Despite my recent negative posts, I'm glad to have moved to Boston. Would I be any happier back in Sydney? Definitely not. Am I completely happy though? Not quite, but I'm grateful that I haven't encountered my old foe that is depression.
If you haven't been depressed it's hard to fathom how depression profoundly affects your existence. Since I am no longer depressed, it's hard even for me to remember what it was really like sometimes. Depression is constantly feeling miserably lost and full of self-loathing despair. A defining feature of depression is feeling crap for days on end. This exaggerated melancholy stretched from days to months and years in my case. Looking back, I realize that my depression lasted for 6 years or so.
Depression is all-consuming. It made me...
- tired all the time.
- cry as I lay in bed craving sleep.
- constantly plan/contemplate suicide. I've written suicide letters, one to my family, and one to my mates. They've since been thrown out. The drafts remain on my computer in Sydney.
- drink too much.
Sufferers of depression are commonly prescribed a class of anti-depressants called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), such as Zoloft and Effexor-XR. During my PhD I finally saw a doctor for my depression and was prescribed first Zoloft, then Effexor. The drugs initially helped my mood dramatically, it was like a negative filter had been removed from my thought processes. I rediscovered genuine laughter and happiness again, and was amazed to find that I no longer instinctively dwelt on destructive thoughts. Life was good again.
However, the karmic balance of no longer being depressed was having to endure the drugs awful side-effects of hazy thoughts, difficulties with concentration and becoming 'emotionally disconnected' (it's hard to describe but a lot of the time I felt unemotional/neutral, unless I was truly happy).
Worse still, I developed a dependence on my medication. I was a junkie and the pharmacist my dealer. Once I had an unplanned long night in the lab and was heading to a late dinner with Lulu and Bing in the city. It was around 10 pm and we were in the car looking for a parking spot, Lulu was driving. I had been taking my evening medication at around 8 pm for a while and the withdrawal from not taking my pills already was giving me unbearable nausea and headache. I hoped that it would pass but it was too much to bear. I gave some lame excuse of suddenly not feeling well, exited the car and into a taxi and went home. My stomach was heaving, and my mouth was salivating ruthlessly as I tried not to throw up during that excruciatingly long taxi-ride. I remember getting out of the taxi at long last and dry-retching into the garden outside my apartment block before stumbling upstairs to my pills of addiction. Lesson learned, from then on, I always carried my medication to work.
Even with the anti-depressants, I gradually slipped back into my negative moods. Almost a year on medication, I realized they weren't really helping anymore and decided to stop taking them. To minimize the expected withdrawal symptoms, I started by halving my dose per day for a week, and then took half a dose every second day. I weaned myself off the pills over a fortnight. In hindsight I should have given a longer time but I was desperate to stop taking the medication and opted for an 'express' method.
Going 'clean' ranks as one of the most awful experiences I've ever had in my life. The two week detox process is painfully imprinted in my mind. Coming off Effexor led to constant nausea, headaches, cold sweats, dizziness, and a perpetual dry mouth (I carried water with me everywhere). For the minimal hours per day I spent at work, I was uselessly zombified and accomplished little. There were constant cravings for food, I binged on all kinds of junk food which I proceeded to throw up due to the nausea.
The worst symptom were these weird, very difficult to describe, 'brain shocks', which were like electrical zaps in my head. They were associated with a popping/clicking noise that I kind of 'heard'. At their peak, these jolts were completely incapacitating and had me curled up in my apartment, alone on the floor wrapped in blankets, disorientated and shivering. I lay on the lounge room floor in my own personal hell for two days. Whereas most of the other withdrawal symptoms abated a week or so after my last pill, the brain shocks persisted occasionally for at least three weeks after I ceased taking the meds.
In the weeks after coming off anti-depressants, I felt changed. Unexpectedly I felt better. Things certainly weren't rosy in my life, but I no longer suffered from extensive depressive episodes. I have no explanation for my chemically-induced 'rebirth', but depression no longer has a strangle-hold on my existence.
Depression and anti-depressant drugs have left a legacy on my psyche. They have made me...
- more reserved.
- prone to be sad, but not depressed.
- less mentally acute, and more forgetful (could be beer-related though...).
