Where I work.

Microsoft is starting to scare me. Clik here, then clik the 'Birds Eye' and view where I work. One can even rotate around the building.

Happy Thanksgiving

The duck races in Marburg. I'm not to sure of the
tradition, but you buy a plastic duck, paint it, set it
on the Lahn River, and see which duck wins the
race a 100 meters down river. Olivia's (girl in middle)
didnt win. I think she cried.

I sit here in German-land in a height of jealousy and loneliness. You see, I have no turkey leg in my hand. I have no mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberries or corn swimming in a plate of thick turkey gravy...because I have no turkey gravy either. I did have burritos for lunch and supper today, but it just wasn't the same. Please, you that are reading now, since it is a fifty fifty chance you are amercan, please fix a turkey plate for me..say a little prayer, like gobble gobble amen, and then proceed to eat in my name. If you really want it make it complete, drink beer the rest of the day with your two brothers until about 10:oo (a good solid drunk should be developed) and then go down to the local bar and proceed to chase any women with more than two teeth and less then three kids. A good start to the Happy Holidays.


So I haven't blogged in two months. Whats my deal? Well keep reading and I will tell all.

I had my 30th birthday a month ago. I decided to throw a party at my house. It was quite fun. But many things got broken. Here is a short list: glasses, plates, door windows, bathroom vanities, my bed etc. etc. As you can see some people got a little wild. It wasn't my fault either. For the birthday present, the students bought me a 3 liter bottle of Bacardi. Hence, the destruction that ensued.

I'm thirty now. My twenties are gone in a decade of long education, failed relationships, and hard knock experiences. I had a chilling thought when I looked in the mirror this morning with my face red, splotchy, and a little wrinkled from sleep: I think I see middle age kreeping in there, one small laugh line at a time. I'm still trying to accept it.

Two weeks ago, with no plans for a Friday night, I decide to make my own adventure. There is a Techno club in Frankfurt that I always wanted to go to. The name of it is simply 'U60311'. It is an old subway station converted into mind altering concussion of lights, massive beats, and lots of smoke. I took the train from Marburg and reached Frankfurt about midnight. One could say the Frankfurt train station has its own club scene at midnight on Fridays. I thought I was pretty popular as woman after woman smiled, waved to me, and asked me questions in German I didnt understand. I dont care if they were all hookers looking for johns, and least they made me smile.

From the train station, U60311 is only a ten minute walk. Something to keep in mind as I looked for a subway or trolly for 20 minutes in attempt to get there. One of the hookers finally pointed me in the right direction. The line to the club was pretty long at that point, so I did my best with my bad german and talked to as many people as I could in the line to make some instant friends. When one has a whiskey bottle in a cold misty Frankfurt night, I find it is still possible to make friends. In fact, the man behind me became very friendly, and he later offered to sell Ecstasy to me--two pills for 10 euros. Thinking as a medicinal chemist, I couldn't readily swallow his pills. I once heard a true story about 5 people who ended up with instant Parkinson's disease due to a shortcut in synthesis. Spending the rest of my life without being able to control my arms and legs sounds pretty gruesome to me.

I found some people to hangout with--some students from Mannheim who went to Frankfurt for fun. Unfortunately I found the music disappointing. The DJs seem to like to play with the crowds for some reason. They would play some good beats--and then cut the music for ten seconds to complete silence, and then come back with something completely different then what was playing before. I just didnt get into it. Maybe Im too old to dance Techno, but I noticed most of the crowd was my age or older though.

At 4 in the morning, I finally took the train back to Marburg and started sleeping the minute I hit the train seat. I was rudely awakened 20 minutes later by a non-impressed train conductor asking for my ticket. It was quite the adventure, but expensive.

Für ein bisschen, Ich spreche in Deutsch. Ich kenne meine Grammatik ist sehr schlecht. Ich muss mehr Deutsch sprechen und schreiben. Ein Weg für mich Deutsch kennen lernen ist Geige Musik spielen. Ich habe Nachhilfe. Mein Lehrer ist russiche und wenig Englishe sprechen. Er ist kurz und ein artistischen Man. Mein erste Gedanke nicht ab ein Reuße. Jetzt Ich kann Stille Nacht wieder spielen. Auf den ersten Blick kann ich nicht wiedergeben kann. Mein Lehrer sagte, es klang wie Terrorismus nach Marburg kommen, nicht die schöne Stille Nacht. Ich gedacht das war sehr lustig.

A forest riding I go.......

This is Louis, my brother's overactive friend.

He runs his truck on propane so it has more power at ALL angles.

Then he attacks logs laying down.........

and logs on their way to lying down, with his help.

He is a true friend to the environment.

My brother Bruce and I with the his BAJ (Big Ass Jeep).

So I had to learn something about my brother's hobby as I come back home to spend time with the family. So I learn the complicated sport of mudding and log/rock climbing. I learn the terms--like my brother telling me he had 38's, but now he has 44's, but some day he would like 48's or 52's. The number being how tall his tires are, and therefore the size of the logs he can run over. Dana 60's are good (type of transmission axles) but military top loading Rockwells are better. He once let me drive. I did fine going through massive mudholes, but I ruined the front axle CV joint thingy. He wasnt too happy at this as he spent 3 hours one day finding the parts to fix it and then 4 hours the next day ripping everything apart and replacing the broken parts (as I mostly slept at home). He then he wrecked the BAJ that same day even worse than I could. Poor guy.

RIP ROBERT JORDAN

First, my condolences to Robert Jordan (real name James Oliver Rigney Jr). I first picked up his book when I was a pimply teenager of 15. His book, Eye of the World, let me escape into a world with beautiful sorcerer's and struggling wizards. Every boy sees himself in his main character of Rand Al´Thor. Especially a pimpled boy of 15, who was going through puberty later than everyone else, and the closest he had every been to a girl was tripping into one.

But alas to my rant, as I have been reading Robert Jordan's Wheel of time series for 15 years now----waiting for the final book to come out. The covetted BOOK TWELVE. I have to know how it all ends--I've purchased all the books!--sometimes even the expensive hardcovers--me, and millions like me--all left waiting, forever. Wondering what becomes of that deeply engrossing fantasy world he created. When you read that much literature from one man (each book is about two inches thick), you start to care. But now science fiction nerds around the world will probably have to make do with a fake book twelve, writtin by another author, who we all suspect really didnt know how it was really suppose to end. A sadness comes over me, and a forlorn walk home I shall have.

RIP ROBERT JORDAN

Dear Anonymous, Terry`s do not die.

terry´s do not die
like terry´s cannot cry
sometimes he can fly
sometimes he likes pie

so person you are high
to think a terry can die
he`s a tough kinda guy
no matter how hot the fry

So did Terry die?
NO! we must deny
this outrageous lie
my answer to your reply

The very, very month of.....August?

Here I sit six inches away from a cliff that plunges

down over a thousand feet. The picture taker kept saying

just a little further back....a little more.....

I dont know what happened to August. I think I put it in one of my many wallets that I have lost over the last decades, never to see again.

Sorry for the lack of posts. I have to make and give many a seminar every week this last month and that always take a lot of time for me. I think my average for seminars is one hour of preparation per slide. When you have twenty slides to give (which in truth isnt even that long) it takes all the brain power I have for a couple of days. But on to the fun stuff.

So a couple of weeks ago I went to Hirschegg, Austria. Depending on how you get there, it is a full day trip. Me and some of the chinese graduates students went down there by the cheapest method possible. Only taking the Regional train. What would be a 5 hr car ride was 10 hrs by Regional train. With the intercity trains it would be only 6 hours, but this costs 70 euros vs 7 euros Regional.

But the trip was actually quite fun. The graduate students brought so much food along with them that the train ride was a constant picnic of peaches, apples, canned meat, and strange chinese food concoctions--like sweetened dehydrated orange peel. Not so delicious to me, especially as it looks more like grey mold, but the chinese girls really liked it.

