemployed at a specific time "otherwise we would not be admitted and we would have to explain very carefully exactly why we missed the seminar". In other words, it would be like truancy and without your hall pass you were not going to be excused.

The seminar was much more benign that I thought it would be, which is good because I have an insanely overactive imagination. Rather than the fire-breathing dragon that I envisioned at the front of the room, it was just a nice woman who read from sheets of paper while she pushed the button on the laptop to get the powerpoint presentation to move along. After she finished that, and finished telling us all where to go to find a job because 80% of jobs just aren't advertised and don't think you will find a job by sitting at home looking at a computer screen, we each had to meet with her. There were 14 or 15 people there, and I knew that three people arrived after I did, so that meant that if I'd arrived 15 minutes earlier, I would have been able to leave 20 minutes earlier than I did.

Most of the participants wanted to get out quickly, and since the interviews were conducted in the same room as we were all sitting, I amused myself by reading the lips of the people being interviewed and finding out their stories. Most people were talking quietly enough so the rest of us couldn't hear -- I think. If you had more hearing maybe you'd have heard more than me; it's not like I was asking anyone, "Hey, did you catch that last phrase? Did he say he'd been looking for work at Banana Republic, or that his aunt had finally gone public?"

Most of the people, including the facilitator, just wanted to move along and get out of there, but you know that there has to be one person, the new-agey 45+ woman, on the verge of menopause but not quite there and who talks to you very seriously while looking you straight in the eye, and while pulling her Bali shawl around her shoulders, bracelets clinking and earrings swinging, you know that this one is going to sit there and tell her life story. She'll do it in very hushed tones, because this type can save energy by not speaking too loudly and thus keep it going for a long time, seemingly without breath. Amazing to watch, mesmerizing in fact, until you realize that three people could have gone in the amount of time she's taking. What on earth could possibly be so important, or need so much explanation? I waited for her to burn some incense to rid the room of banal spirits (they were legion, you could feel them coiling around your ankles) but no, she didn't get to do that. After 10 minutes I tried my best Stare of Indignation, hoping for some good ol' spontaneous combustion, but she was impervious. When she stood up, several people gasped with anticipation, but I knew it was a ruse. (I used to be involved in tai chi, and it was a place where the woowoo nutbars gathered to spread their joyless Search for Meaning in Life. They could talk your head off, nodding, smiling, never letting you get a word in edgewise...and they would do this thing, the standing up so you know I know that you want me to leave, but really, I just have to tell you 10 more things about How to Find God...) I knew she had another five or 10 minutes of Her Story to finish.....before she would finally gather her things and swing out of the room. When I left she was speaking earnestly with one of the Women Behind the Counter; she looked like she had another good hour of soul-sucking conversation ahead of her.

The Women Behind the Counter by the way, are very powerful. If ever you find yourself at a Service Canada office, make sure that the Woman Behind the Counter takes a shine to you. Be very nice to them, and they will make your life easy. Piss them off and pay dearly.

I Enjoy Being a Geek....

Two posts in one day, as opposed to no posts in two weeks.

I was walking downtown this morning, and waiting at a light, I looked down to see on the sidewalk, a card that read: Attack Weapon: Quantum Particle Beam. On the other side of the card, in bold caps: BATTLE CARD/ATTACK WEAPON.

I get that this is a gamers card. So is the quantum particle beam generated from a flashlight? Because while we might think of quantum particle beams as being generated from very very expensive particle accelerators, any light is purportedly made up of both particles and waves; it's got that whole dual nature thing going on after all.

You could hit your enemies over the head with a flashlight, but lugging around a particle accelerator might mean that you'd need another couple of cards: superhuman strength and unlimited monetary resources.

More Nonwork Angst

Yes, I could post more often, but no, I haven't felt like it. The weather has been too good, or too violent, or there haven't been enough things happening or there's been too much happening, or other excuses...make some up for me, they'll probably be accurate.

Tomorrow I go to an EI seminar where they're going to nag me about getting a job. Don't get me wrong, getting a job is high on my priority list, but I don't need help with getting a job, and I don't need the condescending attitude of people who are trained civil servant and are trying to get rid of all their "charges" so that the unemployment statistics go down and the gov't thumps everyone on the back. I realize that when I read, "This session starts at 9:00 a.m. sharp, anyone who arrives after that time will not be admitted," that this has been written for people who maybe aren't so good in the morning or who can't be bothered to be in a specific place at a specific time, or maybe for people who are, you know, truant for a living. That it's not written for the professional-type (or someone who can actually tell time) or someone with an analytical mind or someone who can read or someone who loved school, but for people who are working the system. Maybe. It didn't occur to me that being at a conference would preclude me from working, or make me unavailable for work, in fact, just the opposite, but I'll have to explain that because I didn't realize that there was provision for being absent on the claim form.

