I'm quite the fool

It was brought to my attention that they have empregnated a man!

http://www.malepregnancy.com/

At first I thought it was some kind of hoax, but this guy Mr. Lee has actually been empregnated and is with child. At least the site says it's true. They wouldn't lie on the internet would they? They even say he might be able to breast feed the child when it's over.

I like the comments that people have. Especially the woman who's appalled: "You motha f**kas need Jesus!"

My opinion? When are they going to cure cancer? When will they cure aids? I mean, was male pregnancy in such demand that some scientists are spending time and money to make it happen? As a biologist I'm totally shocked. Last time I ever considered the idea of a man becoming pregnant was the TERRIBLE movie with Arnold Shwarznegger and Danny Devito, Junior. I think the same thing now as I did then; WTF???

Furthermore I don't even like having it as an option. If some woman asks me to carry a child it's over. I don't care if we're married, career.. nothing... Immediate divorce if the subject even comes up. All these scientists have done is given couples another thing to argue about.

Man: "I dont' want to be pregnant!"
Woman: "But my career! You're so selfish!"
Man: "Making babies should be your career."

I will NEVER be pregnant. I think that's a realistic thing for me to strive toward.

And what's up with the men who want to be pregnant? There are men out there who actually want to defy nature and carry a child? One guy has actually said "I've dreamed of this all my life!!" How... How does such a thought even enter your mind. How do you approach your wife about something like that?

Simon: Dear... I'd like to carry our child.
Linda: Ummm... are you gay?
Simon: No, I just think I'd like the experience of carrying a child for nine months and nurturing it, breast feeding it... etc...
Linda: So you're gay.
Simon: Just because I wish I had a vagina doesn't make me gay.

How will a woman look at their husband while he's pregnant? What about the child? How would I look at a male friend who's gotten knocked up.

Me: "Oh, looks like you're losing at Halo 5 again!"
Vrej: "The baby's kicking!"
Me: "Stop being a little pussy! OOOOH SNAP!!! KILLING SPREE BIATCH!!!"
Vrej: "I think my water just broke!"
Me: "Shut up and pick up your joystick! Ewwww... my couch!!!"
Vrej: "Have some compassion! The moment I was knocked up my wife left me!"

The whole thing makes me shudder. Dear God...

Addendum

I've been told by my friend Jenn that I'm a fool for believing this. I'm so embarassed. If you look at the site they've also claimed to have made nanites and accomplished a head transplant. I'm supposed to be getting a phd in biology in a few years. Shame on me.

This Post is Not Racist

The weekend was jawesome. Went to a party with Marie-Eve (the Thetford Mines variety) organized by the biology department to raise money for some students doing volunteer work in the Galopogus islands (spp?). Nice party, nice peeps and my buddy Andrew, a mad scientist of sorts was playing with his band. It was cool to see a different side of him. He went from not so mild mannered scientist to tortured rock star. He's a Velvet Revolver/GNR band... I don't know much about that kind of music but he had a good voice and a hot young lady drummer. The effect of her hotness was offset by Andrew dancing around with no shirt but there was obviously no helping that. Andrew being the lead singer was responsible enough to leave us with a very important thought. "500.... .. BILLION!!! Species... die everyday in the Galopagus islands." I guess it was just a ballpark figure...

Next day Alpha Posse came over. They brought over more junk food than I'd ever seen in one place. A 20 piece bucket of KFC, popcorn chicken, fries, pizza, little cakes, sodas, donuts, munchkins and as the piece d'irresistance, Marie-Eve (the Jbo variety) made a cake.



As you can see the cake is not racist. One day I hope to know what that means. It was delicious despite it's political dispositions. Thanks Maeva.

Rez dazzled us all with tales of his pilgrimage to Mecca while I blasphemed and made wise ass comments. He did it with panache and professionalism that only Rez could pull off. I for one learned a lot about Islam. The pics were beautiful and it was just really fun and impressive. He even brought us some holy water from a well that has been flowing since the time of... Moses? Abraham? Anyway, we drank the blessed draught. My favourite story was about a spot inside the main Mosque in Mecca (the Masjid Al Haram) where your prayers are more potent BUT your sinful thoughts count as actual sins. Can you imagine? If all my sinful thoughts counted as sins, I would never get into heaven nor would any of my decent. Anyway, it was really cool, thanks Rez.

Mad props also go to Vrej who accesorized the old pimp hat with a Santa hat (that was lying around my apartment for some reason) as well as his own baseball cap. As if invoking the spirit of some pimp he pulls out his phone and berates his Ho Ho Hoes "I DON'T CARE WHAT HE SAYS!!! JUST DO IT!!!" In a hilarious Sir Smokes Alot/pimp voice.



Vrej, you're sick!!! I dub thee, Pimpaclaus

We also played pictionary. It was like a super-hero story. Ever notice how in comics super-heroes always seem to match up their powers? Like Iceman will fight Pyro's fire powers? Wolverine will end up fighting someone with claws. Anyway, this was nothing like that. I just found it odd that both Marie-Eve's were sitting across from each other. It was like when Data had to fight Lore...



Finally, I followed up Rez's classy lecture about Islam by showing the guys the very tacky part 8,9,10 of R.Kelly's trapped in the closet. And so the evening concluded at about 1am. I still have friend chicken and cake in my apt. (I was originally going to correct my typo but have decided that Fried Chicken shall henceforth be referred to as Friend Chicken).

Lab Tales part 5 - Customer Service Experts

Most likely, one or many of you fine ladies out there was trying to call me last week and got a strange message on my phone. After two rings, a voice would ask you for a voice box number before I even got a chance to answer. I apologize and assure you the problem has been rectified.

And it wasn't easy. First of all, like all customer service situations, it required calling from work. I mean, why should the idiots at Bell be available when I get home or at another convenient time? After all, it's not like they're going to waste my time while I'm at work, by keeping me on hold for almost an hour.

OR IS IT???

Of course it is. I call the idiots... First off, Bell has a voice recognition system. I guess pressing numbers is too convenient for them. You have to talk to a machine to get service.

Voice Message: "Welcome to the Bell automated phone service. For service in English SAY English."
Me: "English."
Voice Message: "Bonjour! Comment est-ce que je peux vous offrir une excellente service aujourdhui?"
Me: "English!!! ENGLISH!!! Godamn it!!!!"
Voice Message: "Ca c'est une service automatiser qui repond a des commandes vocales. Si vous avez besoins d'aide, dites le mot, 'aide'."

Finally I get through to some idiot. I explain my problem, "Yes, when hot ladies call me, after two rings, they get a message asking them for a voice box number."
There's a long pause before the customer service guy responds with the competence and wisdom I've come to expect from a customer service rep, "HUH?! I don't understand."

I eventually manage to get him to understand the problem by getting him to call my phone line at home. Of course, before this was the mandatory security check. He asked me for my name and adress and phone number just in case I was someone else, trying to fix my phone problem. This is obviously a common problem, someone trying to fix problems. So they put me on hold. Then he comes back on the line, "Oh, that is strange. Let me trasnfer you to repair."

He puts me on hold again. The guy from repair answers. This guy's rude and its obvious that everything I say to him is just an unwelcome distraction from whatever it was he was doing before. "I don't understand your problem," he growls. Eventually we do the security check again. He calls my hom number leaving me on hold AGAIN!!! Then when he's back on the line, he says, "Oh, I'll transfer you to the ummm... RIGHT department." I imagine him transferring me then picking up a bookmarked Penthouse magazine so he can continue whatever it was he was doing before I called.

Now some bubbly girl answers the phone. Exactly the same thing happens. Confusion followed by security check. She calls my house, puts me on hold. Then she gets back on the line and says, "Oh, let me transfer you to the ummm... repair department."

Me: "I just got transferred from the repair department!"
Idiot Woman: "Really? What did they say?"
Me: "They said they would transfer me to the RIGHT department. You're the Right department! YOU!!!"
Idiot Woman: "Mmmmm.... Let me get my manager."

This is obviously going to be an epic wait so after five minutes I put the phone on speaker, filling the lab with annoying elevator music and the repeated phrase, "Your call is very important to us... Please stay on the line and representative will be with you in a moment."

As if I'm not angry enough, my co-worker decides to give me some advice.

Co-worker: "What are you doing??? How long have they had you on hold?"
Me: "Oh, ten, fifteen minutes?"
Co-Worker: "Talk to the manager!!!"
Me: "They're getting the manager now."
Co-Worker: "This is disgusting, hang up and call back... Don't be a pussy!"
Me: "Yeah, so I can go through the whole ridiculous process again?! I'll just wait."
Co-Worker: "Let me handle it!!! I'll fix your problem!"
Me: "Yeah?? You're an expert?? Isn't your laptop on warranty? Haven't you sent it to be fixed about twice and you still have to keep the paperclip on the screen so the picture isn't distorted???"
Co-Worker: "That's different... It's Futureshop! COME ON LET ME TALK TO BELL!!! I'll give you the dollar I owe you if you let me speak to them!"
Me: "You touch that phone and I'll kill you!!!"
Co-Worker: "I'm good at this stuff! Ask anyone! AAh, You're pathetic. Even Warren would have gotten service by now!!"
Me: "Warren???"

It's obvious he had some frustration and wanted to live out his fantasy of being a downtrodden customer who was pushed too far by living vicariously through my phone call. I"m getting angrier and angrier as he rambles on. Then another co-worker walks in. She walks up to the phone and stares at it in confusion for a moment before asking, "What's this?"

Me: "That's a phone... It's used to communicate with people over long distances."
Co-Worker: "But..."
Me: "I know, I know... I put it on speaker phone so I could wait on hold and do work at the same time."
Co-worker: "And you expect them to answer??"
Me: "Ummmm yes?"
Co-worker: "You're so naive... I remember when..."

