Thanks to Albena for setting me with this story and inventing the word dumbsel, and to Petra for waiting for me at the garden.
Today, my closest friend here (come to think of it, she is one of my closest friends ever), was flying home to Bulgaria. I was charged with the honorary task of getting up at seven and making sure she wakes up. I was considering escorting her to the bus station... just to be sure that she was fine and on her way. Morpheus and Hypnos, however, had other plans. So, after waking her up, hugging her good-bye and wishing a safe flight and nice holidays, I succumbed to the temptation of Dreamland. At half past ten, my phone ran with the familiar melody of Nightwish's Moondance. There is only one person in the world that I have set this ringtone for. Yes, her.
It turned out, that she missed her bus for the airport with about two minutes. The next one, due in half an hour, arrived late and she was on Arlanda airport 25 minutes prior to take-off. The Austrian Airlines, God bless them in their helpfulness, refused to check in her luggage or to take her on the flight and leave the luggage behind. She was stranded on the airport, without a single coin in her pockets. And then she gave yours truly a call. Mounting my trusted steed, I reenacted several of the more breath-taking scenes from Mad Max, squeezing myself between cars and busses, people and buildings, traffic lights and excavating machines (don't ask). Upon arrival on the Uppsala train station, I realised I have covered the distance from home to the station in exactly seven minutes, lungs aching and legs trembling.
I locked my bike among the herd of other bi-wheeled pedal-powered vehicles and proceeded towards the building with a steady Captain Jack Sparrow pace. Once inside, I realised the next train to Arlanda was due to leave in exactly 3 minutes. I teleported myself at a cashier's desk, ordered a ticket with the best James Earl Jones voice I could manage and ran towards the train. I like running through crowds: when people see a two meters tall giant, wearing a leather jacket, leather gloves and leather military boots, run with gargantuan strides towards them, they step aside immediately. Several seconds after setting my foot on the train, we were off.
Twenty minutes later I was at the airport. I met with Albena, bought her a new ticket, checked her in, postponed my date for the afternoon and took her for a lunch. We got a huge plate of kebab meat and fries, enough to satisfy even my hunger. Somehow I managed to eat my lunch without even for a second seizing to talk complete and utter nonsense. It did a fine job, keeping her mind off what has transpired. Another person was sitting on our table, a cheerful elderly lady who desperately tried to eavesdrop on our conversation. It was not that hard, considering that we were talking loudly and laughing even louder, but... well, it was in Bulgarian. Not a very common language among Swedes, I might add. In the end, she could not take it any more and joined in, showing remarkable English skills. We had a nice laugh for about an hour and then parted ways.
After seeing Albena personally through the safety check, I realized it was 4 minutes until my bus back to Uppsala. This time I was not running, but my strides were still gigantic. Bumping briefly into a friend (it is a very small world, believe me) I rushed towards the bus station. Finally on the bus, I was actually able to read a bit, before disembarking in Uppsala. I called my date, met her for the arranged walk in the botanical garden and then went home with her for movie and a pizza. The botanical garden was actually still under reconstruction and hence closed for exhibitions but... let's say I had an inside man. Man, I love pulling strings.
When I remember my adventures with airlines from last year, I can truthfully say that waving someone good-bye can be just as perverted as actually traveling. But then again... what are friends for? I am eagerly looking forward to seeing mine in two days.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Random musings
There now. The Microbiology exam is over. I have spent the last two days recovering from an intensive study/work life and trying to tie up loose ends from my other activities. So now I have finally cleaned my room. It was such a jungle here, I could hear the war cries of small dust mite tribes clashing in titanic clashes under the contiguous layer of my notes. The epic Battle of the Seminar booklet is one to be remembered for generations to come. Or at least it would have if I had not "accidentally" vacuumed all the war monuments. It was actually thanks to my classmates that my room resembles a human lodging and not the lair of some ancient beast. I thrive in my chaos, but had to clean up a bit when they came for studying.
I attended the Nobel prize lecture this year (as well as the two previous years, but then I was not blogging). The three laureates received a prize for a discovery made twenty years ago, and some of them have spent more than half a century in the lab. This is sort of discouraging. I mean I would like to have my prize sooner and not when I am on a good way to being a walking dead. Note to self: get Nobel prize before turning 50! After the lecture I had to rush off to the castle, where the Nobel lunch was held. I actually served the coolest guy, prof. Oliver Smithies (the announcer at BMC called him "Smithers", to the utter delight of all Simpons fans). Now I can show off with that. Go me!
It is a harsh and beautiful winter evening outside. The sky goes from pastel blue to green-yellowish, and the moon is already in its zenith, halfway to full moon. According to some, this is the best time for magic, when the night illumination is divided in half, representing the duality of human nature. The trees are stretching bare branches, awaiting the spring with a patience only a dendrite possesses. Here I am, quietly mediating, listening to Christmas carols and staring into a candle flame. Tomorrow will be another busy day, full of tasks that need to be done. But right now time has stopped and there is a whole eternity of delightful seconds to experience. Be well, everyone!
I attended the Nobel prize lecture this year (as well as the two previous years, but then I was not blogging). The three laureates received a prize for a discovery made twenty years ago, and some of them have spent more than half a century in the lab. This is sort of discouraging. I mean I would like to have my prize sooner and not when I am on a good way to being a walking dead. Note to self: get Nobel prize before turning 50! After the lecture I had to rush off to the castle, where the Nobel lunch was held. I actually served the coolest guy, prof. Oliver Smithies (the announcer at BMC called him "Smithers", to the utter delight of all Simpons fans). Now I can show off with that. Go me!
It is a harsh and beautiful winter evening outside. The sky goes from pastel blue to green-yellowish, and the moon is already in its zenith, halfway to full moon. According to some, this is the best time for magic, when the night illumination is divided in half, representing the duality of human nature. The trees are stretching bare branches, awaiting the spring with a patience only a dendrite possesses. Here I am, quietly mediating, listening to Christmas carols and staring into a candle flame. Tomorrow will be another busy day, full of tasks that need to be done. But right now time has stopped and there is a whole eternity of delightful seconds to experience. Be well, everyone!