- more resilient to physical pain.
Over the years the usefulness of SSRIs in treating depression has come under scrutiny amidst concerns that SSRIs may actually increase suicidal behaviour. A detailed analysis of this ongoing controversy was published in 2006 in British Medical Journal here.
It's ironic how SSRIs helped my life, but given their horrendous side-effects and safety concerns, if you're considering embarking on a life that's dependent on anti-depressant therapy, I would advocate first exploring other means of combatting depression, such as counselling, meditation and regular exercise. Anti-depressants may not be the miracle cure that you imagine.
When depressed, reaching out to friends and family is important. It's easy to get lost in your own world of self-torture without realising that there are people who can, and want to, help you out of the seemingly perpetual sink-hole of depression. Most of all, you have to want to help yourself.
"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." Oscar Wilde.
27 November 2007
24 November 2007
Elector ennui
Australia has a new Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, who led the Labor party to a landslide victory over John Howard's Liberal party coalition in yesterdays federal election. There was already intense speculation in the lead up to the election that Howard's 11 and 1/2 year reign would come to an end, which is surprising, considering how the Australian economy has prospered under the Howard government. Some say the change in leadership is a result of public weariness with the Liberal party, although industrial relations and environmental policies are also factors. It seems odd that simple voter boredom would be such a deciding factor in an election outcome.
My general impression is that in America, you're labelled as either a Republican or Democrat, whereas the party alliance of a typical Australian is less polarised and defining. I've voted for the Howard government in the past, but my relationship with the Liberal party soured when Australia entered the so-called 'War on Terror' and sent troops to Iraq and Afghanistan. Look at the situation in these countries now, it's completely deplorable and was sadly avoidable. No matter how strong the Australian economy was under Howard leadership, I felt it was morally objectionable to further support the Liberal party as the war continued and have not voted for Liberal ever since. Funnily enough, from what I hear from back home, the Iraq war hasn't featured heavily in the election campaign. Guess people got bored with that too.
Voting is compulsory for Australians over 18 years old, and a couple of weeks ago I registered as an overseas voter, but my voter forms have yet to reach me. Obviously my vote isn't going to affect the outcome so no big deal. However, there's a $20 fine for not voting. Crap. Well, it's better than a kick in the ass.
My general impression is that in America, you're labelled as either a Republican or Democrat, whereas the party alliance of a typical Australian is less polarised and defining. I've voted for the Howard government in the past, but my relationship with the Liberal party soured when Australia entered the so-called 'War on Terror' and sent troops to Iraq and Afghanistan. Look at the situation in these countries now, it's completely deplorable and was sadly avoidable. No matter how strong the Australian economy was under Howard leadership, I felt it was morally objectionable to further support the Liberal party as the war continued and have not voted for Liberal ever since. Funnily enough, from what I hear from back home, the Iraq war hasn't featured heavily in the election campaign. Guess people got bored with that too.
Voting is compulsory for Australians over 18 years old, and a couple of weeks ago I registered as an overseas voter, but my voter forms have yet to reach me. Obviously my vote isn't going to affect the outcome so no big deal. However, there's a $20 fine for not voting. Crap. Well, it's better than a kick in the ass.
23 November 2007
Shotgun solutions, never a great idea
In recent news:
"A man trying to loosen a stubborn lug nut blasted the wheel with a 12-gauge shotgun, injuring himself badly in both legs, sheriff's deputies said. From about arm's length, the man fired the shotgun at the wheel and was "peppered" in both legs with buckshot and debris, with some injuries as high as his chin, according to a sheriff's office report." The full article is here at MSNBC.
Having read this, I don't feel so stupid about my feeble tyre changing attempts anymore.
To top off the unfortunate self-shooting story "it was not immediately clear whether the shotgun blast loosened the lug nut." Ouch.
"A man trying to loosen a stubborn lug nut blasted the wheel with a 12-gauge shotgun, injuring himself badly in both legs, sheriff's deputies said. From about arm's length, the man fired the shotgun at the wheel and was "peppered" in both legs with buckshot and debris, with some injuries as high as his chin, according to a sheriff's office report." The full article is here at MSNBC.