That probably sounds stupid on my part, and I'll admit that it is. If one is not sitting by the phone waiting for The Manager from SmartSet to call, how then is one available for work? You cannot be available if you're in another city, whooping it up at the Bruker Mixer, except for when you're chatting it up with the President of Bruker and having to admit that no, travelling 80% of the time cannot fit into my lifestyle.

Clearly, I am working myself up into a frenzy over this, which is likely nothing. I have been applying for jobs, but not more than one a week because if there were that many jobs available in my field I'd be doing backflips all the way to work. I am to some extent, not particularly employable in the general working world; I could go back to industry if there was something that caught my fancy, but my industrial experience is many years old and prospective employers aren't necessarily interested in it. My academic experience is somewhat esoteric, and not widely applicable, although I am capable of thinking and moving beyond my direct experience and applying my ability to problem-solve to another area. Thing is, how to prove that? It would turn out that my particular scientific talents are more useful to an engineering environment rather than, say, a pharmaceutical one (I wouldn't even bother applying for a job at a pharmaceutical company. I am not an organic chemist, and I have no interest in anything they do. Oh, and I think that about 60% of the industry is morally reprehensible, and I'm probably being really really conservative in that estimate.) but I'm not an engineer and I don't have the "papers".

My bigger problem with industry isn't the job-finding because I'm sure that at some point I could become employed. My problem, and yes, this is only going to prove that I am a total intellectual snob, is the stupidity. I cannot work with stupid people. I don't mean the "guys (gender non-specific guys) in the plant/on the floor/wherever they are" because these people generally know their jobs, know their machines, know exactly what can and can't go wrong, and know it better than any techhie or management type. I have total respect for the guys in the plant, just as I have total respect for administrative assistants (formerly secretaries) because they facilitate my professional career by doing the things that I have no time or capacity to do. I write a report, they make the report readable, and I bow before their particular skills and pay homage to their ability to turn my convoluted explanations into "excellent written communication" (which I always say I have by the way, whether it's true or not.)

No, it's the marketing people. The sales people. Management. It's the people with their heads so far up their asses they're actually inside-out. They lie to customers and then expect the people in the back room to be able to comply with their lies. "So Hilary, you know that AX401 lubricant formulation that we've been working on? Well, the customer had a problem with the odour when the product was heated up to 4000 degrees. Apparently there was a bit of smoking too, does that always happen? They've decided they want to use it with nylon, not polyethylene, that might make a difference. I said you could take care of all of this by Wednesday next week, and write up a full report. You can do that, right? Because I'm going on holidays and I said you could do it. I'll give you the contact information too. And Manager W says that she's sure you can handle this, it's just a few minor changes." naturally this is a voice-mail message, and an email. No direct contact has been made with me because Salesperson knows full well that they've just dumped a year of work on my desk, and that I am the one who has to go back and tell Manager W and the customer that they're on crack and this isn't happening any time soon and what the hell is anyone thinking here and as it is that formulation took two years to perfect and yes, nylon, polyethylene, it makes a bloody great difference ......... well, you get the idea.

Maybe by now the idea that you get is that I'm easily worked into a frenzy over small things, rather than getting the idea that I'm right. In my opinion both are correct. Without too many things to do, I do turn into a freak show about the smallstuff. And I am right about how things work in industry, where someone ignorant of a particular situation and yet who's in charge of that situation, makes promises that cannot possibly be kept. It's not just industry of course, that's just my experience. Hell, I've made academic promises that can't possibly be kept, just to get people to quit bloody bugging me. The difference there is that I'm saying that I can do something that I have no intention of doing, not that someone else will do what I know to be impossible.

So you see? Writing about all of this is a bit of a waste of space and air and your time, but this is what's going on. I will be very interested to see what happens in the little seminar tomorrow, and to discuss my case with an employment facilitator or whatever they call themselves (enabler perhaps). If I go in as the Objective Observer to study the behaviours of the people in the room, then maybe I won't break down and cry in frustration when they try to patiently explain to me that I should very much be waiting for that special call from The Manager rather than tripping off to high-tech and highly specialized conferences.

