The Lagging Strand

Ketchup? Maybe Catsup.

2010-04-20T00:05:00.002-04:00

(written originally April 13, 2007)

Today started bad. I woke up and checked the news and lo and behold my literary hero and fellow Cornellian Kurt Vonnegut Jr. had died. I am not a scholar of literature, but I do consider myself a Vonnegut scholar. I have read all of his books and have read every interview and article of his I can find. He still wrote for the Cornell Daily Sun from time to time. I kept them for my collection.

On with the story...

After having my morning ruined, I was in a rush to get to work to do some experiments I was supposed to have completed months ago. I get to work and then found out Howard K. Stern wasn't Danny Lin's father! This is so out of control that someoone (myself) that almost never watches T.V. or listens to popular radio can't help but know about this. Are celebrities really that interesting? Well, after just getting really pissed about that, it turns out that a Swedish judge has ruled that some parents cannot name their child Metallica! I am just dumbfounded by the fact that a parent would name their child after a band that has gotten so horrible over time. You can't specify which album in a name...

Finally, at lunch time I almost lost it. I went to the critically acclaimed "Trillium" on campus. It is like a typical college lunch room with sub-par food and creepy lunch ladies. There must be a rule that you have to have fewer than 10 teeth to be a lunch lady. Well, I got some fries...not something I do often...and I needed some ketchup. There are these big dispensers with a pump on the top and little containers you can fill for yourself. I pumped the container and the freakin' nozzle exploded off of the thing and I was literally covered in ketchup. Ketchup burns when it gets in your eye! A huge glop hit my left eye and I opened my right eye and grabbed some napkins and wiped off my face and then dealt with my clothes. It was all over my shirt and pants and hat. There were people all around waiting for the ketchup and wondering what I was doing covered in their delicious fancy tomato condiment.

The worst part is that one of the lunch ladies picked the nozzle up off of the floor and without washing it, stuck it right back into the pump! That is just nasty! I will not eat fancy tomato catsup from that thing ever again! I will also write the ketchup company and demand that they finally release the difference between catsup and ketchup. It is ridiculous that we have gone this long without the truth!

Tribute to Gimme!

2010-04-19T08:30:00.001-04:00

So there used to be this coffee shop on Cornell's campus which serves quite possibly the best coffee in the world. It is called "Gimme! Coffee." I frequent this shop so often that they taped my coffee cards to the wall and tell me when I'm up for a free one. When I walk up they know what I want and have it for me before I am even at the register. It's like the whole "Cheers" mentality. You know, "where everybody knows your name." I generally walk up and just get a large black french roast, or whatever dark roast they have on. Unfortunately for me the past two days they have been out of dark roast!

So yesterday, I get to the register after waiting in line and see that all they have is a light roast. I stood there in abject horror trying to figure out how to appease my addiction when the barista suggested giving me an Americano for the same cost as a large coffee. Excited at the proposition, I very energetically let out, "I except your offer!" The person who had been in front of me in line started laughing, and I laughed, and the barista laughed until....it got out of hand.

So I can forgive someone for listening in and chuckling quitely to themselves at hearing someone be so excited about coffee. I mean after all, coffee shops are typically close quarters and the creamer station is right near the register. But, this man laughed with such violence and ferocity that I wasn't even sure whether it was funny anymore. I thought that he might be having mental break down. People looked visibly frightened.

This brings me to the next point. I think that there is a laughter threshold. It is sort of a unwritten, unspoken rule that all humans follow. When something funny occurs, only a certain amount of laughter is allocated to that scenario. If one person in a group of people laughs louder or more than the other people in the group, they are effectively stealing laughter from those other people who are left with only the remnants.

Haven't you ever noticed that many times when one person is laughing hysterically that it may not effect other people the same way? This is important. This means something.

