What about you? Do you have any hobbies?

I was recently told that my last post was too disturbing to watch. I found this amusing because the woman telling me this had recently posted a video to her blog. It was 30 seconds of her 8-month-pregnant belly undulating as her unborn child did whatever it is that unborn children do. I guess that makes the score

Chthulhu: 1

fetus: 0

Don't mess with Chthulhu. Like water, he always wins. [Apologies to those who get that joke. As the title of this blog implies, I should know better.]

Two weeks ago, I used half a block of tofu in a stir fry. The other half languored in my fridge until tonight. In that time, it turned from white to orange.



I actually managed to convince myself (through poking rather than anything you could call research) that this was a sign of drying out rather than any malicious growth and was about to cut it into tonight's meal, when I noticed this.





I'm not sure I've seen that color in nature before. I think it's pretty (though not in a way that food should be). I opened a new pack of tofu.

In lost R'lyeh, dead Chthulhu waits, dreaming

Who knew that dead Chthulhu was a plant? Or that R'lyeh was a small suburb of Seattle whose principal form of municipal income was speeding tickets?

[The music, in case you were wondering, is "Mars: Bringer of War" from Holst's "The Planets" performed by the LA Philharmonic under the direction of Zubin Mehta]

What a dame!

Seoul. Five thousand miles west of anywhere called 'home'; thirty-one miles south of hell. The last time I was here, this city almost broke me. I swore I'd never give it another chance. The Universe had other plans [takes a drag from his cigarette].

Yes: I have been working on that paragraph since I decided on this trip two months ago.

Yes: I am back in Seoul, though only for two weeks (really, two more days, but I've been here for eleven).

The last time I was here, Eric (my boss) was eager that we should all experience "Doctor Fish." The year before, he and a few other Berkeleyans had gone to a cafe where, for a nominal fee, you could soak your feet in a fish tank while you drank your coffee. The fish -- known to biologists as Garra Rufa (does one capitalize species names?) -- feed off of dead and diseased skin. Your feet are not ignored during the experience. According to the wikipedia page on the species, the Turks use this as a treatment for psoriasis and other skin diseases (giving us something to ask after we've sorted out why Constantinople got the works). Incidentally, I saw something similar going on in a mall in Bombay when I was there for a friend's wedding this past January. (Un)fortunately, by the time I arrived in Seoul in September 2009, the cafe in question had closed and no replacement could be found.

Until now.

Two days ago, an intrepid expedition made up almost entirely of foreigners (the one Korean who joined us opted not to partake; I guess, maybe, that should have been a warning) traveled to the Gangnam district where we had rumors of active "Doctor Fish." The rumors were not hollow. There were two tanks of fish. One tank contained fish that were about as long as the last two knuckles on your little finger and, volumetrically, a little smaller than that. Anyone who was ever five years old with a sibling who enjoyed tickling the bottoms of your feet knows what it felt like when these fish fed. The other tank contained fish that were fifty percent larger than an adult thumb. I repeat: these fish were larger than your thumb. When they swam to the surface to beg for food, you could clearly see their mouths opening and closing. Feeding these fish was significantly less nerving. Imagine lowering your feet (or any part of your body) into what you thought was an empty pool only to find a human hand there, waiting and eager to take hold of whatever you had to offer. I stayed in that pool about thirty seconds before deciding I was done.

It is unclear that the experience had any effect other than to provide substance for this post. When I returned to my room and took off my shoes, I thought I could see red pockmarks on the bottom of one of my feet, but I only saw five of them and there were significantly more than five fish. At the very least, I have completed the final stage of my vegetarian certification: I have allowed animals to feed on me. I'm told that's what it's like in Soviet Russia.

I, for one, welcome our new overlords

My parents have this plant. It's called a gunnera. Every spring, it emerges from something that looks like it was grown in the marsupial pouch of a Vorlon encounter suit. I think it's here to assume guardianship of the planet and shepherd our species towards a new way of life. I'm not convinced that this new way of life will be better than the one we are living now.

To test this hypothesis, my parents purchased a timelapse camera from a company called Wingscapes (shameless advert here). We set it up to take a picture every half an hour starting at 6am and ending at 7pm. This is the result of the first week of operation.

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Obviously, there are some issues with the mounting (and we started too late in the season to instill in you the proper fear of this malevolent force of nature; look for something far more terrifying this time next year). I will try to stabilize the camera and post something longer and smoother in the coming months.

I also owe you something with a monster made out of a soda can and hot glue...

Probably not a new car

There is a door in the basement of the University of Washington physics building labeled "Liquid Nitrogen and Lactation Stations." The door is locked. My key does not open it. I like to think that working in the academy means that you are forever safe in the assumption that your place of employ is a bastion of liberal sensibility, however, it is impossible for me to escape the obvious, somewhat regressive explanation for what goes on behind this door.

Please, help me escape. What do you think happens behind this door? Points will be awarded based on awesomeness.

The internet is for porn!

In honor of spring, here is a picture I took last fall, when I was still living at my folks' house after moving back to Seattle from Seoul.

I was dashing out to the garden to harvest spinach for my lunch, when I noticed this underfoot.





I'm pretty sure this is slug sex. After all, what is sex but two consenting (I'm glaring at you, ducks) adults coming together to exchange a little slime? Good to know there are some things that still make us all animals.

Look for another seasonal post shortly. By which I mean a post relating to seasons. Not a post relating to this season.

But, Mom, he followed me home...

I've been told I need a new hobby. This, to me, seems absurd when the old hobbies are all still perfectly viable.

Here is a primitive first attempt at stop motion animation.



You will note that "walking up to the camera" looks significantly less impressive than "getting up on his hind legs and roaring." I suspect that is because his small feet made incrementally moving him difficult (as soon as he was on fewer than three feet, he started slipping all over the place). Here he is with the addition of bottle cap feet. (That's right: the theorist just did an experiment. Don't worry. I won't include any error bars.)



Well... that's better.... but it's not good. The point is to be able to tell a story (involving monsters!) with this, and, at this point, I think the discontinuous nature of the motion is still too distracting to make that feasible. Suspending him from two pieces of fishing wire (as I have) may not be the best way to hold him steady against gravity between frames. I'll need to think some more about this.

Special thanks to Tim, who taught me that there is nothing you cannot do with a hot glue gun.