Caolionn O'Connell

Human Sacrifice

Human sacrifice is alive and well in Mexico.  Now instead of virgins thrown into caverns, it is my flesh that is sacrificed to the unlimited number of mosquitos.  Leaving the bug spray at home was really stupid on my part.  Really, really stupid. 

We spent today at Cozumel, snorkeling along the southern portion of the island.  All was wonderful until the guy with fish food came around.  I believe the end goal is to take pictures of the tourists surrounded by fish and sell the photos later.  But similar to my phobia of land animals, when the fish get closer than an arm's length, I freak out.  Add the component of fish feeding frenzy around me and, well, I scream like a little girl.  Thankfully, screaming like a little girl is the internationally sign for not happy, so the man with fish food left my vicinity fairly quickly.  Needless to say, no good pictures and now the new knowledge that yes, I am total coward and even fish creep me out.  In my defense, I think they are very pretty, when viewed from a comfortable distance.

Don´t drink the Water

When you tell people you are vacationing in Mexico, without fail, they will remind you not to drink the water.  In addition to the water, I was also warned to stay away from frozen mixed drinks.  Remember such things require ice, also known as frozen water.  Okay, water, ice and frozen drinks, I can remember that.  Then another person mentioned no salads and no fruit you can´t peel, because both are generally washed in the aforementioned water.  Now we are starting to get a laundry list of verboten items that is getting a little too long for someone on vacation to remember.  Then there was the tipping point.  Someone told me to brush my teeth with bottled water.  I give up, ´cause that is no way to vacation.  I brought Pepto-Bismol and I brought Imodium A.D., so pass the frozen margarita, I´m here for a little R&R - no matter what the consequences.

Asphalt Jungle

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I haven't been able to post of late. Sorry. These circumstances have also required that I spend an awful lot of time in the car commuting between Pasadena and the Hollywood area, where my family lives. This commute can last anywhere from about 25 minutes to over an hour, depending on the time of day. My conclusion: Mean people suck and L.A. seems to be full of lots mean people.

Around Stanford, when you have four cars at a four-way stop, everyone stops and waits for the other cars to go. No you go. No, no you go, I insist. No really, you got here first, you should really go. Once upon a time, this over-exuberance for car etiquette used to drive me nuts. Down in L.A., when four cars reach a four-way stop everyone wants to go first, there is no courtesy, not even an attempt at following the rules. No one says thank you and I have been cut off so often that I now drive with one hand on the horn. This wouldn't be so bad, except that my car lacks any safety features, so one accident, even a minimal one, has the potential to do real damage. Ohh, how I long for the days of up north. Waiting for drivers to make up their minds at a stop sign doesn't seem so bad now.

Being the Pollyanna that I am, I hope to change the tenor of L.A. driving. I am going to be the nice lady. I will wave thank you, I will let you in (providing you are properly using your turn signal) and I will combat evil with goodness. I will, at least, try to until the next person cuts me off than no more Ms. Nice Girl.

With all this commuting, I did reach a milestone. My car has made it past 100,000 miles, I just hope things can settle down soon, so I don't reach 200,000 before the end of the year:

Lessons

• Happiness is living next to a Bristol Farms Grocery Store. If you are not among the choice few – MOVE. Never before have you seen such delights and delectables. Every turn produces yet another mouth-savory edible you didn’t know you wanted. Should you never have the opportunity to experience the happiness that is Bristol Farms, fear not, your wallet will be the thicker for it and you will avoid the unfortunate happy pounds that are bound to come.
• Between going to office and sitting in front of a computer all day or cleaning and maintaining my home, I chose the office any day of the week. This sucks. There is dust everywhere. The dust is so pervasive; Q-tips have been used on more than one occasion. By the way, nothing says Type A quite so well as sitting on your hands and knees and dusting corners with Q-tips. Nothing. Also spending all day with chemicals is not very pleasant. I am perpetually light-headed and am now breaking out in a rash. Should I have a three-headed baby, I am totally suing the makers of Windex.
• Living without internet and basic cable is my definition of hell. I feel cut off from the world and I am really dying to know the details of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes engagement. I know I should be ashamed, but I am morbidly obsessed with the oddity of it all. Maybe living without internet and TV for a little while will cure me of my compulsions. Maybe I should read a book. Or maybe I’ll just buy bunny ears for the tube.

Old Dog's New Trick

I have discovered something that I think is really funny. My dad reads my blog everyday. I think this might only be funny if you met my dad, whose reading material is typically Financial Times and the sort (paper edition only, none of that online business). My dad’s work ethos is from the old-school. He’s the type that believes one is supposed to actually work when at the office, not piss away hours surfing the internet (sadly, this is not a genetic trait). So when I told my parents about the QD project, I just figured they would take a look and then promptly forget about it. Seemed reasonable.

When I was home working on my essay, my dad asked what I was up to and I began to explain the situation. His response, “Oh yeah, the NOVA thing.” I started going through our recent conversations and I could swear I hadn’t told him about the essay. When I looked perplexed, he laughed and said he read about it on my blog. Apparently, I haven’t been so good about keeping him informed, so he has been keeping track of me via the blog. “I have learned more about your life and your work in the last six months than in the last five years.” He says he even starts to worry now when I don’t post something; he worries about what is keeping me so busy and preoccupied. Now that I don’t live at home, such worries are kind of endearing. I guess you never really outgrow being the kid, no matter what your age.

'Cause I know you will be reading this: Hi, Daddy. Happy Father’s Day.

Home (Again.)

