"President's Day isn't an official holiday", Dr. Zivago said. You're absolutely right, Dr. Ziv, and I'm sure the lab meeting was packed and productive [/sarcasm].

So, this week was a return to lab shennanigans over at Discordia, in the infernal snorkel menagerie of Mt. University.

As for the latest in the lab, we've got two projects right now that are pretty damn near getting the green light:

{Warning: If you are a member of PETA or do not condone scientific animal testing, please read this entry, skip down to the next section, grab a beer, or some variation of those}

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1)

We previously found that if you shock a rat's tail for 2 hours, it does impeccably BAD on an 'escape' task that requires it to move from one side of a cage to the other side, then back again. This is called the Learned Helplessness Effect. This sort of rat might think to himself:

"I'm getting the fuck shocked out of me! I can't do anything to stop this. Screw it, I'm just gonna shut down and wait this bitch out. Oh look, I'm getting the fuck shocked out of me again--in this weird new 'escape' box. I PROBABLY STILL can't do anything to stop this. Screw it, I'm just gonna shut down..."

If train rats to like the test of a small sugar we naturally produce called Glucose, though, they do just as good as rats who didn't get shocked. This sort of rat might think:

"I'm getting the fuck shocked out of me! Gah, that sucked. Wait, there's this Powerade Ginko Energy drink shit in my water bottle! Hey, I feel better. Wait, you're shocking me again in this 'escape' task? Oh screw you, I'm turning this crap off as soon as possible."

Let's just say we can't do this experiment right now because we're missing some parts we could easily make again. Dr. Ziv wants the originals, though, since he'd have to pay money for the replacements.

Hey...it ain't my lab.

2)

The immune system seems to contribute to the onset of post-traumatic stress disorder and Depression.

This project is even more reasonable to carry out than the last one. Dr. Ziv doesn't want to order the drugs just yet, though, since they don't "keep well". He could be right about this, but then again he's been so wrong about so many other things.

But hey...it ain't my lab.

I also got my first soldering iron burn today on the tip of my right ring finger. I was trying to install some new resistors and capacitors for Dr. Ziv. I hadn't a good goddamn clue about the specific steps, but I was making decent progress (it seemed). Eventually he just did it himself in 5 minutes. There was a time that that would have ruined my whole day, him taking over something that he'd told me to do. Now, I couldn't care less.

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And in the wide world of social stuff, headlines!

Yup, we all knew Muriel was going to die soon. She'd been getting slightly better for awhile, but she occasionally had trouble digesting her food. She passed quietly, it was said, at sleep and into the night.

And so who comes a-courting but them favorite relatives o' Scott's, the ones that come when money, death, or marriage are in the air.

Yes, it's Jack Daniels and his wife Jenny Bean, or as I like to call them: Mr. and Mrs. Happy Hour. Besides the original Jack Daniels link, you can read about these well-to-do cesspools being annoying houseguests (under "tuesday thru thursday"), or their Christmas visit.

I won't lie to you: I despise people who have money served to them on a platter and don't appreciate it..or are too stupid to hold on to it. There is no redeeming quality to either of these talking caricatures. Maybe I could convince them I was doing reconaissance on Scott and get a big fat check. Scott's own son did that, after all. He's since switched to our side of the table. Good thing, too: the Trust lawyer for Scott's father's estate, most of his assistants, the issuing bank manager, and a independently-contracted private investigator are on our side...well, Scott and Mom's side. I just live here rent-free and get Cable modem access.

So, they've decided to drive all the way from Colorado to meet with the funeral minister, kibitz with Scott, and generally make themselves a nuissance. If you've ever had to deal with rich white people who live in a Muffy and Buffy universe, you might understand what socializing with these two is like.

Although, since I'm not really sick anymore, I can just leave the house and go on photography trips when they show up. I'm also not expected to attend the funeral service, being that I'm not family or anything--which'll cut down on Mr. and Mrs. Happy Hour fun time.

I wonder if they'll bring along any of their spawn. This bit requires some explanation, though. See, the current Mrs. Happy Hour is the second wife to The-Boy-Who-Would-Be-A-Pushover. He first had several daughters by his first wife. These girls are cool. I've met them in person. However, the current Mrs. Happy Hour also has a child from her previous marriage, named Gwendelyn. From what I hear, she's gother-than-thou, with a silver spoon and a dozen piercings in her mouth. You'd have to have see Mrs. Happy Hour to have my fascination for what this devil child looks like.

They may all show up at the house regularly. They might not. I've been given official notice NOT to be civil with the Happy Hours, though..which could be fun. Apparently I unnerve the "absolute fuck out of them".

Good to know White Middle America and I are still on such peachy terms.

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Oh, and Mom was being bitchy again tonight because of the Happy Hours and trying to get her 2003 tax stuff for me. Hey, she claimed me as a dependent, so I gotta have it for to get some more federal money.

After all, living off of 15k in Madison, Wisconsin can be done, but let's be realistic: I need booze and whore money...ok, and rent too.

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Anyway, Scott's been a major asshole today according to Ma, and she's getting sick of the verbal crap he's slung. I'm taking her out to El Torito so I can eat and she can have soup. Y'know, have her get away from the house for awhile, maybe take her for a drive.

My best wishes to each and all of you. Happy Middle of the Week.

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