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Student cooking and nutrition
How does this peculiar breed of human beings sustain their existence is a very interesting question. A student kitchen is probably the place with most improvisations on a square meter in existance. Let us consider some typical food groups:
Beer
No doubt about it, it is good. It contains malt, which is a source of energy, and hops and alcohol, which are antiseptic. So it is both delicious and healthy - a rare combination. Furthermore, it can be used as a "hair of the dog", providing a precious jump-start on hangover mornings. One of Belgium's kings is famous for deciding that his subjects should drink beer, not water. This turned out to be a life-saver for many people, because water in these times was considered fresh when there was life in it and clean when all the frogs and tadpoles have been taken out. No need to study microbiology to imagine where this road goes. Hellooo, infections! So drink beer. It will save your life.
Coffee
Dual-use nutrient. It keeps you awake and functioning... well, in most of the cases at least. Me - I can drink half a litre and go straight to bed. In the dreadful situation that there is no more beer in the fridge when you awake after the wildest party ever, coffee can kick you in the head good enough to start your day.
Pasta
Another critical food. It can be combined with absolutely everything - sweet stuff, salty stuff, herbs, spices, ketchup (this is a whole group by itself), even au naturelle. The last one is only pasta without any additives and usually appears on the table a day or two before next payday. The advantages are that it is a really cheap and really fast way of providing carbohydrates. The disadvantage is that it gets boring soon. This, however, can be circumvented by eating different types of pasta: spaghetti, macaroni, tagliatelle and so on and so forth. It is still the same pasta, just the different shapes create the illusion of eating various foods.
For the ones with Asian preferences, there are instant noodles. Same as pasta, but made out of rice. Even faster but not always cheaper.
Ketchup
Universal spice. Goes on everything. When the amount of kethup exceeds that of the food, a ketchup abuse occurs.
Meat
Source of lipids and proteins. Usually found as a trace ingredient in hamburgers, salami, sausages, meatballs and other processed stuff. It is commonly combined with other animal parts, chemical stuff with at least fifteen syllables and good old starch.
Junk food
Chips, chocolate, salt sticks, cookies, beer nuts and everything else people consume at parties. Students party a lot, therefore their junk food consumption can be considerably high. Moreover, chocolate can be successfully used as an anti-depressant. It is sweet and contains ephedrine... or was it dopamine? Does not matter, it is still good. Have a secret stash, just in case. Five-six bars should be adequate amount for emergencies.
Vegetables
Yeah, right.
Sugar
Welcome in all forms. It can be found in coffee or tea, in the coke/juice/fizzy drink you buy, in an ordinary lump you crunch while passing-by, in the cakes and cookies you have for your afternoon snack. In ketchup, mustard, sauces, jams, sausages. Sugar means energy. Energy good. Taken in the afternoon, it gives you a welcome boost which enables you to continue working until 21.00. If you have errands after this time, consider going back to the basics, i.e. coffee and beer.
Beer
No doubt about it, it is good. It contains malt, which is a source of energy, and hops and alcohol, which are antiseptic. So it is both delicious and healthy - a rare combination. Furthermore, it can be used as a "hair of the dog", providing a precious jump-start on hangover mornings. One of Belgium's kings is famous for deciding that his subjects should drink beer, not water. This turned out to be a life-saver for many people, because water in these times was considered fresh when there was life in it and clean when all the frogs and tadpoles have been taken out. No need to study microbiology to imagine where this road goes. Hellooo, infections! So drink beer. It will save your life.
Coffee
Dual-use nutrient. It keeps you awake and functioning... well, in most of the cases at least. Me - I can drink half a litre and go straight to bed. In the dreadful situation that there is no more beer in the fridge when you awake after the wildest party ever, coffee can kick you in the head good enough to start your day.
Pasta
Another critical food. It can be combined with absolutely everything - sweet stuff, salty stuff, herbs, spices, ketchup (this is a whole group by itself), even au naturelle. The last one is only pasta without any additives and usually appears on the table a day or two before next payday. The advantages are that it is a really cheap and really fast way of providing carbohydrates. The disadvantage is that it gets boring soon. This, however, can be circumvented by eating different types of pasta: spaghetti, macaroni, tagliatelle and so on and so forth. It is still the same pasta, just the different shapes create the illusion of eating various foods.
For the ones with Asian preferences, there are instant noodles. Same as pasta, but made out of rice. Even faster but not always cheaper.
Ketchup
Universal spice. Goes on everything. When the amount of kethup exceeds that of the food, a ketchup abuse occurs.
Meat
Source of lipids and proteins. Usually found as a trace ingredient in hamburgers, salami, sausages, meatballs and other processed stuff. It is commonly combined with other animal parts, chemical stuff with at least fifteen syllables and good old starch.
Junk food
Chips, chocolate, salt sticks, cookies, beer nuts and everything else people consume at parties. Students party a lot, therefore their junk food consumption can be considerably high. Moreover, chocolate can be successfully used as an anti-depressant. It is sweet and contains ephedrine... or was it dopamine? Does not matter, it is still good. Have a secret stash, just in case. Five-six bars should be adequate amount for emergencies.
Vegetables
Yeah, right.
Sugar
Welcome in all forms. It can be found in coffee or tea, in the coke/juice/fizzy drink you buy, in an ordinary lump you crunch while passing-by, in the cakes and cookies you have for your afternoon snack. In ketchup, mustard, sauces, jams, sausages. Sugar means energy. Energy good. Taken in the afternoon, it gives you a welcome boost which enables you to continue working until 21.00. If you have errands after this time, consider going back to the basics, i.e. coffee and beer.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Negotiating ice
Winter has come. Yesterday, a white blanket of snow covered the land, hiding paths, tracks, nasty puddles from the last rain and turning all bicycles into lookalikes. The city had enough residual heat to melt some of the snow. That did not matter, the frozen water crystals kept on dancing, plummeting and finally resting on the ground, until they consumed all the warmth and buried the streets beneath themselves.
The clouds dissipated. Night fell. Countless students cycled home (after some initial confusion which exactly snow-covered modern art masterpiece represents their bike), leaving a myriad of tracks in the soft water-snowy slurry. Morning came.
