Caolionn O'Connell

Happy Halloween.

All this morning my sister berated me for not being in the proper Halloween spirit. Since she is a mother of two, proper Halloween spirit means dressing up in a Halloween theme sweater and wearing bracelets with pumpkins on it. Thankfully, the black cat pin was deemed "too much". I keep thinking that dressing like a Stepford Wife is actually her costume.

Since I refused to wear the black cat pin, I am expressing my Halloween spirit here in the form of a pumpkin patch. This isn't my genius, mind you, but someone with real photographic talent and killer Photoshop skills - Sam Javanrouh. Instead of overdosing on candy, I recommend a daily dose of imagery at his website. I will accept no responsibility for time lost; if you can't say no to all the pretty pictures that's your fault, not mine.

Infinite Wisdom.

So I think I can safely say my first two years in grad school sucked. And, by sucked, I really mean the most miserable two years of my life. I didn't know what to expect and I was ill-prepared for what came my way. One of the things that made my life bearable during that rough patch was Ladies' Night. A group of us in physics would get together, make dinner, drink a copious amount of wine, then vent, brag or just relax. Knowing I wasn't alone in my frustration made all the difference. I survived those two years and grad school went from being miserable into something wonderful. That is the infinite wisdom I have to offer: It may suck now but it gets better. It may not sound like much, but it would have helped me.

Tonight was the first night for the women mentoring women program at Caltech and I am now officially "mentoring" a first year graduate student in physics. Won't she be disappointed to know all my advice will be spent in the first five minutes, but hopefully it will make her feel a little better too.

What not to do.

What not to do when your boyfriend, who hails from Houston, watches the World Series between the Houston Astros and the Chicago White Sox.

1. Question his commitment to the Astros.
   
2. Express pity about the White Sox and how they have won a World Series in forever.
   
3. Ask about dinner.
   
4. Touch the remote control.
   
5. Don't believe him when he says Barbara Bush is the grey-haired lady right behind home plate.
   
6. Keep asking "isn't it over yet"
   
7. Inadvertently cheer a particularly good play by the White Sox.
   
8. Continue in my world completely unaffected as to whether the Astros win or lose.
   

Avant-garde to Classic.

So the transition from advanced accelerator technologies to spin physics is actually a pretty dramatic change. In the big picture, they don't look too different. You know, trying to unlock the mysteries of the universe. Yada, yada, yada, you've all heard the spiel before.

It is the difference in institutional memory between the two fields that has really become obvious. When I was working on plasma wake field technology, everything was new. There were no shoulders of giants to stand on, no papers to read to gain clarity, surprises were around every corner. Yes, there were theory papers, but when has theory ever really explained an experiment? This is not the case in spin physics. Honestly, I could spend my entire tenure as a post-doc reading the papers and books and still not make a dent in the literature. It seems spin physics was quite the popular field back in the 50's and 60's for both theory and experiment and the tide of popularity is coming back in its favor.

This literature has become double-edged sword. If ever I have a stupid question, my incompetence is only shared with Google, since I am certain I can find a paper somewhere to explain it. How could this ever be a bad thing? But then the other shoes drops. I am learning about physics that was conquered 50 years ago. Oh, to be an 80-year-old physicist and having all the institutional memory that would bring me. Yeah, educating the young physicists is very important and all, but, man, I am feeling behind the ball here.

Something's in the Air.

And that something is pumpkins. Sam and I went to Williams-Sonoma this weekend. It is an evil, evil place. First, they have freshly baked pumpkin bread filling the air with its siren call of excess calories and fat. Then they have completely worthless products, such as a pumpkin cheesecake pan. I have a weakness for pumpkin cheesecake and therefore felt compelled to purchase said item, which, on average, would only be used once a year, if ever. Sam had to pry my hands off the box explaining I don't even cook, let alone bake and he is certainly not venturing into the realm of cookies and cakes. Now my mind is filled with visions of pumpkin pie, pumpkin cheesecake and pumpkin bread and just thinking about the smell is creating almost an intoxicating effect. Fall better get a move on because I don't think I can resist the temptation much longer.

Trust 'n' Tears

Being the youngest of three kids, I have learned many life lessons. First never trust anyone who says "trust me". Trusting invariably leads to a shaved head (I was 8) or eating dinner in handcuffs because the keys are "misplaced" (I was 10). I am no longer a believer in blind faith. Somewhat cynical, yes, but my hair is still attached so I consider it a draw. The other major lesson I learned was to never let them see you cry. The moment you cry is the moment you concede. Crying means they have won. You are at their mercy and mercy is not a concept that is well regarded by young kids. Since I had neither size nor smarts working in my favor, I was going to make sure they never saw tears.