I'm thirsty

2010-04-18T16:19:00.000-04:00

I love thai food. There are two thai places here that have the same name. This can get confusing when ordering take out. So this is how it went down. I ordered a delicious meal of Pad See Ew (vegan please..no fish sauce or egg) and I went to pick it up at the time at which I was told it would be ready. When I got there, the counter person said, "we don't have your order, you must of ordered from the other place." Disgusted, I checked my cell phone for the number I called, showed it to the counter person and asked if it was their number. They replied that, "yes, that's our number, but we don't have your order!" I implored them to search for it as my stomach shrank with fear. They eventually found it mixed in with the finished orders, although none of my food had been cooked.
They cordially asked me to wait and it would be up and apologized to my satisfaction. As I waiting there, apparently a family came in who had ordered from the other place, but didn't feel like going there and getting it and so ordered it a second time with no intention of driving across town to the other place. As they were waiting the little boy looked at his pregnant mother and said he was thirsty. The mom sort of ignored his cries for a drink until he said the darndest thing, "Mommy, I know...soon you are going to push water out of your tummy, I could drink that!" Trying to stifle my laughter, I turned around as to not look anyone in the family in the face. The mom, quickly asked for a drink from a passing waiter and chose not to reply to the little boy's plea for "tummy water."

Curly

2010-04-17T20:13:00.001-04:00

“Is this not the life undertaking of us all…to become human? It can be a long and painful process. It involves a growth to freedom, an opening up of our hearts to others, no longer hiding behinds masks or behind walls of fear and prejudice. It means discovering our common humanity.” (Jean Vanier: Becoming Human)

This quote became a reality to me. Years ago I met a man named Curly. His shirt was dirt stained much like his hands. He was homeless. He was an addict. He was also a nice guy when he wasn’t completely wasted. Curly frequented the overnight shelter for men that I worked at. The shelter was an incredibly important part of Uptown Chicago. Hundreds of people came during the days for food. Homeless families were housed in a secure area of the shelter. Homeless men stayed the night there every night of the year. I knew Curly very well. I saw him everyday. He started lots of trouble in the shelter. People don’t forget who they dislike on the street just because they are in a shelter. I broke up fights many times between him and others.

On the day in which the following scenario took place, it was extremely hot. The winters are freezing and summers are sizzling in Chicago. We ran out of cold drinks for the homeless guests we were serving that day. Tensions started to rise. I heard a disruption and looked over to find a guy had punched Curly in the nose and proclaimed that Curly had taken his drink. I immediately assumed that was the case because of my previous experience with Curly. I ran over to break it up and extended my hand to Curly to help him up. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and the clearest expression I’d ever seen. Crying, he told me through the tears that he was trying so hard to be clean. I got some Kleenex and paper towels to clean the blood off of the floor and off of him. That was the most humbling experience I have ever had. I took Curly to the side and spoke with him about trying to stay clean. I cried as he told me how he prayed and prayed and asked god for help but just couldn’t do it.

Curly disappeared for a while and I didn’t start seeing him until winter rolled around.
The shelter locks up after 10pm in order to keep all the security problems within the building. Sometimes if people get to the shelter too late they won’t have a place warm to sleep for the night. I started seeing Curly in the mornings in the lobby of my apartment building because he wouldn’t make it to the shelter in time. Our building was very open to allowing people to stay there out of the cold as long as they didn’t cause any problems. Curly was having problems with his addiction again. I never saw the clear look in his eyes again.

One morning I got off of the elevator and realized that the lobby was silent. There were EMTs putting Curly into an ambulance. I tried to yell to him to tell him I would go to Cook County and be there with him. The EMT said the words I didn’t want to hear. Curly had died. I later found out he had overdosed on heroin and died in our lobby.

Where is the common humanity in this? I have faults and addictions and propensities for certain behaviors as we all do. Although yours may differ from mine there lays solidarity in that fact. Becoming human: what does that mean? It is the realization that our behaviors may be different but the root of the problem remains constant.

Leftist

2010-04-17T13:39:00.002-04:00

This occurred on an extremely bad day. I was in rare form.