I had to go out to the lab to help a friend of mine with his experiment. First surprise: the cycle roads were not cleaned up. Apparently, winter managed to surprise the municipality once again, even with the early warning it received several weeks ago. Never mind that. My bike has new strong grip tires, I said to myself, a little snow should not be a problem. I would have been right, save for the fact that there was something else besides the little snow. Ice. All the beautiful criss-crossing bike tracks from last evening had frozen during the night, adding some excitement to the show. Usually, ice is not that big of a problem by itself. The actual problem was that both my tires had their own opinion on which of the thousand tracks they should follow. This turned the whole trip into a rope-dancing kind of experience, with all my muscles strained to keep my balance. Not a very pleasant thing to do. Even less when you consider the speed limits. Any velocity greater than that of an enraged garden snail would inevitably lead to my fall. And I do not like falling. Dropping down flat on your nose from 2 m height is definitely not my idea of pleasure.
Speaking of ideas, I had a really bright one. I adjusted my course and started cycling on the street instead. Boy, was that a mistake. Yes, the street was cleaned and it was significantly easier to propel myself forward. However, I had to share it with some actual drivers. Most of them still having their summer tires on. Not a nice view, considering how close I was to the action. This sort of thing is best watched on YouTube, not when you have to struggle to avoid participating in it. Luckily, I was spared any incidents. I wonder what will happen next, when I have to go downtown. Literally. Karolinabacken, here I come...
The clouds dissipated. Night fell. Countless students cycled home (after some initial confusion which exactly snow-covered modern art masterpiece represents their bike), leaving a myriad of tracks in the soft water-snowy slurry. Morning came.
I had to go out to the lab to help a friend of mine with his experiment. First surprise: the cycle roads were not cleaned up. Apparently, winter managed to surprise the municipality once again, even with the early warning it received several weeks ago. Never mind that. My bike has new strong grip tires, I said to myself, a little snow should not be a problem. I would have been right, save for the fact that there was something else besides the little snow. Ice. All the beautiful criss-crossing bike tracks from last evening had frozen during the night, adding some excitement to the show. Usually, ice is not that big of a problem by itself. The actual problem was that both my tires had their own opinion on which of the thousand tracks they should follow. This turned the whole trip into a rope-dancing kind of experience, with all my muscles strained to keep my balance. Not a very pleasant thing to do. Even less when you consider the speed limits. Any velocity greater than that of an enraged garden snail would inevitably lead to my fall. And I do not like falling. Dropping down flat on your nose from 2 m height is definitely not my idea of pleasure.
Speaking of ideas, I had a really bright one. I adjusted my course and started cycling on the street instead. Boy, was that a mistake. Yes, the street was cleaned and it was significantly easier to propel myself forward. However, I had to share it with some actual drivers. Most of them still having their summer tires on. Not a nice view, considering how close I was to the action. This sort of thing is best watched on YouTube, not when you have to struggle to avoid participating in it. Luckily, I was spared any incidents. I wonder what will happen next, when I have to go downtown. Literally. Karolinabacken, here I come...
Friday, November 09, 2007
Under the rain... again
It is 1 o'clock in the morning, when I go out from the castle. For those of you that you do not know it, this is one of my several working places that sustain my existence in this Northern country. All decent folk have already gone to bed, alone or with company. Even the students, the people that make Uppsala what it is, are nowhere in sight. The streets are completely empty... as they have been countless nights before.
Only me, my bike and the rain are moving. I love this bicycle. It has been in my possession for more than three years now, carrying me through winds and snow, through blizzards and rain, over ice and mud. I no longer need to steer it with my hands. The subtle changes of pressure on the frame are enough to make it go where I want it to. If only everything else obeyed my whims as easily as my trustworthy bike...
I am tired. One more shift as a waiter has passed by. In the end of it, the last remaining employees that have not yet got home sit down on a table with the boss and trade stories. Everyday problems, past amusements and future plans were laid out. I listen. In my glass I have some 12-years old Bowmore single malt scotch whiskey. One of my favourites. The smoky taste teases my tongue, while the amber-coloured liquid lazily makes its way down my throat, washing the strain away. The boss is happy with our work and treats us to a beer. A local one, named Uppsala. Quite nice, I should say. A full-bodied lager with ale undertones. Recommendable.
I am cycling. The drinks and the company have pushed the busy evening into oblivion. No more shall I remember the awkwardly-behaving guests, the hot plates and the annoying pretentious old ladies. All what is left is the smiles of my coworkers, the lovely a-capella band and the delicious chocolate dessert offered by the chefs.
It is raining again. Celestial tears splash quietly on my cheeks as I glide unheard in the night. Their cold calmness is both numbing and invigorating. They take everything away, dissolve it and let it pour down from me as ink from a sheet of paper. I am blank again now, waiting to be filled. System of a Down booms in my ears, replenishing my supplies of rage and stubbornness, the two things that have always kept me focused on who I am and where I am going.
Finally, I am in front of my dormitory. One last look into the sky, feeling the raindrops caressing my face. An evening ritual follows. Time to go to sleep. I hope I dream.
Only me, my bike and the rain are moving. I love this bicycle. It has been in my possession for more than three years now, carrying me through winds and snow, through blizzards and rain, over ice and mud. I no longer need to steer it with my hands. The subtle changes of pressure on the frame are enough to make it go where I want it to. If only everything else obeyed my whims as easily as my trustworthy bike...
I am tired. One more shift as a waiter has passed by. In the end of it, the last remaining employees that have not yet got home sit down on a table with the boss and trade stories. Everyday problems, past amusements and future plans were laid out. I listen. In my glass I have some 12-years old Bowmore single malt scotch whiskey. One of my favourites. The smoky taste teases my tongue, while the amber-coloured liquid lazily makes its way down my throat, washing the strain away. The boss is happy with our work and treats us to a beer. A local one, named Uppsala. Quite nice, I should say. A full-bodied lager with ale undertones. Recommendable.
I am cycling. The drinks and the company have pushed the busy evening into oblivion. No more shall I remember the awkwardly-behaving guests, the hot plates and the annoying pretentious old ladies. All what is left is the smiles of my coworkers, the lovely a-capella band and the delicious chocolate dessert offered by the chefs.
It is raining again. Celestial tears splash quietly on my cheeks as I glide unheard in the night. Their cold calmness is both numbing and invigorating. They take everything away, dissolve it and let it pour down from me as ink from a sheet of paper. I am blank again now, waiting to be filled. System of a Down booms in my ears, replenishing my supplies of rage and stubbornness, the two things that have always kept me focused on who I am and where I am going.