We arrived in Hirchegg, Austria sometime in the evening and we had a beautiful Mountain Sunset. Hirshegg is a very popular ski resort in the Winter and a hiking Mecca in the summer. They are the greenest mountains I have ever seen. The fellow chemistry students and I went up the mountain for seven hours, and then took the gondola down. That was only 20 minutes and a much better idea.

I just came back from three days in Munich where I was shown some proper methods and techniques on how to work with siRNA and cell culture. My experiments have been failing in this area so I went for more professional help. Unfortunetely when I showed up, my expert was gravely ill and couldnt come to lab. That wasnt a problem though--it just gave me more free time to hit the city center in Munich.

I went to a famous brewery in Munich called the Hofbrauhaus. It has been operating for some 400 years and originally made all the beer for the aristocracy. Do you know what this brewery has learned in 400 years of beer drinking? Large pipes in the bathrooms. They have a special sink that flushes in the bathrooms there for all the men that puke in there. The pipes are the size of a soccer ball to make sure everything neatly drains. It reminds me of the vomitoriums that were once in Rome. Eating one meal just wasnt enough--just like drinking 2 liters of beer isnt enough--one needs to make room for more.

The harder you try, the worse it gets.

Hmm, it seems my readership lately is going down and down, as I see less and less comments. Perhaps I should regale with more stories of my fish tank. I am sure this would be more entertaining for all of you. Did you know my shrimps were pregnant? They have masses of eggs sticking out of there bellies that looks more like white fungus. I wonder if my other fish will eat the babies? I would feel bad about this, but then again, I would save on flake food for awhile. Its a toss up.

My Uncle Mike wrote me a letter the other day. I was kinda surprised. Not that he likes to write letters, just that he wrote one to me. I remember when I was young and he used to tell us about writing to the government, to the president, governor, and whoever else thought might listen to his hand written letters. I especially liked the stories about him writing to his boss about all the marijuana use and stealing that goes on around him at his place of work. I bet he gives them lots of heartburn.

His letter to me was quite funny. Him and my brother are secretly developing the fuel vapor engine that goes 200 mph. I think this is exactly what Highway 8 needs in Chisago County. It already has one of the highest accident rates in Minnesota--too many fast teenagers behind too many slow retired old ladies makes for a twisted metal combinations. Uncle Mike also wrote about only wanting live ammo as a little boy and as a young man. I still think he secretly wants this now. Uncle Mike's yellow pages ad also isnt working. He gets too many telemarketer calls and has found a way to make money suing them. I wish him luck with this new found money making method, but for now, I will just promote his day job. Should any of you in Minneapolis/Golden Valley area need ANY kind of locksmithing skills, Spike`s Lock and Key is the man to call. But be warned, he only takes cash and likes to go into rants on the mention of credit cards. But this is mildly entertaining too.

Today was a dismal day in the laboratory. One of my reactions blew up in my chest, but no harm was done (to me). Actually, it wasn´t an explosion, but a implosion of glassware under high vacuum. It pretty much has the same effect of sending glass fragments, solvent, and my precious product evenly across the laboratory. I had spent so much time making this chemical though, I had to gently scrape and collect it off the glass shards throughout the lab. These are the real skills learned in the post-doctorate laboratory.

For the second time I tried to sell my laptop on ebay, and for the second time, I had some con artist buy it. He tried to tell he uses a special banking procedure that puts the money right inside my bank account instantly, just as long as I give him my pin code number. I sent him a fake one, and told him I will be expecting the money REAL SOON! The first con artist who won my computer on ebay said to ship it fast because it was a special b-day present for his son in Nigeria. Just hearing Nigeria raised some red flags. Mr. Scammer then sent a fake Paypal email to me stating that the payment was already in my account, and the package could be shipped immediately. I think the only ones on ebay these days are con artists. So now I have to wait the mandatory 14 days before I can relist the item while ebay sends out moronic email after moronic email to the buyer, gently asking them to please please pay the seller so we (ebay) can keep our raping 15% fee! I hate them all.

What do you think I should do with all these con artists?

Everyday Life

Feeling floundering, flippant, and fairly philosophical. Enjoy my wondering wonderful word ways.

Esprit Libre, Esprit Libre!!!!

All your thoughts
your every day life
gone in moment
in insignificant strife

your here and after
your religious lark
matters no more
when the lights go dark

dont take the word
of politician or priest
live now, live free
enjoy life's feast

succulent sweet strawberry
flavorful food from friends
beer boasting brothers
taken together, transcends

piles of money
loads of good looks
security and safety
knowledge of books

take your risks
earn the reward
keep your passion
a fine edged sword

then stories you shall have
of lands explored and had
fights won and lost
Lovers, gladden and sad

your heart will be
scarred and tore
left and loved
yet, something to adore

yearn for experience
a way to give back
and turn around those
who only have slack

meet your soulmate
stay and hold true
and never forget
to say, I love you

for all your thoughts
in your every day strife
will then never be gone
in someone elses life.

Wings and Weddings.

The bride and groom
a life together soon
first broken plates they clean
not the last to be seen....

strange man in the back
couldn't get a plate to crack
so he laughs and waits
for the shirtless dancing he creates

For the past couple of weeks now, my kitchen cleaning skills seem to be deteriorating, now that my good friends, the german cockroaches, are all resting in heaven having a martini and cigar with George Burns. The consequences of sloth does not go unnoticed in nature, and other insects have moved into my kitchen. The new roommates go by the name of fruit flies and seem to like the contents of my warm and moist summer garbage. Well, its hard to hate these cute little fruit flies, so I have done to little to deter them, including taking out the garbage. I just open the windows a little more in the apartment so the smell doesn't build up so bad. Like all of life, ignoring one set of problems only brings others to fruit.

So on Wednesday this week, I get home late from a long day and head directly to the kitchen. As I walk in, flip on the kitchen light, I only faintly notice a large brown thing the size of a fist going past my head and out of the kitchen. I'm so tired that I only given some thought about what that could have been about 30 seconds later, as I start to chop some garlic. Hmm, I think, a bit big to be a moth. I better go see what that is. I head to the living room and as soon as I turn on the light, something immediately starts to fly. Oh christ I think, a bat. He must of came in for the plethora of fruit flies.

Have you ever seen Cujo? or even better, read the book by Stephen King? Well I remember watching the movie when I was very young and always being scared a bat was going to bite me and give me rabies. I would turn into a mad kid with foam at the mouth trying to bite everyone. As this mouse sized bat started to fly, I knew the war was on, and it was going to be him or me. So with my garlic chopping knife, it was a duel to the death. So I ran around the room trying to cut off one of his wings, and then once in awhile he would perform some aerial maneuver he probably learned dogfighting in WWII, and start chasing me with his rabies infected teeth. I would then dive for cover and be on the run back to the kitchen where I could gather courage for the next battle. A very worthy opponent this bat. It finally ended in a truce, when he flew out the window. But I have a feeling he will be back..... For now, I think I will take out the garbage.


So last Friday, I did a half-marathon here in Marburg. The marathon here is a bit unusual as it starts at 7pm. My official time was 1:56:29 and I placed 419th. I was only 46 minutes behind the winner. At least I kept my goal of under two hours. The running was great though, and the extrovert inside me loves the crowds and their cheers as I run past. Unfortunetly, I have no good photos of me running along, looking tired, looking like I would rather be drinking beer.

Yesterday, I went to a wedding of a labmate. It contained free beer, a heavy metal band complete with a large angry Russian, and a very plastered Terry. What more could you ask for? The labmate was/is still in this band and played drums for the guests. They band even pulled out a rock ballad for the bride, which the groom sang to her. It was the perfect wedding party. I'm not sure some of the older crowd liked all the head banging, but it sure was entertaining to me. One of the traditions here is the wedding guests smashing plates on the ground for the new couple to clean up, their first chore 'together'. It gets a bit complicated though. As soon as the mess it almost cleaned, the couple is pulled apart if they are not krafty, and the mess spread out in the street again for them to reclean. I like the metaphor. I didn't like the hangover, or the pictures I seen today.