Everything else was kind of a blur. This co-worker has, like the other has also been abused by beauracracy and is waiting to get back several hundred dollars because of some careless screw up. Yet, both of them know the best way to handle my problem. Their inane rambling mixes itself with the soporiphic waiting music and I kind of zone out. Just as the unthinkable was about to happen (one of them decided it would be fun to sing to the automatic message) the people at Bell pick up.

I run to the phone. The guy explains to me in mystified tones, "Yeah, that's really strange. I dont' know how that hapenned??? It doesn't make sense." I love that. Has their computer system developped some kind of artificial intelligence that it's able to outwit every level of management in this god-forsaken company? I mean, for my sake, PRETEND you know what's going on.

Anyway, I was told they could fix the problem in 24-48 hours. He rambled on a bit, "Well... at worst 48 hours... but probably less than 24... But be prepared for 48... I'm really sorry sir. I really don't know how this hapenned. But we'll fix it. I'll send the problem to a technician. Sorry you won't be able to get any calls."

Morons. How about you put the technicians on the phone instead of idiot kids who don't know s**t from toothpaste and waste my time while I'm at work. Regardless... The problem has been fixed. It only took about half an hour or forty minutes of frustration on the phone. I've had worse.

Fun Factoid: 5 billion yeast cells died while I tried communicating with Bell, a company dedicated to providing communication services.

The Rat Who Shagged Me

My friend Stef sent me this article about caffeine making female rats randy.

http://www.webmd.com/content/Article/117/112560.htm?pagenumber=1

It's always interesting to read studies about animals that don't involve actual quantitation of chemicals in their bodies because it requires so much human interpretation. In this study they say that if female rats were given caffeine before getting it on with a male rat, they were more likely to want seconds afterwards (more sex not more caffeine). They say the females "visited faster" afterward. But couldn't that just be because they were hyper from caffeine? They say the female would only leave after receiving more sexual stimulation.

But this begs the question, what's sexy to a female rat? Do the researchers know she was being sexually stimulated? Maybe the female was just coming back to chat with the male rat about marriage and children and the meaning of life. The male rat, not wanting any part of the conversation decided to grope her knowing this would result in more sex and/or less talking, causing the female rat to leave in tears, "You're only interested in one thing you rat bastard!"

It also makes you wonder how much of the researcher's own horniness factors into his/her data. "Oh, look, she's very interested... Who wouldn't be interested in having carnal, torrid relations with such a studly rat? My own husband doesn't bare his teeth that way anymore. Nor does he lash out with his tail in that come hither manner... In fact the last time we made sweet rat love, it lasted 10 seconds and..."

Anyway you get the point. I know someone who does REAL research on rats. I can't remember exactly what it involved. Something about letting them start having sex and then stopping them before the act was complete and then measuring the chemicals present in their brain. It's cold and quantitative like real science should be. (It's also brief and unsatisfying to the woman, like sex should be!!! cue the Fox network-esque OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I'm just joking) Science reduces sex to a few chemicals produced by the brain with no human biases to mess up the data. No talk of, "Mmm, looks like the female wants a cigarette... I know I would." Or, "If I were a female rat, I'd definately want a man with a long tail who could last all night long." (This is an assumption, correct me if I'm wrong, J-9).

I guess it would be much easier if the rats could just speak English. Then we could listen to the conversations between all the female rats, "I was intimate with Bill last night and between you and me,it was he was so well endowed it's almsot as if he has TWO tails!!!" or, "I was intimate with Larry last night and quite frankly, it lasted about the amount of time it takes to spring a rat trap!"

I really can't remember where I was going with this... I originally had some very profound comment about sex and how animals are... something? Morality? Secularism? I can't remember. For some reason I can't get the thought of a rat with a giant wang out of my head, so this post is over.

Someone send me pics from the Toga party so I can write a post about it!

Signs that you're a slob

I had a funny chat with my friend Jenn tonight. I was describing how messy my apartment is and how I should be tidying it up instead of chatting on msn. I have a chair in my room, and like many people, rather than hang up my clothes I just toss the clothes on the chair. And as weeks pass the pile gets higher and higher. But the shameful part is, the pile got so high the other day, that the whole thing toppled over, and rather than hang up the clothes I endeavored to rebuild the pile so it was stable enough to retain its former glory.

Jenn tried to convince me that her apartment was also messy. She said a sure sign that things were getting out of hand at her place were.

1) The bed is unmade
2) The dishes are piling up

THAT'S IT??? I almost NEVER make up my bed. And dishes? Foggetaboutit! I retorted with:

3) There are leaves on the floor from my dying plant.

She countered with

4) There are dustbunnies in the corners.

Me:

5) Freaking silverfish have overrun my bathroom like the Uruk Hai overran Helmsdeep.

Jenn at a loss adds the very feeble,

6) Dusty furniture

Me, confident in my surpreme filthiness end it all with the shameful,

7) Sometimes, rather than take the garbage downstairs, I start a second garbage bag outside of the can and start filling that up!!!

Game, set, match!

I'm aware of the unnaceptable state of my apartment. I dont' try to justify it. And if I am about to have company over I do manage to clean things up to make the place acceptable. My crowning achievement is I seem to have defeated the silverfish in my apartment by spraying all of the radiators with raid. I haven't seen one since! Eat Piperonyl Butoxide you six legged bastards!

I think my apartment reflect my state of mind, or rather, the messiness of my apartment coaxes disorganized thought in my daily life. That's what my dad seems to think. I've been trying to find a reason for my general confusion and fragmented thought process. A messy apartment seems like a likely candidate.

The thought of my mess does come back to haunt me throughout the day sometimes. "Mmm... I left that plate with maple syrop in it at my computer desk didn't I?" And as my mind wanders back to the chaos of my apartment, that chaos manifests itself as me doing something particularly inept at work. For every derelict t-shirt in my apartment, I spill one beaker of chloroform in the lab. For every unwashed dish I accidently light a co-worker on fire... Beware... Masta's messiness may claim the life of you or one you love!

Holiday Hi-lights and Low-lights

Another holiday season has come and gone. I'm satisfied cuz I got to see friends and family before it was all done. I guess the main event was New Years which was basically drunken Karaoke night. It was a trans-posse affair with people from High School, the lab and even from out of town coming together in a tone deaf, orgiastic collision of worlds. Where else do you get to see Simon and Vrej team up to sing I had the Time of My Life while gazing longingly into each other's eyes? It was also somewhat prolific to have our old Math Teacher's son, in the room singing off key with a glass of whisky in his hand at all times. And of course those racists brought Fried Chicken with them.

Prior to that there was an outing with Marie-Eve, Pat and Mel that will go down in history as one of the most awkward movie outings ever. It started off with Karaoke at my apartment, then moved on to deliciousness at Baton Rouge. All good so far. A note of interest, that a conversation came up about the fact that the amount of ribs produced implied that many pigs died to feed us. Marie-Eve acted scandalized as if she didn't know that ribs came from dead pigs. I mention this for a reason that will come up later.

After food it was time for the movie and this is where things got messy. Mel had warned me before hand that she had promised to see Brokeback mountain with a friend of hers and that we were all to come. Now, it wouldn't be the first time I'd been accused of being a homophobe, but it really didn't interest me to see a movie about two gay cowboys. I don't think that makes me prejudice. How many of you racists saw Amistad?! Exactly. No matter, Pat and I could easily go see another movie while the ladies went to see Brokebackside Mountain Cowboys.

But then at dinner, Pat bails on me! He says he'll go see Brokeback Mountain, leaving me with the option of going home, or going to see another movie by myself. Anyway, after about 2 hours of complaining, we get to the theatre and I grudgingly pay for my ticket to see Brokeanus Cowboys, praying no one would see me there. The girls of course are like, "It won't be so bad, what's the big deal? Two cute guys who happen to be gay."

It was really funny because in the theatre, most people were obviously gay. Not only that, several gay couples seemed to know each other.

Bruce: "Hey! I hear this movie is great with all the sodomy and man-love."
Serge: "Yes. Gaylord Weekly called Brokeback Mountain a heart-warming, sphincter ripping good time!"

Now, not only was the movie itself pointless, but it included several scenes of graphic man love including a very early scene of sodomy. It was stupid. The movie basically sets itself up like this, "Hey, Heath Ledger, you look cold out there... Why not share this here tent with me?" and then they wake up in the tent and sodomize each other. One girl in the theatre got up and ran out of there the moment it began.

Anyway, the guys keep in touch. Then they get married and cheat on their respective wives to go to Brokeback Mountain and get it on. You don't really get a sense that they're in love. Just very horny. One guy goes to Mexico. I didn't realize at the time but it was explained to me that he was hiring male jigalows to satiate his lust for men. Have you ever seen a love story where some guy gets tired of keeping it in his pants so he hires a whore cuz his true love is otherwise occupied? Nothing says romance like a mexican man-whore... shudder... I hate this movie so much. SPOILER WARNING* The entire movie there is the sound of ravens cawing in the background and big surprise one of the gay guys dies! How tragic. And subtle. Is it just me or whenever a movie or franchise is going nowhere, they find it necessary to kill off a character?*

Let me say I also hated this movie for all the same reasons I hated American Beauty. Family values are kind of thrown out of the window to focus on two hopeless and selfish individuals. Big whoop! I think the movie fails on all levels. As a love story, as pornography, as drama, as a buddy comedy, as an action adventure, as sci-fi thriller... It's a train wreck. I hated it... I hated it right in the face!!! And I know all the critics are gushing all over it. Nuts to them!

What was fun though, was that the girls were just as uncomfortable if not moreso than the guys. "But.. But... They took it up the ass!"

Newsflash! That's what gay people do! It's all well and good for girls to think of gay men as well-dressed, mild-mannered, effeminate people who you can complain about your boyfriend to. But apparently it slips their minds that homosexuals, like heterosexuals, need some kind of orifice to carry out their... deeds... It's called reality (not the orifice mind you.. the orifice is called the @#$!&*). You can't enjoy ribs and pretend something didn't die to produce them. And you can't say you're not homophobic if the thought of two men ummm... making love? makes you uncomfortable. Anyway, that's the last time I keep an open mind. Thanks a lot PAT, MEL AND MARIE-EVE! Woman I will NEVER forgive you for this!