Finally, I am in front of my dormitory. One last look into the sky, feeling the raindrops caressing my face. An evening ritual follows. Time to go to sleep. I hope I dream.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Facebook - disconnecting people
Thanks to [censored] for sharing this story
A friend of mine decides to create a Facebook account, in order to be able to stay in touch with all his friends, associates and affiliates all over the world. However, he has no idea which ones of his friends have already created accounts, so he decides to leave this task for later. The first one that finds him is an ex-girlfriend of him, one that has not called him since they broke up.
When he decides to accept her friendship offer, a friend detail dialog box pops up, asking from where he knew this girl. He does not know that answering this question is not obligatory. After a brief consideration about who actually collects this data, he decides to go for it and clicks "We dated". The engine asks how it was. Answer is "Nice and sweet". The last question is "What now?" He explains they have remained friends. The interrogation is over and he sends the friend detail request.
Several days later he receives her answer. According to her they are more in a "Not talking to each other" than a "Still friends" kind of situation. To clarify this confusion, they actually start talking. And are having nice conversations to the point she asks him out on a concert. He accepts.
At the same time, another friend of his uses the "X Me" application. The action he performs is... well, it is hard to explain it in English. Apparently, in their mother tongue they have a word that, according to context, can substitute almost every word in a sentence in case the person speaking does not remember it. Something like "you know", I guess. And without the context it becomes an euphemism for intercourse, or so I gathered from his explanations. So this other guy youknows our hero. And my friend decides to youknow back. However, instead of youknowing this single friend, he youknows everybody in his friend list, including this ex-girlfriend.
Her reaction is unknown, but my friend never received confirmation for that concert.
Facebook - disconnecting people.
A friend of mine decides to create a Facebook account, in order to be able to stay in touch with all his friends, associates and affiliates all over the world. However, he has no idea which ones of his friends have already created accounts, so he decides to leave this task for later. The first one that finds him is an ex-girlfriend of him, one that has not called him since they broke up.
When he decides to accept her friendship offer, a friend detail dialog box pops up, asking from where he knew this girl. He does not know that answering this question is not obligatory. After a brief consideration about who actually collects this data, he decides to go for it and clicks "We dated". The engine asks how it was. Answer is "Nice and sweet". The last question is "What now?" He explains they have remained friends. The interrogation is over and he sends the friend detail request.
Several days later he receives her answer. According to her they are more in a "Not talking to each other" than a "Still friends" kind of situation. To clarify this confusion, they actually start talking. And are having nice conversations to the point she asks him out on a concert. He accepts.
At the same time, another friend of his uses the "X Me" application. The action he performs is... well, it is hard to explain it in English. Apparently, in their mother tongue they have a word that, according to context, can substitute almost every word in a sentence in case the person speaking does not remember it. Something like "you know", I guess. And without the context it becomes an euphemism for intercourse, or so I gathered from his explanations. So this other guy youknows our hero. And my friend decides to youknow back. However, instead of youknowing this single friend, he youknows everybody in his friend list, including this ex-girlfriend.
Her reaction is unknown, but my friend never received confirmation for that concert.
Facebook - disconnecting people.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
First half of the autumn term, an overview
Thanks to Yang for making me write this, and to Torsten, Vroni and Vahid, for giving me something to write about...
After a long summer-autumn brake, I am back in front of the keyboard. Actually, I have been in front of the keyboard almost every day, but certain things prevented me from contributing often to my stash of presentable thoughts. The simplest conclusion is also the true one: I had lots of NOT presentable thoughts and activities, which I will... not share with you now. Or ever, for that matter.
What I will divulge, however, is that I have successfully completed a course in Protein Engineering. It was by far the greatest course I have ever taken. Where to start now... ok, first of all, I was late for the course. And not just 15 minutes fashionably late. I arrived no less than four days after the course has started. Laboratory groups have already been created, research activities assigned and a lot of labmate bonding was going on. Needless to say, I was feeling very out of place. To top it all, there was a mini-exam waiting around the corner and I had no idea what I was supposed to know for it.
Now is the time to mention that I was extremely lucky and was part of a really cool group. Vahid, an Iranian guy, and Vroni, a German girl, were very helpful and we always looked after each other during the course. Thank you very much, both of you, for having such a good time together in the lab (and not only there). There was a very strong feeling of unity in this course. We went out together several times, and our professor even took us to a field trip to one biological research company and then to the Stockholm opera, where we saw Eugen Onegin.
A few words about our professor. For those of you that have played Monopoli, he is the iconic white-mustached bald man, just in a lab coat instead of a tuxedo. For those of you who have not played this game (go and play the game!), he is over there to the left, prof. Torsten Unge. This is probably one of the best teachers I have ever had. He was always looking out for us, helping and advising us, and he really managed to unite us as a group. Under his guidance, we had the wonderful tradition to eat home-baked cake every day, prepared by one of the students. And trust me, after five-six hours in the lab, a nice cup of hot coffee or tea and a sugar injection (the cake) was just the thing we needed to feel ready to do some more researching.
We even played Frisbee during the incubation times... which were fairly long. Actually, we played with two Frisbees simultaneously... now this is challenging. Not only that, but our playground was an inner yard of the faculty, with a big statue in the middle. So the advanced throws included curved trajectories passing around, above and under the statue... with the occasional splash of water when we actually managed to hit it and the Frisbee fell into the fountain. Add some wind and rain and you get really high-leveled players.
After the end of the course, we gathered home at our (i.e. mine and Albena's place) for a sushi dinner and a party. This time the sushi was prepared by genuine Chinese, so we had the real deal. Aaah, raw salmon tastes good!
After a long summer-autumn brake, I am back in front of the keyboard. Actually, I have been in front of the keyboard almost every day, but certain things prevented me from contributing often to my stash of presentable thoughts. The simplest conclusion is also the true one: I had lots of NOT presentable thoughts and activities, which I will... not share with you now. Or ever, for that matter.
What I will divulge, however, is that I have successfully completed a course in Protein Engineering. It was by far the greatest course I have ever taken. Where to start now... ok, first of all, I was late for the course. And not just 15 minutes fashionably late. I arrived no less than four days after the course has started. Laboratory groups have already been created, research activities assigned and a lot of labmate bonding was going on. Needless to say, I was feeling very out of place. To top it all, there was a mini-exam waiting around the corner and I had no idea what I was supposed to know for it.