Having read this, I don't feel so stupid about my feeble tyre changing attempts anymore.
To top off the unfortunate self-shooting story "it was not immediately clear whether the shotgun blast loosened the lug nut." Ouch.
21 November 2007
We come in peace
According to the US government, I'm an alien. A legal non-immigrant alien with working privileges actually.
One of the first things you need to do when starting work in the US is to get a social security number (SSN). When dealing with gas, real estate, phone companies etc. for the first time, your SSN is a crucial component for a smooth transaction. Having a SSN is important. Without it, you can't get paid.
One of the first things I did after arriving in Boston back in March was to catch the subway (known as the 'T') to SSN headquarters in downtown Boston. As a government building, the usual strict security procedures were observed upon entering. After dutifully emptying my pockets to be X-rayed, I found myself waiting in a standard office-grey processing centre that housed the SSN bureaucrats. As I sat with all the other aliens, subdued alien conversations in Spanish, Chinese and what seemed like Russian filled my ear.
I expected a lengthy waiting period but was pleasantly surprised by the very efficient and quick processing of my application. In little time I was told my SSN would be sent to me in 4 weeks or so, and I was back out in the cold, blustery weather and on the T heading home.
I like being an alien.
One of the first things you need to do when starting work in the US is to get a social security number (SSN). When dealing with gas, real estate, phone companies etc. for the first time, your SSN is a crucial component for a smooth transaction. Having a SSN is important. Without it, you can't get paid.
One of the first things I did after arriving in Boston back in March was to catch the subway (known as the 'T') to SSN headquarters in downtown Boston. As a government building, the usual strict security procedures were observed upon entering. After dutifully emptying my pockets to be X-rayed, I found myself waiting in a standard office-grey processing centre that housed the SSN bureaucrats. As I sat with all the other aliens, subdued alien conversations in Spanish, Chinese and what seemed like Russian filled my ear.
I expected a lengthy waiting period but was pleasantly surprised by the very efficient and quick processing of my application. In little time I was told my SSN would be sent to me in 4 weeks or so, and I was back out in the cold, blustery weather and on the T heading home.
I like being an alien.
20 November 2007
Tips for removing an agarose overlay
Have you ever done a viral plaque assay that requires an agarose overlay and wondered how to remove the overlay without disrupting the cells below? Sure you have. Here's my method:
1. After seeing plaques in your cell monolayer, remove media and add 2 ml (per well of a 6-well plate) 1% formaldehyde/PBS to your agarose-overlaid cells. Incubate overnight at room temperature. This will fix your cells.
2. Remove formaldehyde, rinse wells with water.
3. Use a squirt bottle to squirt water along the edges of the well. This will loosen the agarose. Invert the plate over a biological waste bin and continue to squirt water into the well, while giving the plate a tap or flick. The agarose should slide out of the well and into the trash, leaving your cell monolayer unscathed.
4. Stain cells with 0.05% Neutral Red (or Crystal Violet) for a few hours, or even overnight, wash with water, air-dry the plate and count the plaques.
5. Viral titre (PFU/ml)= number of plaques/(dilution factor)*volume of diluted virus added to the well.
It took me a few attempts using other clumsy methods before stumbling on the squirt bottle trick. It's a method I haven't seen online anywhere so hopefully this will be helpful to a fellow scientist. Happy virus culturing.
1. After seeing plaques in your cell monolayer, remove media and add 2 ml (per well of a 6-well plate) 1% formaldehyde/PBS to your agarose-overlaid cells. Incubate overnight at room temperature. This will fix your cells.
2. Remove formaldehyde, rinse wells with water.
3. Use a squirt bottle to squirt water along the edges of the well. This will loosen the agarose. Invert the plate over a biological waste bin and continue to squirt water into the well, while giving the plate a tap or flick. The agarose should slide out of the well and into the trash, leaving your cell monolayer unscathed.
4. Stain cells with 0.05% Neutral Red (or Crystal Violet) for a few hours, or even overnight, wash with water, air-dry the plate and count the plaques.
5. Viral titre (PFU/ml)= number of plaques/(dilution factor)*volume of diluted virus added to the well.
It took me a few attempts using other clumsy methods before stumbling on the squirt bottle trick. It's a method I haven't seen online anywhere so hopefully this will be helpful to a fellow scientist. Happy virus culturing.