You know, I raised an eyebrow when Frodo kissed Sam on the head, I have no business going to see a movie like Brokeback Mountain. I guess I'm not mature enough. It took all of my will not to scream out, "OH S**T!!! THAT'S NASTY, GUY!!!!" I'm sure one day my ignorance will be tempered, but... this movie was too much too soon. Mind you I have no problems whatsoever with gay people. But I think portraying it on the big screen cheapens the beauty of love shared between one dirty ass cowboy and another and that it should be kept private! The only on screen man kiss that I felt was appropriate was between Aragorn and Boromir in the Fellowship of the Rings. After a discussion with my friend Jenn, we came to the conclusion that man kissing is only acceptable if one of the men has been pierced by several poisonned arrows and they are surrounded by dying Uruk Hai.

Otherwise, fun holidays. Thanks to all who took a part in New Year's at the Crizzouse. Vrej's bitterness toward New Year's comes with an important message. We don't need New Year's as an excuse to gather and get soused. This is what the Crizzouse is for. So for 2006 I prithee... Let's see more gatherings, more partying and more MORE Fried Chicken!

I'll be home for Me-tmas

I've never been this sick in my life. Thursday night I went to a party. Toward the end of the evening I began feeling particularly ill. I got dropped off, slowly crept up the stairs to my apartment. I took off my shoes, discarded my coat, went to the toilet and vomit for what felt like at least 5 minutes. It was, as always, amazing. I could see each meal coming out in turn. I really didn't eat that much for the day but the sheer volume of what I regurgitated was mind boggling. I must have lost 30 pounds.

Anyway I went to bed and was basically dead for 10 hours. I woke up a few times during the night, freezing cold and aching from head to toe. My headache was also something phenomenal, starting at the point where my neck meets the skull and spreading like an atom bom to all areas beyond. For the first time, I called in sick for work. I spent most of my time in bed... I drank some apple juice and nearly spewed that up.

The rest of the day was somewhat uneventful. Mom called. When she heard how sick I was she discouraged me to go to her place for dinner for Christmas Eve. The phone rang a few more times, the noise so agonizing it brought tears to my eyes. Then the unthinkable happened. The doorbell rang. I crept to the door wearing my too-small gray pyjamas and walking with the posture of a broke ass mister Burns. To my horror, there were 3 people! One was holding a guitar. My jaw dropped. He started playing... The woman started saying something... I couldn't understand what was hapenning all I wanted was for them to go away. "Money?" I voiced my thought desperately, "Do you want money?" I can't remember what she answered but I slowly made my way back to my room and got 3 dollars. I gave it to them and with a rictus smile in return they gave me some paper which I have yet to read. I could have given a hefty donation to the "Eat the Dolphins Foundation" for all I know. But at least they were gone. I closed the door and went back to my tomb. Even under 2 blankets and a comforter I was freezing cold, like someone had launched me into the deep reaches of outer space.

I used to think I was invincible. A towering Bastion of Might, impervious to most forms of sicknesses. Apparently I was wrong. And now, my sickness has taken precious Christmas from me. A foul turn of events indeed.

Uh-Oh Here comes you know who!!!

Today I found myself singing a jingle from one of my favourite Christmas Commercials. The one where Fred Flinstone is leaving Fruity Pebbles for Santa Claus. It's probably been over a decade since they used to air that commercial and I still know it by heart.

Children: Seasons greetings in our souls!
Fred: Yummy Fruity Pebbles in our Bowls!
*BAM!!!* Uh Oh, here comes you know who!
Santa(busting in): Yabba Dabba Fruity-licious too!
Barney: HoHoHo I'm HuHuHungry!
(incredulous) SANTA??? MY PEBBLES!!!
Fred(furious): YOUR PEBBLES!?
Santa: Tis the Season to be sharing Fred!
Fred (heart softenning): Happy Holidays Pal!
Barney (touched): Awwww. Fred!

It's really quite brilliant. Think about how dense that commercial is with plot and intrigue. In thirty seconds they establish that it's Christmas, Fred is leaving cereal for Santa and Barney intends to steal the cereal by disguising himself as Santa but is foiled when Santa ends up showing up before him. Santa however, warms Fred's heart and instead of the commercial ending as it usually does (with Fred chasing Barney like an impotent jerk), Fred decides to share his cereal and we all learn a little something about generosity and the Christmas spirit.

There are a few things that I used to take for granted back in the day. 1) Cereal apparently is a very valuable commodity. To this day commercials about cereal always depict some character desperately trying to STEAL cereal. STEAL!!! That cocky jerk, Sugar Bear, who apparently isn't above time travelling to ancient China" to steal cereal from an old woman. That stupid Trix rabbit. The ironically named Lucky, who apparently makes the cereal only to have it stolen by punk kids and then be denied eating it. Lucky Charms commercials are particularly disturbing. Lucky's entire existence revolves around keeping his eyes and ears sharp because there's always a group of kids malevolently plotting to steal his cereal.

Kids: "Lucky will never suspect what we're going to do next! Steal his cereal! So I say we go out there, and f**k him up!!"
Other Kid: "I can't wait! It has extra dye and sugar!" (Then the children dash off, wringing their hands in anticipation of screwing Lucky over again).
Lucky: "Hahah, stupid kids... I heard your plan... and as they say; fore-warned is fore-armed."

Next thing you know the kids bust in and gang bang him then steal his cereal.

Kids: "The price is wrong, b**ch! Thanks for the cereal ya green hat wearing pussy! We got yo' a$$, once again!"

I mean, they're such bullies. What ever hapenned to rooting for the underdog? You always know how it's going to end. Some characters, lousy children, the evil sugar bear, captain crunch end up getting the cereal. The less fortuante characters end up screwed. Worst case scenario, those with cereal exact a terrible vengeance on supposed cereal thieves asserting their exclusive right to the product.

Another thing that didn't strike me as odd at the time is that Barney would go through all of this trouble to steal cereal from Fred. I mean, Leprachauns and rabbits I can understand. But Barney? Some kind of post australopithican homonid stealing from his neighbour? Impersonating Santa Claus himself?

Which brings me to the last thing I took for granted. Santa Claus showing up is assumed in this commercial. No sooner does Fred put the cereal near the chimney than Santa is there ready to consume it. When I was young I probably didn't think to myself, "Wow... Santa? I don't believe this commercial has established to the viewer that Santa can exist in the Bedrock universe." I would just be satisfied. Yes, Santa aquiring cereal from Fred would be a most ironic foil to Barney's diabolical plan.

I miss being a kid. The 80's 90's were really my time. Everything seemed to be targetted to me. It was likeI was the center of the universe. And Christmas time is where it all came together. Every commercial was aimed to please me, delight and bewilder me. Now I think too much to enjoy Christmas the way I used to. Back in the day I would be anticipating Christmas by November. I would just let all the shameless advertising wash over me like nerve gas. Everyday was a joy up until December. Now I'm Scrooge-esque. I feel more of the stress of Christmas and the pressures of new years. It's already only a week away.

I suppose most Christmas movies would say I would get into the Christmas spirit if I did something nice for someone. Cereal commercials show us that at Christmas time, we forgive our enemies for committing unspeakable cereal theft and forego exacting a horrible vengeance upon them. We might even share our cereal with them. The crooked ass police from the Cookie Crisp Precinct did. So did Fred.

So from my blog to yours, I'd like to welcome you all to whatever cereal is in my house. I finished the Honey Nut Cheerios but there's other stuff with that Quaker Oats guy on the box. Brown Sugar and something... with fiber and extra goodness!

I'd like to see a commercial where the Quaker Oatmeal guy is running from children who are brandishing pitchforks and torches, the Quaker clutching in his hands a bowl of oatmeal. He falls off a cliff and gets beaten by the kids.

Kids: "Thanks for the cereal you Queero Quaker! That will teach you to mess with delinquent younglings."
Quaker(in a foppish british accent): "Oh, my head...." (Camera zooms out to reveal the quaker impaled on a large sharp rock. Younglings eat oatmeal.)

Blacks, whites, Cookie Crooks and even pasty punk Leprachauns. Happy Holidays.

The Ghetto-fication of MastaCSG

Gone are the days of living with parents when any money earned was pure liquid capital. Now that I live on my own, I have expenses. Food, rent and the like. And despite my best efforts. instincts kick in that were somewhat repressed in the past. The instinct to be cheap and save a dime wherever possible.

I try to suppress it, but sometimes it's just overwhelming. The other day, my supervisor got a calendar from the company that he orders chemical reagents from. He said, "If anyone needs a calendar, I got one from Bio Rad." Nice calendar. There was a picture of a parrot on the cover... for some reason. I tried not to look too excited. "Well," I said, "If you're not going to take it." In my mind I was thinking, "SICK!!! FREE CALENDAR!!! WAY TO BRING IN THE NEW MILLENIUM... EXCUSE ME... WILLENIUM!!!"

Today I felt like buying croissants but didn't want to go to the grocery store where I knew I could get 6 for 3$. Instead I stopped by a nearby bakery on the way home. With a big smile on my face I anticipated feasting on tasty croissants and asked, "How much for the Croissant?" She responded, "1 dollar." My face contorted in horror, "EACH???" mmm... Awkward! I kind of looked around the bakery embarassed trying to save face. I dont' know what I was trying to convey as I lingered in the bakery. I certainly wasn't considering paying a dollar for a croissant. But I didn't want to spin around and storm out the moment she announced the price of the croissant was a dollar. So I stood there, avoiding eye-contact for about 10 uncomfortable seconds and I finally left the bakery chagrinned.

