Cryptic Elliptic
I
do know where you're coming from, you know. You might as well comment.
I heart Sitemeter.
Expect no substantive content until after the juniorbird unless I have some sort of psychotic break and decide to write my thesis in my blog. In that case, expect boring content.
Hey, Kathy!!
When???
biosci quote of the day: "The left-handed way is not the way of the fist!" - my roommate, speaking (very emphatically) not about anything so political as you might imagine.
Some opinions.
I hate people: Some asshat stole my wallet at the Atlanta airport, causing me to spend much of Saturday wondering whether I'd be allowed back to Chicago without my driver's license. God. Why couldn't he have just mugged me like a normal criminal?
My father is the shit: I didn't actually have to find out whether I could sneak past airport security because my dad managed to overnight my passport to the hotel. Yay, overnight mail!
Guys are creepy: On Thursday, I was studying with a friend in Crerar. Some random guy approached us,
smelled us and announced, "One of you is wearing the most wonderful perfume." We left.
Guys are creepy, part II, the rage: At the tournament in Atlanta, the tournament director stalked our B team and weirdly hit on me. This sort of behavior really pisses me off - not just in the obvious "I hate creepy guys" way, but in that it tends to drive girls away from the team.
If you were looking for something brilliant:
a) you're in the wrong place.
b) wait til after my o-chem exam.
Of everything I've learned at the University of Chicago, I think that what I've learned in o-chem will be the most useful in my future criminal career. I have been told how to make crack (I forgot shortly after; however, considering my usual rate of success in o-chem lab, this is a Good Thing. It would not be usable crack), I have discussed running a meth lab for course credit, and I have learned about eighty-four million different ways to blow shit up. I can't understand why the class is so boring. Alas.
So I've found my fun thing for the summer - I think I'm going to take Irish singing lessons at the
Old Town School of Folk Music (assuming they're offered in the summer, as I can't take them during the school year).
The description of the class:
Learn traditional ballads, parlor songs, bar songs, rebel songs, and sacred music. This class provides a great opportunity to learn these wonderful traditions from one of Chicago’s favorite Irish singers and featured soloists. Use this great repertoire class to practice your style and technique or just to sing your brains out.
Sounds super fun. I mean, I've got to have something to amuse me when y'all are running off to
Russia or Albuquerque or to, like, be
math wranglers or whatever.
Arrr. I suppose I should at least pretend to work before I have to run off for
ACF ... hey, should I bake anything for ACF? I might be too lazy, but I can try.
Um, and since I don't talk about baking enough in this thing ... I don't suppose anyone knows any traditional northern Italian recipes for St. Joseph's day? Most of the recipes I can find (zeppole, sfingi, etc.) are very southern, ricotta-filled, and fried. My great-aunt remembered baking something that sounded alarmingly like hamantaschen (which, considering that Purim falls relatively close to St. Joseph's day, shouldn't be that surprising). Maybe I'll just freestyle in the kitchen or something.
Lest I forget ... hi,
Ed!! I'll put you on my sidebar when I'm not so lazy.
It's Palm Sunday.
Christo Iesu qui cum in forma Dei esset non rapinam arbitratus est esse se aequalem Deo
sed semet ipsum exinanivit formam servi accipiens in similitudinem hominum factus et habitu inventus ut homo
humiliavit semet ipsum factus oboediens usque ad mortem mortem autem crucis
propter quod et Deus illum exaltavit et donavit illi nomen super omne nomen
ut in nomine Iesu omne genu flectat caelestium et terrestrium et infernorum
et omnis lingua confiteatur quia Dominus Iesus Christus in gloria est Dei Patris.
Phil 2:6-11
Madeleines:
yield: 24-30 3-inch madeleines
Ingredients
- 2 large eggs
- 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1 cup confectioner's sugar
- 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/4 teaspoon baking powder
- 1/2 cup beurre noisette, cooled (see below)
- 1/2 teaspoon (or more) lemon or orange zest, if desired
To make the
beurre noisette: Heat the UNSALTED butter on the stove. When the milk solids rise to the top, start to watch it. As soon as the milk solids begin to brown in the butter, remove from heat and pour into a cool dish. Let cool before adding to batter (so as not to cook the eggs before their time). Some recipes will tell you to strain the milk solids out of the butter. This is absolute sacrilege. NEVER do it.
If you're lazy or pressed for time, you can microwave the butter, but it just won't be the same.
Procedure:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Grease and flour (Baker's Joy will do) madeleine molds.