17 November 2007
Blogger Play
When Facebook-stalking your ex-crush isn't satisfying those voyeuristic tendencies anymore, check out Blogger Play.
It shows all the images that are currently being uploaded to Blogger. It's fascinating to see the diversity in what people post online. Blogger Play can be hit and miss, but is worth a peek when you've got a few minutes to kill.
It shows all the images that are currently being uploaded to Blogger. It's fascinating to see the diversity in what people post online. Blogger Play can be hit and miss, but is worth a peek when you've got a few minutes to kill.
More fuel for Blogger Play. If you've seen The Mummy Returns, you should know exactly where this is. OK, so it's Abu Simbel in Egypt...
16 November 2007
One face of humanity
The following occurred the other week during a really shitty weekend spent at work. I drafted this post on the day it happened, but after forgetting about it for a while, have rediscovered and polished it for publication. Without a blog, it's no doubt that this pleasant memory would have been lost in the dark, troubled, abyss of my psyche, and for this reason I am happy to have continued blogging. Now for the story, continue on dear reader....
It was a mere 4 second observation, yet it was the highlight of my day and I've been pondering about it ever since.
I had just crossed a road on my way to work when I looked up and saw a tallish guy, head down, play-tackling with 2 kids, around 8 and 13 years old. Immediately I noticed that the guy was white and the kids black. The kids were laughing and having a great time. It was such an innocent playful gesture to witness that it instantly woke me from my iPod haze and made me smile. They were only a few metres away as I walked towards them.
Just as I passed them the guy broke the tackle and stood up straight. He was stunningly attractive, with short dark hair, fit, in his early 20's, and dressed simply in a tight white t-shirt and blue jeans: a poster image of a classic American boy. The kids were dressed like their favourite gangster rapper, in loose dark shirts and baggy pants, their black caps tilted. They continued to giggle and squeal as the poster-boy tickled them in the ribs.
The contrast of this strong, white, young man with the two small black children was striking. In the second that we crossed, I made eye-contact with the guy, and from the life in his eyes and smile on his face, it was clear he was genuinely having as much fun as the kids he was entertaining. That was perhaps the most surprising observation, as I would never have guessed that a guy like that would be so caring and paternal to such kids. I can only speculate about the relationship between the trio (neighbour, babysitter, step-father and sons?).
I don't know why, but the scene was deeply touching. It was a refreshing jolt after hearing the news that James Watson, co-discoverer of the DNA double-helix structure and Nobel Prize winner, had publicly spouted some scientifically unproven racist remark that black people were less intelligent than whites. From what I know from people who have met him or have seen him at talks, Watson has a penchant for being sexist, racist, arrogant and generally repulsive, so it was good to hear that he resigned from a high-profile post at a leading medical research institute in California.
Anyway, what I saw on my way to work was inspiring in that there was no hint of awkward racial barriers between the guy and kids, and this helped give me some hope that humanity may one day 'evolve past' racism.
Seeing the guy and kids playing made me ponder if I have profoundly affected another person in such an anonymously brief encounter? Probably not. But then again, have you?
It was a mere 4 second observation, yet it was the highlight of my day and I've been pondering about it ever since.
I had just crossed a road on my way to work when I looked up and saw a tallish guy, head down, play-tackling with 2 kids, around 8 and 13 years old. Immediately I noticed that the guy was white and the kids black. The kids were laughing and having a great time. It was such an innocent playful gesture to witness that it instantly woke me from my iPod haze and made me smile. They were only a few metres away as I walked towards them.
Just as I passed them the guy broke the tackle and stood up straight. He was stunningly attractive, with short dark hair, fit, in his early 20's, and dressed simply in a tight white t-shirt and blue jeans: a poster image of a classic American boy. The kids were dressed like their favourite gangster rapper, in loose dark shirts and baggy pants, their black caps tilted. They continued to giggle and squeal as the poster-boy tickled them in the ribs.