I do however enjoy making the the people at Famous Players feel uncomfortable by complaining about the cost of popcorn. I bought the popcorn and then, knowing full well they charge 50 cents for "topping" I asked, "Could I please have topping with that?" Then I acted surpised when I saw 50 cents appear on the little cash register. "50 cents for topping?!?! Don't you find that atrocious?!"

The guy looked pretty uncomfortable. He just said, "I... I can't.."
Me: "I know... But it's pretty sickenning, dont' you think? 5 dollars for popcorn? Does this s**t make any sense to you??? DOES IT???" Then I went into my whole rant about how I had an entire box with 10 bags of popcorn at home for which I had paid only 5 dollars. He looked scared at this point. He filled a bag with popcorn and when he nervously placed it on the counter some of the kernels fell out. He looked at me and cringed slightly, then returned to the popcorn maker, emptied the bag and REFILLED IT!!! to make sure it was overflowing with pop-corn. Ah, the joys of being an angry black man.

"Do I get free refills for my drink?" I knew the answer was no. But I wanted him to tell me. And he did. I shook my head in dissaproval and walked away with my salty buttery snack. I think I made my point.

Probably the most ghetto aspect of my life at this point is my discman. Where most people are rocking mp3 players and ipods and the like, I'm still carrying around my reliable discman that plays mp3 files off of CDs, purchased from Droopy for 20$. But that's not the ghetto part. The ghetto part is that I dropped it on the ground a while ago and the mechanism that keeps it closed broke. The result of this is I have to keep it closed with a rubber band. Not ghetto enough? Well, a few weeks ago I lost the rubber band! The very next day after losing it, I was walking back home from harvey's with some lab cronies when I found several rubber bands of appropriate size on the sidewalk. Having no rubber bands at home, I promptly copped the derelict rubber bands, wrapped one around my maimed discman and put the rest in my pocket, just in case!

The ghetto instinct is a strange thing indeed. Sure it makes me a cheap bastard on most occasions. But I still spend copious amounts of money on food. I can't buy pizza without a side order of chicken wings. I NEVER buy a mcD's combo without a side order of chicken nuggets. I've gone to see Harry Potter twice once with popcorn and declicious blue Kool-aid (made from 100% pure blue. Blue Kool-aid has 70% blue proof.... and that's per volume!) For some reason I even decided that it was absolutely necessary for me to buy a brand spanking new copy of Moby Dick and an anthology of poems by Edgar Allan Poe. My finances are still in order... So is ghetto-fication necessary as a graduate student of modest assets, or is it just the result of knowing that my supply of money is no longer limitless? Or maybe it's just fun to be ghetto, and furrow my brow at cashiers and give them lectures about how expensive things are.

Or maybe I've always been cheap. Since the dawn of existence a typical trip to Harvey's will always evoke the following words of wisdom, "50 cents for cheese on my hamburger?! Let me tell you something ... I bought an entire package of cheese for about 2 dollars from IGA. What would you have me do? Walk around with slices in my pocket in case some knave like yourself tries to charge me 50 cents for a lesser product? I won't give you the satisfaction, cur!! No cheese for me!!! I'll have the plain hamburger with FREE pickles, tomatoes and onions please. What's that on the menu? Smiles are also free? Then hook me up with that too, BIATCH!" That's not being cheap, that's just being a smart consumer. And probably a bit of a jerk.

How to Detect Derelict Domestic Safety Detectors or the Exorcism of Masta's Crizzouse by Kenny Chu

A few weekends ago I had Alpha Posse over. We feasted on submarines while watching the hockey game. But one of us (at least one of us) wasn't enjoying himself. Kenny Chu, a member of the Alpha Posse Elite, had noticed a strange squeaking noise that would pipe every 10-17 seconds or so. I off-handedly told him that I didn't know what the noise was and that I had chosen to ignore it for the past few months. I speculated that it could be the plumbing in the building.

Kenny: It kind of sounds like a fire-detector that's low on batteries. Beeping so that you know it's time to change the batteries.
Me: I seem to remember something about a fire detector in this apartment... I don't think it's that. If I did find a smoke detector I'm sure I would have just removed the battery. So, nuts to you and your putative smoke detector!

And so the beeping/squeaking noise continued. And Kenny was getting rather agitated. His eyes would dart left, right up and down. His fingers clenching in and out. Nostrils flaring. He was going kind of nuts. Meanwhile everyone speculated on what the sound could be.

Rez: Maybe it's a mouse.
Vrej: Maybe it's the table.
Rez: Maybe it's the window.
Vrej: Maybe it's star wars.
Kenny: Maybe I'll KILL YOU ALL!!! RAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!

At this point Kenny tore his shirt off and began rampaging through my apartment. He began smashing plates, throwing furntiure. He hurled Rezaul into a wall with a visceral snarl. "HOW CAN YOU LIVE WITH THAT NOISE?!?" he demanded, hoisting me up by the throat and shaking me.

It was a good question. Why is it that a noise that would drive most people insane, was something that I decided to just ignore? Instead of finding out what the problem is and fixing it, I just accepted it as part of my life. I can remember hearing it during the night, or while I was watching television. That tiny unpredictable peep... It was quite annoying. Loud enough to be noticed every time, but unpredictable, so it's always like a surprise when it happens. It really was quite intrusive. But I just accepted it. Maybe it had taken a toll on my sanity and I just never noticed.

Just as Kenny was about to snap my neck, his eyes moved toward a pile of books on the window cill. He moved the awkwardly placed books and lo and behold, underneath was the errant smoke detector. With a triumphant cry he removed the battery and in an instant, the beeping noise that had plagued my apartment for months was gone.

The funny thing is I had gotten used to it. Throughout the night my eyes would turn to the window cill and I barely noticed. "What are you looking at, Chris?" the guys would ask a few times. Was my subconcious craving the familiar sound of the beep? And what did all this say about my personality? Not only am I a slob for leaving a smoke detector under a pile of books, for months apparently but I"m also kind of deranged for living with that noise for so long. Is it laziness that prevented me from finding the smoke detector? I doubt my smoke detector detection abilities are any less than Kenny's. Why didn't I act to change this unnaceptable situation in my life?

Walking down the hall of the apartment building today I heard a sound that sounded very much like my old squeak. Having not heard it in a while, the experience was quite jarring. I almost felt dizzy for a second. What will be the consequences of my prolonged exposure to the beep? Will it trigger insanity whenever I hear it? Will I fall into a depression in its absence? Only time wil tell. Strange psychological experiment.

I should get funding to lock kenny up in a room and have him live with random beeping for a few months. Then release him into the world and produce the beeping noise when he's around a large croud of people. Will he go nuts and kill them all? Maybe Kenny will become the ultimate military weapon. I can see George Bush unleashing an entire legion of Berserker Kenny Chu Chu's onto unsuspecting nations with desirable national resources. And me having to live with the guilt of creating this heinous weapon, much like Einstein when his work lead to the invention of the atom bomb. Yes, I'm comparing myself to Einstein.

Why me? Because...

Some of you are probably familiar with the www.hi5.com network. It's basically a friends network. And you can browse your list of friends and see if they know people you know and then add them to your network. Anyway, it's really cheesy.

Now a while ago, this dude added me to his list. I knew him from school and I always found this guy a little effeminite. I guess the first clue was when I called him gay and he seemed genuinely upset. "Hey, nice shirt. What are you, GAY??? HAHAHAHAHA!! Woah... stop crying man... Stop crying!" Not exactly my proudest moment and eventually someone told me he is in fact gay. I didn't think he was gay cuz I remember he had asked a girl I know out on a date. Anyway, no hard feelings I guess cuz one day he added me to his network of friends. What's funny is if you look at his network of friends half of them are these muscly guys with no shirts. I guess that's what gay guys do... pose with no shirts.

Whatever... More recently, I noticed someone named Jean, trying to add me to their list. I did not know this Jean guy, but I noticed he was not wearing any shirt either. My spidey sense was tingling. Normally I would just add any person to my list without question. But something about this guy...

So I decided to look at his friends... Page after page of muscly guys with no shirts on... No wait... There was someone with long hair and a tube top... At first glance, yeah, I would even have to say she was a woman of some sort. At a closer glance I realized she was not a she at all. She was a he. And he was dressed as a woman. Maybe he was even a transvestite. And his gender was listed as male.

Well, that settled it. I rejected the friend request and cursed bitterly for fate to have dealt me such a hand. The men in his circle of friends were probably for the most part, if not entirely, homosexual males. And I know exactly the homo who was responsible for connecting me with this pack of gays! Sure enough, this jean guy is friends with the gay guy who added me to his list a while back.

Now I've been accused of being a homophobe, mostly by women. But you know what? It's easy for them to say! It's not their ass out there on the line! It's not a very comforting thought, many big gay men with my picture available on the internet to be uploaded to their spank bank?

I was not happy. You know why? Not because of the thought of an entire penetentiary worth of large gay men who were a mouseclick away from adding me to their "friend's list". Because I wonder why, WHY God couldn't make a hot girl come across my picture and add me as a "friend"? Is that so much to ask? For some hot stalker girl to come across my pic while she browses this inane network and say, "Hey, this guy isn't so bad. I'm going to just add him to my friend's list and proceed to court him." It would have made my night! It would have made my month! Maybe we would have gotten married in the mountains... And there would have been trumpets, and flowers and garlands of fresh herb... And we would dance from sunup until sundown. And our grandchildren would have heard the story of how I met their grandmother.

Me: "Before telepathic implants, there was this thing called the internet and your grandmother added me to her friendslist.."
Grandma Gregg: "OOoh, your grandfather was so cute... He had this picture with a little lampshade on his head..."
Me: "I remember a week after that fateful friendlist addition, when our limbs were intertwined in the various postures of the kamasutra..."
Grandkids: "GROSSS!!!"