Nightly News by Insomniac

Everyone needs a little American Cake sometimes.

It is an unfortunate truth in life that one persons loss, usually comes at the hands of anothers gain. My failure to sleep tonight (my loss) brings me here to you, for if I cannot sleep, I shall write the blog, and hopefully entertain your lives for a minute or two (your gain). Then again, a risk of my reading might be your loss too.

So my Independence Day party was a smashing success. Unlike past parties that involved family and friends, there were no friendship fights, dame dramas, or pestering police. It was refreshing change. Dont get me wrong, fights, domestic disturbances, and swat teams always make for a fun party full of stories, just as long as its not MY place.

Upon arriving at my house, one of the friends brought a Sheesha. After making sure there was no hardcore drugs to smoke in it that would make the students want to fly like birds out my second floor window, I was quite happy it was there. I like the flavored tobacco in these waterpipes. It is something like breathing/tasting flavored air--usually tastes something like smoked apple wood or something like that. Plus you get to breathe out lots of flavored smoke and practice smoke rings. Very entertaining.

At my party I supplied beer, Tequila, Jack Daniels, and Southern Comfort. There simply is no 4th of July without these basic essentials. Another friend even brought me a second bottle of Jack Daniels as a gift so there was Jack and Cokes for all, which always gets a party started rather fast. I played the friendly bartender and made sure everyone had a mixed drink that was rather strong. The JD went rather quick this way unfortunetly. I did a Tequila shot with one Chinese post-doc and she drank half and poured the rest on the carpet. I'm not quite sure of this tradition, but to each his or her own.

The only fire works allowed are Sparklers. They call them Wunderkerzen, which translates to Miracle Candles. I bought a hundred of these for the party and they were all burned within about 10 minutes. Each person had two and between all of us, we put on quite the pyrotechnic show. Since it was late at night, with stomachs full of JD and beer, many of us thought of ourselves as techno dancers with a fresh pair of glow sticks. We were twirling, whirling and swirling to our hearts content, a cross between heavy metal rockers and ballet dancers, or so it looked to me. Miracle Candles indeed.

My acrylic paints were even put to good use. I saved my old refrigerator from the kitchen renovation and made it into a permanent beverage cooler (translation: Beer Fridge). It is a rather ugly looking thing unfortunetly, so I had some of the more artistic friends do some caligraphy painting on it. With big bold letters of "Das Bier Ist Hier", no one wonders where to find the beer anymore.

Then of course, there is the usual party behavior--one girl wanted to take her dress off but I convinced her not too, one guy proved he really is the real spider-man by climbing up the drain pipe and entering my apartment through one of the windows. Outside, we sang aweem buway--The Lion Sleeps tonight--maybe the Lion was sleeping, but the neighbors werent and let us know that they weren't...and that are singing was way off key. Who likes a critic anyway?

I think one of the best parts of the party was the end. Two girls decided it was there job to clean up the party mess, all the dishes, the kitchen, my apartment, and even make my bed. It never been cleaner. Yes, they get invited next time or once a month on Sunday. They also get all the beer they want.

Ok, its 4am and I try sleep once again. Here is some pics for you:

http://picasaweb.google.de/tybalt77/070704?authkey=AVYOHyDQvmQ

Independence Day in Marburg.

I decided since I cant go home for the 4th of July party, I have one here. Sometimes in life, you just have to make your own happiness. Here is the invitation--you can come too. It is complete with Editor's Notes.

Dear colleagues,

To celebrate the fact that I am several thousand kilometers away from

the celebrations of my favorite holiday, and to subtly remind the

British that we don't need their English Tea, I shall have a

Independence party at either the Rosenpark (Site of the former planet

Pluto, by the Hauptbahnhof) if the weather is good, or my house if the

weather is raining, tornado, hurricane, volcano, mass anarchy, etc.

Editors note: Marburg has the sun and planets geometrically placed

around the city. So you can literally 'Run to the Sun'. Hence, we

meet at Pluto.

I will supply Chips, Beer, and the famous American hamburger, freshly

grilled with cheese, onions, and all the ketchup you could ever want.

There will be no Hackfleisch an Brot however. That's just plain Wild.

Hackfleisch an Brot: a popular sandwich consisting of raw hamburger and onions.

Feel free to bring more food, little food, or no food at all for

others to share. Freedom is everything here.

Feel free to dress as medieval knights, cartoon characters, Uncle Sam

himself, or wear nothing--in true independent and democratic spirit. I

am a equal opportunity partier, but encourage more women to show up

(drunk).

Persons wearing red, white, AND blue get all the beer they want. But

those that dont, probably will too.

You can also bring tea bags, but I am not sure what we will do with

them. I am afraid if we throw them in the river, some ducks will die.

The German graduate students asked earlier in the week if they could bring

tea bags to throw in the river running along the Park--to reenact the Boston

Tea party.

While the constitution says all men are created equal, I have a

feeling some ducks are not.

Any who can bring games, will also get to drink all the beer they

want. If you have to ask the date of the party, you are not invited.

Someone in my german class asked me when the 4th of July was. They are not invited.

Will a 12-pack of beer be enough?

MTV Campus Invasion--Marburg

So two weekends ago I attended the spectacular MTV event called Campus Invasion, hosted right here in Marburg. I didnt get tickets in advance so I had to wait with a friend outside and wait for tickets. This ended up being quite fun though. There was a bunch of teenagers in front of us with lots of food, drinks, and card games. They even had UNO!!! I was so excited at seeing UNO I asked if we could play. So the next three hours involved playing UNO, eating their apples, bread, and drinking juice boxes. It kinda felt like the trips to the Como Zoo when I was a kid.

Then the ticket box office opened and pandamonium broke out--what was a nice orderly line of kind and polite Germans, turned into a riot of pubescent teens thinking the tickets were almost sold out. When we finally got to the ticket counter, they had stacks of tickets six inches thick. Next time, I plan ahead. Of course, I always say that too.

So the concert was pretty fun. Its been about six or seven years since my last concert, but its nice to see some behaviors only stay the same. I mean this sarcastically, of course. Mainly, cause I lost a shoe. And my beloved leatherman. This is what I get for being 29 and not being aware of the fellows around me, hoisting me in the air and crowd surfing I went--all the way to the stage where a burly security was much more gentle than I could have ever hoped. What a gentleman, I thought. I gave him my number.

Someone, somewhere has some video of this concert. If I should find it, I will certainly post it. I stick out like a sore thumb do to my ever stylish yellow shirt and green backpack I was wearing.

I stuck around after the concert to see if I could find my shoe (I had no hope for the leatherman), but was disappointed. I did find someone else's brown shoe, which was a size too small, but better than nothing. So there is probably someone out there missing a brown sketcher who had to go home wearing my three-year-old faded tennis shoe. Such is destiny.

Painting, Pills, and Potstickers

Red Tetra. Oil on paper.

My first painting. A neon tetra from my fish tank. He had a hard time keeping still for my picture, but a cup of ethanol in the tank seemed to take care of that little problem. The amatuer in me forgot to sign the picture.

Muddy Sky. Acrylic on canvas.

My second attempt at painting. At least I remembered to sign my name. Ironically, it seems to look better upside down.

Grey Winter. Oil on canvas.

My third painting. If Bob Koss can do it for me, he can surely do it for you. So why the heck are all his paints and videos so damn expensive? He's DEAD!!!! Now please enjoy my inspiring Grey Winter.


Roses in a jar. Oil on Canvas.

Not my painting, but I did inspire the artist to finish it when she quit on it. How did I do this? I merely threatened her with the words,"Don't worry I'll finish it!!" After seeing my paintings 1,2, and 3--this had the right effect.




