My brain is still too fried from dissertation writing to start blogging again, but I wanted to share some photos from our week-long trip to Paris, Provence, and the French Riviera to celebrate my graduation. These photos were taken with my new Nikon D90. Ever since I brought home my Canon Rebel XTi (due to customer loyalty to Canon), I regretted not getting a Nikon. Photos taken by my friends using Nikons just seemed more vibrant and sharp. I never knew if it was because they were just better photographers than me. They definitely are better photographers, but now I know that the Nikon also produces just a touch nicer photos. Thanks, robber man who stole my Canon one week before our trip so that I could use my insurance money to switch to Nikon!

 

Paris: Despite my many maladies, I loved Paris! Gorgeous architecture, lovely parks, delicious pastries and baguettes...

 

Provence: We stayed in Avignon but made a day trip to St. Remy and Les Baux. The real Medieval times!

 

French Riviera: We stayed in Nice and made day trips to Monaco and Cannes. The activity of choice in Monaco--besides gambling and shopping-- appeared to be sitting at an outdoor cafe in front of the Monte Carlo Casino and drooling over the fancy cars that pulled up.

Tiger Woods is coming back to professional golf soon, and my husband can't wait to cheer for him to win the Masters. I, on the other hand, am completely torn about whether I can support someone who has acted so reprehensibly. From the Christian sense, all people are broken sinners. Thus, who am I to judge Tiger for having faults no matter how big? However, from the perspective of a woman who hopes that all husbands respect the sanctity of marriage, how can I return to being a fan of Tiger?

As I write this post, I am listening to an iTunes playlist that includes a Chris Brown song that I enjoy. Every time the playlist reaches that song I wonder if I am a bad person for listening to the music of a domestic violence perpetrator. I have colleagues who won't watch Woody Allen movies because he married his stepdaughter. If I continue to watch Woody Allen movies, then does that mean that I am condoning incest?

Is it good enough that I am conflicted? Or does this even matter?

Yesterday I finally finished a five-day long overhaul of my first dissertation chapter that I had originally expected to take only one day to complete. My reward was to take the rest of the night off so that I could clear my mind before shifting focus to my second chapter on a very different research project. However, after five days of spending every waking hour either working diligently on "dissertating" or feeling guilty that I was temporarily distracting from it, I wasn't sure what to do during my time off. I eventually settled on watching a Netflix movie while looking up the guidelines for filing dissertations and then going to sleep at a decent hour.

I recently spent five weeks visiting a lab in San Diego to use a specialized instrument for the research I will write about in my third dissertation chapter. I had a lot to accomplish in a limited number of days, so I made the most of it--working 14 hour days, seven days a week. Near the end of my visit, I scheduled a work day with a four hour block of free time in the middle of the day so that I could relax a little. I spent the first two hours happily eating good food, grooming myself, and flipping aimlessly through hundreds of cable TV channels. I spent the last two hours staring at the clock wondering what else I could do with my free time.

It is strange to me that, when I am working so hard, I don't know how to have personal time anymore. It isn't that I can't find other things to do because I am very good at that when I should be working (like right now). There are just small joys in life that no longer appeal to me, such as watching The Daily Show. Before Hulu, we spent $50 a month on cable just so I could watch. Now my husband has to beg me to watch with him.

I am having a hard time believing that I can actually finish four dissertation chapters in time to graduate ten weeks from now. But I am really looking forward to being human again...

I know it's been a loooong time since I have posted. I've just been a wee bit busy trying to write a dissertation. Key word: trying.

My latest productive procrastination activity has been baby clothes shopping for my cousin, my brother, my cousin-in-law, and everyone else in the world who decided that March is a good time to pop out a baby. In the process, I have extensively investigated the cheapest U.S. Postal Service shipping options, and I thought that my efforts should not  go to waste. So here's my guide to cheap shipping:

(1) If your package is less than one pound, then it is pocket change difference between Parcel Post ($4.90 for delivery in one week) and Priority Mail ($5.55 for delivery in 2-3 days).
(2) If your package is between 1-2 pounds, then there is a greater difference between Parcel Post ($8.09) and Priority Mail ($9.55). This shrinks to pocket change again if you pre-pay online (see below).
(3) If your package is more than 2 pounds, use Priority Mail Flat Rate envelopes or boxes (provided free of charge so no need to hunt around the house for boxes). When you are picking up your boxes at the post office, make sure to get the ones marked as "flat rate" because non-flat rate boxes and envelopes are also provided. You can choose from a small box that will fit a paperback book ($4.95), a medium box that can fit a man's jacket if folded well ($10.70), or a large box that doesn't seem much larger than the medium box but is a different shape ($14.50). You can shove as many rocks and bricks into these boxes as possible, and it would still cost the same. For international shipments, you are limited to 20 pounds of rocks.

The added beauty of using Priority Mail is that you can pre-pay the shipping online and get a discount on the shipping costs. Moreover, you can schedule a pick-up by your carrier (the PC term for "mailman"?) so that you don't have to wait in line at the post office. Less important to me is that this option also entitles you to free delivery confirmation.

Happy shipping!