But no!!!... No hot girl, no garlands of fresh herb. Just page after page of homos, Homos HOMOS!!! It was kind of a slap in the face. God seems to enjoy mocking me. "Heheh, I hate this motha f**ka MastaCSG. I will make many homosexuals aware of him." Am I really a bad guy? Did I do something bad in a past life? Is this a joke, does God sit up there on a cloud and high five all the angels, "HAHA!!! Did you see the look on his face when he saw like 20 pictures of gay men and transvestites???"

I suppose I was overly upset by the incident. Then it occured to me why... I AM A BAD GUY!!! This was all payback because I was mean to the original gay guy back in the day. Karma if you will. I was really mean to him. I should learn my lesson. Words can hurt. Probably not as much as getting rough man love from large homosexuals... but it's a different pain I guess. I used to think I was just unlucky and God enjoyed torturing me, but that simply isn't the case. Often times, I'm a heel. And I enjoy being a heel! If there is a God, he would probably have to punish me because I do and say things that hurt other people. So God, if you're among the many Gregg Factor-philes around the world and you're reading this post, I'm sorry. And gay guy... I'm sorry to you also. I'd apologize in person, but I fear you and your circle of "friends". In the future I will be more careful of what I say to others.

Lab tales part 4- Blackness confirmed

There are certain topics of conversation that reoccur frequently at work. The most disturbing is the Yaoi talk. For those of you who don't know what it is, its basically a japanese word for hardcore gay anime porn. Yeesh... An idea whose time is long overdue! I remember what my life was before knowing that. Unfortunately those are times I will never live again without the help of a Men in Black-esque neuralizer. I've seen things...

There's also the epic foosball debate. Is foosball a sport? I say no, others say yes, arguments ensue. These topics come up again and again week after week and almost always proceed in the same manner.

Guy: "Of course foosball is a sport! I bet if I took steroids, I would become an amazing foos player. Therefore it's a sport."
Me: "If foosball is a sport so is hopscotch! Slag off!"

or

Girl: "Yaoi is an entertaining diversion! I'm normal for indulging in illustrated sodomy!"
Me (mouth agape in horrified incredulity): "No...no..."

I suppose one could argue that my topic of choice is Star Wars or Star Trek and talks about these subjects usually animate themselves as me going into long winded recounts of my favourite scenes complete with character impersonations and critiques of plots.

But one topic that comes up from time to time and breaks the monotony, is when my supervisor shows off his street creed. I was reading an article about the proliferation of peroxisomes in mice when my supervisor asks if I saw the Vibe awards. As is often the case, I didn't quite register the question the first time. When I realized he was talking about the Hip Hop RnB awards they have every year I was of course elated and listenned in rapt wonder as I was told about things that are apparently part of my culture. Despite being a middle aged Russian scientist, my supervisor is always a reliable source for all things black. Whether it's basketball or 50 cent, he always seems to have the latest scoop.

He described to me how last year someone slapped Dr. Dre in the face. He also gave me a list of the rappers who were a no show this year. He even went as far as to speculate another rivalry might be brewing between G-Unit's the Game and 50 cent, who was absent.

My Supervisor: "Hey, Chris, there's a rock n' roll hall of fame, is there something similar for rap?"
Me: "Yeah, it's called jail! HAHAHAHA!!.... sigh.... "
My Supervisor: "Of course, Kanye West would be the exception."

Here's where I got my Kanye West biography. Apparently Kanye West has excellent diction and most of his Ebonics is just put on when he's talking to other rappers. According to my supervisor, Kanye's father is a lawyer and his mother is an English Teacher at a university.

I think the lesson here is, it's always nice to know something about things. Where as most of the students in the lab have become 1 dimensional, the Yaoi girl, the foosball guy and me responding with grim apathy, my supervisor makes the effort to know a great deal about everything. He can talk about any kind of music, any kind of movie, any sport and still be a kick-ass scientist. The dynamic between the four of us is comparable to the characters on Spongebob Squarepants. I can't help but think of my supervisor as Mr Krab the other two as Patrick and Spongebob (interchangeable) and me as the long suffering Squidward. Mr. Krab is always trying to find out what the young kids are up to these days and is dissapointed when he finds out, Spongebob and Patrick are geeks, and Squidward is dull.



Ummm... I don't know if that relates to the rest of the post... Whatever. I reiterate, knowing stuff is good!

PhD in EVIL!!!

It's a very strange time in my life. For quite a few months I've been faced with the decision of finishing a master's degree, or fastracking and doing a Phd, which would take me another two years.

I already have the approval of my committee members to go ahead and do the Phd and very enthusiastic encouragment from my supervisor. It all seemed a little too easy. Am I really ready to do a phd? I'm not even sure which letters I'm supposed to capitalize when I write PhD. The funny thing is I still haven't officially transferred to the fastrack program. It's been months and months now and I haven't made a final decision. And that indecision has spread to the rest of my life. Sometimes I can go to McD's and it feels like my head is about to explode as I try to decide what combo to get. And the worst part is, after toiling over that mundane decision for what seems like an eternity, I eventually get the same thing I always get. A Royale with cheese and some chicken nuggets.

But I digress. The problem is this Phd thing. If I could just make up my mind about that, ordering junk food would become much easier so I figure this is something I should really work out. Ever since I was young I wanted to be a "mad" scientist. My parents bought me a chemistry set when I was young. Strangely enough, I don't think I was turned onto science by actual scientists but rather the fictional ones. Particularly the villains like Dr. Octopus, Dr. Bad Vibes, Dr. Mindbender and Dr. Doom. I have a Doc Ock "posable sculpture" in my office which students find rather amusing. It's kind of an irony of today's world that the archetypal villain is so well educated and powerful and the heroes are usually happy go lucky jocks. It's almost like popular fiction is demonizing the value of being educated.







Prof X (what's he a professor of exactly?) Doc Brown from Back to the Future, the Ghostbusters, Spock. All were very inspirational to me. These are the scientists who stick with me. On many occasions I have used X-men and Star Trek as educational tools to explain genetics to the students.

Me: "Actually, the mutants in X-men all have the same mutation. It's in the X-Factor gene."
Student: "So how does that result in so many different mutant powers?"
Me: "First of all, it's politically incorrect to call them mutant powers. We call them gifts. Second of all, it seems likely that this one mutation causes hypermutation in other regions of their genome and..."
Student: "Will this be on the test?"
Me: "If I have any say in the matter...yes. My dream is that one day X-men lore will be a part of the curriculum."

So I wonder to myself, is it a problem that fake science is far more interesting to me than real science? Do I like science or just cheesenormous cartoons? I think it's very obvious that what I really want to be is a cartoon super villain.

And there are certain things that villainous scientists need to be succesful. Namely a cool villain name. Most of the profs at Concordia have cool names. Dr. Storms, Dr. Dragan.... Dr. Malevolent... I might have made that last one up, but you get the point. My name is hardly threatenning. Dr. Gregg? Meh.... If my last name was Sinister I wouldn't think twice about getting a doctorate.

I would also need a good plan for taking over the world. Generally speaking, this involves some super weapon that is a great threat to the general population. Now my research does involve lifespan... Maybe I could find some way to make myself immortal while shortenning the lifespan of everyone else in the world. A good plan... But it sounds like so much work... Maybe I'm too lazy to be a villain.

Finally I guess I would need some kind of nemesis. Like James Bond. But I don't know anyone as cool as Bond who could step up to the challenge of being my nemesis. Who will foil me when my plan gets out of control? The ultimate irony of the villain is that, he has to be foiled. If all his plans are realized, then he'll have nothing else to aspire to.

Then I'll have to buy strange wardrobe, a monacle, probably a cape of some sort. I dont' think I could pull off a cape. What a sad villain I would make, in sneakers and a jogging suit. The biggest threat to free world, the slovenly Dr. Gregg. His nemesis, Droopy Mcc, who beat him at Risk recently. And here he comes in a T-shirt and jeans... Booo...



Of course there are other considerations that cross my mind when I consider doing the Phd. Like will the degree over-qualify me for most jobs? Do I really want to devote my entire life to resarch? I love research, I'd love to make some big discovery... But... Then I'd have to... study more... Pipette solutions more... Stare through a microscope for hours a day. The cartoons I used to watch never showed that aspect of science. It was all just megalomania and ghostbusting. Is it my fault I was misled during most of my childhood? I mean, check out these so called, "real scientists" Watson and Crick. Cool names yes, they even have some villain creed as some people (mostly feminists) accuse them of having stolen the most important data for their discovery. But they've hardly taken over the world. I dont' think they've even tried. And where are their capes?



My supervisor says Crick fell asleep during a talk he was giving. And look at them! I would fall asleep too! Existing in black and white the way they do. BORING!!!

Alpha Posse

This weekend to celebrate Droopy's (belated) birthday and brand spanking new job, we had a good old-fashion Alpha Posse get together. It started off with a feast at Hot and Spicy, complete with all the fixins and a mandatory, heated debate about the failures of Star Wars episode III. Then it was back to Masta's Crizzouse for cheesenormous gaming and consumption of junk food.

There was something very, very interesting about the evening that I hadn't realized until today. When you have people over, you usually expect that there will be some kind of mess to clean up. Funny thing about my friends, is there is, aside from a dirty bowl and some cups, there is no mess whatsoever in my apartment. It's kind of mind boggling actually. I guess I was a little out of it.... perhaps a bit of a bad host even... I was playing video games, with Kenny, Ba$$ and Marie-Eve (Xmen legends 2 ... Featuring Kenny as Cyclops, Bassem as JUGGERNAUT, Marie-Eve as Scarlett Witch and Magneto as me). It was fun fighting the evil forces of Apocalypse. Somehow I thought the characters we chose suited us perfectly. Especially Bassem as Juggernaut. Very appropriate. Following that I schooled Vrej at Battlemasters. Argued with Rez AGAIN about why Empire Strikes Back is better than Revenge of the Sith. I hope to get Jbo's Doom-esque video of the evening. It was all good.

