This all stems from flash drives being forbidden on Military computers, and Epi-Info being unavailable for Mac.
I have been plagued with silly technology-related inconveniences, and at the end of the weekend have achieved very little.
When my Mac Operating System Disk shows up right after I spend $69 on a replacement, that will be the crowning moment of this whole experience.
On the upside, we have upgraded our dining set to one that fits the space better, and has a built in wine cabinet under the table. Then the furniture delivery people got our number wrong.
Nyargh indeed.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Sometime in June
I am back from my trip. This time last week I was in a jet-lagged haze, falling asleep in the car while Matt fetched Persian food. I landed at about 10.30pm Saturday, so with taxi-ing, finding my bags, and Matt realizing I was flying Delta, not United (so he was at the wrong terminal), it was Midnight before we were home. I should note that Matt's trip to the wrong terminal did not cause delay, my bags were at the bottom of the heap this time, I got the second one and looked up to see him walking towards me.
Now, a week later, I have not quite finished unpacking, but I have started the class that will walk me through the first stages of writing my thesis, spent an hour drilling with zils (finger cymbols) in Bonnie's ATS Belly Dance class, begun an internship at Navy Health Research Center (met lots of people, spent a whole day doing online safety training), and... Given notice at the lab at UCSD.
The last was in the plans only since the week before I went on holiday. Once I lined up the internship and had found they were happy to take me for the summer, but would be even happier to take me full time in the summer and continuing part time after classes restarted it was sort of a no-brainer. I have been concerned that my job prospects after graduation might suffer from only having the required 180 hours of field work, when many fellow MPH students are currently working in public health. I will miss the lab, the group I've been working with is a nice lot, smart and competent, and we have a lot of fun. I hope that I won't be losing touch, I feel like I'm going to be leaving with a bunch of good friends.
Now, a week later, I have not quite finished unpacking, but I have started the class that will walk me through the first stages of writing my thesis, spent an hour drilling with zils (finger cymbols) in Bonnie's ATS Belly Dance class, begun an internship at Navy Health Research Center (met lots of people, spent a whole day doing online safety training), and... Given notice at the lab at UCSD.
The last was in the plans only since the week before I went on holiday. Once I lined up the internship and had found they were happy to take me for the summer, but would be even happier to take me full time in the summer and continuing part time after classes restarted it was sort of a no-brainer. I have been concerned that my job prospects after graduation might suffer from only having the required 180 hours of field work, when many fellow MPH students are currently working in public health. I will miss the lab, the group I've been working with is a nice lot, smart and competent, and we have a lot of fun. I hope that I won't be losing touch, I feel like I'm going to be leaving with a bunch of good friends.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Approaching halfway (update from the academic front)
Exam on Wednesday went well (I think), HIV presentation is mostly written, complete with accompanying blog, poster... and a team mate is going to get pens made (the project is an HIV prevention strategy targeting drug users in Thailand). Have barely looked at stats final, but after Wednesday's two presentations I will be done done done with two of my four classes for this semester. Then I've got a week and a half to do the statistics and study for the methods exams on the 18th.
THEN, we get to go to War at Potrero. An event involving camping out with friends, wearing garb of any period from 8th c. to 16th c. and lots of beer.
THEN, we get to go to War at Potrero. An event involving camping out with friends, wearing garb of any period from 8th c. to 16th c. and lots of beer.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Look for me sometime in June
I backed into a car in the parking lot yesterday. In Matt's car. Yay. Granted, the other car was following RIGHT UP CLOSE behind me, invisible to all mirrors, I'm just hoping our insurance rates don't go up too much.
Exam this afternoon. Two presentations a week from today (one written, one...not), a four-page take home statistics final due in two weeks, and a tricksy methodology exam happening in two weeks. Plus preparing tables on thesis data for Pharmacy residents, lining up field work for the summer, working my job, and I think I'm supposed to locate a thesis committee by the end of the month.
Send reinforcements. Preferably with coffee and nutritious brain foods. I have plenty chocolate already.
Exam this afternoon. Two presentations a week from today (one written, one...not), a four-page take home statistics final due in two weeks, and a tricksy methodology exam happening in two weeks. Plus preparing tables on thesis data for Pharmacy residents, lining up field work for the summer, working my job, and I think I'm supposed to locate a thesis committee by the end of the month.
