8.30.2007

Caffeine Vs. Eyelids

Who would have know that it mattered so much whether you put the NED reagent in before the sulfanilimide? Maybe if I bothered to find out what NED is other than, uh, "Ned" I might have realized that if I put it in first it would mean three additional hours in the chem lab.

Yesterday was nutrient day. It's a very cruel follow-up to Tuesday, which was sampling day. Oh sampling day! now only joyous carefree moments of my past. What could be better than spending a hot day outside in rubber pants? Despite the sweat, rampant poion ivy, creek scuz and mysterious orange ooze, saying "Hi" to Casper's 21 sample sites (ie filling 105 bottles with water) is actually something I love to do. The amazing highlight of sample day was the discovery of tomato plants miraculously growing out of the rip-rap behind K-mart. That particular site is by the side of a US route and between K-Mart, Blockbuster and a Valvoline station. Casper is completely channelized and most people--even those who live in the residential areas much further downstream--think of it as a drainage ditch rather than a creek. But there they were, aided I'm sure by the runoff-induced high levels of nitrogen and phosphate in the creek, a cherry tomato and your classic Big Boy. I can't wait to digest the one I brought home in acid and run it through our ICP to check out if it did any heavy metal uptake!

Anyway, as for the cruel follow-up. Classes at this "Highly Selective Co-Educational Small Liberal Arts College," which has been so kind as to provide to me full-time employment hanging out with Casper, begin today. Significance? I have lost all of my summer research students. And all of my jolly professor helpers have lost their spare time. Sad Face. We have to run the nutrient analysis within 48 hours lest some stray organic material break down and deplete our numbers. Thusly, I was stuck with the job of four people in one day. Add that to the whole screw-up with Ned and you get 12.5 hours in the lab. Hello biking home at 10:45.

Oh, but wait, first I had to beg security to let me into my office. (The HSCESLAC claims to care about the enviroment, but my research labs are in three different buildings none of which are the same building as my office). This request was met with an incredulous look and "Are you a STUDENT?" "No," I replied, "I am approximately three months older than students, but I am actually an employee." I'm pretty sure the security guard is still debating whether or not I was actually just trying to steal my bike out of the office. And here I thought I was going the legit route by not just climbing in the window.

End of the story: had a breakfast date with an old friend at 7am. Am tired.

8.27.2007

The Skirt Thing Again

This weekend provided for many delightful experiences, including a visit from my parents. As a Recent College Graduate co habiting with my darlin' in our very own apartment w/ guest bed, I am right on the cusp between the life stages when your parents could not possibly stay with you when they come to visit and when it would be pretty douchey to ask them to stay somewhere else. Thankfully UP (Upstairs Housemate) and DHM (Downstairs Housemate... not "deep hidden meaning," though she has plenty) were into hosting the parents and so in came their traditionally excessive luggage. I hope that I continue to be young and poor enough so that the gift of a free meal out providing two additional meals worth of leftovers will be a feature of these visits for years to come.

As is often known to occur, the visit did allow for several wardrobe comments from the Mother.

Offhandedly: "or you could wear a skirt once in a while." "I really think it's men who lose out in fashion, they're just so comfortable." "If you're making these decisions for comfort, fine. If you Really think boxers are more comfortable.." And etc.

They usually take the form of awkward joking or unnecessary vocal support for feminine attire. Sigh. This manlywoman genderblender is a little sad. I should take this opportunity to point out that I have been overwhelmingly lucky throught the whole "Mommy, Daddy, I'm A Homoqueerlesbidyke" process. Never was it suggested that I was lesser in their eyes, never did I fear losing their love. And they have graciously made a substantial journey in knowledge accumulation.

Mom and I got a chance to talk about the whole thing.

Me: So, the skirts and boxers comments are you just teasing me or a little bit serious.
PAUSE
PAUSE
*Appearance of vaguely frustrated expression on her face*
Mom: Oh, I guess a little bit serious.

She went on to admit a "secret" fear that I'd someday want to become a man. The ol' slippery slope theory. And so what to say? My immediate sense was to assuage her fears, because, well, I wouldn't identify as "trans," nor do I expect to. And while I'd say I definitely identify with the idea of "genderqueer" and seriously value non-binary gender roles and presentation, I don't not identify as "woman." But how to tell her this without making it OK for her to ignore her own transphobia?

What I can say is "No, mommy, I don't want to be a man."

(Left Image is from Kate Bornstein's Gender Workbook, if anyone ever reads this I suppose I'll have to get rid of it)

She used the word "devestating" to describe what it would be like for her if I did want to transform my gender. And then handed out the typical of her generation-even for lesbians-sense that not wanting to be "woman" is a betrayal of feminism.

I had an inner panic, but I shouldn't worry so much, because she actually does get it, when I take the time to talk these things through. Trans identity and trans politics are complicated, vast and not unified and there are certainly trans views that I don't understand or agree with. But me wearing men's clothing, donning short hair, and not freaking out when people call me sir are reflective of a desire to expand what it can mean to be woman-bodied. It's co-opt not adopt. I'm honoring, and building on this feminist tradition that she tried to steep me in as a child. Transgressing woman is not being man, gender is not binary, breath in, breath out. But, if I did need to transition, she would have to learn to be OK with it. Devestated parents is devestating for their kids, I've got enough trans buddies who can attest to that one.