Anyway, the point is, during this video game induced haze, I remember drinking stuff, eating cake and chips... But aside from the memories, the most obvious sign that I had people over last night, is that there is MORE stuff in my apartment. There's MORE food in the fridge, including a cake. There's a huge box of plastic knives and forks, drinks and even matches. I even got several DVD's and video games!!! At least they found the chips I had bought. But there's still two huge bottles of soda and popcorn galore to be eaten. You guys have to come back soon and polish it off.

What kind of friends actually leave a place in a better state than it was then when they actually arrived? Alpha Posse, that's who!

Glossary

Droopy: Alias of Vrej Hezaran, named after an obscure character from the Star Wars Movies
Alpha Posse: Term used to refer to my old high school cronies
Crizzouse: MastaCSG's apartment, term coined by J-9 in 2005. See also, Masta's Swinging Shagadellic Sanctuary and Shag Sanc.
cheesenormous: refers to entertainment of dubious quality, also anything that is cheesy

An Intraperoxisomal Signalling Cascade Initiates Peroxisome Division by Triggering the Stepwise Remodeling of Lipids and Proteins

The above is a condensed version of the title of the presentation I had to give in Bufallo this weekend. You can imagine my shock when I was told I would be giving a talk on that topic within ten days. I wasn't quite sure what it meant but I quickly brought myself up to speed and so was ready to take off to Bufallo New York to present my research to other students and professors.

On this trip would be two colleagues from the lab as well as my supervisor. The 7 hour drive was lots of fun. The professor is always full of stories and jokes. He keeps a pretty open mind about different kinds of music, from one of my colleague's strange mixture of Japanese Rock to my raw gangsta rap complete with racial slurs. One of the songs became something of a running gag as the Prof tried immitating the Jamaican-esque growling noise that came after the words, "Bumbaclot! Dance Right!!!"

The border guard was obvioulsy perplexed when he saw the four of us in the car. "A black man... 2 Russians... and a jew?" Sounds like the beginning to some uber racist joke.

Border guard: "Where you folks headin'?"
Driver: "We're going to bufallo... For a conference.."
Border guard: "What kind of conference?"
Driver: "It's the Northeastern Meeting for Yeast scientists."
Border guard: "...."
Professor: "A conference for biological science."
Border guard: "BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE??????"

His incredulous howl was a mixture of confusion and terror. But alas, he called over another guy in uniform, they looked over the passports and decided everything was in order.

The hotel was really nice and the Prof treated us all to a really nice supper. The next day was talks from 9am to 6pm. I nodded off for many of them, though they were for the most part pretty interesting. All the talks from me and the students from our lab went pretty well. One thing I did notice is where most people end the talk by thanking there supervisors, in our lab we thank, "Our professor." LIke he's more than just our supervisor. Anyway it sounded different. Less formal, more personal. Like when Samwise Gamgee says, "My old gaffer!" Regardless, we got props from the other scientists for our kick ass research! I'd say we even had some Biology groupies. One hot girl scientist said,"Hey Chris... Nice talk... Why don't you talk to me? IN BED!!!"

The last part probably didn't happen, but we were congratulated and met some interesting people at the Conference dinner. Among them were Dr. Bob, a rasta Biologist from Bufallo, and another guy from his lab, Sanjay. We went with them to watch the Doom movie, this being somewhat terrible and not worth watching. The movie can basically be summed up in four words, "24th chromosome... Ganglion... killer monsters..." In fact that was a line from the movie, basically explaining that people were turning into monsters because they were getting injected with a 24th chromosome. Ridiculous! Especially to biologists coming from a talk about genetics ands tuff.

Bufallo itself is a dead city, as I'm told most American cities are. Saturday night and Sunday morning the streets were barren as Angela Landsbury's womb. I must have counted 10 people walking the streets total. There were no billboards, no adds.. nothing... It was a ghost town. Anyway, on the way home we had what I like to call a CHAMPION breakfast, complete with pancakes, sausage, eggs etc...

Then the 7 hour ride back. We stopped at Fat Nancy's Tackle shop, just for a laugh. Fat Nancy happens to be a very large fish. And they sell al kinds of bait and odd t-shirts. Getting a little hungry I wandered to the back to see if they sold snacks. I found a fridge with a sign on it that said, "Nightcrawlers and Earthworms." Oh well, pancakes and such would have to hold me until my triumphant return to montreal.

Prof: "What's that you're eating Chris?"
Me: "Night..... Ummm... nothing..."

Then we stopped at the border. We all got alcohol. I picked up a bottle of Rum for my cousin Chad (I wonder if that was a good idea)

And we went on our merry way. YAY! It was a nice weekend.

The anthropology of my room

I don't know if you've ever been in a situation where you were looking for something, that you don't necessarily need, but you become so obsessed with finding it that you'll nearly turn everything in your path upside down, just to figure out how you could be so stupid to lose it. Just to figure out what the last thing on your mind was when you had the item in question.

This time it was my passport. I'm going to give a talk in Buffalo and figure it would be a nice way to cross the border in style. The rub is, I've just moved (3 months is just), and some stuff hasn't been upacked yet and probably never will be. Especially small, passport sized garbage that should have probably been thrown away long ago.

There's nothing like random crap to send you on a trip down memory lane. Among the things I found

-3-D glasses
-A plastic wad of cash, probably belonging to an action figure
-A Darth Vader figure
-My Medical Record (apparently I'm blood type A positive. I never knew that.)
-a remote control for an old television
-batteries
-a wooden turtle -strange cables?
-A steel drum
-a teddy bear
-acorns
-a plush monkey
-an afro comb

AND MUCH MORE!!! (The wooden turtle is a particularly interesting artifact, having been taped shut after moving. Removing the tape and openning up the shell I discover, the wooden turtle contains about 5 dollars in change, some of this is american money! Arcade tokens from the paramount! And look there's a brown button for pants in a tiny square inch bag!Sick!)

At this point I'm pleased to have lead such a quirky and charmed life. I'm such a character. But about an hour later the entire process becomes less amusing. I start going into boxes that cannot be disturbed without making a rather large mess. Finding old drawings I made, outlines for stories. Even more strange, I'm finding stuff that I got during my trip from China including a moist toilet from the plane from japan. You would think the passport would be adjacent to this kind of stuff. I also found a Christmas card I got from a friend in Korea. As is often the case, I got distracted and decided to see if this person was online. Then proceeded to chat with them, "Hey! I found the card you sent me! Nice!"

After this I'm just upset. Finding old instruction manual's to video games I've thrown in the garbage long ago. The 7th Guest? Looking through old comics. Actually I knew the passport couldn't be there, I just wanted to read the issue where Spider-man teams up with arch rival Venom to battle his even more arch rival Carnage.

Bender action figure from Futurama... Mmm.. that's who the plastic wad of cash belonged to. I put that on my computer desk. At this point my room is a complete disaster... Moreso than usual. I start hating myself for being so disorganized. Why don't I just clean up?!? Then I notice an innocent looking bag hanging from my cupboard door. This contains, my name written in Chinese on rice paper, a razor?, a bus schedule, pens, an old birthday card, pencils a schedule to jazz fest and of course my passport.

What in Gods name was it doing in that bag? What was I on??? I keep most of my important documents on the floor, not in a bag! 2 hours well wasted. I really have to tidy up someday.

Gregg Factor... changing the world... 1 geek at a time!!

Thanks to Bremner stud, a while back I got a site meter for my blog. It's really fun stuff. It not only counts who visits your blog but also tells you where they visit from and what searches they performed to get to your blog. For example, someone came across my site when doing a search containing the words, "How Much my Gun Worth!" They were of course, from the US.

The site meter is also fun because it will give you certain facts about the country.

For example, Latvia has several national holidays, these often celebrations of their independance or renewal of their independance from Russia or the Soviet Union. I found it ironic that I got a visitor from Latvia, because for you Gregg Factor-philes who have been paying attention, my profile clearly states that I am located in Estonia, just north of Latvia. I wonder if I"m big in Latvia? I have some kind of cult following? At this point I am convinced that there's a group of Latvian women with posters of me on their wall...

Regardless, with visitors from all over the world, I don't think I'd be overstepping my bounds by saying, Gregg Factor has indeed changed the world. As such I'd like to further indulge my waxing ego by starting the Gregg Factor sweepstakes... or something. Soon I will have reached 1000 visits, since last month when I got this site meter. And I guess... I'll write something about the 1000th visitor? Maybe an amusing annecdote about the person in question. Or a mocumentary about the history of their country. I don't know... I should do something right? Good luck to you all!

Ignorance is bliss

So I'm here sitting in the lab. A jerk colleague of mine just told me he got herpes from my mom. As a joke of course. It was a "mama diss". Remember the days when those used to be popular? And the funny thing, no one takes offense to it.

In fact most people don't seem to take offense to anything anymore. Being rude and offensive has become an art. I can make the most ignorant comments to my fellow lab minion Jon and he'll almost thank me for it.

Me: "Hey, slapnuts! You're stupid and ugly, and you smell like a fart, and your mom's a whore and...."
Jon: "Thank you Chris! Could I have another?"

You can insult people's families, race, religion... almost anything. But you must never insult the music they like. I can remember being called ignorant twice in my life and both times was because I had made a remark about some musician. Even jon, the most laid back dude around went apes**t after an offhanded remark about Paul McArtney.

Me: "Paul McArtney is gay!"
Jon: "THAT'S JUST IGNORANT! PAUL MCARTNEY IS THE MOST INFLUENTIAL MUSICIAN OF OUR TIME BLABLABLA HE CAN PLAY SO MANY INSTRUMENTS ALL THE MUSIC WE LISTEN TO IS ...."

He was rather irate. I really don't have anything specific against Paul McArtney's music. I was mostly trying to provoke him. I just didn't think he would lose it on me like that. He was ready to take on everyone in the lab who agreed that Paul McArtney was more suitable for older audiences.