Send reinforcements. Preferably with coffee and nutritious brain foods. I have plenty chocolate already.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Isabelle's interview
1.You’re the product of a British (English?) father and an American mother, you were brought up in Scotland, you now live in America and your husband is American. What nationality do you feel and how do you feel about this?
My father is indeed English, a Devonshire Dumpling to be more precise. He grew up in Exeter, attended Cambridge, the first in his family to attend University, and had a banking job lined up back home when he decided he'd like to travel and wrote to the dean of UCLA asking for a job. Improbably, he got a position teaching German 1 and took off for Los Angeles in the summer of 1963... Where, in the front row, he found my mother. The first he heard of my mother was when my grandmother called him to say she (My Mum) was out having surgery, and would miss the first few classes, but please don't bump her from the class, and could she get extra help to catch up? My mother was very pleased that the professor she needed some extra coaching from was such a talldarkandhandsome dashing young Englishman.
My mother is American, Californian to be specific, her parents were both born in Detroit, Michigan, and came to California as Children in the 1920's, part of one of many "Gold Rush" Westward migrations. She grew up in Los Angeles, with a circus performer across the street, movie hopefuls in her high school classes, and used to skip Sunday School with her sister to drive around critiquing architectural styles of various neighborhoods. She was also a first generation university student, though she worked in a bank for a while before starting college. Good thing, otherwise she would have taken care of her foreign language requirement long before my father arrived to teach it.
They married after a four month courtship (officially begun after German 1 was over), and moved to London, where my Dad enrolled in a Linguistics PhD program at University College. My mother had only ever been as far as Rosarito, Mexico and she moved to London in 1964, where rental apartments were unheated, and most lacked refrigerators. Her winter coat was an unlined cotton duster. Yikes!
Before I came along, they lived back in California for a while, where my sister was born, then moved to Lancaster (the one in the North of England) to be closer to my Dad's parents. The same week my father got a professorship at Edinburgh University, my mother found out she was expecting me. They moved four month before I was born, they still live in the house they first brought me home to.
So, the point of the question is, what do I call myself? My first answer is "British, but my Mum's from LA", or "I'm from Scotland, but I'm a dual citizen". I am Scottish, but not as Scottish as, for example, K, or Dr G, Shauna's husband. I grew up hearing bagpipes played on street corners, visiting castles on school trips, hearing kids referred to as "weins", celebrating Burns' Night and Hogmanay, being called "The Yank" or "English" (and a few other non-nationality related things) by my classmates. When I went to uni in London, my (mostly English) fellow students thought I was Scottish or American, and when I did an exchange year in San Diego, people thought I was "British or something". I found that I felt more comfortable outside of Scotland, where I was at least more Scottish than the people I was meeting. Here, and in London, I was the token Scot, and it felt very good to have that side of me recognized.
Now, of course, I realize it's not a great idea to define yourself by what others call you, but if others' views of your identity don't mesh with your own it gets very frustrating. I'm sad that my family background contributed to me being cast as an outsider in school, but I know that wasn't the sole reason, I was also a smartarse bookworm. However, I feel that this experience gave me early insight into prejudice and xenophobia, a word I learned at about age four, when my father was explaining why some people thought it was so important that I was not exactly like them. I feel that my wedding (to my Scottish-heritage kilt-wearing Pennsylvanian husband), which was in San Diego, but featured kilted SoCal groomsmen with cowboy belt buckles, and thistles mixed in with the flowers, was a great expression of my cultural influences. I want to live in Scotland again, I don't know how it will feel, I figure that having lived in the US for 10 years will explain my perceived American-ness, and I'm pretty sure I won't care so much what people think I am, I think that is partly why I want a chance to live there again. There is a lot that I miss, that I feel I did not appreciate while there, but it is also pretty hard to knock being the token Scot in sunny San Diego.
My father is indeed English, a Devonshire Dumpling to be more precise. He grew up in Exeter, attended Cambridge, the first in his family to attend University, and had a banking job lined up back home when he decided he'd like to travel and wrote to the dean of UCLA asking for a job. Improbably, he got a position teaching German 1 and took off for Los Angeles in the summer of 1963... Where, in the front row, he found my mother. The first he heard of my mother was when my grandmother called him to say she (My Mum) was out having surgery, and would miss the first few classes, but please don't bump her from the class, and could she get extra help to catch up? My mother was very pleased that the professor she needed some extra coaching from was such a talldarkandhandsome dashing young Englishman.