Dork at Pill Press. Digital Photo.

I learned the fundamentals of mixing and making tablets and pills. Quite interesting actually. Anyone have requests? I thank Juliane for teaching such a slow student.

Potsticker Yu. Digital Photo.

Yu and Cuifang proceed to teach me the basics in making potstickers. Actually, Cuifang made all the potstickers, Yu drank, sang, and modelled, and Terry laughed, ate, and drank all their wine and beer. Careful who you invite to the dinner table.

Not all that gleams is golden.

Back, in another chapter of my life, I once held a job called Residence Advisor, where I had to council freshman college students on some facts of life. Dont drink with fraternities and here is some condoms--use them. Such were some of the lessons I had to impart. Another such lesson arrives at me now. It is called the W-curve and we all go through it, even for me, right now.

The W-curve is a simple concept. New experiences follow an emotional curve in the shape of a W. At the start, feelings are grand, everything is new, and life couldn't be better. But as time goes by, and your new balloon becomes ever so deflated, you hit the first depression of your own unique W. What was new about your experience is now tiresome, what was unique is now blase´and wearisome. The ups and downs of the emotional experience continues until an adjustment is finally made and your new baseline is finally reached.

I thought my baseline had been reached, until about three days ago when my stress levels seemed to keep climbing, with never a dip. That feeling creeps over where you dont want to get up in the morning, dont want to goto bed at night, and everything in between feels like drowning and until the mind turns into a dumb state of numb, a knife so dull it couldn't cut air.

Simply put, I miss my old outlets of stress relief that had become a weekly ritual for me and some of my closest others. Poker at seedy lesbian bars where the waitresses were over friendly, and your friends over the top, and the smoky atmosphere near choking, and yet delightfully perfect. Meeting a friend at Sally's or Big Ten's for a round of artery clogging sandwiches, stale popcorn, and cheap beer--sometimes with a game of cribbage--sometimes with a game darts.

Hanging out with the family was always a great stress reliever. There I could immerse myself in their lives--hear their problems and tell mine, with me always leaving feeling better, knowing others out there often have more pressing problems than my own, and with mine feeling smaller by comparison.

There are others I miss--running on the Mississippi, biking across the Stone Arch Bridge, a walk through Minihaha Falls, grilling at the Poker house, Frisbee golf, techno dancing, a motorcycle ride in the rain.

And of course, the last vestige that keeps me from going insane, on days when insanity feels like the only real option--I write. Sometimes you see it (here), sometimes its in the thick brown book. Thanks for reading.

The Arabian Prince of Steal

The Prince of Steal, workin' on the herum.

My life, updated and neatly typed, for your pleasure. Criticism welcome, comments encouraged, and communication compulsory.

I have just finished my second semester of the german language. I can now express the most rudimentary of thoughts and yet reading childrens books is more difficult than reading long winded and complex chemisty publications. My latest lesson in the german language was trying to decipher data protocol jargon. I have been learning how one measures and digitizes analog signals, and then doing the programming for it too. You see? My life is full of adventure around the clock. My exam for german class in on Tuesday, and I have lots to study. I am considering whether I should even show up for the test. Chances are I am going to fail as I had little inclination to study the past month. Long lab hours of bad results puts me in a grey mood with little fervor for learning something new.

On the more fun side of life, I went to a birthday party a few days ago. It was also a costume party with the theme of fairy tales. The host, who was dressed up as Snow White, put a whole new spin on the innocent fairy tale that I remember. With a short skirt and lots of cleavage, it would be the Snow White every adult male wishes he could meet. Other characters at the party were Little Red Riding Hood, Sleeping beauty, The Frog Prince, The “Burger King” King, Arabian Princesses, and even a Black Widow Princess (the costume looked like that of fancy stripper lingerie—the kind one sees in very expensive strip clubs—not that I have been in many). I came as the Arabian Prince, but looked more like a homeless Arabian prince with a blanket on my back, dishrag on my head, blanket for a cape, and a backwards lab jacket for a tunic. “Sleeping Beauty” even loaned me a pair of black leggings to really completely the picture. A handsome and well dressed prince was I. Is it any wonder I go home, alone, again and again?

I silently laughed at the party and how us men are really slobs. You could see the girls looking pretty and gorgeous and spending lots of time on their costumes. But the guys costumes had the look of someone who remembered to dress up five minutes before coming. A great example (besides me) was the “Burger King” King guy---who went out and bought a happy meal and then just put on the crown. He completed the look by wearing a wife beater t-shirt.

I also tasted many new shots at this party. One tasted like anise, one tasted like grape jelly, and another tasted of cough syrup. All were pretty weak, thank god, as everyone were drinking them like water. This was a good thing for other respects too. The last time I got a little wild and out of control, my boss from Abbott (in Chicago) asked me if I was really dancing on tables and breaking the law. I guess a good story travels fast, although for the record, I was never dancing on any tables, but I might have knocked one or two over. But this time there was no wild and out of control me. I woke up guilt free and with some pride leftover.

I made a half hearted attempt to check out airplane tickets for to come back on the Fourth of July, being its my favorite holiday. But the cheapest airplane tickets for the Saturday before and after the fourth was 900 dollars. A bit much for me right now. If anyone scouts a deal, let me know.

I just finished a couple of books, I think you all should know about. One was a romance book—The Time Traveler’s Wife sent to me by a good friend. Another was The Five People You Meet In Heaven. A bit unusual, spititualistic, but was so good I read the whole book in one day, and was up til 4am doing so.

Lufthansa and Lyon

Another traveling buddy of mine, but we had a slight disagreement.
She doesnt quite pay half, but a cheap date nevertheless.

Lyon Cathedral. Very Holy. I felt my sins burn away.
I feel quite cleansed and guilt-free now.

So one of the latest discoveries I have heard about is the Lufthansa.de webpage. More specifically the Lufthansa.de webpage that changes every Wednesday. On this particular day of the week they show destinations across Europe with roundtrip airfares for less then a hundred euros (less than 130 dollars). Being more of a spontaneous type of guy than a serious planner, this is the perfect way for me to travel. I look at the destinations on Wednesday and can be flying random european places by Friday and am back in Marburg by Monday morning.

So last week, this is exactly what I did. I went to Lyon, France--which is the second or third biggest city in France, right behind Paris. Paris wasnt available last weekend. Also available was Casablanca. I dont know a thing about Casablanca except for a few quotes from the original movie-- ''Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world, she walks into mine.'' Thats all it takes though for me to want to go there. So this is my next destination of choice. But first Lyon.

No gay hotels for me this time though, the bed was small, but the accomodations much better. As for the weekend, it wasnt exactly the greatest time to travel for sight seeing. It rained most of the time and that made city seeing more of a chore than a fresh adventure. I also ate out from the vendors too. I love Farmers market vendors. There is something about haggling over already cheap prices just to try and save a half euro that appeals to me. Negotiations were quite limited however, since I only know about five french words, and most of those not mentionable in good company. For some reason learning French does not appeal to me--its one of those languages that everyone wants to learn cause it sounds fresh (and therefore, I don't). To me it sounds like they are biting their tongue with the tips of there teeth, and then trying to form intelligent words.

One thing I did try from the vendors was a type of spanish rice concoction that the chef makes in massive 4-5 foot pans. I ordered half a kilo and probably ended up eating only a 100 grams. What I though was chicken, was just chicken bones, shrimp was still in the shell and took 10 minuters per shrimp to figure you how to get it out (it still had the head and legs on it too), and whole clam shells that had no meat inside them. It looked real pretty, but not very edible. I wonder if its only suppose to sit in bowls around the house, to look tasty, much like plastic fruit does.