I guess the same thing applies to movies. I've had dozens of arguments with Rez and Droopy about Star Wars Episode 3. And it always proceeds in the same way.

Me: "Episode 3 is gay! The acting is terrible and the story makes no sense!"
Vrej: "I heart that movie with all my heart! I love lightsaber fights and surfing on lava and Obi Wan."
Rezaul: "Chris, you're the only guy I know who doesn't get it! You're a Republican!"

At least twice that Republican comment came up after a Star Wars Convo. I can't remember why though. But he's quite consistent with it.

The point is, at some point in our lives people began to identify more with crappy stories and mediocre music than things like religion and family. It makes some people feel like they belong. I can remember the first instance of this when I entered high school. All of a sudden, all the people I knew who used to like hip hop and rnb decided it was no longer "cool" to like hip hop. It was cooler to like Pearl Jam and I don't know... Axel Rose.

Then as people age, the need to belong is replaced by a need to feel intelligemt. "I'm a fan of alternative, or punk, or ska! That makes me special. AND INTELLIGENT!!!" And you can probably see this irritating quality in many of your friends up until this day. When people defend music by throwing out random facts about the history of some band. They piece together bits of history and dropping names as if they're all pieces of some grand puzzle. They try to find some pattern in a mess that is an artist's work, something created while the artist was probably high on drugs or depressed or confused about something. Jbo was notorious for this.

Me: "White music is gay!"
Jbo: "Chris you're so ignorant! The White Stripes(or the vines) is like a whole new genre of music... It all started in 1989 when Red Hot Chilli Peppers blablablabla..."

Wow...so much history... almost 2 decades!

Me: "Non-violent movies are gay!"
Some jerk: "You just don't know good movies! American Beauty is the bees knees and all other sappy crap that gets nominated for oscars. I'm intelligent for liking certain movies."

And soentertainment is no longer something subjective but some matter of moral contention. A group of people will bully you into liking something that they have decided is universally good. I personally think it's all a matter of like and dislike. Sure there are good movies and bad movies, but in the long run some things speak to you and others don't, whether they've been poorly executed (from an artistic point of view) becomes almost irrelevant. It's called having an opinion, and in my opinion, people who take anything in the entertainment industry that's been produced in the last twenty years serioulsy, are all gay!

I think we're all letting ourselves be fooled. We go out there and shell out our dollars and our time to people who are providing us with a product that is simply of their own individual imagination (or a bastardization of someone elses idea). Then, we go out into the world and sequester ourselves into little groups that dress and talk a certain way, and as Rez once put it brilliantly, claim these things are an expression of our individuality. It's just a movie, written to get your money. It's just a song written by some stoned and tortured simpleton. Don't identify too strongly with it.

New Hood, New Rules

As you mostly know I moved into my own place in Cote St Luc. It's interesting being in a new "hood". I've lived in Brossard almost all my life. Sometimes I guess I took it for granted that other places might be different.

For starters there are many, many old people here. And they look old. Not just like, 60 or 70. These people must be a few hundred years old. And perhaps a little big out of it. I saw one old lady on the bus. She looked like granny from those Sylvester and Tweety cartoons and had such a placid smile on her face. She was wearing a scarf around her head as sweet old ladies usually do. But when I looked closely I saw there were bright green marijuana leaves all over it. I'm pretty sure she didn't know. Should I have told her? Or maybe she just loves reefer!

The crossing guard on the corner of Guelph and Westminster is simultaneously the most sinister and the most useless person on the face of the earth. He wears badass shades and of course he smokes on the job. I've rarely seen him help a child cross the road, though if he's not busy talking to adults on their way to work, he'll lift his stop sign in a lackadaisical fashion. One time he did make an effort. He was tying his shoe and saw little girl about to cross. He finished lacing up but the girl, resilient thing that she was, found her way to the other side of the street on her own. He shrugged and proceeded to "holla" at a woman on her way to work. Better luck next time evil crossing guard, dude! A while ago he did something I will never forget. There were two kids at the stop light, waiting patiently for him to come to their rescue. The crossing guard yells, "Just cross!! You're already late!" I was pretty horrified.

Another strange thing I see around here. Cops on bicycles. What exactly is a cop on a bicycle supposed to do? I usually see them early in the morning and one of them usually looks pretty bitter. There's a brown guy who often has a clueless smile on his face and a white guy who generally looks angry. I can imagine their story. They were probably demoted for unnecessary brutality and now have to ride the beat on bicycles. I saw one of the guys bothering some woman. I don't know if he was giving her a ticket for jaywalking or something but the look on her face clearly said, "I can't believe I got busted by the bicycle cop!"

I'd like to see a m0vie about these guys where all the elements of Cote St. Luc come together. I'd call it SWATAB (Special Weapons And Tactics... And Bicycles...)

Neil: "Oh, what a beautiful day to be riding our bicycles."
Phil: "F**k that! I say today we take it up a notch. I got some illegal weapons off of the crossing guard down the street. Armour piercing, nuclear s**t... SICK GUY! We're bound to get a promotion if we pop a few of these into some jaywalkers."
Neil: "Phil, this is why we got demoted in the first place! You can't just go around harassing innocent people with illegal weapons and expect to get away with this!"
Phil: "That's just my style of law enforcement, baby!"
Neil: "I understand that... But you should realize in some circumstances a little tact and finesse is called for, not armour piercing bullets. Sometimes less is more.
Phil: "Less is more? That talk is for ballerina's and sunday school teachers... When you're a bicycle cop on the beat, MORE IS MORE MOTHA F**KA!!!" *hoists a large assault rifle with a scope onto his shoulder*
Neil: "I'm getting too old for this s**t!"
Phil: "There's an old lady over there with marijuana leaves on her bandanna. I'm taking her down! Cover my ass!!!" *rides off on his bike. Neil pulls out a shotgun*

Don't look at me... I'm hideous!!!

Another lazy night... I should have been doing homework but the couch was really, really comfortable. I sometimes wonder how I look sitting there alone on the couch at night. When I was living with mom and my sis I suppose I made an effort not to look completely gross. I'd at least be dressed. But I imagine I'm not a very sexy sight when I'm alone wearing a house coat with a half eaten bag of popcorn on the floor, me sprawled out on the couch with a 5 O'clock shadow, scratching myself with one hand and holding the remote with the other.

There was of course, nothing on TV. Or was there???

I flicked through the channels and stopped on Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I'd never watched that before. Even when I was living at home with mom and sisters.

Sabrina and her two aunts were doing yoga. That was mildly fascinating. Sabrina's kind of cute. But I couldn't watch Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Could I? I'm a grown ass man!!! My first thought was to put in a DVD... Most likely Star Trek (Please note at this point studying doesn't even enter my thought process). The storyline had already established itself quickly and I was ensnared. Sabrina was in a bad mood because she had a big zit and a project due at school. She then cast magical spells that resulted in much hi-jinx around the school.

Wow...She's just like real girls except she has witch powers!!! I really relate. I suppose that's the irony of the show.

Anyway, she's in a really crappy mood and decides to escape the world by crawling into her mirror. But then, in the mirror universe everyone else is in a bad mood. Her cat said something really funny (the cat in this show talks). He was reading the paper and said, "My stocks are plummeting! If my stocks drop, I go back to eating dry food!" Something like that... I laughed.

Anyway, eventually this baseball player, Brady Anderson, helps her out of the mirror universe. And they eat flaun. I don't know how to spell flaun but I'm sure Droopy will help me out in the message board. And so it was done. I watched the whole episode. A 24 year old black man, living at home alone watched Sabrina the Teenage Witch. And enjoyed it! And as is always the case, the most embarassing part isn't just the deed itself, it's me rushing to the computer to blog about it... Like I'm proud of it or something! "Hey everyone look at me! I suck!!!"

Oh well, time to get to work....

Just kidding. I will continue putzing around on the internet.

Big Ups to the Comp Sci Crew

Last week I went out with some old friends. It was one of those deals where we got back together and it was as if we were never apart. Mad jokes all around. We laughed so loud I think we rocked the foundation of poor Mr. Haque's restaurant. And it was good. (Concerning Indian Food: I heart Indian Food. in so many ways... The sites, the sounds, the smells.... And I find, for some reason, even after eating a whole lot of Indian food, I don't feel like all I want to do is sleep afterward. I feel charged! I heart Shapla!)



So the meal began with many, many toasts. There was lots to celebrate. Lots of success on the job, an engagement, contracts with big companies and other aspects of life and we were all really happy to see each other. So many memories. I know most of these people from my Computer Science days. Believe it or not, yours truly was the slacker in the group. Yes, Christopher Gregg, your hero, your wiseman, was not always the responsible, respectable biology student you know today. Computer Hardware class with Chantell and Kerby often resulted in me falling into a deep, deep sleep. Then usually Chantell waking me up. During my few moments of wakefullness I would distract Chantell with some inane comments about a cartoon we both liked and then fall back to sleep.

I remember one time, we were all getting together to study for an upcoming exam. So we met up one evening and Kerby and Chantell got right to work. Kerb seemed to have most of the material down already. Chantell was ready to learn. I however regarded the material with an unusual amount of apathy and even contempt. Now I don't know how it started, but I remember I suddently began rapping (De La Soul and Redman-Oooh!). And I remember eventually Kerby started bobbing his head and throwing his arms in the air and eventually Chantell was doing the Ooh's. Anyway, after the brief rap session, I simply left! "But Chris we have barely started studying!!!" Anyway, low marks and frustration eventually forced me to drop out of Comp Sci. I think it was good for everyone involved. I got into a field I enjoy more, and they got to finish their studies without me as a distraction.