It seems I am now making up for lost time. I have become one those insufferable individuals who cries in movie theaters, during television shows and, the lowest of the low, television commercials. Very rarely do I cry over reality, instead it is the last scene in Cyrano de Bergerac or, for reasons completely beyond my comprehension, an episode of Everwood. God help me, I even get choked up over the Bank of America holiday commercials. I am a veritable water-works display and it is mortifying.

This evening I can add yet another movie to the seemingly endless list of movies that me cry – In Her Shoes. Will the madness never end 'cause this is getting downright embarrassing?

War on Science

Chris Mooney of "The Republican War on Science" fame came and spoke at Caltech this evening. Since I am a fan of both science and bashing Republicans, I thought it would be fun to attend the talk. It didn't disappoint.

The main thesis of his argument is that the conservative political machine has started to misuse, rather than deny, science. He specifically addressed how industries and religious institutions (a.k.a money & morals) were beginning to muddle the lines of communication between the scientific community and our governing bodies. Instead of condemning the science (Scope's trial), they now are creating their own version of the "science" (intelligent design). The Bush administration's systematic and sweeping acceptance of these fringe "science" groups (I can't bring myself to write it without the quotation marks) can be seen in everything from not approving the Plan B pill for over the counter to climate change, which in turn undermines the credibility of important government agencies such as the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA).

Mooney applauded the Union of Concerned Scientists for speaking out against the Bush administration during the last election (Feb. 2004 to be exact) and thought that scientists should continue to be politically active. Now as much as I am unashamedly liberal, I don't want my science or my community of scientists to reflect that. Although I agreed with almost every claim the union made against the Bush administration, the time and the manner in which they did it effectively meant support for Kerry's campaign. Since science is inherently apolitical, the union made a risky move by moving scientists into the political arena and it left us even more shut-out of an already closed administration. I believe in scientists lobbing, I believe that scientists should act as council for politicians on both sides of the aisle, but I worry that much more involvement begins to undermine our own integrity as purveyors of the facts and only the facts.

Blues on my Heels

There is a reason I love Los Angeles: the sun. I am happy to visit snow, but after spending four years in Boston, I have learned I don't actually like living it. In principle, rain is not so bad, but once your clothes get soaked it quickly loses its charm. Only the sun makes me happy and I am more than willing to sacrifice snow angels and fall foliage to guarantee its presence.

I've had 5 days of pouring rain on Long Island and now I am getting an encore presentation in LA. With so much rain, all I want to do is curl up in bed, drink tea and read. Since works usually mandates one should leave the cocoon-like comforts of bed, I am feeling strangely morose and lethargic lately. This is not the way to start a productive week.

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

Really, I should have been an engineer. Not only was MacGyver way more entertaining to me than Star Trek, but I have always been much more interested in the physics-related toys than the physics-related classes. So it would have been a smarter move on my part if I bypassed all the theoretical classes and just got down to the business of building cool s**t. As a young freshman in college these subtleties were lost on me – it was physics or bust. A gazillion problem sets later, it is still the engineering aspect that gets me really excited.

So it shouldn't be too surprising that my favorite part of any national or university lab is the big machines. The craftsmanship, the design, the execution. It is our modern day Brooklyn Bridge, but only a few ever get the privilege of basking in their glory. Without any knowledge of their function, you can look at these detectors and appreciate them. They are unequivocally beautiful. Except, of course, if I am the person taking the picture then the grandeur gets a little lost. Sorry, I am even beyond the help of Photoshop on these pictures.

My Alter Ego.

Granted, I have a blog. True, I seem to have no problem sharing rather private things with the anyone willing to read about it. And yes, I have been what can only be described as an exhibitionist for the past 10 months. So you might not believe me when I admit that I am actually painfully shy in person. I tend to warm up and get talkative in small groups, but I am not really a go-getter. I am never the person that initiates chit-chat. And attending parties where I know few people is my definition of hell. So making friends is always a little hard for me, considering one usually needs to meet people in order to become friends.

Having a blog gives me an alter-ego. Online there exists a version of me who is outgoing, gregarious and would probably be the girl that initiates chit-chat at a party. I like that version of me; I think she has more friends than I do. So tonight was funny. Online Caolionn met online Peter. We both know the virtual other, but we have never met in person. It was all very odd to have an immediate kinship with someone who I don't know. We had dinner, we had coffee/tea and there was never a question about background, all my good stories had already been shared online, but the conversation flowed normally. For all intents and purposes, I had dinner with a friend, which, when you think about it, is really weird, since I just met the man.