Beat eggs, vanilla, and zest (if applicable) with an electric mixer on high for 5 minutes. Gradually beat in confectioner's sugar. Beat for 5-7 minutes, until satiny.
Sift together flour and baking powder. Fold in flour by fourths. Fold in the butter (make sure it's cooled). Spoon the batter into the prepared molds, filling them no more than 2/3 full.
Bake for 10-12 minutes, or until golden. Cool, inverted, on a rack for one minute, then remove them (loosening with a butter knife, if necessary).
To serve: Sprinkling them with confectioner's sugar and serving with berries is ideal; dipping them in chocolate has been suggested, but sounds nasty; and, you know, you could always serve them with tea (a lime blossom tisane, if you're Proust. Or if you're pretentious).
I heart Auden.
As I Walked Out One Evening
W. H. Auden
As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.
And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.
'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,
'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.
'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'
But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.
'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.
'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.
'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.
'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.
'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.
'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.
'O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.
'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'
It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.
In case you were wondering, I don't think the Raelians are an appropriate topic for an RMP bonus.
"how did you get into the University of Chicago"-style quote of the day: "But the nephrons have a conception of time, right? Isn't that why you don't have to go to the bathroom when you sleep?" - some kid in my roommate's physiology class.
A poem, formerly stuck in my head:
Song
John Donne
GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.
If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.
A recipe:
Brioche
(from How to Cook Everything, by Mark Bittman - in a rather roundabout way)
4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more as needed
1 tsp salt
1/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 tsp instant yeast
1/2 cup cold butter, cut into chunks
I shouldn't have to say this, but the butter should be unsalted. UNSALTED!! Salted butter makes the baby Jesus cry.
3 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1/3 cup water
1 egg yolk mixed with 2 Tbs milk
Combine the flour, salt, sugar, and yeast in an electric food processor and process with a steel blade
for 5 seconds. Add the butter and eggs and process for 10 seconds. With the machine running, quickly add the milk and water and process for 30 seconds. The batter should be very loose and sticky, almost
like a batter. Scrape the dough into a well greased bowl, cover, and allow to rise until doubled in
volume (2 to 3 hours). Punch down the dough and divide into two loaves, using as little flour as
possible in order to handle it. Place each loaf in a well-greased loaf pan, cover, and let rise for 1 hour.
Brush the tops of the loaves with the egg yolk mixture and bake in a preheated 400F for about 30 minutes. When done, the loaf should slide easily out of the pan and the bottom should sound hollow when tapped. Makes 2 loaves.
Because God forbid I have an easy final quarter, there was .... o-chem! Despite not really knowing what I was doing, and despite feeling like a deranged bartender for a good portion of the lab, I think I'll be fine.
I tire of sounding rather vapid in here, but I'm exhausted. And I think weblogs work better if you have a computer at home; most of my computer time is rather ends-driven. In point of fact, I should be working on editing questions now, not on this, but I can't be arsed to find a computer with a word processor (and I doubt I'd find one free if I tried). Maybe when I have my grad-student paradise, this will contain deep and profound thoughts. For now, I think there will be recipes, things stuck in my head, and snarkiness. Probably drivel, too.
An attempt to clear my head:
Susan's To-Do/To-Contemplate List:
Um, I need to tell Wisconsin and Northwestern that I won't be attending their grad schools. For that matter, I should probably tell Chicago that I'll be going there. Staying there? Whatever.
I need a registrar-related thug (not one that's, like, the registrar's cousin). I have so many missing grades. I may have to start beating down my professors.
PCR! Plant harvesting! Plant killing! AAAAAHHHH!!
Okay, never mind that. Head won't be cleared.
Hey, a public opinion poll. What should I do this summer? Here are the options that have been presented to me:
- Continue working on my project (someday I'll post what it is) in my current lab. I would get paid, presumably.
- Try to find a paid position in a cancer lab (or at least a mouse lab) so as to learn new techniques, meet people, and make money!
- Do an early rotation in a canbio lab - less pay and other bad things.
- Work at 57th Street Salon. I'm not kidding - they offered me a job last time I went in for my hair. I'm weirdly tempted to do this, and I don't know why.
- Try to find a sweet-ass TA position like I had last summer.
- Live on the street, sell crack, and buy CDs.
- Some combination of the above.
Vote with the comment thingy. See? I have a comment thingy now! Woo! Comment thingy!
last book I read: The Master and Margarita
currently listening to: Elephant, The White Stripes.
I love: garlic. Especially pickled garlic.
I hate: snow in April. And red-eye flights, particularly those that involve Daylight Savings Time complications and small kicking children.