I also seen a puppet show there, which was quite comical. It was in French, and I accidently went to Childrens Show, so I was 1 of 8 adults with about 15 children. Luckily I was sitting next to a very pretty women, so I didnt get too many ''pervert why are you here'' looks from all the parents. I might have got one from the pretty women though, but I dont remember. I took some video of it, so when I compress the video, I will post it up here on the blog and share some 'French culture'' with you.

I was a lap warmer for a cat for a little while though. I set on a bench to enjoy one of the many vistas around the city and a city cat nonchalantly came up and sat on my lap. Like we were best friends for lifetime. (What cant this ever happen to me with women?) So me and my new buddy sat on the bench for a half hour or so. Hmm purring and me petting. I then made the mistake of trying to be playful and touched its paw, where the city cat then decided we were the greatest of enemies and sank his paws and teeth into my hand. With screech like a little girl, I sent the cat flying. It landed on its feet, gave me a backwards fleeting look, and then cantored off. Hmm, I think. Hmm. Off I go, to wash my bleeding hand. Wounded by a common house cat--what next?

Other than that there wasnt too much adventures in Lyon, just lots of sightseeing. The church there I have to admit was pretty amazing. It enclosed two complete church halls, with one right on top the other and both easily fifty feet high--both adorned with massive white marble angels-- looking down on me--silently shaking their heads I'm sure.

So I dont know when the next trips comes--or where it will be, but when I do go, you will be the first to hear about it.

Your happy-go-lucky man of steal kinda guy.

Adventures in Strasbourg

So this weekend I decided I needed a foray into France for the first time. Strasbourg is a close and touristy town with amazing cathedrals, fine wine, and picturesque canals running through the city. Dominating the town is the tallest structure of the Cathedral of Notre Dame (officially, Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Strasbourg), but everyone there simply states it as the Cathe´drale. It is bewildering, majestic, and, of course, full of construction and scaffolding.

The train ride to Strasbourg is only a little over three hours, so that is the way to go for me. I found I could actually take a plane from Frankfurt to Strasbourg for the same amount of money and nearly the same amount of time. But the great thing about the train tickets is they're highly flexible. If you miss a train, you just take the next one, or if you decide to leave a day later, it doesnt matter--still the same price. This proved handy as I ended up seeing two cities on the way back to Marburg. These were Karlsruhe and Heidelburg. Both amazing sites for me.

First about Strasbourg. Being I got an amazingly cheap hotel over the internet, it is on the outskirts of Strasbourg. As long as I can afford it, I am shunning youth hostels--memories of stinky feet, snoring patrons, and shady characters still haunt my nightmares. Besides, if your savvy you can usually find a hotel room for only about 10 euros more than the youth hostel. Well I tried to get a savvy deal. But it was a long walk and I had to ask several patrons where it was. A common question kept coming up when I was asking where this hotel was,''Are you gay?''. What? It was a creepy old man that asked me this the first time and I ended up just excusing myself walking away. But then I got asked a second time--and was wondering if it was something I was wearing. Lets see, beat up shoes, faded jeans, and a sweaty t-shirt--nope, that cant be it. Mistaken for a homeless man, a lost tourist, or a defected soldier from Iraq I can see, but certainly not dressed well enough for gay.

I then come up to my hotel, and all the questions become obvious. The hotel is pink (amazingly pink with all the dark houses around it), with big rainbows, and very colorful everything--especially on the inside. Even the walls were pink and purple. It also smelled a little too good. Hmmm, I think. A gay hotel (see picture above). Well, it could be worse. Getting in was a problem too. There was no reception--he probably had an important date. Just a sign that said STEELE-Room 9. But of course, every door has locked keycodes. I try a bunch of key codes and hope I get lucky--reservation number, my last name translated to numbers, etc. I have no luck. The door is unyielding. So I see a fire escape. I decide to get in this way and Voila! all the back doors up the fire escape are open. I think to myself that this is a very bad gay joke. The only way into the gay hotel is by going in 'the back door'. But I find my keys in my hotel room and thankfully, no one occupying it. I lock the dead bolt and go out the front door. My whole stay there, I never saw the reception guy, and I have yet to pay my hotel room.

In and around Strasbourg I go explore. Later that night I meet another traveler named Anya. She is a student in France, comes from Thailand, and doesnt seem scared to travel alone either. I think she is very brave. We talk some and agree to be friendly travel buddies the next day. I plan on meeting her to go see Heidelburg.

After dinner I try and rush back to the hotel to call the parents. I couldn´t get through so I say it here--Happy 40th Anniversary Mom and Dad!!! It was/is April 28th. I'm two days late, sorry, but calling from France, in a gay hotel room, with pink walls and no soap, while speaking with french operators, was one too many distractors for me. Next time I remember to send a card--pink, with gay men and rainbows on it. That will make number 41 a bit more interesting.

Later that evening, I end up seeing Zrinka, the girl I became friends with while traveling through Croatia. I knew she was in town there with a school trip, but I think neither of us was sure we would actually end up seeing each other. She was busy with her french school class and it didnt sound like she was going to get any free time. We actually did end up seeing each as I surprised her by walking up behind her. By that time it was pretty late. Zrinka, her friend, and I went out for a beer and shared a taxi to her youth hostel and my hotel. As I was talking to her outside the youth hostel, the police came up, asked if were speaking english (in english) and I told them yes. He then asked me if we seen two masked men run by. We told them no. They then ran off.

I think this was a little unnerving for both of us--so she went to bed and I went walking back to my pink hotel, pocket knife in hand, wondering if I was going to get robbed by two masked men. If this wasnt creepy enough, was the fact that I had to walk in a dark street with no lights that ran along a very, very, very old cemetary. So old all the monuments were falling apart and some of the tombs tops were missing. Pretty much every horror movie ever made was running through my mind and a large percentage of them had this exact same seen. Man walks alone. Man gets killed for being stupid and walking out late. After that walk, a pink hotel and brightly covered rainbows never looked so good.

Hackfleisch an Brot

So in the last week my education of the German culture progress. This week I saw a German specialty that made me wonder about the German culinary habits and what America's viewpoint of these habits would be.

I was wondering around Marburg on the bicycle and I decided I would get some groceries from the Marktplatz. This particular part of the town has a Farmer's Market going on their every Saturday morning. It is one of the only places I can find that sells fresh herbs and vegetables. Surprisingly little fresh herbs and vegetables are found in the grocery store by my house. (I want to go back to Zagreb--where the Farmers market is a block wide, 2 levels, and open every day) Also, I have become determined on making the creme of potato soup that actually tastes good, since my first few batches were only so-so. I decided I needed parsley and lemon grass in my soup -- so to the Farmers' market I go. Also there is a couple of butchers who put out there latest and freshest slaughter. I decide to get some pork chops when I saw the dish de jour.

The particular dish that made me wonder is 'Hackfleisch an Brot', or Hamburger on Bread. Why is hambuger on bread so special? Americans eat 1 billion of these a year. You see, the hamburger was completely raw! My stomach cringed. To serve this interesting sandwich scoop some fresh hamburger on a bun, add onions, relish, and a little mustard and Voila! Hackfleisch an Brot! I sat and watched a group eat these sandwiches and was thinking about how the fast food corporations had wasted billions of dollars in cooking the hamburger to 160 F degrees. So I asked my German companions about this sandwich and they assured me that it is very good indeed. I asked them how the butchers could get away with selling it due to Ecoli risk. They told me that the butcher can only use meat that has been ground up that day and then it must be stored at 4 deg celsius the whole time. Hmmm. Maybe I will try a small bite someday and hope I dont get sick for three weeks. There is a small part of my brain that trys to think up how McDonalds or Burger king would advertise Hackfleisch an Brot to germaphobic americans. All I see is meat grinders beside the milkshakes though--maybe you could mix the two and have a Fleisch Frappe´. Mmmmmm.