My mother is American, Californian to be specific, her parents were both born in Detroit, Michigan, and came to California as Children in the 1920's, part of one of many "Gold Rush" Westward migrations. She grew up in Los Angeles, with a circus performer across the street, movie hopefuls in her high school classes, and used to skip Sunday School with her sister to drive around critiquing architectural styles of various neighborhoods. She was also a first generation university student, though she worked in a bank for a while before starting college. Good thing, otherwise she would have taken care of her foreign language requirement long before my father arrived to teach it.
They married after a four month courtship (officially begun after German 1 was over), and moved to London, where my Dad enrolled in a Linguistics PhD program at University College. My mother had only ever been as far as Rosarito, Mexico and she moved to London in 1964, where rental apartments were unheated, and most lacked refrigerators. Her winter coat was an unlined cotton duster. Yikes!
Before I came along, they lived back in California for a while, where my sister was born, then moved to Lancaster (the one in the North of England) to be closer to my Dad's parents. The same week my father got a professorship at Edinburgh University, my mother found out she was expecting me. They moved four month before I was born, they still live in the house they first brought me home to.
So, the point of the question is, what do I call myself? My first answer is "British, but my Mum's from LA", or "I'm from Scotland, but I'm a dual citizen". I am Scottish, but not as Scottish as, for example, K, or Dr G, Shauna's husband. I grew up hearing bagpipes played on street corners, visiting castles on school trips, hearing kids referred to as "weins", celebrating Burns' Night and Hogmanay, being called "The Yank" or "English" (and a few other non-nationality related things) by my classmates. When I went to uni in London, my (mostly English) fellow students thought I was Scottish or American, and when I did an exchange year in San Diego, people thought I was "British or something". I found that I felt more comfortable outside of Scotland, where I was at least more Scottish than the people I was meeting. Here, and in London, I was the token Scot, and it felt very good to have that side of me recognized.
Now, of course, I realize it's not a great idea to define yourself by what others call you, but if others' views of your identity don't mesh with your own it gets very frustrating. I'm sad that my family background contributed to me being cast as an outsider in school, but I know that wasn't the sole reason, I was also a smartarse bookworm. However, I feel that this experience gave me early insight into prejudice and xenophobia, a word I learned at about age four, when my father was explaining why some people thought it was so important that I was not exactly like them. I feel that my wedding (to my Scottish-heritage kilt-wearing Pennsylvanian husband), which was in San Diego, but featured kilted SoCal groomsmen with cowboy belt buckles, and thistles mixed in with the flowers, was a great expression of my cultural influences. I want to live in Scotland again, I don't know how it will feel, I figure that having lived in the US for 10 years will explain my perceived American-ness, and I'm pretty sure I won't care so much what people think I am, I think that is partly why I want a chance to live there again. There is a lot that I miss, that I feel I did not appreciate while there, but it is also pretty hard to knock being the token Scot in sunny San Diego.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Speaking up
Someone on Ravelry has an icon with a picture of David Bowie in Labyrinth... and a joke about rape. I am not usually a letter-of-complaint type, but this is just ridiculous. So I am sending this email to the owner of the icon:
"You may not realize it, but any kind of rape joke, but especially ones involving "you know you liked it" is not cool. Ever. No way, no how. Even if they have a picture of David Bowie. Private joking as a way to process things is very different from publicly displayed comments and icons.
Please consider the high number of women who have lived through rape or sexual assault, and the effect your icon has on an unsuspecting reader having fun on Ravelry, only to be reminded of a deeply unpleasant experience, and the way it is devalued and brushed off every day. "
I'm just sick of it. Sick of random reminders that I am, merely by being a woman, at greater risk of violence, sick of these reminders coming up and slapping me in the face when I am going about my normal day. Sick of movie trailers and television shows that treat sexual violence as some sort of voyeuristic marketing tool. Sick, in particular, of the idea that it's just part of how the world works, something to be taken for granted and worked around, something I just have to learn to deal with.
So this is my awareness activism for the day. Dear fellow knitter: Knock it off with the rape jokes. XTHXBAI.
"You may not realize it, but any kind of rape joke, but especially ones involving "you know you liked it" is not cool. Ever. No way, no how. Even if they have a picture of David Bowie. Private joking as a way to process things is very different from publicly displayed comments and icons.