But, I never regretted spending that semester or two in computer science simply because of the people I met, and these guys were among them. A little word about this particular group of friends. They're really smart, really beautiful, all around amazing people. It's impossible not to like each one of them IMMEDIATELY. To give an example... Anyone who used to go to the Curry House (remember the march?) back in the day, will remember the absolutely evil woman who used to work there. Rude, never cracked a smile... God only knows what she used to do to our food. If eve you mention the crabby woman at the curry house, everyone would know exactly who you're talking about. But I'll never forget, the time I went their with Kerby and Tatianna. We enjoyed the food, and as we left, Kerby said, "Bye God bless you!" And the woman smiled brightly and said, "Take care, same to you!"

I was totally shocked. I think I'd always been really polite with her in the past, she used to treat me with nothing but raw hatred. I remember another trip to the Curry House, I tried to pull a Kerby with far less succesful results, "Bye, God... Bless???" I said without too much certainty The response was closer to, "F**k you, mothat f**ka!!!" than the warm wishes Kerby got.

And all of them are pretty much the same. Really warm nice people. That night also marked one of the first times in a while (for me at least) that someone said grace before the meal. And what a grace it was. Kerby asked God to bless, everything. The restaurant, the owner even our stomachs, that we could digest the food properly. I mean really... OUR STOMACHS!!

Another thing that came rushing back to me, was the pure greed of Chantell and I. We used to have General Tao on a weekly basis. What brought it back to me was that after the restaurant, when we were all admitedly full and satisfied, we still ended up talking about food. You know the long walk back from any restaurant on Prince Arthur to Sherbrooke metro station? I've made it several times and there's usually time for several different topics of conversation. On this particular occasion, Sean and Chantell simply discussed a particular chinese restaurant they went to for the entire walk. The conversation went something like.

Sean: You know the place right?
Me: Yeah, Yeah, the place near concordia... Noodles express.
Sean (stopping in his tracks): NONONO!!!
Me: No, what place then? Soup and Noodles? U&Me? Hot and Spicy??
Chantell: No, it was called Just Noodles!

I had noticed they were both very passionate about it. And actually stopped walking to describe the food. They both described it in meticulous detail and were in perfect sync with each other, as if they were sharing a mind.

Sean: They put the food on a big lettuce leaf...
Chantell: NO!! Not the general tao...
Sean: You're right, sorry, sorry... But the garnish... peppers all surrounding perfectly round balls...
Chantell: With just the right amount of crispy batter... Not too much, just enough to get the taste and the texture. And when you bite into it, you know what you find???
Both of them: REAL CHICKEN!!!
Sean: None of that batter or gross chicken parts you find at the other places.
Chantell: It was the best general Tao Chicken ever... And t he portions.
Sean (jumping up and down on the spot to emphasize each word): HUGE ASS PORTIONS GUY!!!"
Chantell: Well, not huge ass... but very good portions... You were full afterward.
Sean: Yeah... I guess they weren't "huge ass".

Yes! The greed lives on. After a full meal to reminisce about old restaurants with such passion... I was impressed. We must do it again soon in the nearer future. We laughed and joked around so much I my voice was cracking the next day. It was a happy night.

PhD in Blogology

So I got home early today and in my lethargy, watched some Dr. Phil. You know, one of those times where the option is to do something productive, reach out and grab the remote or just play with the cards your dealt? I know K-man will be upset when he reads this but I enjoy Dr. Phil from time to time. It's entertaining.

The episode I caught was some psycho woman who was verbally abusing and terrifying her kids. It turns out she goes out in public and physically assaults people. They told a story about how some woman cut her off in traffic and flipped her the bird, so she followed the woman home and beat her up in front of her daughters. They also say that before getting married there was a restraining order between her and her husband. Anyway, needless to say, very crazy.

But what never fails to amaze, is the fact that people will go on national television and publicly humiliate themselves. There she is, as psycho as she is, with millions of equally psycho people judging her from the audience and the comfort of their own living room. I can just see cousin Merl sitting at home, scratching his head with a machetee,"That stupid bitch shouldn't have kids." meanwhile his 2 year old daughter is playing with the power saw.

And most amazing, is that presiding over the entire thing is The Doctor Phil. With the authority to say whatever he pleases apparently. All the power of Oprah, with none of the humility. I wonder what that feels like? I mean, Dr. Phil can't be perfect right? He must have lots of flaws like everyone else. I'm sure his kids come home and catch him doing something uncouth, "Daddy! What are you doing to that sheep???"



Dr. Phil is just smart enough not to go on a show and advertise his vices. Quite the contrary. He actually is brilliant enough to sell other peoples problems as entertainment. He uses other peoples problems to amuse us, thrill us and make us feel better about our own lives, as mediocre as they may be. What is he a Dr. of anyway? Rantology? Does he have a phd in mouthing off, like Tom Cruise?

Though I must admit I like seeing people getting told off. And much of what he says I agree with. But I think the real issue is, that everyone has flaws and everyone is blind to their own flaws.

Well, you at least. I'm perfect. I know I'm perfect because I have healthy outlets for my rage. For example, I go to work with a gun and brandish it threateningly when I get into a disagreement, much like R.Kelly. Or I bring plastic explosives to Dave's house and keep my finger on the trigger while we play cards. If I don't like a movie I rented I kidnap the guy from Blockbusters, drug him and tie him to a bungee cord. Then I repeatedly drop him off the side of the building like Batman until he agrees that Basic was the most terrible movie ever made. The moral of the story is, we all have issues, it's how we deal with them, that makes us Doctors.

Yeah, I should have a show... The Dr. Thrill show.

The road goes ever on....

Today I sat in the microscopy room, as miserable as ever, taking shots of yeast cells stained with fluorescent dye (see lab tales part 3). The rest of my world consisted of four dark walls a microscope and a computer. I sit there all day wallowing around in my own filth praying to God for a meteor to crash down on me and bring sweet relief. Now I know how a hamster feels. Or do I? At least a hamster has a little exercise wheel and that little bottle with water. And a little container chock full of life sustaining pellets of hamster food. And light, my God I miss the light. All I needed was some shredded paper on the ground and I wouldn't even have to leave! Soon I would forget the taste of food... Or the sound of water or the touch of grass...

Well, as it turns out, envying a hamster is not a sign of good mental health. As such I thought it would be a good time to reminisce about my trip to Thetford Mines. You see, my trip there was the opposite of what I normally do in the lab. Thetford is countryside, vast fields with trees and other living things. Ah... the sweet kiss of sunlight... How I miss it.

So you're probably wondering, "Thetford Mines? Why?" Well, my long time friend Marie Eve lives up there and invited to show me around the place where she had grown up. Marie-Eve is what I like to call, extreme in that she does things other than watch movies and play video games. I'd never heard of such a thing! I was half afraid that she would pick me up on her motorbike. Here's pics of us posing on her motorbike in her biker gear. I think I look pretty badass and sexy. AND scary.





Being somewhat cowardly I asked if the air was bad cuz of the asbestos, and she explained to me as she coughed and wheezed, that the reason why asbestos is so dangerous is because of the way it's processed.

So we visit the mines. Human beings are kind of crazy. First of all, the rock from which they get asbestos seems rather ordinary. Who would even consider that it has any kind of insulation properties. Second of all, they had to drain an entire lake to actually get to the stuff. It's quite a breathtaking site. You can't tell just how deep it is from the picture, but yes, that is where you get asbestos from. You know, Vrej owned a set of Asbestos rings. I never told him, but their value was more than that of the entire Shire!



It's a completely foreign concept to me, but in the afternoon we decided to go blueberry picking. EXTREME blueberry picking. What makes it so extreme you may ask? The presence of the only black guy for miles and miles, that's what. I wonder what other black men have gone blueberry picking? 50 cent perhaps?
50 cent:"Hey, the Game, where's my gun?"
The Game: "You left it under that pine tree... But R.Kelly has it now."
R.Kelly(pointing his gun at 50 cent, the game, and a basket of blueberries in turn):
"Not another one of y'all sons of bitches say a word!
Cuz all of these blueberries I've picked is unheard!"

I figured we would have to drive to some farm... but no. In the country, you just walk down the road to any random field where there are evergreen's growing. Evergreen trees make the soil acidic, and thus blueberry's can grow. I got a bigass jar of them!!! It was a really charming experience. Her dog, Foxy came with us and romped through the fields. It was unreal for a city boy like me. Foxy's such a little lady too. I'm not a big dog person, but Foxy is so polite.



Later on we went to see some other places around Thetford mines and Disraeli. It's just beautiful. I could swear I have a picture in my Masta in China blog where I have the same cheesenormous pose, same cheesenormous jacket and the same cheesenormous smirk. Only true Gregg Factorphiles, like myself would notice.





There was a big piece of land, and she knew the owner. So we explored that a bit. Across a little stream we noticed some very interesting looking feces. It looked like cow pies, but how would a cow have gotten across the water. We had to cross a rickety bridge to get there. EXTREME feces watching took place.




I did a good job as the cowardly sidekick, letting Marie-Eve go first to see if everything was safe. Finally we got to the little island and found the much debated piles of s**t. Anyone able to identify what animal could make this?



Well, all really nice. Then we made some good food and played a game of Skip-Bo with her parents, her aunt and her uncle. Really nice people. Though I've never heard of Skip-Bo before, they all seemed quite fluent in the game. Fun times.

Then finally was the epic hike up that mountain. Extreme Hiking of course. It was exhausting, but well worth it. The sites were beautiful. The squirrels up there aren't terrified of people. I picked up some acorns for some reason. They're on my bureau now. At the top of the mountain we were able to see the mines from the other side. It was as if the entire trip came full circle.





Here's a nice pic of Marie-Eve beholding her place of birth... Like that Greek myth... where the guy looks out upon the world or something. I don't know, looks pretty epic.


So from now on when I'm feeling down in the lab, I'll conjure memories of nature. It's like at the beginning of Lord of the Rings. Bilbo just gets fed up with his mundane life, grabs a stick and effing leaves!!! "Eff the Shire!!! I'm out and I'm not even saying goodbye!" One day...

Thanks for everything Marie-Eve!