The german gradaute students got wind of my blog by finding one of my old posted videos on the public computers-my Zermatt video. A group of them spent a couple of hours searching the internet to find my webpage and then the rest of the day reading it and laughing at me. The next day, while we were grilling outside, they came up and were giving me shit about--but it was all in good fun. In regards to the last post, it turns out I was factually inaccurate. They tell me their are in-fact many brothels in Marburg and one can recognize them by the red lights in the windows. I laughed at the guy who said this to me and asked him how does he know? He shrugged his shoulders. I then turned to his girlfriend and asked her if she was mad he was visiting all the brothels--without batting an eye she says, ''Oh no! I drive him there!''. To this response I laughed so hard beer flew up my nose. What a girlfriend I thought. Now thats open minded!

Ich bin ein Superhund.

Here is me at a Freiburg seminar, a trip I took with the graduate students a few weeks ago. We had a german tour guide who is dressed up as a theif (rauber) and took us to all his favorite places to steal (landmarks in Freiburg). We got along very well--even though he didnt speak a word of english. You see, I took a bottle of wine for us graduates to share due to the miserable conditions. It was raining, at night, and very cold. But everyone had fun.


Above is Marburg´s one and only brothel. I had to take a picture. It was one block away from the flea market. It also takes credit cards, as you can see from the EC sign in front. I thought that was very convienent.

And now the title: Ich bin ein Superhund (I am a superdog). It is the current book that I am reading now. It is a first reader book meant for 6-8 year olds. It is a very humbling experience going to the library, into the childrens section, to pickout childrens books for yourself. Especially when all the 'mothers' are giving you strange looks. If an ego problem ever develops for yourself, this is a sure cure.

As for my updated life, I just finished the Intensive course two in my german class. On Monday I start part three. I am having lots of trouble trying to figure out nominative, accusative, and dative cases. Such things never made sense in English, much less German.

Dont ever use Nippon Shipping. Ever. Them !*-&$§!!!. Yeah that will show them. I pay 150 dollars to ship my bike over to germany and then once it gets here, they send me a invoice for 400 dollars in taxes and storage fees. I think I just paid 150 dollars so they can have my bike. Another lesson learned. It makes me want go beat up someone japanese, in which I would probably learn another lesson.

My fish tank now has an amazing snail infestation. They crawl on everything. I think there might be more of them than rock. Oh well, they dont really disturb anything, so I just let them be. Its better then cockroaches in the kitchen.

Speaking of my house, I have a new roomate for a week or so. He is an Italian named Marco. He was in the volkshochschule with me and needed a place to stay for the week. He works as an engineer. Marburg has a solar cell factory here and thats were he works. I let him sleep on the couch, which I think would be a little uncomfortable, but he doesnt seem to mind. He speaks really good english so its easy to communicate with him. It isnt so bad having a roomate (for a little while). Its nice to share dinner with somebody.

By the way, the weather has been beautiful here in Marburg. The days have been 70-80 degrees and I wish I could enjoy it. Too many hours spent in front of the computer-watching the cursor blink, while life goes by.

Nightmare and memories. Tidbit

Tidbit, to this day all I see is the head. For some reason this memory has reawakend in my dreams more grotesque than ever. I write the story here for you, from the perspective of a seven year old Terry.

Tidbit. nonfiction by Terry Steele (C) 2007

I am seven years old. Actually I am seven and a half years old. Seven and a half is much older then seven. My brothers Rob and Bruce are fifteen and walk to school every day. All I want to be is be like them. They are fun and dress up as clowns and talk to girls. I dont know why they talk to girls, but they see to talk alot about them. My dad calls them 'Sexy Mommas' when we drive down the road in the green GMC. My brothers laugh, and I think it must be their nicknames. GMC stands for my uncle, Go Mike Childs. It makes sense to me--what else could GMC stand for? It´s the fall and I just started first grade. I like it. Mrs. Smiley teaches me how to spell fun and cat and dog. I run from the bus stop and ask my brother Rob how to spell fun and cat and dog. Rob is alway being teased about his bad spelling skills, so I want to ask him first. I ask him in front of Dad and Bruce, and they both laugh, but I am not sure at what. Rob says it is F Uckin N. I think Rob just swore, but Dad just laughs, so I tell Rob it is F U N. Rob doesnt seem to want to know how to spell FUN and just walks away from me. There seems always something the matter with Rob.

One of the things our family does is have a big cage of ferrets. Most are white with red eyes and I think this makes them smart. I ask Pat, a women who lived with us, I ask, ''Do babies come from ferrets?'' Pat ignores me, as she does with most my questions. I ask her in the kitchen while I play on the brown carpet floor. One of the ferrets I was holding just disappeared behind the fridge. Pat doesn't like me but I don't know why. I look at Nini, Pat's baby little girl who is very white, and I think she came from a ferret.

We now have many ferrets. The large brown one was put in the cage with the smaller white one and after much biting and tackling, they were separated. The white one has lots of blood stained white fur (on its shoulders where the brown one bit) that matches its eyes. After it awhile its belly bulges and looks fat. It soon has many many babies. They seem to suck everywhere on the tummy. I go down into the basement and look at them everyday. They all get very big, the size of rats in a few weeks. All but one.

Tidbit.

That is what we named him. He was so cute and small and we all wanted the turn to feed him. He was what mom and dad called the runt. The other babies were mean and never let him get to milk. Tidbit was half the size of all the others, seemed blind, and squeaked alot. We all loved him. When we all noticed him, small and weak, we felt sorry and decided to take care of him. We made milk for him. Not the instant dry milk from the food shelter, but real whole milk from the jug. We warmed it up in a small pot, just for him. There was a special dropper Tidbit sucked milk out of--and he would do it right out of the palm of our hand. It was a special event every night--after supper, we would get tidbit, and we would take turns holding him while giving him the special warmed whole milk. I wanted to hold him and feed him, but was told I was never 'old enough'. I hated being told I was not 'old enough'. I was seven and a half.

Tidbit, little by little, got bigger. He was the favorite of the whole family. There were only four names for the ferrets we raised (at least to me)--the momma, the papa, Tidbit, and the kids. For me Tidbit was the only one that mattered. I would look in the glass cage and route for him to get a nipple to suck on. He was always the underdog, but rarely the winner. He was the easiest to find, since he was always half the size. I was always the smallest and so was Tidbit. So I routed for him, and pretended, he routed for me.

There is a great yelling after dinner and everyone rushes downstairs to see the momma and the babies. I dont know how but the next memory is all of us looking in cage--looking for Tidbit. Tidbit is gone and we wonder how he got out. Actually, I am the only one to wonder how he got out. All of them see, but I dont. Everyone in the family is mad and angry and some are crying (mom and my brothers), but I still dont see. I dont want to see--thats not Tidbit I see--Tidbit is whole and real and squeaks and furry and small and, and, and, and thats not Tidbit. Tidbit has not been reduced to just a head and red.... Tidbit has not been eaten all the up to the neck, so it has no arms, no legs, and no torso. Can that be Tidbits head?? Why? How? Why would the other ferrets do that? Why would they eat Tidbit? Eaten alive and at seven and a half, this is something that greatly frightens me. This is not the way it is supposed to be, this seems really really unfair to me and Tidbit. But none of these questions I ask are answered--no one wants to talk about it.

We put the head in a jewelry box, wrap it in plastic and bury it in the ground across the street --under Rob and Bruce's tree fort. It is where many of our pets were buried. 50 feet from a real cemetary.

The passion for raising ferrets soon leaves all of us, in the family. We pick up every baby in the litter as we clean up the cage and silently ask if he or she was one of the ones that ate Tidbit. The rest of the babies grew and I know not what happens next with them. I know a few months after the death of Tidbit, all of the ferrets were gone, and the ferret cages were empty. I think we gave them away and or let them loose in the field and swamp behind us. That was the last time I ever seen ferrets in our family.

It was a long time until we had any pets after that.

Black in Blue.