I am left handed. Have been all my life. That automatically puts me at a disadvantage for some reason. I couldn't find a baseball mit when I was a kid at a regular store. I had to go to the sports shop and purchase a really expensive one. Scissors are all made for right-handed people. What pisses me off the most is that they make scissors ambidexterous, for right-handers, and for left-handers. Oh wait...no they don't! You can't get a left-handed pair of scissors anywhere. The list goes on and on. Constantly, when people see me writing I hear, "I didn't know you were left-handed!" As if it is some sort of novelty. Granted, I know that there are less left-handed people in the world...but should I then be referred to as Sinistre?

Let me clarify. In chemistry, left-handed molecules of an enantiomer are signified by an S for Sinistre. Sinister....why am I sinister because I am left-handed? My great-grandmother was left-handed when she was a child. Until some school marm and her ruler somehow made her switch hands. Even when I was a child my parents said there were books on how to change my handedness if they wanted to. This is all infuriating.

Ok. Here is how it went down. I was standing in line at Cornell's Trillium. It is an eatery on campus. I didn't have any cash and so needed to pay using my credit card. I handed the lunch lady my card and then moved to the right side of the pay area so that she could put the receipt to be signed in the left area and then I could sign it and be on my way. As the following scenario unfolded, I felt as if I was in a movie or play or something and so I will write it in that format. Please enjoy:

Lunch Lady (LL): (moves Donnie's tray to the left side of the pay area and puts the receipt down on the right side of the area). "Here you go hun."

Donnie (D): Why did you do that?

LL: I moved your tray so that you could sign the receipt.

D: Why couldn't I have signed it in the left area?

LL: Just trying to make your life easier hun.

(grumbles can be heard in the long line behind)

D: Well you didn't. In fact, I am going to move my tray back to the right side and sign it in the left side.

LL: Why? Just sign the thing! I have a long line.

Jerk 1: Just sign it! You are holding up the line!

D: No I will not sign it. I am doing this for left-handed people everywhere. I am being discriminated against for my handedness and this...this agression will not stand!

Jerk 2: Do I need to call someone about this? Hurry the f**k up!

D: I don't have to listen to you, I'm gonna stand here until she moves my tray and I can sign on the left side.

LL: (moves tray) I'm sorry hun, most people are right-handed so I generally try to leave the area open on the right side for people. Now will you please sign it?

Jerk 2: You are an a-hole.

D: Don't tell me what I am! I am a left-handed individual that has all the rights and privileges as all you righties. Sorry for being original for a change! Step off or you will face my left-handed fist!

Trillium Manager: Sir, you need to calm down.

D: I will not calm down. First amendment. I can say whatever I want as loud as I want!

(D quickly signs and gets all needed condiments and silverware for food and sits at a table).

D: (Loudly to the crowd) This food is really good. I love eating with my left-hand! Equality for all people!

Demarcation

2010-04-16T23:44:00.001-04:00

I am not one to be put off by someone getting in my space very often. I mean, I am pretty friendly. If someone wants to sit next to me then fine, so be it. I am a little bothered when I have to pee and some guy picks the urinal right next to me...when there is a whole wall of other urinals not being used!!! There is something inherently wrong with that.

Back to the point. I am sitting in class today ready for an interesting lecture in the biophysics of membrane bilayers when some dude I have never met sits next to me. There were four chairs open in the same row, but no he decides to sit right down. Ok, maybe he wants to be friends. He didn't introduce himself or shake hands or anything. So, whatever. I'll look past all those issues. What I will not look past is the fact that he kept spilling his notebook all over my notebook and even got coffee on my stuff! I get enough coffee on my stuff as it is. I don't need some erroneous guy with crazy amounts of various papers busting out of his notebook encroaching on my space. This whole time, I am missing quite possibly one of the best lectures I have been to this entire semester. I finally screamed, demarcation!!! whilst drawing a line with my pencil on the table making sure he knew to keep his crap away from me. The entire class looked at me and Prof. Feigenson stopped talking, a feat no one thought possible. I felt no embarrasment, but a sense of fullfillment. Finally, I realized that I had just imagined all of that happening and Feigenson was asking me a question, which I didn't know the answer to.