Now is the time to mention that I was extremely lucky and was part of a really cool group. Vahid, an Iranian guy, and Vroni, a German girl, were very helpful and we always looked after each other during the course. Thank you very much, both of you, for having such a good time together in the lab (and not only there). There was a very strong feeling of unity in this course. We went out together several times, and our professor even took us to a field trip to one biological research company and then to the Stockholm opera, where we saw Eugen Onegin.
A few words about our professor. For those of you that have played Monopoli, he is the iconic white-mustached bald man, just in a lab coat instead of a tuxedo. For those of you who have not played this game (go and play the game!), he is over there to the left, prof. Torsten Unge. This is probably one of the best teachers I have ever had. He was always looking out for us, helping and advising us, and he really managed to unite us as a group. Under his guidance, we had the wonderful tradition to eat home-baked cake every day, prepared by one of the students. And trust me, after five-six hours in the lab, a nice cup of hot coffee or tea and a sugar injection (the cake) was just the thing we needed to feel ready to do some more researching.We even played Frisbee during the incubation times... which were fairly long. Actually, we played with two Frisbees simultaneously... now this is challenging. Not only that, but our playground was an inner yard of the faculty, with a big statue in the middle. So the advanced throws included curved trajectories passing around, above and under the statue... with the occasional splash of water when we actually managed to hit it and the Frisbee fell into the fountain. Add some wind and rain and you get really high-leveled players.
After the end of the course, we gathered home at our (i.e. mine and Albena's place) for a sushi dinner and a party. This time the sushi was prepared by genuine Chinese, so we had the real deal. Aaah, raw salmon tastes good!
Monday, July 02, 2007
Aviation day
"This is aweseome, dude! High five!"
Two Albanian guys with immensely thirsty throats
Yesterday was the 1st of July. For many people in Bulgaria, this means travelling to the sea-shore and greeting the rising sun as it emerges from beneath the calm water of the Black sea. For some strange reason, the sea is always calm on July Morning. Anyway, people gather round the campfires, guitars are played, songs are sung... other interesting activities are done. This would have been my night save for one very important fact. The first of July is the aviation day, at least in Bulgaria. And on this particular aviation day, there was an aviation show at the air force base in Graf Ignatievo. Additionally, this day marked the end of a joint Bulgarian-American air force training, thus the aviation show featured a skill demonstration by the Thunderbirds, the third oldest demonstration group in the United States.
The story begins... exactly at 15.50, Eastern European Time, on the last day of June. I went out from home with a huge backpack filled with very useful things, including a knife, a book, some food, spare clothes, a rubber hose and an emergency supplies of handkerchiefs. After all, it was only 35 degrees in the shade... somebody might catch a cold. I had exactly twenty minutes to get to the Central Railway Station - a task not impossible, provided the tram comes just in time. Well, the tram did come just in time... but remained stationary for about ten minutes, since it was its first and last stop. While idly waiting for it and idly reading the graffiti on the nearby walls, I idly stumbled across a note that informed me about the new routes of the city transport due to repairs. Needless to say, the tram did not go to the Station at all. Swearing(1), I took one of the (in)famous minibuses of Sofia called Route Taxis or just Routers. Of course, I got harassed for being two minutes late (this is what you get when you are extremely punctual otherwise, so do not be). I gently swore (2) at the guy and we went to buy our tickets.
Our nutrition state dictated the purchase after the tickets. We bought a piece of sausage and some bread. Embarking on the train, we saw the carriages were almost full. Poor little souls, they did not know what was expecting them. Being very hungry, we hardly waited for the train to depart and produced the "good stuff" from our backpacks. Being VERY hungry, we barely resorted to using the knife and teared and bit and gnawed on the soft flesh of our prey. Well, I guess we were overdoing it a bit, but the terrified looks from the other passengers were well worth the exertion. Concluding our meal with a heroic portion of water and a villainous belch, the two barbarians decided that some culture was in order. My friend, Vruk (this is his nickname, his true name not disclosed due to security purposes), sunk into 'Bulgarian Ballads' by Theodor Trayanov. I, myself, preferred the gay and lively tales of Edgar Alan Poe. I do not know what this man had smoked, but I want some of the stuff... He is amazing.
Five to seven, the stonework of Plovdiv Central Railway Station shuddered as we jumped from the train. We called the guy that was supposed to meet us there, Blake. Turns out, he was not there. He was at home, watching TV, with the presumption that we were to arrive one hour later. Of course, we swore(3) at him. He came in fifteen minutes and we went to have a beer. A great thing, the beer. We call it "capped pastry". The Navy - "tinned steaks". Either way, it is both refreshing and nutritious. Having moistened our throats, Blake called our host for the night, Lews Terrin, also known as Lyoshtern, and with a regret informed him that we have not yet arrived. We have not disembarked the train. We would probably arrive with the next one, one hour later. Lyoshtern was so stunned by this piece of information that he went and did a Number 2. For those of you that do not know what that is... Ignorance is bliss. The only problem... ok, the only two problems, were that he was doing for more than thirty minutes during which he had left his cellular phone somewhere beneath a pillow or into a botomless pit, since he did not answer it.
We were beginning to feel really uneasy and swore (4) at Blake and again (5) at Lyoshtern. My father, who was in Plovdiv on wholly different grounds, came to have a beer with us and, hearing of our predicament, called his hotel and arranged for a double room. At the same time, Lyoshtern finally called. We swore (6) at him again and told him to wait for us on the bus station. Having eaten our canned steaks, we parted ways, i.e. said good-bye to my father and went to the Central Bus Station. There, barely failing to step on a small black curious suicidal kitten, me and Vruk got on the bus and were off to Brestnik, a small village several kilometres south of Plovdiv.
Lyoshtern offered us his kind hospitality, which we gratefully answered by eating a lot of food and drinking almost all the beer. We spared one bottle, though. After lots of laughter and a moderate amount of swearing at (7) and from (8) Blake, we went to bed. Sleeping through July morning, we got up at o7oo hours and woke up Lyoshtern. He was very pleased to see our mugs early in the morning and announced his pleasure with a variety of profanities (8) none of which were new to us. We took the bus to Plovdiv.