As you can see up above, the new colors to my apartment are black and blue. The carpet and couches were picked up yesterday and the dear old parents made the beautiful blue curtains in back. I dare say something about me might actually match.

To pick up the couches and carpet I had to rent a 6 ton van and drive about 100 kilometers to go pick them up. The fun part was I got to drive on the Autobahn. You can bet your money that the van was floored all the way there. This might sound like fun, except for the fact that the van had a top speed of about 120 kph (or about 75 mph). This was somewhat disappointing to me. Traffic flew by us like we were standing still. But I survived, and made the itch to buy a motorcycle and traverse the german roadways even more painful. It was interesting to see that some of the Autobahn bridges literally went over cities in Germany. There would be stretches of this highway were you would look down into the valleys and see cities and small vilages.

My Easter weekend looks pretty dull. Mostly writing and reading for me. The home still does not have any computer, phone, or TV/DVD so things are pretty dull there. Easter seems to be a pretty major holiday over here as 1-2 days at a minimum is taken off before and after the weekend.

I did get a new phone number though, which I think is interesting. It is actually a 612 area code number that dials straight to my computer, and lets me talk through the phone lines for one cent a minute anywhere in the world. It seems to come in handy when I have need to yell at my credit card and shipping companies. If any are interested, give me an email.

Join me for breakfast?

No, I did not fall off the face of the Earth. I think I did fall off the party bandwagon unfortunetly.

So today you join me at 6am while I eat a couple of croissants with some Milk. Normally this routine is email and CNN news, along with any funny links R.N. sends me. But today, I choose you.

My ex-girlfriend had a funny way of turning adjectives into nouns. It applies here. I´ve joined the world of Less Fun, and More Boring. I have class, meetings, calendars, appointments, schedules, procedures, procedures to write, blah blah blah.

I had to revamp my schedule to get all my lab work done by 2pm everyday, as my german class is from 2-5:30. After that class, no matter how hard I did try, I could never get any work done. It pretty much sapped all my concentration. So now I wake up at an incredibly early 5am to get in before 6am. My first thought everyday is along the lines of, ''Why is life so cruel?''.

So yup, I pretty much joined the rest of the working world. No more grad student status where I could wake up when I want and work when I wanted to. And have plenty of drinks with the friends when I wanted too.

Such are the reasons the blog has been skipped on many occasions in the last 2 weeks. I have stories(!), wit and fiction to with it, however not much time to write it. The irony, the irony. When I have more balance, I will write more.

Terry

Letter of Thanks.

Dear Küchenschaben (cockroaches),

Though most of you are lying on your backs, dead, or in the last ''leg twitching stage'' you bugs go through before death, I wish to thank you. You have done what failed appliances, dirty fridge, and Indian food smudged walls have been unable to do. And let us not discount the horrible smell of bad Indian-cooking stench that pervades my apartment, which can be one of the factors why you moved in, in the first place.

You see, me and you (or is it you and I?) made quite the team. With you showing up underfoot (and under shoe) and me with my incredible talents of mixing just the write amount of fiction to support tendrils of truth, we achieved something neither of us thought possible.

You see, my letters to the landlord seemed to really have upset him too. He has agreed to completely furnish a new kitchen on my behalf. I wish I could say on our behalf, but that would be overdoing the fiction just a tad. I guess that irrascible landlord wants to spray the kitchen with certain chemicals that cockroaches, such as yourself, find quite disagreeable. A side of cyfluthrin with those breadcrumbs just might make you end up stairing at the ceiling as the lights go out. But I empathize, as vodka and Ouzu seem to be doing the same to me lately.

But before those lights finally dim, do you mind doing one more favor for me? Can you show up in the bathroom?

Mit Freundlichen Grußen,
MoSteal

Sharin´ the pain.

My little pretties.

In life if you can share the love, than you can share the pain. Today is your turn to share my pain, afterall, I have been sharin my love with you for many weeks now. The wisdom tooth extraction surgery was a success. All four are out. The right side they did first. The crunch was sickening, but they both popped out with little problems and no real pain. The left side made me sweat. It also made me want to scream like a little girl, but I held fast in true manlike fashion. For some reason, the novacaine didnt take so well on the left side, unfortunetly for me, it was also the side the two wisdom teeth were deepest lodged into the jaw and had to be drilled out. Holy bejeezus-- that was the longest half hour of my life.

So now I am back at lab, where I can share the pain with them too. Also, my computer, so I can keep my mind off of mouth and concentrate on something fun. Like putting random bids on ebay with the known expectation of being out bid later.

Letter(s) of Apology.

Dear anonymous,

I think it very selfish of me of what I have done to your poor soul. You have given much time and effort into your comments, and then proceeded to comment on your comments when no one else has come forth in a due and respectable manner, to give credit to your very agreeable and humble nature. You give wise advice (about Koreans and washable parts) and thoughtful fables complete with virtuous morals (see story of one Terry and two wall-eating girls).

But I do have some advice to remedy both of our situations--my guilt and the respect that is your fair due. It is high time, Anonymous, that you start your own blog. I believe you have contemplated this yourself, gave yourself a few nudges, but something was always in the way. Probably another porn website. Trust me, I know what you are going through. But the obstacles are few and the rewards great. I am guessing write off the bat you will have a pretty good fan base and we all know that you always have something to say. Now it is time to put it in hexcode for the eventual neuronal stimuluation deep into our brains. It will also give me opportunities to impart my own advice and morals to your follies and success. I await to here your pen name and blog title.

My second letter of apology goes to the glass fish. It turns out they did not eat the ghost shrimp. In fact I found all four ghost shrimp on one plant--eating all its leaves. It turns out the shrimp looking carcases I picked up off the bottom of the tank were nothing more than molts. Detective Terry never claimed he was a crime scene investigator--only a super sleuth. A settlement is currently being worked out between the glass fish and Detective Terry, otherwise they sue for defamation of character. Installation of cave-like hiding places is currently in order.

On the not so fun front, tomorrow I have four wisdom teeth ripped out of my mouth. No more (tooth) stowaways for me. You do the job you were evolutionary designed for, or its a bloody hike out. I might make a necklace of them when I`m done. This is sure to impress the ladies--along with four toothless sockets. Nothing but ice cream and soup for the next couple of days for me--and lots of ibuprofen.

Karoake and Murder, in one weekend.

Lone Surviving Shrimp

Mug Shot: Suspect in double homicide

Saturday night the german lab students invited me along for a party on the outskirts of town. It was Niko's (another grad student) new pad with his girlfriend. I brought wine and most others brought bread and salt--a german and russian tradition. He then fed us some food and I had the most amazing Kartofelsalat (potato salad) I have ever had. We then all adjourned to the TV room to play some Nintendo Wii. That was quite fun. I am pretty sick of the first person shooter games that keep popping up every year and it is good Nintendo showed some innovation. Playing tennis on the Wii was great and my arm was actually sore for awhile. After this everyone had had enough drinks to think they could sing, including me. We played karoake on a game system that scored you and another person. And you know what? Most of the germans were beating me. That is not really surprising--but they were even beating me on the English songs! Some of the favorites were Leonard Skynard (Sweet Home Alabama especially) and Neunundneunzig Luft ballons.

While Detective Terry was embarresing himself singing last night, there was a double homicide in the fish tank. Two ghost shrimp were found lying on the gravel bed eaten and mutilated beyond recognition. Interviews with the two glass fish were a waste of time. They are not cooperating with authorities and I fear the neons are scared or just happy that it wasn't them. The lone surviving shrimp is holding up well. He seems to flaunt his single status in the tank by ignoring all other fish and concentrating on the grooming of plants. Perhaps this is how he chooses to mourn. He also spends more time on the sides of the tank--perhaps wishing he could escape or just enjoying the new crop of algae. I'm afraid the food chain is alive and well in my tank.