The contrast of this strong, white, young man with the two small black children was striking. In the second that we crossed, I made eye-contact with the guy, and from the life in his eyes and smile on his face, it was clear he was genuinely having as much fun as the kids he was entertaining. That was perhaps the most surprising observation, as I would never have guessed that a guy like that would be so caring and paternal to such kids. I can only speculate about the relationship between the trio (neighbour, babysitter, step-father and sons?).
I don't know why, but the scene was deeply touching. It was a refreshing jolt after hearing the news that James Watson, co-discoverer of the DNA double-helix structure and Nobel Prize winner, had publicly spouted some scientifically unproven racist remark that black people were less intelligent than whites. From what I know from people who have met him or have seen him at talks, Watson has a penchant for being sexist, racist, arrogant and generally repulsive, so it was good to hear that he resigned from a high-profile post at a leading medical research institute in California.
Anyway, what I saw on my way to work was inspiring in that there was no hint of awkward racial barriers between the guy and kids, and this helped give me some hope that humanity may one day 'evolve past' racism.
Seeing the guy and kids playing made me ponder if I have profoundly affected another person in such an anonymously brief encounter? Probably not. But then again, have you?
14 November 2007
Locker room fun
17.27.13
That's the combination to my lock, so help yourself to the goodies in my locker.
Sorry about the totally misleading title. Actually I'm not sorry. Unfulfilled expectations suck, don't they?
9 November 2007
The Ex-flatmate Boston experience
With no signs of my misery disappearing, I thought I'd reflect on less depressing times. As mentioned previously, Ex-flatmate's recent visit was a highlight of my Boston existence so far.
Here are some highlights of the Ex-flatmate Boston visit:
- Chatting and just hanging out again. Poor Ex-flatmate. During his stay he had to cop a fair bit of complaining and venting from me. I haven't really had a chance to chat on such a personal level over here so it all kinda spewed out during our late night conversations. Gotta love those beer-induced existential crisis chats.
- Our trip to Maine for some 'leaf peeping'. For the uninitiated, leaf peeping is the raunchy act of going into the wilderness to see all the pretty autumn/fall foliage. Bradbury forest offered spectacular peak Fall viewing while Casco Bay at Wolfe's Neck Woods was more about quiet waterfront serenity than foliage. The Woods also gets the prestigious award for Best Bathroom at a State Park, it was surprisingly well-equipped (flushing toilet, hand-dryers) and impeccably clean, plus any park bathroom that doesn't smell like my incontinent Grandma's favourite armchair gets an enthusiastic thumbs up.
- On the freeway from Maine to Boston, we got a flat tyre that we embarrassingly didn't know how to change. To be fair, I did know the theory behind it but was foiled in practice by being unable to loosen the wheel nuts that initiates the whole process. The State Trooper that arrived at the scene, and who was obviously less than impressed with our tyre-changing inadequacies, gave me the tip to kick the tyre-iron to loosen the lugs. Oh yeah, turning the tyre-iron the correct way (counter-clockwise) to actually loosen the nuts was also sage advice.
- Dinner at Legal's Seafood after the Maine trip. If you go to Legal's, definitely go for their famous New England clam chowder and their banana and rum dessert.
- Ex-flatmate missing his flight and being forced to stay in Boston another night. Although it was an ultra-stressfest for Ex-flatmate, it was actually a fortuitous event since it allowed us to visit Matt Murphy's pub that night. I highly recommend the little Brookline Village pub. We went for the live music and weren't disappointed. Till closing time, we drunk tasty Harpoon Seasonal Ales, Speckled Hens, and enjoyed grooving to the funky/boogaloo sounds of B3 Kings. The band was solid and pumping all-round, but as a guitar player wannabe, I was particularly blown away with the amazing noodling of the lead guitarist.
Matt Murphy's is a small, intimate and stylishly dark pub with the most stressful bathroom location, ever. It's a one-person restroom (dunny in Aussie-speak) located right behind where the band plays. Getting to the dunny is the rookie part (just wait for a gap in songs, although that night their songs just seemed to flow to the next...), but exiting the bathroom successfully requires critical timing. A poorly executed bathroom break could end you trapped behind the band until you're brave enough and/or there's a sufficient break in the long set to drunkenly pick your way through the tangle of leads, amps, and musos in order to reach the safety of your seat. Oh, did I mention that the audience is eye-balling your every move during all this? But don't let the requirement of having a Bladder of Fortitude +10 put you off from Matt Murphy's. The music, ambiance and beer is well worth it.