I feel like I left the womb of the past five years to return to the womb of my first 18. It is a little strange to be back, but not in my childhood home. I slept in my new apartment last night (Sam did a good job with his given assignment), but sleeping isn’t the correct description. Last night, I kept waking up every hour or so because it was too quiet. I am used to the train running 40 feet from where I sleep and without it, every noise I hear spooks me (especially since Sam is out of town for work and I am all alone). I think the silence will take a little getting used to.

For reference, here is a clip of the train passing by my apartment in Menlo Park, which I took before I left. This is my normal background noise level:

Download TheTrain.WAV

Now do you see the problem?

The Plan.

I have a plan. Actually, I have had a plan for a little while now, but today I let my advisor know about my plan, which now officially makes it “A Plan” not just my pipe dream with expensive, non-refundable tickets. As of today, I am exchanging the title of physicist-in-training for lazy and unemployed ex-student. For the next two months, I don’t have a care in the world, except for the occasional work-related interruption.

Here is the plan:
1) Move into new apartment. Attempt to add “feminine touches” which I am sure Sam neglected to include when he moved in earlier this week. Most likely, all interior decorating will be dictated by my mom, sitting on the couch with feet up and martini in hand.
2) Attend yet another wedding. The season is not yet finished.
3) Travel to Mexico for a week. Hope to evade Montezuma’s revenge and attain golden brown tan (equivalent joy would be avoiding looking like a lobster).
4) Work on thesis re-writes for two days. And by “work” I really mean look at it, then ignore.
5) Travel to Asia for one month. Eat blowfish and other foods that make me squeamish. Visit ancient ruins. Try and stick to locations where tour buses don’t venture.
6) My brother visits L.A. for one week. Have still more fun, but this time without blowfish (I’m afraid tour buses are unavoidable in L.A. and any building older than 1950 is considered ancient).
7) Return to SLAC at the end of August to garner appropriate signatures for legitimate doctoral-hood and write a paper for publication.
8) September 1st: Enter real world with employment as post-doc for Caltech. Desperately hoping I don’t embarrass myself, but rather become a useful member of the physics community.

I realize that this is a physics blog. But, well, there are a couple problems with that. First, I never really talk about physics, per se, mostly whining about thesis, which I think is fairly universal in and outside science. Note to self: should include more physics in physics blog. Second, I won’t even be in the physics world for the next couple months. Instead of my thesis, I will now be whining about lost luggage and my inability to communicate in foreign languages. Not very “World Year in Physics,” is it? But this is probably the only time in my life I can travel without responsibilities or concerns (apart from malaria), so deal. This is the plan and I am sticking to it.

Abandon all hope.

My mom flew in this morning to help me move. The moment she walked into my apartment, she proceeded to wonder aloud how I could possibly live like this. I tried to prep her that I have been a bit preoccupied of late, that it was understandable, even reasonable, that my apartment should look like an explosion of clothes, papers and books. She wasn’t hearing any of it.

After the initial shock of entering my apartment, my mom was also surprised (read: pissed) to realize that despite the small space, I have a lot of stuff. The books alone have filled up five boxes and I won’t comment on the number of shoes I own, way too many for just two feet. By 5 o’clock she was done for the day and already in desperate need for a martini, three olives. We had only filled three boxes. I am beginning to question of effectiveness of the “help” she is providing, as she is now dictating from the couch with her legs up and a martini in hand. I will be impressed if we are still speaking by Friday.

Too busy.

I have spent the last four days in Key West for a wedding. No pictures to show and nothing to post because I have been … well … too busy. Too busy sleeping until lunch time and too busy taking naps in the afternoon. Too busy swimming in the ocean and just way too busy drinking beer while cooling off in the hotel pool. Too busy eating key lime pie and seafood fresh from the sea. Man, this is a really tough life.

Over-exposed for a Cause.

Last month, I ran into an acquaintance at work in the hallway. His first comment upon seeing me: "There isn't a publication in the last few days that I haven't seen you in." It was at that point I realized I was becoming the Paris Hilton of physics – totally over-exposed, but, thankfully, without the sex tape with slimy ex-boyfriend. Consequently, I haven't been very forthcoming about the latest round of publicity: a NOVA episode, which Stephon has written about. Not anything big, I don't actually talk on the program, so the embarrassing moments will be somewhat limited. Just me occasionally looking pensive and writing on a clipboard (if it even makes it into the program). I told my brother that I was physics eye-candy, he almost peed himself he laughed so hard. Yeah, I thought it was funny, but I didn't think it was that funny.

Everybody knows and loves NOVA. That is where half of us first learned science. I'm actually not included in that statement, since I wasn't allowed to watch TV during the week while growing up. When I finally earned TV minutes (60/week), I spent them on other educational programs like Beverly Hills, 90210. Such are the transgressions of youth, but, again, not as bad as video with slimy ex.

The program is on Einstein's E=mc^2 equation (see promo - I have no idea how the modern physicists fit into the period theme, so don't ask, remember I am eye-candy only. But on the site they don't call me physics eye-candy, instead I am one of "brightest young stars in physics" – understandably, I am going to get nothing but s**t for that. Why do people always insist on hyperbole?) Now as part of their webpage package, they want a 3-page essay on what E=mc^2 means to me. How the hell does somebody (namely, me) write an essay on that aimed at non-physicists? Does anybody have any good ideas because I am clear out. My brain shut down yesterday afternoon and I don't think it will be coming back on for a little while.

So any ideas? Come on people, let's propel me out of "eye-candy" status into intellectual powerhouse (to wit: Britney Spears teaching semiconductor physics). I am also willing to settle on ideas that are reasonably intelligent should your suggestions not quite attain the caliber of intellectual powerhouse. Just help me, please. Credit will be given in the form of undying gratitude, as I will be claiming any ideas offered as my own. Thank you.