I'll be prepared next time I see him...

What is life about?

2010-04-16T08:45:00.000-04:00

I'm sure we've all asked ourselves that very question time and time again. What is life about? "Life" is not about being popular and getting a great job and being successful. Most of us figured that out in middle school. Life is about everything in between. It is all the small lessons we learn day to day. Life is about spitting into the wind and having it hit you in the face. It is about peeing your pants in public and dealing with the humiliation. It is about getting drunk for the first time and laughing with friends about how stupid you acted. Life is about jumping off a swing and landing on a pile of rocks instead of the soft bed of woodchips you thought were there. There is a Thomas Merton quote that I love:

"In this most terrible of all wars, fought on the brink of infinite despair, we come gradually to realize that life is more than the reward for him who correctly guesses a secret and spiritual answer to which he smilingly remains committed. This is more than a matter of finding peace of mind or settling religious problems."

While Thomas Merton is one of the most spiritual and mystical people in the Christian tradition, I find this statement to be extraordinarily worldly. Too often do we forsake what we learn in the most desperate of times to cover up our insecurities. We should shout it to the rooftops. I am insecure! I am a failure!

Only in weakness are we strong. Seemingly nonsensical statements that flood the bible come to mind. Riddled with the enigma of contradictory statements, we finally come to understand that the world is not a safe, loving, comfortable environment. The world is an ancient beast that consumes life and recycles it into nothing more than carbon. First, understand that and the brutality of nature can set in. Second, realize that your life is finite. Soon you will be gone. Finally, enjoy every day like it was your last. Why store your treasures where moth and rust destroy?

This morning (a couple of months ago)

2010-04-15T23:23:00.000-04:00

It was 7:30am. I was walking down a little known path in Cornell's Plantations. I happened upon a young buck eating some of the tender grasses that haven't been withered by the autumn cold. At first I was shocked at the sight of such a majestic animal directly in front of me. He made no move to run or get away from me. Looking at him from a short distance away, I started toward him. As I moved closer, he was more and more uncomfortable and made a move to lunge toward me. With that I stopped and said, "Beast of the wood, feel no alarm. For I am only a mere spectator awed by your presence." He took a step forward and then crapped. A moment later, he disappeared into the thick, ropey forest.

As I continued on the treck to my building I noticed a couple of women running down the lane above me. One of them reach up and blew a snot rocket which landed near me. I simply said "Unlady like!" Apparently I wasn't visible to either of them because they started asking each other who had said that. As they got farther away, I could only hear the trailings off of their conjectures. One woman was sure that it must have been someone watching from a window and was completely embarrassed.

As I thought about the two events that had just taken place, I realized that it seemed that the bodily fluids of other creatures are out to get me. This became ever so much more apparent when I was standing outside waiting to get into a lecture and noticed that as people breathed in and out that I could see their vapor in the cold air. During warmer months, you never think that you are breathing some dude's vapor in next to you, but in winter-you can see it!

I watched what seemed to me billows of vapor as I saw multitudes of people coughing and laughing and talking in the cold air. Needless to say I left the line and skipped the lecture. Enough bodily fluids had been excreted towards me for the day.

Talking to myself

2010-04-15T23:09:00.000-04:00

I'm always worried what I will become when I see my professors that have been doing this for years. I have had professors that walk around with giant red pen stains on their shirts without even realizing it. I have professors that can stand in front of a class and know their subject so well that they can teach the class without notes or anything, but the whole time they are talking, they are staring at the floor and shuffling their feet. I also had a professor that seemed to pick me the entire semester to look at when lecturing. He would basically look at me the entire lecture while there were at least 25 other students in the class. You can understand why this might bother me. I am on the same track to do the same things they do. Right now I can look at people when I am lecturing and engage them, but then I find myself talking as though they already know the stuff I am talking about. That doesn't teach people anything! Then you end up wondering why the high score on an exam is like 65. Well...this whole conversation is spurred by something that happened the other day. I was talking to a professor the other day at a departmental mixer and he said, "Don, I saw you the other day and I was going to ask you a question, but you were talking intently to yourself and I didn't want to bother you." My question was, "was I talking to myself outloud?" His reply was, "yes!" My next question was, "was it here in the building or was it outside in front of other people?" He said, "outside." I was like, great! Perfect. I am walking around outside talking to myself intently. Great. He said, I wouldn't worry about it. Most people in academics are a little eccentric. I was like yeah, but what about the people who aren't in academics that I meet? The I realized that someday, I will probably be in a classroom teaching the floor and then some student will write a blog that will be similar to this one and then the circle of academics will continue.