Please consider the high number of women who have lived through rape or sexual assault, and the effect your icon has on an unsuspecting reader having fun on Ravelry, only to be reminded of a deeply unpleasant experience, and the way it is devalued and brushed off every day. "
I'm just sick of it. Sick of random reminders that I am, merely by being a woman, at greater risk of violence, sick of these reminders coming up and slapping me in the face when I am going about my normal day. Sick of movie trailers and television shows that treat sexual violence as some sort of voyeuristic marketing tool. Sick, in particular, of the idea that it's just part of how the world works, something to be taken for granted and worked around, something I just have to learn to deal with.
So this is my awareness activism for the day. Dear fellow knitter: Knock it off with the rape jokes. XTHXBAI.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Oddly non-productive productivity
It is most inconvenient of my professors to give us so much work to do over spring break. Don't they know we're supposed to spend the entire week drunk and naked in Mexico?
Things I have done:
Finished the edging on my first sweater, and decided what to do about closures.
Knitted last of a set of felted potholders, and felted them.
Grafted second fingerless mitten - just in time for warmer weather to arrive.
Cast on slinky summer top.
Spent a couple of hours perusing knitting books in bookstore.
Purchased promising Indian recipe book for beginners.
Watched all three Back To The Future movies back-to-back.
Set up retirement account transfer, balanced checkbook, deposited birthday check.
Made cottage pie.
Caught up on sleep.
Things I have not done:
Yoga, or exercise of any kind, for a week.
Fifteen-question essay assignment on HIV/AIDS.
Outbreak analysis assignment for Epidemiological Methods class.
Multivariate Statistics assignment.
Looked up common exposure routes for formaldehyde.
Swept/hoovered the whole flat.
Knit the closures for the damn sweater.
It's almost as if I've been on holiday (apart from still working my 20 hours - the holiday is just from uni). Oh well, today I have an interview for work experience (I have to get 180 hours of field work experience as part of my degree) in the same department as my Thesis project, it would be handy if I can combine the two somehow. Then this evening I'm meeting a friend for drinks at an English pub, and tomorrow I'm working. Looks like the weekend will be chock full of university work. Ugh. At least I've given myself a weekendish break for the past 5 days.
Things I have done:
Finished the edging on my first sweater, and decided what to do about closures.
Knitted last of a set of felted potholders, and felted them.
Grafted second fingerless mitten - just in time for warmer weather to arrive.
Cast on slinky summer top.
Spent a couple of hours perusing knitting books in bookstore.
Purchased promising Indian recipe book for beginners.
Watched all three Back To The Future movies back-to-back.
Set up retirement account transfer, balanced checkbook, deposited birthday check.
Made cottage pie.
Caught up on sleep.
Things I have not done:
Yoga, or exercise of any kind, for a week.
Fifteen-question essay assignment on HIV/AIDS.
Outbreak analysis assignment for Epidemiological Methods class.
Multivariate Statistics assignment.
Looked up common exposure routes for formaldehyde.
Swept/hoovered the whole flat.
Knit the closures for the damn sweater.
It's almost as if I've been on holiday (apart from still working my 20 hours - the holiday is just from uni). Oh well, today I have an interview for work experience (I have to get 180 hours of field work experience as part of my degree) in the same department as my Thesis project, it would be handy if I can combine the two somehow. Then this evening I'm meeting a friend for drinks at an English pub, and tomorrow I'm working. Looks like the weekend will be chock full of university work. Ugh. At least I've given myself a weekendish break for the past 5 days.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Happy Meme (Part The First)
Isabelle tagged me to list six things that make me happy. I am going to go for somewhat frivolous, not deep, since the deep list would be so similar to that of everyone else ("my partner, family, friends...sunsets"). Here are my six, in no particular order.
1 - Blustery weather: not necessarily the blow your tent away with you in it stupendous winds you get in the California desert (though I kind of love them too); I'm talking about the unpredictably gusty weather that makes me regret the inability to tie my hair back. Even if it's cold and I'm a little under dressed, I find myself feeling excited and stimulated by the whoosh in my ears and the feeling of the air rushing across my skin. Scottish? Me? How did you guess. I also like rain.