On the Central Station, we bought 4.5 litres of water (we should have bought more) and took a city bus to Bus Station North. There, we had a simple barbarian meal with some more sausages and bread under the astonished looks of some walking dead, er.. I mean senior citizens. Then we took a bus to Graf Ignatievo, which lies several kilometers north from Plovdiv. At half past nine we were in front of the main entrance to the air force base, under the searing sun, swearing (9) quietly at the guards who had a shade. At eleven o'clock we were allowed to enter after a none-too-strenuous luggage check. I mean, I was carrying a knife and a rubber hose in my backpack. Those were two concealed weapons, not that I had taken any trouble to actually conceal them. On the other hand, it seems a little difficult to sabotage an aircraft with less than a metre of rubber hose, but what do I know about military airplanes? Anyway, walking briskly in front of the huge crowd coming tight on our heels, we jumped around like children in a candy shop and started taking copious amounts of pictures.
A MiG-21 and a MiG-29: Fullcrum were open to the public and everyone could sit in the cockpit and feel like a real pilot. An awesome fighter-interceptor, that MiG-29. The Thunderbirds operated F-16: Viper, the Fullcrum's archnemesis. Sadly, we could not witness a direct competition between the two fighters, but the show was spectacular nevertheless. We took autographs from some of the pilots and the mechanics and even managed to hug a USAF officer without causing an international incident. Go us!
The show was opened at 1300 hours with a demonstration parachute jump performed by Bulgarian commandos. I shall skip the comments about beauty, functionality, mass jumps and rapid landing strikes from supersmall altitudes. One hour later, six of the eight Vipers started rolling towards the runway. The howling sounds from the air intakes were deafening. And then they arranged themselves on the runway. And then the engines roared. And then they were in the air.
The following sixty minutes cannot be described. A massive one-hour spiritual orgasm, filled to the brim with the beauty of those beasts, the prowess of their pilots and the grace of the maneuvers. Chasing themselves through the skies with supersonic speeds, standing still in the air only on the exhaust jet stream, flying in a tight formation, passing by each other with mere metres between the hulls, flying on their backs, those guys and gals rocked our world like an earthquake.
Well, not everything was sugar and spice. One of the fighters had a collision with a bird and had to land. The pilot then resumed the show on one of the spare planes. On the way back to Plovdiv... this looked like a nice torture. We have been standing under the sun for seven hours. Our necks and forearms were red and itchy. We have drunk more than six litres of water, without going to the bathroom even a single time. The next train for Plovdiv was not due for more than an hour. The busses were filled to the brim. A fifteen-kilometres long traffic jam blocked the way. Every single one of the 10 000 visitors wanted to get home as soon as possible. Public transport not being an option anymore, we decided to hitch-hike. Against the modest fee of one bottle of ice-cold water, the driver of a nice big air conditioned Subaru jeep agreed to take us to Plovdiv. There, we met with Arwen Undomiel. No, we were not delirious, it was a friend of ours with that nickname. We drank some more beer... God bless the Akkadians... or was it the Sumerians... whatever, God bless both of them for inventing beer. After that we took the train to Sofia and spent the next two and a half hours laughing, giggling and roaring (and of course, eating with our innate barbarian grace and manners, i.e. crumbs flying everywhere, panic-stricken mothers screaming for mercy... you know, the usual stuff).
And so, tired, sweaty, burned, dirty and stinky (I told you we were barbarians) we got off the train and on our respective chariots, I mean cars, towards a rest well-deserved. The End.
Two Albanian guys with immensely thirsty throats
Yesterday was the 1st of July. For many people in Bulgaria, this means travelling to the sea-shore and greeting the rising sun as it emerges from beneath the calm water of the Black sea. For some strange reason, the sea is always calm on July Morning. Anyway, people gather round the campfires, guitars are played, songs are sung... other interesting activities are done. This would have been my night save for one very important fact. The first of July is the aviation day, at least in Bulgaria. And on this particular aviation day, there was an aviation show at the air force base in Graf Ignatievo. Additionally, this day marked the end of a joint Bulgarian-American air force training, thus the aviation show featured a skill demonstration by the Thunderbirds, the third oldest demonstration group in the United States.
The story begins... exactly at 15.50, Eastern European Time, on the last day of June. I went out from home with a huge backpack filled with very useful things, including a knife, a book, some food, spare clothes, a rubber hose and an emergency supplies of handkerchiefs. After all, it was only 35 degrees in the shade... somebody might catch a cold. I had exactly twenty minutes to get to the Central Railway Station - a task not impossible, provided the tram comes just in time. Well, the tram did come just in time... but remained stationary for about ten minutes, since it was its first and last stop. While idly waiting for it and idly reading the graffiti on the nearby walls, I idly stumbled across a note that informed me about the new routes of the city transport due to repairs. Needless to say, the tram did not go to the Station at all. Swearing(1), I took one of the (in)famous minibuses of Sofia called Route Taxis or just Routers. Of course, I got harassed for being two minutes late (this is what you get when you are extremely punctual otherwise, so do not be). I gently swore (2) at the guy and we went to buy our tickets.
Our nutrition state dictated the purchase after the tickets. We bought a piece of sausage and some bread. Embarking on the train, we saw the carriages were almost full. Poor little souls, they did not know what was expecting them. Being very hungry, we hardly waited for the train to depart and produced the "good stuff" from our backpacks. Being VERY hungry, we barely resorted to using the knife and teared and bit and gnawed on the soft flesh of our prey. Well, I guess we were overdoing it a bit, but the terrified looks from the other passengers were well worth the exertion. Concluding our meal with a heroic portion of water and a villainous belch, the two barbarians decided that some culture was in order. My friend, Vruk (this is his nickname, his true name not disclosed due to security purposes), sunk into 'Bulgarian Ballads' by Theodor Trayanov. I, myself, preferred the gay and lively tales of Edgar Alan Poe. I do not know what this man had smoked, but I want some of the stuff... He is amazing.