Overheard at the Airport.

Sitting in the terminal, a clearly furious father says to his petulant son – If you don't start behaving, I am going to go and talk to a police officer and have him arrest you.

Wow, traveling really brings out the love in people.

New Step, New Lab

Tomorrow I meet my new lab – Brookhaven. Even though I am not based at Brookhaven, my project will be. So this week will be filled with new collaborators, new machines and new training. At the moment, I am just hoping to wake-up in time for the 7am flight tomorrow.

A Minefield

So a reader kindly observed, in a not so kind manner, that I haven't blogged too much about my first month at Caltech. This is actually intentional. First, I have only been here a month. I haven't even found a good sandwich shop, let only a complete perspective on my new academic home. At least I haven't gotten a real impression outside of exceptionally geeky which vacillates between endearing and painfully awkward. I am inclined to think one should wait a little before one starts spouting off first-impressions. Remember this is how people with blogs get fired.

Also I haven't talked too much about my project, basically, because I am still getting a feel for it myself. It is not an established program yet, more in the gestation stage. Being Irish and superstitious, I am hesitant to speak about things that don't exist for fear of jinxing it. So in the meantime, my posts will err on the side of generic trials and tribulations in my new academic post rather than specifics. As much as I would love to share more, I am much more afraid of foot-in-mouth – a disease I have been known to suffer of in the past. Consider yourself warned. Problems? Then move along, we're not serving that dish.

Next Week

To wit: "Next week I will finally be done with a draft of my paper." I have been saying "next week" for over a month now. First there was the moving thing, then the new job thing, then SLAC decided to deactivate my account because I graduated thing. Lots of obstacles were getting between me and my "next week". But finally, my thesis has been condensed down to 9 pages and a draft is complete. Now it is ready for my advisor and his red pen. I feel like I am preparing it for the slaughter, as it will no doubt be returned to me bleeding to death.

As much as I love research, I so don't dig the paper writing portion. The paper always seems to fall short of how cool the data was when we got it. All sentences are transformed from "First we were really pissed that we crossed this threshold, but then we controlled it to our advantage and the beam gained a s**t-ton of energy" to "The beam was able to simultaneously ionize the neutral vapor and drive a large-amplitude wake." See, sucks the fun right out of it.

Dial T for Takeout

For the last few years, Sam has done the cooking and I have done the cleaning. Sam, unlike me, enjoys cooking and is quite good at it. He says it calms him. I don't get it, but when one is given manna from heaven, one does not ask questions. Although an excellent chef, he is not so skilled at the cleaning part, so that is my task. It works and everybody's happy.

Now that he is gone, I am not so happy. I have returned to the kitchen and it's not agreeing with me. Last night's dinner started off well. Sautéed vegetables with a creamy garlic sauce I bought at the market. Thirty minutes later I was sick and cursing nature for creating garlic. I am willing to bet the creamy sauce was the culprit, but I don't take this as a very good sign. Caolionn and cooking just weren't meant to mix. So instead, I think I will spend the next three weeks sustaining myself on cereal and takeout. Lucky Charms may have given me a cavity or three, but it has never given me a tummy ache. My body is invincible to too much sugar, but apparently it has a low threshold for creamy garlic sauces.

Wicked Smart.

Yes, we are here for one reason and one reason alone. This whole QD project is sort of a birthday celebration - a one hundred year anniversary of Einstein's miraculous year. In 1905, he published three papers which revolutionized physics - one on light quanta, one on Brownian motion and one on special relativity. All accomplished at the tender young age of 26. The bastard.

These blogs not only illustrate that physicists are people too (we're normal, damn it!), they also show that Einstein's work is alive and remains a keystone for much of our research. To learn more about how we will forever be indebted to one of the world's greatest minds, mosey on over to:

What's the Big Idea?

No spoons, but no stray elbows.

Sam left for Louisiana yesterday to work on the LIGO detector there. He will be gone for three weeks. Three weeks. Welcome to the coupled-body problem: a couple where both are academia, both want a career and, surprisingly, both would like to live in the same city. We've been lucky. We not only got jobs we wanted, we got them at the same institution. The trade off for our good luck – three weeks every so often. So really it's not such a bad trade. If at the end of the day (or three weeks, as the case may be) his toothbrush sits next to mine, I'm happy.

Also three weeks of getting to sleep diagonally actually sounds kinda nice.