Kuechenschaben und Ouzo

Picture above: This is the Five star roach hotel that was formerly underneath my kitchen sink. Not pictured is the several year old newspapers and rotten food remains that were the penthouses, for the well-to-do roaches that could afford it. On the left is pure unadulterated roach scat. Towards the wall are several cockroaches running for their lives. Cleaning this up with nothing but my bare hands, a sponge, and soapy water is on my top five list of disgusting things I've had to do. Especially when you wipe up what seems to be a dead cock roach, but instead starts running up your arm. For the words that were said, it was a good thing no small children were present. What lies there now is a soft and fluffy, poisonous layer of borax. Gute Appetit, meiner Kuechenschaben.

The war of the Kuechenschaben (cockroaches) seems to be slightly going in my favor. I still find lots of cockroaches, but they are no longer alive. They are usually lying in the middle of the kitchen floor, covered in a dusty layer of borax (that I put under the countertops and sink), and lying on their back. One or two legs are usually slightly twitching. Death by borax induced dehydration. I wrote a letter to the landlord asking him to come fumigate this place or give me free rent. Neither of which I know will happen, but its fun to try. I'll let you know what happens.

Ouzo. The drink should be outlawed for the effects it has on its participants. You see Ouzo, as explained in one of my early posts, is a suspension of oil in water. The oil being anise extract. This can be described as nanoparticles free floating in solution--or the ouzo effect. Since I work in a pharmaceutical drug delivery research lab, about half of the graduate students research work is making nanoparticles for drug delivery. Hence Ouzo is the official alcoholic drink of the laboratory.

This week was the annual group meeting, where all 15-20 graduate students and post-docs give a seminar on their data for the past year. I gave a presentation on my thesis data and the three research ideas I was told to think up. At the end of each persons seminar, we are forcefully commanded to be critical of each other. This is so holes in our data can be fixed before we give a real research seminar and so more collaborations can exist between group members. On the whole, it was an interesting experience. One thing they do different is, instead of clapping hands, they knock their knuckles against their desks for applause.

At the end of the three days of seminar, my boss, Dr. Kissel takes us all out to dinner and drinks at his expense. This is were I learned the second and most important Ouzo effect. I have never seen a group of 15 people get so off the wall crazy in my life. These germans dont ever seem to fill up on beer or ouzo. The goal this year, like every year, is to break last years number of ouzo shots. Last year it was 96. This year it broke 12. But no one can remember the exact number, as everyones memory is a little hazy.

The effects of Ouzo: Off the wall shouting across the table. If I sat at one end of the table, at the other end, someone would alway be screaming "Herr Steele!, why arent you drinking more Ouzo?". This was nine times out of ten, Herr Dr. Kissel. So I would scream back, "Herr Kissel, because you will not buy me any!" At this point he would order another 15 shots and made sure two went for me.

We were eating in a small Greecian restaurant called the Lokomotive. The place basically got taken over with our loud obnoxious research group, as I told one of the graduate students that I can polka, jokingly. Somehow this caused great laughter, spread to all parts of the table, and before I knew it I was being forced to prove I knew how. The Grecian restaurant owner even had some polka. So before I knew it I was dancing polka with another graduate student named Olivia. Then tango with Nina, and onto salsa with Nadia. All to polka musik. After much laughter, the whole group erupted with people doing tango, swing, polka, and salsa to polka style music.

The Grecian restaurant got wrecked. Art fell from the walls, tables were turned over, wine glasses were broken, and ouzo shots were thrown across the table. but the owner didnt care!--he just tried to move stuff out of the way. And Dr. Kissel laughed at it all, and of course, ordered more Ouzo. They tried to teach me some german beer drinking songs, but I mostly just hummed along. At the end of the night, about three of the graduates students couldnt walk straight enough to make it home and had to be escorted. A group of five of us took turns carrying one of the graduates students home. As we walked/carried her back, she kept screaming about how tomorrow she was going to lose ten pounds, and "Wouldnt it be easier to carry me then?" We agreed.

The aquarium I got is up and running almost perfectly. The plants are even blooming and putting on new leaves. They all looked like they were going to die a week ago, until I stocked the tank with fish. I got two glass fish, four neons, and two small yellow fish, but I forget their names. I also got four small ghost shrimp that are bottom feeders. They keep the tank free of algae and are by far the funnest things to watch. They methodically groom each plant leaf in microscopic detail with there very tiny 'pincher' arms. Sometimes the other fish just follow the shrimp. I think they are wondering if they can eat it or not. One of the shrimps has also disappeared under mysterious circimstances. The glass fish blame the neons and vice versa. Detective Terry is still investigating. In my investigations I have learned that one of the sources of the ghost shrimp is the freshwater streams and rivers of the midwest. I'm not sure how this is going to solve the case though.

This week I also started my Volkshochschule to be able to speak the german language. The class mostly consists of turkish, persians, and some russians. There is also one american girl in there that is a senior exchange student from Cheboygan, Wisconsin. Small world huh? The interesting thing about the course is the instructor never uses your native language, just keeps talking german--and when you dont understand her--she draws a picture on a chalkboard and the lesson turns into a game of pictionary. When you finally understand, she rolls on to the next lesson. What is great is that most of the participants DON'T speak english, so I am forced to speak german to the turkish and russians during the breaks to try and find out more about them. It is a fun and fast way to learn a language. Today we had dialogues on ordering bread and vegatables from the market and had to act out a seen in front of the class with partners. All in all it was pretty amusing.

A friend sent me an email with a quote I have never heard before. I liked it so much, I reprint it here for you. Thanks S.A.!

"Be Kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle."
-Plato

of course you know, this means war.

If one were to peep in on me, right now, in my lab, one might wonder why am I greasing the top rim of a plastic bowl with hand lotion. In fact three hours ago, if I would have been watching my own behavior now, I might have thoughts about my clear lack of sanity, or I just need a girlfriend.

About three hours before bowl greasing, I went shopping. With generally good spirits I get off work tonight and goto the store to pack my house with groceries to cook in my new super-duper 1000W oven/grill/microwave (it came today!). I even splurged on paper plates and forks. Upon cooking fabulous american made freshetta pizza, I hear a crunch under foot. I look under and see remnant of former bug. I dont give it much thought. Goto the bathroom, clean shoe and floor with some toilet paper. On with my gourmet meal. Then out of the corner of my eye I see another bug flitter on the floor. This time I get a good look before it too meets the fate of its brother, that fate being "Reebok 10.0 Bug Compactor©". Even, though this crunch was a little louder and more satisfying than the last bug crunch, I feel a pit of despair welling up inside me. Oh no. Not them. Anything. But. Them. Why not centipedes? I got comfortable living with them, knowing they are blind and can never come after me.

Cockroaches. Not even regular cockroaches but german cockroaches!. Latin name Blattela germanica. The hardest to get rid of. The out reproduce any other cockroaches, mainly cause the female does not forage and eat as much when laying eggs, so poisons and other stick trap methods are less effective.

So tomorrow I sterilize the house and silicone caulk everything but the bottom door gap. Tonight I came to lab to make some homemade/labmade cockroach traps. These mainly being finely powdered sodium borate and my greased bowl as I was describing earlier. A fine layer of borax is like walking on razor blades to cockroaches. It is electrostatically attracted to them, and fine borax crystals get stuck in their exoskelton joints, swallowed internally as it cleans itself and dies of dehydration in few days.

The second line of death is the Vegas cockroach trap. Grease a bowl or jar rim with petroleum jelly (so they can't get out), put in some organic matter (like bread) and watch them fall in and scream, "I've fallin' and I cant get up!". Only no first alert for them, just a drowning death in the water below. But I have no petroleum jelly, so my small trial sample of Nivea creme (in fancy cursive) will have to do. You can rest ease knowing the cockroaches have soft and fresh smelling feet, in their last struggling moments of life. I know I will.

I'll let you know who wins the first battle in the next few days. Should you not hear from me, you know who won the war.