Five to seven, the stonework of Plovdiv Central Railway Station shuddered as we jumped from the train. We called the guy that was supposed to meet us there, Blake. Turns out, he was not there. He was at home, watching TV, with the presumption that we were to arrive one hour later. Of course, we swore(3) at him. He came in fifteen minutes and we went to have a beer. A great thing, the beer. We call it "capped pastry". The Navy - "tinned steaks". Either way, it is both refreshing and nutritious. Having moistened our throats, Blake called our host for the night, Lews Terrin, also known as Lyoshtern, and with a regret informed him that we have not yet arrived. We have not disembarked the train. We would probably arrive with the next one, one hour later. Lyoshtern was so stunned by this piece of information that he went and did a Number 2. For those of you that do not know what that is... Ignorance is bliss. The only problem... ok, the only two problems, were that he was doing for more than thirty minutes during which he had left his cellular phone somewhere beneath a pillow or into a botomless pit, since he did not answer it.
We were beginning to feel really uneasy and swore (4) at Blake and again (5) at Lyoshtern. My father, who was in Plovdiv on wholly different grounds, came to have a beer with us and, hearing of our predicament, called his hotel and arranged for a double room. At the same time, Lyoshtern finally called. We swore (6) at him again and told him to wait for us on the bus station. Having eaten our canned steaks, we parted ways, i.e. said good-bye to my father and went to the Central Bus Station. There, barely failing to step on a small black curious suicidal kitten, me and Vruk got on the bus and were off to Brestnik, a small village several kilometres south of Plovdiv.
Lyoshtern offered us his kind hospitality, which we gratefully answered by eating a lot of food and drinking almost all the beer. We spared one bottle, though. After lots of laughter and a moderate amount of swearing at (7) and from (8) Blake, we went to bed. Sleeping through July morning, we got up at o7oo hours and woke up Lyoshtern. He was very pleased to see our mugs early in the morning and announced his pleasure with a variety of profanities (8) none of which were new to us. We took the bus to Plovdiv.
On the Central Station, we bought 4.5 litres of water (we should have bought more) and took a city bus to Bus Station North. There, we had a simple barbarian meal with some more sausages and bread under the astonished looks of some walking dead, er.. I mean senior citizens. Then we took a bus to Graf Ignatievo, which lies several kilometers north from Plovdiv. At half past nine we were in front of the main entrance to the air force base, under the searing sun, swearing (9) quietly at the guards who had a shade. At eleven o'clock we were allowed to enter after a none-too-strenuous luggage check. I mean, I was carrying a knife and a rubber hose in my backpack. Those were two concealed weapons, not that I had taken any trouble to actually conceal them. On the other hand, it seems a little difficult to sabotage an aircraft with less than a metre of rubber hose, but what do I know about military airplanes? Anyway, walking briskly in front of the huge crowd coming tight on our heels, we jumped around like children in a candy shop and started taking copious amounts of pictures.
A MiG-21 and a MiG-29: Fullcrum were open to the public and everyone could sit in the cockpit and feel like a real pilot. An awesome fighter-interceptor, that MiG-29. The Thunderbirds operated F-16: Viper, the Fullcrum's archnemesis. Sadly, we could not witness a direct competition between the two fighters, but the show was spectacular nevertheless. We took autographs from some of the pilots and the mechanics and even managed to hug a USAF officer without causing an international incident. Go us!
The show was opened at 1300 hours with a demonstration parachute jump performed by Bulgarian commandos. I shall skip the comments about beauty, functionality, mass jumps and rapid landing strikes from supersmall altitudes. One hour later, six of the eight Vipers started rolling towards the runway. The howling sounds from the air intakes were deafening. And then they arranged themselves on the runway. And then the engines roared. And then they were in the air.
The following sixty minutes cannot be described. A massive one-hour spiritual orgasm, filled to the brim with the beauty of those beasts, the prowess of their pilots and the grace of the maneuvers. Chasing themselves through the skies with supersonic speeds, standing still in the air only on the exhaust jet stream, flying in a tight formation, passing by each other with mere metres between the hulls, flying on their backs, those guys and gals rocked our world like an earthquake.
Well, not everything was sugar and spice. One of the fighters had a collision with a bird and had to land. The pilot then resumed the show on one of the spare planes. On the way back to Plovdiv... this looked like a nice torture. We have been standing under the sun for seven hours. Our necks and forearms were red and itchy. We have drunk more than six litres of water, without going to the bathroom even a single time. The next train for Plovdiv was not due for more than an hour. The busses were filled to the brim. A fifteen-kilometres long traffic jam blocked the way. Every single one of the 10 000 visitors wanted to get home as soon as possible. Public transport not being an option anymore, we decided to hitch-hike. Against the modest fee of one bottle of ice-cold water, the driver of a nice big air conditioned Subaru jeep agreed to take us to Plovdiv. There, we met with Arwen Undomiel. No, we were not delirious, it was a friend of ours with that nickname. We drank some more beer... God bless the Akkadians... or was it the Sumerians... whatever, God bless both of them for inventing beer. After that we took the train to Sofia and spent the next two and a half hours laughing, giggling and roaring (and of course, eating with our innate barbarian grace and manners, i.e. crumbs flying everywhere, panic-stricken mothers screaming for mercy... you know, the usual stuff).
And so, tired, sweaty, burned, dirty and stinky (I told you we were barbarians) we got off the train and on our respective chariots, I mean cars, towards a rest well-deserved. The End.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Chaos theory applications
Yesterday, I and my roommate went shopping to restock our dwindling supplies of nutrition. We were supposed to go to a supermarket with student-friendly, i.e. *very* low prizes and then look for an Arabic store so that we might purchase some more... exotic items, not very common in traditional Swedish cuisine.
Prior to our departure, I consulted my preferred weather forecast service - the window. It was cloudy, with a slight cold northwest wind, looking ready to pour down heavy amounts of rain any minute. Heeding the advice of my inner voice, I searched for my umbrella. I found it in the wardrobe, successfully playing the role of a sleeping bat. Luckily for me, it had not developed any life-threatening traits apart from the substantial layer of dust lying on the handle. I disentangled it from the pile of coat hangers and put it into my backpack. After giving in to my scroogy side, I provided it with company - two plastic bags, so that I would not have to pay extra for those in the store, should the need arise.