- Ex-flatmate receiving his honorary doctorate from the esteemed centre of higher learning that is the Boston Beer Works. Although having received no formal training in chemistry, fluid dynamics, or any post-high school science whatsoever, Ex-flatmate's dissertation (scribbled on the table with beer and finger) on why the blueberries in his Blueberry Beer kept oscillating up and down his glass was, as far as I could understand, top notch (it involved some scientific mumbo-jumbo about gas bubbles collecting and dissipating on the blueberries affecting their buoyancy). True to the Scientific Method, it required a lot of beer drinking to test and validate his hypothesis on "The Entropic States of Ales and Lagers: A study on blueberry z-axis kinetics", which probably explained why we were the last two patrons to stumble out of the Works that night.
With current events seemingly stuck in a downward spiral it's hard to justify plodding along the path fate/luck/destiny/randomness has given, and knowing what really makes me happy is difficult to pin down. Sitting here, reminiscing, I remember lounging in the afternoon sun, watching squirrels, watching people, watching life tick past, chatting with a mate in the park. That's happiness.
Here are some highlights of the Ex-flatmate Boston visit:
- Chatting and just hanging out again. Poor Ex-flatmate. During his stay he had to cop a fair bit of complaining and venting from me. I haven't really had a chance to chat on such a personal level over here so it all kinda spewed out during our late night conversations. Gotta love those beer-induced existential crisis chats.
- Our trip to Maine for some 'leaf peeping'. For the uninitiated, leaf peeping is the raunchy act of going into the wilderness to see all the pretty autumn/fall foliage. Bradbury forest offered spectacular peak Fall viewing while Casco Bay at Wolfe's Neck Woods was more about quiet waterfront serenity than foliage. The Woods also gets the prestigious award for Best Bathroom at a State Park, it was surprisingly well-equipped (flushing toilet, hand-dryers) and impeccably clean, plus any park bathroom that doesn't smell like my incontinent Grandma's favourite armchair gets an enthusiastic thumbs up.
- On the freeway from Maine to Boston, we got a flat tyre that we embarrassingly didn't know how to change. To be fair, I did know the theory behind it but was foiled in practice by being unable to loosen the wheel nuts that initiates the whole process. The State Trooper that arrived at the scene, and who was obviously less than impressed with our tyre-changing inadequacies, gave me the tip to kick the tyre-iron to loosen the lugs. Oh yeah, turning the tyre-iron the correct way (counter-clockwise) to actually loosen the nuts was also sage advice.
- Dinner at Legal's Seafood after the Maine trip. If you go to Legal's, definitely go for their famous New England clam chowder and their banana and rum dessert.
- Ex-flatmate missing his flight and being forced to stay in Boston another night. Although it was an ultra-stressfest for Ex-flatmate, it was actually a fortuitous event since it allowed us to visit Matt Murphy's pub that night. I highly recommend the little Brookline Village pub. We went for the live music and weren't disappointed. Till closing time, we drunk tasty Harpoon Seasonal Ales, Speckled Hens, and enjoyed grooving to the funky/boogaloo sounds of B3 Kings. The band was solid and pumping all-round, but as a guitar player wannabe, I was particularly blown away with the amazing noodling of the lead guitarist.
Matt Murphy's is a small, intimate and stylishly dark pub with the most stressful bathroom location, ever. It's a one-person restroom (dunny in Aussie-speak) located right behind where the band plays. Getting to the dunny is the rookie part (just wait for a gap in songs, although that night their songs just seemed to flow to the next...), but exiting the bathroom successfully requires critical timing. A poorly executed bathroom break could end you trapped behind the band until you're brave enough and/or there's a sufficient break in the long set to drunkenly pick your way through the tangle of leads, amps, and musos in order to reach the safety of your seat. Oh, did I mention that the audience is eye-balling your every move during all this? But don't let the requirement of having a Bladder of Fortitude +10 put you off from Matt Murphy's. The music, ambiance and beer is well worth it.