The only manager I want a call from right now is The Manager at Holt Renfrew, saying that I've been randomly chosen from a list of highly-qualified and underemployed and absolutely fabulous people (and how long a list do you think that is, really?) for a $20K shopping spree in their new flagship store in Vancouver, all expenses paid and you can stay for a week and never mind those pesky EI people, it's all worked out.

Conference Mixer

Put 1000 chemists in a room (yeah, I know, your head is spinning already) and give them beer and drinks and a little bit of food.

If you get a good view of the food table you will be able to watch The Grad Student Feeding Frenzy. A much-hailed event with surreptitious betting alongside, the blood sport that is Free Food is not to be missed.

Over in a corner you will see the Big Brains, hashing out their latest plan to take over the world. Or they might just be quietly sipping their one free beer before they push a knife between the ribs of the weakest link and slip away unnoticed. The Big Brains are not to be trusted.

The Middle Years are all jostling near the bar, trying to touch a Big Brain or get him/her to notice them, and trying to order their free beer. After the one free one is gone, it's off to the ticket line for multiple tickets for various combinations of hard liquor, wine or beer.

Immediately upon arrival, you search for someone who might know Who Got the Job. Luckily it's a grad student who knows, so getting the information out of him is a Piece of Cake, which you've scored by knowing one of the food servers and slipping him a fiver. Finding out about The Job doesn't settle you though, because it's not someone you know and it's not someone who makes logical sense, given the competition. This is singularly annoying information, so you latch onto Former Supervisor who will purchase your drinks for you for the rest of the night. At one point you might suggest buying a round, and then back out of this suggestion because by the time this happens you're drunk. It doesn't help that Former Supervisor keeps saying, "We heard that Hilary didn't get the job, but then when we heard that A didn't get the job, well then we were floored. Of all the people who should have gotten the job, it was A. After all, he's amazing, he won't be unemployed for long. I just couldn't believe he didn't get it." (Former Supervisor got a punch in the arm at this point, and I indicated that okay, could we maybe not drive the point home quite so much, seeing as I'm standing right there and while I'm sure that A is as fabulous as you say, I am also fabulous. Now go and get me another G&T.)

I fall into the Middle Years category, but I am not impressed with the Big Brains, most of whom I know quite well, including Former Supervisor. I probably should assume more reverence than I do, but I just can't. I'm not the reverent type, when it comes to colleagues. Most of them don't impress me all that much, especially after I get to know them; this goes for humans in general actually.

It was the regular Conference Mixer First Night Drunk Fest. Chemists drink a lot, and they don't get out much but you might not realize this because out in the wild they look just like regular people, not likely to bring up charge density calculations or thin film manufacture or the orientations of molecules on a gold surface, or the turnover rate of a particular reaction or any of the other things they discuss (and the things are myriad). But in that room, the thousand or so assembled are likely to discuss any of these things and more, and thus set themselves apart from the general populace.

That's how I spent last Saturday night. Drinking gin & tonic that my PhD supervisor bought for me, chatting about the latest gossip, finding myself to still be relatively popular in the big chemistry picture. It was actually good to be there, but now that I'm back I'm finding myself a bit depressed, missing my work and thinking about how I can possibly get the next job in the lineup, which is at a university 20 minutes up the road and which I stand a relatively good chance of getting. Then again, I stood a relatively good chance of getting the other job and that one didn't pan out, so best not to get my hopes up too much.

Architectural Dyslexia

No matter how many times I look something up to make sure I get it right, I get it backwards.
So Frank Gehry did the AGO recently. (and the Bilbao, and I don't know why on earth I said that Daniel Libeskind did it. Oh right, the dyslexia.)
Daniel Libeskind did the ROM. (the Michael Lee Chin Crystal).

Both works were slagged, both were loved.

Tomorrow I'll mix up my children or lose my way to the grocery store. In my head, it all gets jumbled.

Random Saturday Musings

There is a space in between being one place and another. When you are away from your regular life, you live as yourself with no encumbrances until you have to reconnect with that life. You can be who you want, and most of the time, if you are happy, you will be yourself. Being oneself without anyone else is an interesting phenomenon; I remember when I first left home and hearth to find out that I didn't know who I was and thus, that I didn't know how to behave in the most simple situations. I don't feel that way any more.

