The Additional Sermon

I was reading in Matthew and Mark for a comparative essay for a test last weekend and I was analyzing the different parts that matthew added that Mark was missing entirely. The Sermon on the Mount is pretty amazing. In my humble opinion (aided and abetted by some articles that I was reading for class, I skim over the Psalms when I read through the Bible) the Sermon on the Mount is the epitome of Christ’s teaching. The most oft repeated words that you’ll hear in church talks or a preacher’s sermons are the words about the ‘beattitudes.’ Where else do we have the gospel of Christ stated so succinctly? Where else do we have what Christ wants his followers to do stated so clearly? And with promises afterwards to boot?

“Blessed are the Meek,” “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” “Blessed are those who hunger and Thirst after righteousness.” So many promises of blessedness if they would be meek, or thirst after righteousness. It was interesting to read in Thomas A Wayment’s essay about Jesus’ Use of Psalms in the New Testament how Isaiah 61 could be seen as a prelude for The Sermon on the Mount. Isaiah has always been one of my favorite tests to read and to see how it was quoted by the Savior in the sermon on the mount was pretty much amazing. if you have a chance to read the rest of the atricle it is pretty interesting. I dont know where you’d find it… I’ll add a link when I find it.

Lab Fever

Don’t worry… I haven’t caught anything contagious. I work in a lab in my free time (as little as it is) and I have recently been researching, and researching and researching and researching and reserching and researching… You get the beautiful picture. I have gone a looong time without anything to do lab work wise.I know that growing up pure cultures is not the most fascinating thing in the universe, but at least I could see that i was accomplishing something useful. I know that the research can be boring, but I am almost to the point of creating a second research project an starting it up just for the heck of it. Starting a project that has nothing to do with the bacteria that I am working with…or researching. Maybe I’ll discover a use for some of the odd isolates that we just got in… tac plasmid ecoli or maybe the glowing pathogen… I don’t know. All I know for certain at this point is that if I don’t do some actual research work I will go insane and then I’ll never get to work with the things that I want to.

I have been thinking about studying the intracellular pathways of Lysteria Monocytogenes… maybe that will be a break from the tedium of non-stop reading while your other labmates are creating phage stocks and running disinfectant tests. Reminds me of the time I went to a dance and was left behind as all of my other friends got asked to dance. No fun and you feel more than a little left out. Only instead of being asked to dance last now I am being last to be asked to do PCR.

The Great Where Was It Argument

Every major has their quirks, but one quirk that I have noticed about History majors is the ever-present “where was it” argument that perpetuates around every ‘questionable’ location for a historical event. You see it on the History channel every other year or so, they will claim that an event occurred in one local, then in their next documentary on the same subject will have the event in a completely different place. Religious sites are notorious for their ‘mysterious’ locales. “Christ was tried by Pilot in this chapel.” “No he couldn’t have been because it was constructed 50 years after his death.” “Well, the church was built on the original foundations tat that church was built on.” “Where is your documented evidence for that argument?” “I found a piece of papyrus …” and so on. My religion professor (who consequently also teaches history) was going on and on the other day about Mount Tabor, one of the theoretical places for the Mount of transfiguration (Where the day of Pentecost occurred). I am more interested in the technicalities of the story, you know what did it mean, did the people involved understand what it mean?

Still it woud be nice to know where these locations are… even if it is just for the satisfaction of my own feline curiosity. Was the the immensely tall Mount Hermon? Was it the centrally located, but highly populated Mount Tabor? Or was it the Mount Sinai, the historical place for the two prophets that appeared on that day? Historians are still arguing what a scientist like myself calls a ‘moot point.’ Who cares where it happened as long as you know that it happened. I do not need to know the city and state where Griffith performed his experiement to know that the facts gained from it are correct. Nor do I need to know the actual place where the Declaration of Independence was written to know what impact it had on History. I admit it would be nice to know where these things happened, but I am of the opinion that there are more important things to discuss in the light of all of history…(although I must admit I am a fan of the Mount Hermon location for this event).

Tell me something that I don’t know already

It’s official. I’ve taken the test and proven myself against all the others. As if taking a silly exam tells you anything about how geeky you are…honestly they were biased against the Science geeks of the world. Just because I cannot name all of the characters in Star Trek (in their appropriate seasons) or tell someone they look hot in Klingon, does not disqualify me as a geek.

What about those of us who have (or plan to) science as their major? What about people who think that studying bacterial pathogenesis and other toxin-producing microbes are cooler than playing trivial pursuit? What about people who life in labs for most of their College careers. My Microbiology professor told me today that I should under no circumstances go to medical school over graduate school. He claimed that it was a waste of my talent. I don’t know about that, but honestly in my opinion it’s far geekier to know what a Dendritic cell (and the four cytokines that activate them) than to know information about imaginary characters or play video games all day.