Folate mediated one-carbon metabolism

2009-06-22T21:26:00.000-04:00

Nuclear translocation of dihydrofolate reductase is not a pre-requisite for DNA damage induced apoptosis. Yuan TT, Huang Y, Zhou CX, Yu Y, Wang LS, Zhuang HY, Chen GQ. Apoptosis. 2009 May;14(5):699-710.

SHMT1 and SHMT2 are functionally redundant in nuclear De novo thymidylate biosynthesis. Anderson DD, Stover PJ. PLoS One. 2009 Jun 9;4(6):e5839.

Small ubiquitin-like modifier-1 (SUMO-1) modification of thymidylate synthase and dihydrofolate reductase. Anderson DD, Woeller CF, Stover PJ. Clin Chem Lab Med. 2007;45(12):1760-3.

Evidence for small ubiquitin-like modifier-dependent nuclear import of the thymidylate biosynthesis pathway. Woeller CF, Anderson DD, Szebenyi DM, Stover PJ. J Biol Chem. 2007 Jun 15;282(24):17623-31. Epub 2007 Apr 19.

Current Research

2009-06-22T20:49:00.000-04:00

One of the most frustrating aspects of science is the publication of research articles. Many times researchers in a small field are stuck with a conundrum: submitting to a journal that does not have a high "impact"; or submitting to a well respected journal and being turned down most likely because the editors do not think it will get good readership. The impact factor game is at play seemingly everywhere. When students talk about what will get them a good post-doc it is all about a Science, Nature, or Cell publication. All of these are great journals I read regularly. It must be said though that "impact factor" is not everything. On ISI cited reference search, you can find many papers within those "high impact" journals that obviously have not made an "impact" on anyone. Many articles go uncited or are cited very little. It is clear that the impact comes from a small proportion of the papers that are accepted.
Last year I became aware of PLOS. I was taking Advanced Cell Biology and Prof. William Brown gaves us all a take home exam which included a paper from PLOS Biology. I was very impressed by the rigor with which the research was done. I became very interested in the idea of open access publishing. Ever since then, I have frequented all of the PLOS journal websites and recieve emails regularly including articles which I am interested in. Most of the PLOS journals with published impact factors on ISI are quite respectable. I am sure that journals like Nature and Science are irritated by the success of open access journals. There is a lot of money to be made in publishing.
I recently published an article in PLOS One. PLOS One does not have a published impact factor. At first I was a little unsure. I am confident that the paper would have been accepted by JBC or Biochemistry but what I really wanted, and what PLOS One provides is an online community for scientists to communicate through. This does however require that scientists get involved. Most of us feel we are too busy or are just not interested in reading a paper unless it is in our field and is of interest. The articles published in PLOS One are very diverse and so it requires that we all be a little more conscientious in our pursuit of science. I am now making it a rule of thumb to read at least one paper a week from PLOS One in order to write a review or ask questions or something in order to learn and get some discussion started. Engaging in discussion has worked well in the past for me at conferences. Maybe the internet can provide a similar forum for discussion for scientists to see where the field as a whole is headed.

Negative delta G.

2007-03-12T08:51:00.000-04:00

This is the beginning of a novel I am writing.