When I return home I always need a decompression time, to reacclimatize myself to my surroundings. Suddenly people need me and are so happy to see me, and yet I don't feel the same thrill to see them. I don't want them near me and I have nothing to give them. It takes a few hours, and then I remember who I am and my responsibilities toward them, but for a while it's like I've landed in a new country where everyone knows the language except me. Eventually I learn it and settle back into routines. I ignore the mess, the dog hair, the overgrown garden, the perceived neediness. I appreciate the little card and the smile and the hugs.

But when I first return, I don't. I want to push them all away until I'm ready. I don't want to talk about my trip or where I've been or who I've talked to or about what.

What is this space in between? I don't know if everyone feels this, although I know that when he first gets home from work, Hub doesn't want to talk and needs some space. Is it simply needing space....? but for what? You need space to find out who you are again. You've been defining yourself by yourself, and you need to find out again where you belong amid the chaos.

I remember being away once and commenting to someone, "I could get on this plane home and keep going, not go back, you know? It would be so easy." He didn't know what I meant, he had no desire except to go home to his wife and family, and I made the mistake of thinking that a man would understand how I felt. I should have realized that only another woman would understand this need to flee....to keep going away from being needed or being necessary or being everything to other people. To reinvent and never think of what has been left behind.

Of course you can't just leave it forever, you would never leave it behind. You just think that you could keep wandering away from where you were needed, to find yourself needed somewhere else.

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I mentioned to a couple of people this past week that I attend mass. Partly I do this for the reaction, because as BF1 said, "It really puts people off, doesn't it?" and it does, especially scientists. They do not take this news well. I remember my PhD supervisor's wife saying, "It's just someone telling you how to live. You can figure out how to live, what's right and wrong, all by yourself." I don't agree with this for every person. Many people absolutely need to be told what to do and what is right and wrong and how to live. The 10 Commandments are a pretty good place to start, quite frankly (if you're of a Christian persuasion) because they tell you not to kill things or people, not to steal stuff and not to be a pain in the ass. What's so wrong with that? Learning about spirituality and that which is beyond us? not bad. You don't have to believe it, but maybe you feel something in yourself that is not concrete, that goes beyond the table you can rap with your knuckles.

Let me assure you, it has nothing to do with god (the main Christian deity or otherwise), for me. It's all about the development of other senses, of meditating and considering my life and where I'd like it to go.
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The Globe & Mail is all over The Crystal at the ROM, and quite frankly, I think they need to go outside and have another look and shut the fuck up. Yes, it interrupts the senses and yes, it's over budget and over time (uh, excuse me, but what reno isn't?) and yes it's not just another storefront along Bloor Street....but why the hell should it be? And why the hell should the architect (Lee? I can't remember his damn name and I should really know it...ah! I'll clarify it below) have stuck to the original building? Have you the outside of the old ROM? Boring. Have you seen the crystal from Bloor? Arresting. Enough said. It's not beautiful, but so little architecture is. It stops the eye, it is an interruption to an otherwise relentless vista of shopping and condos. I don't see the crime.
(edited on Monday: I added the link to today's article, and one of the primary sources of funding is a guy named Lee-Chin, who's now a Torontonian, born in Jamaica. The architect is Daniel Libeskind, he of Bilbao fame.)

Green Green Grass of Home

In the prairies, when it's raining, everything is bright bright green. The plants figure they've got to grow now, while there's water, before the drought hits. Everything is a different shade of green, and it's amazing, it goes on and on along the highway, through the city, everywhere.

When we were at the Bruker Mixer up in the revolving restaurant, someone I know from a former job said to me, "It's really flat here." This guy is a brilliant scientist, and also clearly a master of the obvious. "Yes it is!" I yelled, because it was loud and I was drunk, "and the best thing about that is that the sky is your own private planetarium. On a summer night, you go and lie in a field and you can see stars forever. It's amazing." It is amazing, but man, it is fucking flat. I drove out of the city one day and was again shocked by the openness, the going on foreveredness.

I will write more about the trip later. The conference was mostly gossip and drinking, although I did go to some good talks. I was not a pariah at all, in fact I was still The Most Popular Girl in the Class. The family visits were good. Everything was good. BF1 and T finally met each other, and that went well.

BF2 is moving to Chicago at the end of the month, leaving me and BF1 nowhere to stay when we go to London some day. Apparently Chicago has some good shopping. Actually, I know that it does, and I know that it has a decent art gallery and many good restaurants and Wrigley Field (and Kamiski Park, which I've been to several times but not Wrigley) and other things. It's not London but it is sort of halfway between where we are. (1100km for her, 750 for me).

That's about it, although there were many things that happened this past week. I honestly can't believe how fantastic everything was.