But, despite my dislike of the entire geek classification system I am proud to call myself an official

Those who know me, laugh at me (and with me)

The Evil Gremlins of Grammar

Classes are like creatures, unpredictable, unreliable, and at times like this difficult. For me English has always been personified as a gremlin.
It was an interesting creature, a seemingly innocent ball of fluff that gave out assignments with harmless sounding titles like “How I Made A Difference” or “Keplarian Experience,” teaching me about interesting sounding words and facinating authors. It was tricky to catch on to the new ways of writing that were needed in order to attain the better grades. I soon learned that if I didn’t revise that my ball of fluff would immediately grow poisonous fangs and nip me until it was written correctly. In short editing hurt.
As soon as I found myself on top of the work another assignment would fall down for me to complete, and the gremlin that was chasing me seemed to become faster and multiply into an army of time grabbing gremlins as the semester progressed. Each assignment created another gremlin that would chase me, and they never left, because the assignments were never over. My writing became more streamlined, not because of any mental choice, but out of necessity. From time to time I would take a breather and study for the chemistry griffin, but I could never stay with another class for an extended period of time, because the gremlins would devour me.

They became more vicious as we began to take grammar tests. This was a road trap that I would never have foreseen. The gremlins began playing games with my preconceived notions of grammar and punctuation. They seemed to be changing my papers for not apparent reason, placing commas in places where I would never have guessed that a comma would be necessary. Every mistake brought their tiny teeth closer to my heels. Every triumph was undermined by yet another gremlin with a comment as they tore into each of my papers. I thought that I would never be free from the tide of screeching creatures tearing at my papers.
I still shudder at the though of the evil gremlins of grammar, but now I am prepared for them… I take science instead and leave the essays to the english majors of the world.

*Gasp* She was right.

It’s official, all of my English teachers are right, however much I do not want them to be. The best writers have an audience and write for that audience. You don’t believe me? Let’s take the Bible. Matthew wrote for the Jews who became Christian, while Mark wrote for the Romans who became Christian. We see in several places that they tell the same story, but with different details. One of the ones that I like is the Passion Narrative. For those not familiar with the term the ‘passion narrative’ deals with the crusifixion of Christ.

In Mark he mentions the fact that a Simon comes along and helps Christ with the cross, even mentions who he’s related to, while Matthew just mentions Simon. Mark’s audience would have known the sons of Simon, while the Jews may have known, but they didn’t really care. Matthew focuses later in that same chapter (27 if any of you want to follow along) about the prophicies that were integral to the Jewish custom, while Mark (chapter 15) continues onward through the narrative without that information.

If you are an over acheiver you can see those differenes in all of the text, Matthew validating chrish through the prophicies and Mark just putting down the basics of the story… it’s interesting to see what one puts down for their audience… makes me wonder what my audiences are looking for when they read this, because I have not been writing for any sort of audence while I am writing here… maybe I should look into that…

Dr. Horrible’s not so horrible

Three weeks ago a friend introduced me to one of the most amazing things on the internet. No, not blogging, not even a website for science jokes, but a video. Normally I don’t watch videos friends suggest on the internet especially if they are 42 min long. But I am so glad that I saw Dr. Horrible’s sing along blog. It is possibly the most amazing thing I have seen.

I love villains (ever since I saw Lion King in theaters) and this little film about a supervillain makes my day. Dr. Horrible is just the right mixture of sweet and evilness that keeps the film from being too sappy. This film has a bit of bite in it, but I think it’s something worth seeing at least once if you haven’t.

It reminds me of my WIP (or my work in progress) that I am going to set out to publishers in about a month, only my main character isn’t a villain (so far). I love comic book cliches, and more importantly making fun of them. Perhaps I’ll put one of my favorite scenes here for people to read, if there seems to be any interest.

Check it out here:

http://www.hulu.com/watch/28343/dr-horribles-sing-along-blog

Ready to be Whipped?

No I am not talking about tests (Why on earth would any one talk about tests?) or the upcoming midterms, I am talking about the culinary and more importantly scientific perfection that is whipped cream.

Scientific? Whipped cream can be scientific? If any of you have taken general chemistry in college you do not question me. If you haven’t, chemistry is everywhere so don’t try and avoid it. One of the most amazing things about whipped cream (besides it’s awesome non-taste) is something that you can see with your own two eyes. When you get the canned whipped cream you will notice that it comes out a liquid, then forms a solid at the same temperature. If that doesn’t surprise you, then you must be from Mars, or not understand kenetics.

The graph above shows why our amazing food acts in this bizare and confounding way. It’s rather simple to understand really…when something is put under enough pressure it is turned to a liquid state at lower temperatures than it normally would be.(Anyone who has been in a stresful situation will understand that.) Well when the whipped cream comes out of the can it is a liquid because it is under intense pressure and must be fluid to deal with it. When it is put under lower pressure it becomes inert and non-motile and becomes more solid. Kind of like me after taking a huge test… I sit down afterwards and then don’t move for about thirty minutes.

Why am I writing this? Honestly, I’m just trying to prove that my favorite treat is NOT just a sugary adition to hot chocolate or icecream, or pumpkin pie. It is a metaphore for my LIFE. It’s sugary and sweet, and becomes flexible under pressure.