No lips. His teeth are showing. His glasses form seeping pools into the eyes of the universe. There are black holes where life should be. Every aspect of life is turned into zeros and ones developing systematic approaches to iteratively discovering the meaning of life. The string of numbers looks like this:

0 0011011100101011

The answer is negative. Why? Kinetics of the reaction, that’s why. What reaction you might ask? The sum of all the chemical reactions going on in the meat tube that is your body, that’s what. Your change in free energy is negative.

……….

I’d seen a dead body before. In fact, I have seen many. Both my grandfather and father are ministers. As a child I was dragged to more funerals than I can remember. I always had a morbid fascination with looking at the body. I always wanted to leave something in the casket. I wanted a piece of me to go down with them.

My grandfather and father had been to more funerals combined than the local funeral home director had taken part in. It seems like funeral home directors and ministers are in the same business. They both profit from someone’s death. Funeral home directors take money to fill a dead body with formaldehyde and put make-up on said body’s face. Ministers make money from “love offerings” because a man named Jesus died.

Now I was looking down at my grandfather. He was filled with formaldehyde and had make-up on his face. It didn’t look like him. Apparently a drug he was taking for his heart reacted with the preservative they pumped him full of and his lips were puffy.

I hadn’t seen him in a while. I found out 7 days before the funeral that he had died. He had a stroke. The last words he said were, “I love you,” to my grandmother. My mom and grandmother held his hand in the hospital. They sang his favorite hymns and prayed for him until his body reached the lowest energy state.

As I was about to turn away from the coffin, it hit me. A wall of tears poured from my eyes. I hadn’t cried in years. I hadn’t cried since my junior year at Cornell. I found a box of tissues, wiped my eyes, and stuffed the tissue into the coffin. A piece of me went into the ground later that day. I loved my grandfather. He understood. He knew what my thoughts were from looking at my face. He said, “Son, never be afraid to fall flat on your face.” Oddly enough his stroke was caused from a fall. He had fallen on his face. He had hit his head.

……..

My friend Eli and I went out that night. I needed to feel something. I had to experience horrible agony or nothing at all. I chose the easy way out, drinking. He has been a brother to me. It had been 3 years since I had seen him last. We went to the Jolly Sailor pub, sat at the bar, and were both instantly accused of having put a roofie in a fat 55 year old drunk women’s drink. We left almost instantly.

We have been to funerals together before. The last time it was for a man called “Coach.” He had been a strong proponent of children’s sports in my town, hence the name. I played baseball. I shook his hand once when I was on the All-Star team. Coach was a friend of the family. I didn’t want to go to his funeral. I was dragged by my mother. Eli came to keep me company. We decided to go up for the viewing. When we got up to the casket, I whispered to Eli, “Help, help. Let me out of this box!” We both started laughing quietly like in school when you are laughing but trying to hold it in so you don’t get busted by your teacher. Luckily it is hard to discern whether it is laughter or heartbreak when you have your back to an audience. We both turned around and pretended to cry, but not before I put a coin from my pocket into the casket. I didn’t laugh when grandpa died. I just stared.

We would have gone to a funeral just prior to my grandfather’s, but we weren’t invited. Our friend Tim, a saint, died of a rare genetic disorder called Ehler Danlos syndrome. His body didn’t produce enough structural proteins to maintain itself. His inefficient meat tube was even more inefficient than my grandfather’s. He took chemicals to stay alive much sooner than my grandfather did. Tim died almost exactly when the doctor’s told him he would when he was a kid. I found out three days after he died. No one was there to hold his hand. No one was there to sing him songs. I threw up for two days when I found out. You tell me it is because of sin. Why should two people over 6000 years ago get to make a choice for Tim? Why could they make a choice for me? I never had a chance. Tim never had a chance. None of us ever had a chance. There are no choices.

I have to go back to New York tomorrow. The ceiling is going in and out of focus. Some water fell into my ear. I was crying.

“Gasp!” I woke up sweating like I had been running all night, not sleeping.

“Donnie? Donnie honey? How are you honey? Sweety, do you want some coffee?”