- Ex-flatmate receiving his honorary doctorate from the esteemed centre of higher learning that is the Boston Beer Works. Although having received no formal training in chemistry, fluid dynamics, or any post-high school science whatsoever, Ex-flatmate's dissertation (scribbled on the table with beer and finger) on why the blueberries in his Blueberry Beer kept oscillating up and down his glass was, as far as I could understand, top notch (it involved some scientific mumbo-jumbo about gas bubbles collecting and dissipating on the blueberries affecting their buoyancy). True to the Scientific Method, it required a lot of beer drinking to test and validate his hypothesis on "The Entropic States of Ales and Lagers: A study on blueberry z-axis kinetics", which probably explained why we were the last two patrons to stumble out of the Works that night.
With current events seemingly stuck in a downward spiral it's hard to justify plodding along the path fate/luck/destiny/randomness has given, and knowing what really makes me happy is difficult to pin down. Sitting here, reminiscing, I remember lounging in the afternoon sun, watching squirrels, watching people, watching life tick past, chatting with a mate in the park. That's happiness.
7 November 2007
You go squish now
You might have gathered from my previous post that things really are crap for me at the moment. Life, job, love...many things. Blogging about it is pointless so I won't. Supportive friends have cheered me up somewhat. Beer is also good, although chocolate is better. The following clip also gave me a giggle. On many different levels, it resonates with my existence at the moment.
2 November 2007
Friday vent
The reasons are many, but lately I've been in a state of melancholy. Gripes? Factors that are particularly pissing me off? I've got plenty, here's a sample.
- My pay, or rather, being underpaid. What do you think the salary of a postdoc in biological science should be? Keep in mind that postdocs have the highest academic qualification possible (Ph.D), are the work horses of US labs, and are doing a job to advance scientific discovery, a discovery that in the future may benefit your precious health. For example, thanks to medical science you no longer face a hideous death from smallpox, so I don't want to read any more shit about scientists being evil because we use animals in research or do things like genetic engineering. I don't want to hear people complaining that we don't have a cure for cancer already. Science is fucking hard OK?, this shit takes time so back the fuck off. If you're one of those people having a go at science and aren't a scientist or don't know a scientist, then you probably have no accurate idea what scientific research is about anyway, so in addition to fucking off, shut the fuck up. So back to my question, what's the salary of a postdoc? Well an entry level postdoc in the US gets the princely sum of around $37,000 per annum (before tax; according to government guidelines). Constantly working weekends, major job instability, the frustration of experiments constantly failing, that's the existence of a typical postdoc. All for what? not even 40-fucking K to live off. Pathetic.
- Myself, for being too lazy to go to the gym this week. Plus me overall, but let's leave the self-obsessed deconstructive loathe-fest until next time shall we?
- Overpriced piss-water Starbucks coffee.
Starsucks by www.organique.com (top) and Kieron Dwyer’s take on Starbucks (bottom). - Cold weather.
- The lack of hold that is provided by my hair gel and the fact that I can't find the brand I used to use in Sydney. Don't roll your eyes, I'm gay, I've got the bloody right to bitch about meaningless shit like this.
- The slow death of my African violet. I water you, give you light, provide a moderate temperature, why are you dying?!
- Having no idea what my future career will be. Do I stay in science or bail already?
- My cell phone constantly having crappy reception. While I'm at it, a big fuck you to Verizon for making me put down a freaking $400 deposit just so I have the privilege of getting a shit-house cell phone with your glorious network. All because I don't have a credit history in the US. What bullshit. Fuckers.
- Having to work out the fucking tip at bars and restaurants. I've had 8 beers already and now you're making me do fucking maths? It's insane.
- American spelling, the way the day/month order is switched and the use of Imperial measurement in the US.
Seriously, why the fuck is arguably the most powerful nation on this piss-ant planet still not using the metric system? and don't spout the bullshit about it costing too much to convert the US to metric. If the US can afford $720 million per day on killing people in Iraq and Afghanistan (or half a million bucks per minute, with a projected cost of $2.4 trillion in ten years), then surely, metric conversion is attainable. - My constant misspelling of "Ex-flatemate" in a whole bunch of old posts, which I've now tried to correct.
- This whinging nothing of a post.
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