It was one of those hard-but-good conversations we tend to have. The ones that always leave me wishing I'd been more articulate and a little worried about how these ideas would get repeated. Of course maybe the whole teasing thing was really just because I forced her and Daddio to sort bugs with me for a few hours on Friday. "This totally microscopic white thready thing isn't one of them, right? OH, really?"

8.22.2007

Bugs in my Sleep

I have been having trouble sleeping. This is primarily because whenever I close my eyes I see tiny little bugs behind my eyelids. Mostly I see caddisfly larvae:

And midge larvae, which pretty much look the same but with orange heads and fewer legs.

This is because I have spent all day, every day, for about a week and a half with my face about two inches from a petri dish of bug-and-creek-sludge surprise.

It is actually a pretty cool technique, I suppose. We collect bags full of the bottom sediments in the creek then drown whatever might be living there in ethanol and take em home. After that, GW here gets to sit around in a borrowed lab and sort the little critters (or Benthic Macro Invertebrates, or "BMIs" as those in the know call them or "BMIzz" as those cool kids in the know like to call the) from the sludge, count them, pull out 100 at random, ID them and tabulate. Repeat. Forty times. Start to finish it takes at least a day per bag.

It is about the best way to assess the "health" of the stream, I mean, the little critters do live there. And since we know which ones are more sensitive to bad water conditions, like Stone Flies, and which aren't, like leeches, we can get a sense of the creek's health and biodiversity.

I'm about ready to say screw Casper (this is the creek, the Casperkill or Casper's Creek) and its unhealthy water. At first I thought I just had to put up with the vague intoxication of inhaling ethanol all day long, but then visions began. Sleep used to be so pleasant and now I shudder to close my eyes. I'm going to get in trouble with my darlin' too if I keep trying to kiss her with my eyes open. YOU try to get romantic with visions of clumped larvae floating in front of you.

Of course, maybe I'm just having trouble sleeping because I've developed a nasty cough. Is it the ethanol? I mean, really, who gets a "cough?" An English professor friend of mine pointed out that women in Victorian novels are often prone to getting coughs. Of course, that usually means it's close to the end.

8.19.2007

Lumpy

Let's discuss, shall we? Med school applications are mad un-fun. Here I am within reach of completion and I can not focus.

If you're not savvy, the process goes like this:
1. Starting early June you can submit a common-app type first round called AMCAS
2. Then you wait for all the millions of schools (13 for me, though that's lower than average) you applied to to send you secondary applications. These have ranged from Mayo's "send us $85 bucks then we'll talk" to UMN Duluth's 15 odd essay question behemoth of an application.
3. Then you make sure you got all the random pieces in an spend the next eight months hoping someone will interview you and let you in.

It is honestly hard to say if that whole making the world a better place/saving lives thing is worth all this, not to mention the $2000 it's costing just to apply. Not to mention that, oh, you know, med school is supposed to be hard and the er $90,000 odd dollars worth of debt most kids peace out with.

In any case, the essay I'm not writing today, and indeed haven't been writing for a couple of weeks, is Brown's charming "what is your best attribute?" question. Despite my absurdly high self-esteem, I do feel somewhat douchey trying to answer this question. Not to mention the amount of work it's taking to appease my desire to be clever about the whole thing.

Resources

I'll put links and stuff in here

Contact

To contact me in a non-public forum, email so says green weaver at gmail dot com.

If I figure out how to get a lil contact form in here, I will do it, just to save you from having to open your email software.

About Green Weaver

Green Weaver is written by a dykey, crunchy, almost med student. My background is in environmental studies and I try to keep that eye on the world. My other eye usually has some kind of gender-related lens on it. And from there we head off to medical school. I'm an optimistic kind of kid and looking forward to a world where love beats fear.

Yes, it's an ER reference. Stop laughing.

8.09.2007

A bunch of little rocks!

High Five, make that ten, goes out to Senator Gravel for his darling grandfather+I heart the gays performance in the LOGO channel's presidential candidate debate/chit chat about LGBT issues. Turns out that his name is not pronounced the same way as the pervious road surface. Gravelle. Ah.

And thus begins my welcome post to blog world. I have graduated from cushy lj world and into this here place o' bloggin.
The Upstairs Housemate (UP) was tiredface, so we didn't see everyone. I am sad to have missed Hillary. Really just for this reason. Ok, not really. (My main problem with that video, take it or leave it, is that she keeps talking about seeing "Hill on Capitol Hill." She's a senator oh hott4hill slice, the womyn works on Capitol Hill) I have to admit that I haven't gotten my heart set on a primary candidate yet. I'm in the pros-and-cons with all of them phase. I did really like how the debate highlighted the intersection of LGBT issues and healthcare issues, which are really just access issues.

But Gravel! What a fabulous dude. Even Kuchinich responded to the "Are Obama, Clinton and Edwards tools on gay issues?" question with, "Er, I support gay marriage." Mr. Badass Iheartthgays Grandad Gravel quite plainly called them tools, or actually just "not leaders." Edwards sounded like he had just learned about gay people yesterday at his charming visit to the "Gay and Lesbian Center" in LA. Note the conspicuous BTQ absence.