2 - My cats: prompted to add this by Marble depositing herself in my lap, with one haunch obstructing the mouse pad. We got these cats as a consolation for having to move unexpectedly, Tali picked Matt out at the adoption center by marching right up to him and walking figure-eights around his legs. Matt was new to cats and had to ask me if that qualified as "a good thing". We were looking for a bonded pair, so luckily the cat that picked Matt came with an eccentric sister who stuck her entire head into a basket of toys to fish out the one she wanted form the bottom. They are both very affectionate, you don't just get a cat in your lap, you get well and truly sat upon, with purring and snuggling. Both of them will occasionally look up and want eye contact, and have been known to gently pat at my face for extra attention.
3 - Socks: I don't actually like the way goofy patterned socks look with shoes, not on my wide feet, but I love walking about in sock feet in stripy, bright coloured socks. Right now I'm wearing hot pink cotton socks I kept concealed all day under low ankle boots and jeans. I have a set of black dress socks with sparkly toe and heel caps in either hot pink, sky blue, or silver, they are my favourite, because they are unobtrusive, but when I take my shoes off at the end of the day, or at the gym, I get a little giggle out of the silly sparkly toes.
OK, it's beddy-bye time, Marble left me, but Tali has take her place, purring and kneading on the crook of my elbow. I'm in my pajamas and the pink socks have been replaced with a pair of fleece-lined men's slippers. It's not that I can't think of three more things that make me happy, it's that I don't have the time to write about why they make me happy, so I'm off to go to sleep.
1 - Blustery weather: not necessarily the blow your tent away with you in it stupendous winds you get in the California desert (though I kind of love them too); I'm talking about the unpredictably gusty weather that makes me regret the inability to tie my hair back. Even if it's cold and I'm a little under dressed, I find myself feeling excited and stimulated by the whoosh in my ears and the feeling of the air rushing across my skin. Scottish? Me? How did you guess. I also like rain.
2 - My cats: prompted to add this by Marble depositing herself in my lap, with one haunch obstructing the mouse pad. We got these cats as a consolation for having to move unexpectedly, Tali picked Matt out at the adoption center by marching right up to him and walking figure-eights around his legs. Matt was new to cats and had to ask me if that qualified as "a good thing". We were looking for a bonded pair, so luckily the cat that picked Matt came with an eccentric sister who stuck her entire head into a basket of toys to fish out the one she wanted form the bottom. They are both very affectionate, you don't just get a cat in your lap, you get well and truly sat upon, with purring and snuggling. Both of them will occasionally look up and want eye contact, and have been known to gently pat at my face for extra attention.
3 - Socks: I don't actually like the way goofy patterned socks look with shoes, not on my wide feet, but I love walking about in sock feet in stripy, bright coloured socks. Right now I'm wearing hot pink cotton socks I kept concealed all day under low ankle boots and jeans. I have a set of black dress socks with sparkly toe and heel caps in either hot pink, sky blue, or silver, they are my favourite, because they are unobtrusive, but when I take my shoes off at the end of the day, or at the gym, I get a little giggle out of the silly sparkly toes.
OK, it's beddy-bye time, Marble left me, but Tali has take her place, purring and kneading on the crook of my elbow. I'm in my pajamas and the pink socks have been replaced with a pair of fleece-lined men's slippers. It's not that I can't think of three more things that make me happy, it's that I don't have the time to write about why they make me happy, so I'm off to go to sleep.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Part Davis after all...
This is me bowing to peer pressure: wearing green on St Patrick's day.
Also please note the ruffle-butt cardigan, it makes me very happy.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Riveting History of Rosie (Now, with pictures)
I am very surprised that "Rosemary Riveter" is not already a common screen name. So I'm adopting it. "Rosemary Grace" is my first & middle names, but is not obviously a screen name. When searching for Rosemary Riveter all I found was a woman named Rosemary Corbin, who was they mayor of a town in California, and is a member of the Board of Directors of the Rosie The Riveter Historical Trust. Who knew there was such a thing? The first image here is the original Normal Rockwell painting, I think it was a Time Magazine cover during the war, accompanying a story about women working in heavy industry "male" jobs during the WWII. 
This image is more well known, a recruiting poster encouraging women to engage in "war work" in the US. I dressed up as Rosie the Riveter for Halloween a while back, and have a photo of myself in the classic pose, with the polkadot head scarf and signature red lipstick. My father insisted that I include red lipstick as part of the costume, which is unusual for a man who usually rolls his eyes when Mum and I discuss the merits of particular shades of red, or start debating exactly what to call the interesting blue/teal/slate colour of an armchair. I suppose Rosie is an icon he can relate to, my grandmother was a very strong, capable woman.
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