I floated past my mom right out of the door. I had to go back to the grave site. I got into my car and started driving. I was driving in a place that I didn’t recognize anymore. Hurricanes and shopping malls made that place unrecognizable. I saw the freshly broken ground. The sand was fresh. I never realized how many pieces of shell were mixed with the sand. It made such an impression on me that I can still see the pattern in my mind. Everything is sand there. Everything. Apparently, my grandmother will be buried next to him someday under the sand and shells. I wanted to leave so badly. I turned around and stepped in dog shit.

………

Flying on the plane back to New York I was stuck between a French woman who smelled like bologna and a huge fat guy who was sweating on me. He had a cowboy hat and a blue suit on with a bolo tie.

“You go to Cornell? My name is Dave. I saw your shirt and figured, hell wonder what he does there?”

I started to say, “I’m a…”

When Dave interrupted with, “What’s your major?”

“It’s uhh…”

“Wow, it’s like sittin’ next to a celebrity!”

“Well, I’m not a…uhh…”

“Ivy league! Ivy League!”

“Well it’s…”

“State school myself. Two thousand dollars a year ain’t bad! What’d you pay?”

“About fourt…”

“Figured that much. Ivy league my ass. I got a B.A. for eight grand. I’m successful and the sports teams are a hell of a lot better!”

“Yeah, I…”

“Well, I’m gonna nap now, it was nice meetin’ you. Do me a favor and get me one of those tiny bottles of vodka when the stewardess walks by will ya?”

“Okay.”

The pilot’s voice came on over the loud speaker. “Folks you can see the Atlantic ocean to your right if you look out of the window.”

Bologna lady pushed past me to see out of the window that Dave was sitting at. She said something to me in French. I simply smiled and felt sad. I couldn’t communicate with anyone.

Parrots

2007-03-11T15:22:00.000-04:00

I decided I would help one of my friends out by taking care of his 6 pet parrots while he went out of town for a week. It has been interesting...and I have become less scared of them over the course of the week. But there is this one parrot that is like my arch-nemesis. It somehow gets its butt outside of the cage and craps on the floor like every day. Of course it's carpet that it's taking a dump on. So, I'm scrubbing carpet and cleaning up all kinds of nasty. The first day every single one of them tried to attack me. I got bit by a parrot once and it hurt bad. I have been terribly frightened of them ever since. On top of that the animal channel had a special explaining how their beaks are strong enough to actually break out your teeth! Whenever I imagine myself getting severely hurt I always imagine something happening to my eyes and teeth. My friend also told me that they get out of their cages sometimes. All I could imagine was walking in to feed them one day and all six of them attacking my face. Each taking its turn at poking my eyes out and breaking teeth and grinding them into dust and then spitting that into my pecked out eyes. Ok, perhaps that's a little overboard, but I have a vivid imagination.

Morning

2007-03-11T14:56:00.000-04:00

O.k...There aren't too many things that piss me off more than someone coming to my house and trying to sell me something. Be it mormonism or some stupid product. I'm going to write this as a dialogue between myself and the Kirby vacuum salesman that solicited his crap vacuum at my front door:

Knock, Knock.

Donnie: (opens door) Hello?

Salesman: Are you the man of the house?

D: Yeah, why? (what is this, the 50s?)

S: Then this is for you! (hands D a container of powdered carpet freshener).

D: (D looks at it wondering what it is) What is it and why?

S: Well Sir, this is Kirby's own special carpet freshener and it's yours as soon as we come in and do a quick presentation of our incredible vacuum!

D: (looks agitated and a little miffed because there is only one carpet in the whole house in the dining room and it is like only 100 sq. ft.)

D: Sorry, but I really don't have time for this. (Hands back stinky powder).

S: Sir, I only need to do one more presentation for the day and then I can go home. I'll make it quick. (Hands back the powder).

D: No, thanks! (Hands back the powder with force).

S: Come on, I've got a new guy in the van that couldn't sell a pooper scooper to a man with 12 dogs!!! Ha ha.

D: Sorry, not interested (shuts door, and wonders if the guy really thinks that if he told the pooper scooper line that he would suddenly be let in).