I had no idea how hard I would find my sixth and final year of graduate school. After fumbling around for four years I finally found my stride last year, collecting lots of data for my dissertation research and dreaming up exciting side projects that could lead to important revelations. Suddenly, this year all of the lab and field work that I enjoy have halted, and I have plunged into the abyss of dissertation-writing. I know I have great data, but I spend hours staring at a blank screen, trying to fit all of the nuances and complexities neatly into a coherent and compelling story.

It's a new idea to me that scientific papers are actually stories about our data and what they can tell us about how the world works. I had always approached scientific writing as merely following the same reason and logic as the experiments that I performed. I am struggling to find my creative side and organize the data to best support my overall interpretation of the data. In this way, the first experiments that I performed could actually make more sense to be mentioned last. For someone who loves color-coding her lab work with matching lab tape and highlighters, this way of thinking does not come easily.

I wonder sometimes if my advisor thinks I am spending my days goofing off because I am producing manuscript drafts so slowly. Quite the opposite is true. I am spending my days torturing myself to find the storyline on my own and without my advisor's help. To me, practice makes perfect so asking her to show me the story won't help me learn to find it myself. I can understand now how graduates students in their dissertation year have high rates of depression and how those who didn't previously drink turn to alcohol for solace. I know that there is no reason that I should have mastered skills in scientific writing because these are the first manuscripts that I have written. However, after having invested over five years in graduate school, it seems like I should have mastered something. Color-coding, maybe.

At home, dirty dishes piled up in the sink means that I'm being lazy. At the lab, dirty dishes piled up in the sink means that I've had a very productive day.

My lab conducts a lot of research that revolves around rain events in northern California. I study a soil process that only happens when there is no oxygen in the soil. This usually occurs after it rains because the soil fills up with water, pushing out the oxygen from the tiny air pockets in the soil. One of my labmates wants to know how changes in rainfall due to climate change will affect how carbon gets stored in soil. For us, it would be great to be able to predict the weather far in advance so that we can schedule when we do our field work.

Last winter, I remembered that the Old Farmer's Almanac gives long-range weather forecasts for large swaths of the United States. Our lab is hyper aware of every time it rains, so I had a good sense of the historical rain patterns for the past six years (how long I have been a member of the lab). In northern California, we typically only get rain between October and April. That's why the landscape looks brown if you visit during the summer--everything dies without receiving water for months. Since January, the almanac's predictions never missed a rain event and were always correct within a week. The real test came in late May when the almanac predicted a small rain shower. It almost never rains in May, but it did this year.

The most important rain event to predict for my lab's research is the first one after the summer dry season. The bacteria that lay asleep in the soil waiting for water can react immediately to the rain and start pumping out carbon dioxide. We are usually scrambling to prepare for our field work when we see a significant chance of rain pop up on the ten-day forecast of typical weather stations. This year, I had my eye on September 11-13, when the almanac predicted--based on their secret formula that includes solar activity--that it would rain. It is now September 14, and the ground is still wet from the rain showers that started two days ago.

If you are planning any outdoor activities around September 28-30, you might want to have an alternative indoor plan because that's when it's supposed to rain again.

I just spent a sweltering weekend in Florida with my family. My niece was her usual very sweet and mature five-year old self (calling herself a "splendid soccer player") while my nephew is at his most adorable age. He speaks only one word at a time right now, but he's very good at letting you know what he wants. For example, when he wanted to spit out some fruit peel from his mouth, he grabbed my hand and put it under his chin. I really do hope my kids will be as cute, smart, kind-hearted, and well-behaved as my niece and nephew. Here's a five minute video compilation from my visit:

I have learned this lesson over and over again in the lab, and yet it never really sinks in. Today I was in a rush to make a solution that involves heating it to help the chemical crystals to dissolve. (Think of how true sweet iced tea can only be made by dissolving sugar in the tea when it is hot. The sugar just sinks to the bottom when you mix it into iced tea.) The little voice in my head said to just turn the hot plate to medium heat, but I decided to use the max setting. Ten minutes later I walked back to the lab to find the technician standing outside saying that something had exploded in the lab. Luckily the noise was only from the bursting of the parafilm I had used to cover the flask that contained my solution. Unluckily I was making a solution of a corrosive chemical that boiled over and stained the nice white hot plate a metallic, burned brown. Rule 1 that applies to all situations in life: listen to the little voice in your head. Rule 2 for working in the lab: never do anything in a rush because you'll probably mess it up and waste your time. And God forbid, you may injure someone. Breaking both of those rules is how I severely burned my hand with liquid nitrogen a couple years ago. Today is the day that I will take these lessons to heart.

Growing up, I always had to listen to my dad's cynical "There is no such thing as free lunch" warnings to me to not get duped by seemingly good deals with lots of fine print. Last night I found out that there really is such thing as free dinner. Thanks to the "drug" rep that took out me, Glen, and another resident! I felt a little guilty ordering a cocktail (pomegranate martini), an appetizer (shrimp hushpuppies), an entree (surf n' turf--scallops, foie gras, and pulled pork), a side (mac n' cheese), dessert (chocolate-filled beignets), and a cappuccino with no regard for the prices. I think that is more food than I ate all week, and boy was it tasty! All I had to do was sit through a two-hour dinner that revolved around surprisingly little conversation about the product that the rep was peddling.