We were all set to go and ventured bravely towards the unknown stores of Uppsala. We managed to do a lot of window-shopping and a fairly good amount of actual shopping. We had been strolling around the streets for more than two hours when we finally got home. And in that time, not a single droplet of rain managed to land on our bodies. Not that we were using the umbrella, mind you. The ex-bat was now re-enlisted in the mimicry division, this time as a cat, purring quietly in my backpack. There was simply no rain at all. And I was certain that had I not taken the make-shift parachute, we would have been soaked after the first ten minutes of our journey.
This obvious application of the Murphy’s Law made me think. What if rain was not caused by wind patterns, air mass migrations, temperature shifting and all the complex climate machinery meteorologists try to sell to us as an excuse for not doing any actual work? What if it was simply the Chaos theory combined with quantum mechanics that was the real deal? Imagine that there is a city somewhere with a certain known population. Let us say that one half of those people have used their windows in the way I did. The quantum theory says that an object could be in one of several different states simultaneously and only the act of observation determined which state was the currently correct one... for this particular universe. This means that those people that looked through the window are the ones that actually influence the weather. The rest are simply victims.
Let us say that it was the same cloudy day in that town as it was yesterday here in Uppsala. There is a certain probability that it would rain. The actual rainfall, however, manifests itself according to Murphy's Law. In other words, if more than half of the people that looked through the window had not taken their umbrellas, raincoats or whatever waterproof device they would prefer, it would rain. It is as simple as that. The combined observation and resulting decision of a certain amount of people would generate enough influence waves in the fabric of space-time that it would shift the weather balance towards rain or no-rain. Presently, I am not sure how this can be applied in more serious weather effects such as tsunamis or hurricanes, but I am positive they are observed by a very large number of people, so that decisions and consequences thereof have much greater impact, thus resulting in much greater damage.
In conclusion, if it looks as rain, use your umbrella wisely. Sometimes rain is needed.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
What being a King feels like
It was another night at work. This time, I was a waiter at a private party. Several days earlier, when my boss was recruiting me for this particular event, he said that the guests had requested that only female personnel should serve them. However, since there were not enough waitresses available on that particular evening, I had to fill in as a honourabale woman. No, no surgery was necessary, thank you.
When I arrived at the crime scene... I mean, the nation, I cast a quick glance at the quest list. Then another, this time slower. At the third peering into the sheet I managed to discern two female names. The other ninety-four were all men. Some kind of a men choir having a reunion. Poor souls, they were so desperate for female attention that they have specifically requested "No boys allowed!" Well, guess who was going to shatter their dreams. That's right, the Czech guy. I am an honourable woman, remember?
The first surprise of the evening manifested itself in that from the nearly hundred guests none were allergic to anything; there were even no vegetarians around. I wonder if this is somehow connected to the singing or to their thirst (look here for more details). Then, to even out my karma, I received a whole table for myself, while the others had one side of the table each. Not that I was complaining though. Having worked as a waiter at
The dinner was going smoothly as it gets, hors d'oeuvres out, red wine in, main course in, more red wine in, main course out, dessert... ah, you get the idea. Well, some of the guys were still hungry after the dinner due to the modest-sized portions but I think they got the rest in fluid form. To make it even nicer, the guests were singing. Not the usual Swedish out-of-tune, table-banging singing, mind you. Those fellows were professionals. Beautiful four-voiced canons, Gregorian chants, even the posh drinking songs sounded as if they were sung under the spires of the Uppsala Cathedral, not in our nation. It was amazing.
In the end, the guests sang for the staff. We went into the dining hall in a straight line and bravely faced them. First it was a thank-you song, then the national anthem of
Monday, May 14, 2007
Bartender stories
It has been raining the whole morning and I am getting sick of rearranging the paragraphs in my degree project... might just as well write something.
Last Friday night I was managing the pub at the place (ok, one of the places) I work. The music was nice (I was choosing it), the orders were going smooth... until THEY came. Among students in
Back to our story. It was around 11 o'clock when a jolly laughing gang endeavouring such a holy quest as conquering all the pubs in
"What are you, a fucking Russian?", she asked me? Well, I certainly have not had intercourse with anyone from that country, so I regretfully admitted that this was not the case. Then she apparently thought I was deaf or blind or suffering from a short term memory loss, because she started speaking from a distance of half a centimetre from my nose. Now, I am a tall guy so she had to stretch up really good, which made me snicker despite my futile efforts to keep a stern face. Seeing this she showed me the finger (I managed to restrain myself from grabbing that finger and breaking it, now that would have been foolish), and left the pub to everybody's relief. Later, one of the waitresses reported having seen her urinating on the outer wall of the pub, thus exacting her revenge. Sadly, it was utterly pointless in the light of the huge amount of water coming down from the sky two days later. I cannot think of any moral for this story, but rumours about this encounter spread fast in the nation and everybody was equally amused and appalled. Except the real Russian, he was laughing his heart out.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Excuses
It's official - I am lazy. It has been almost three months since I last posted anything in here. I could mention a lot of reasons: my stay in
Then there was my trip back to
Here is the place to mention that I was not traveling alone. Ok, literally speaking, I was the only passenger on these flights I was inclined to care for. However, a person very close to my heart was constantly in my thoughts. She had taken an earlier flight, same destination, different carrier. We had an appointment that she would wait for me at Arlanda, the
And there I was, several thousand kilometers above
Turbulence. I have experienced a lot of those, the airplane getting shaky, the wings vibrating like those of a dragon fly, and the flight acquiring the overall sensation of driving along an old village road without any pavement. This one was worse. Remembering the scary stories passed around in waiting lounges, I tightened my safety belt so that a sudden drop would not send my head smashing against the luggage compartment, leaving me with the mild inconvenience of a broken neck. The strategy was working... at least until I felt the call of nature. Waiting for the plane to settle down somewhat, I managed to fight it for a while. Then I squeezed into the tiny coffin having the dubious honour of carrying the name "WC". As soon as I did that I noticed two dimensional problems. First, my head was 20 cm higher than the ceiling, and second, my shoulders could barely fit inside. Were those planes planned by dwarves or by gnomes, I will not stop wondering. Exhaling and lodging myself inside did the trick.
Long story short, I managed to land in
And here we come to my third excuse of being tardy: I have moved out. I am living on my own now, which is actually heaps of fun but not that much blogging. But I am happy as a bug in a rug, and with this I leave you until next time. Not in three months, definitely.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)