Goobye and Memories

The trouble with life is that sometimes, despite your most valiant attempts to discern the inner conundrums, no matter how many pieces of advice you get from your friends the ‘sure bet’ is never the one that you want, it’s the one that came to you in the first place. The one who talked to you, played with you, protected you. The one who stole your heart and never really gave it back. One who you never thought that you’d see again, the missing friend that will never really be back.

You see, that boy does not exist. He is perfected in memory, and memories of ones loved are always tainted by the rose lens of liking. That man will always be perfect, although I know that the reality was far different. The memory danced with me, he caught me when I fell, he dreamed my dreams, he saw my thoughts, the memory took all of my pain and dashed it, hid it in a wall where no one would think to look. Pain does not make for pleasant rememberings, nor do goodbyes make for a good tale to tell.

Sometimes goodbye is the most painful word one can hear, but to not hear it, that is the worst. To not hear good bye is to mean that there is hope that he will return to you someday. There is the irrational and illogical dream that despite all evidence to the contrary he still holds you in his heart. There is the sad realization that every morning your hopes are brought up only to be torn apart as another day passes.

You miss him terribly, knowing that you hurt him as much as he hurt you. You can deal with your pain, but the thought that you caused another’s pain, the thought that you ripped out his heart makes you want to dig yourself into the deepest hole that you can imagine and thrust yourself down into it.

And then you do. You make yourself believe that the only way that you’ll ever be happy again is to see him smile, to know that despite your worst efforts he can still live life, he can still love something, he can still exist. You cry because of his pain, you celebrate because of his triumphs, and you watch from afar, keeping in the back of your mind the reminder that that part of your life is gone. No matter how hard you try you cannot erase the pseudo farewell from your heart. You don’t believe it, but you must, because despite your imaginations, despite your hopes, despite anything that your foolish, lovesick imaginings can conjure he is gone. That is the sure way to say goodbye. To look at the past and remember. . . that he wasn’t perfect, that dreams aren’t reality, and with that knowledge you can move on with life at last knowing that you tried your hardest, despite the failures. You then look at the past and realize the end of one story is merely the beginning of another.

The Power of the Pen

Here’s a little story I wrote in Highschool. It was printed as ‘Engarde’ but I prefer my own title for it.

En garde! The brilliant sheen of steel was flashing in the hands of a dark and mysterious figure. He loomed over the girl, clutching her only weapon, a quill pen. A dark sinister man of twenty against a young girl of seventeen. Young? I don’t wanna be young. I don’t wanna die young! Mommy! OK beautiful girl of seventeen. That’s more like it.
His sword flashed and her pen…What do pens do?…Her pen inked as they circled one another. The dark sinister man made a swift strong swing and stabbed the stunningly  beautiful medieval maiden. Merlin’s beard, methinks an injury hast befallen me. (Hmm, that’s annoying) He cackled as his sword took the poor young beautiful and inquisitive girl off guard, cutting her arm. It was hopeless, she was out maneuvered into a corner of the castle- Why a castle? Why not the moon? I would like to go to the moon, or maybe Canada. Why can’t I go to the moon?
OK. Fine. The moon.
“My master has called for you” The dark sinister figure leered from beneath his robe. His lightsaber filled the lunar space module with an eerie green light as he loomed over the young, beautiful, inquisitive, and street wise girl of seventeen picked up her pen and …Pen? Are there pens in the future? I don’t think so. Fine, the annoyingly rude but amazingly beautiful girl picked up her chrome nuclear protonic pen and said
Yawn.
“Oh no. There has been an explosion!” -What? There haven’t been any…BOOM… Oh.
The dark sinister figure loomed over the hapless adventurer and grinned impishly. The beautiful ,cynical, and judgmental girl tripped over a piece of the carnage left over from the bomb, and fell onto a blank paper. -Imbecile. Your writing shows a clear lapse of logic, if a bomb destroyed the building how on earth did a piece of paper survive? The temperatures sustained in the explosion would have incinerated any piece of paper. And another thing this evil dark ominous figure trying to kill me, he is an archetype, an overused archetype. It’s like starting a horror story with “it was a dark and stormy night.”
The blatantly corrupt and ignominious figure loomed over the hapless, but truthful, heroine bearing his yellowish fangs. His putrid breath -A most terrible case of Halotosis if I’ve ever smelled one- wafting over to our rude, but hapless heroine. She winced at the smell and grabbed the only weapon available to her, her chrome nuclear protonic pen. She uncapped her friend and noticed that he tip was glowing. She wrote a word in the air above her- I wrote two words- You have no right to barge into My Story and change things, you’re only a charat- In conclusion the amazingly beautiful, talented, and articulate  girl came up with a stratagem to cease this desultory tale filled with extraneous adjectives and arbitrary arguments. In doing so she took the chrome nuclear protonic pen, which was given to her by the inept ex-author and wrote the words:
The End
Perhaps a pen isn’t such a bad weapon after all.