Prom

I am back from the Prom, but instead returning with a droopy corsage and hickies, I have aching legs and some good photos. There were echidnas and kookaburras and rosellas and wildflowers and swamp wallabies and emus galore.

On Wednesday night, my lab-mate Mal unfortunately hit a wombat, and by the time he had pulled a U-ey to check its status, its pouch young was running around the road in a panic. He wrapped it in a towel and together we took it to the ranger on duty. As sad as the situation was, it was pretty awesome to hold a 20cm long wombat, even if she was hissing furiously at us.

On Thursday, Mal and I took a three-hour hike around (read: up, down, up, down, up, down) a couple of rocky promontories looking for intertidal sites for his research. To get to the headland required crossing a crotch-deep river that, on our return, had dropped to ankle deep (poor tidal timing on our part). On Friday morning, we did a shore dive and I remembered how much I love boats. Again, we were looking for a site for Mal to anchor some equipment, but the bay we were diving in was really shallow so it took us half our tanks to get below 10m. After looking at some fish (which I'm getting better at IDing), I was too close to empty to continue on and so popped up to the surface only to discover that the beach had become a far off distant suggestion of sand. It was a very long swim back in. And on Friday afternoon, we were back at the headland boulder scramble but this time with steep scrubby hillsides to clamber over too. I would feel fit and strong if only my legs didn't ache so much.

It's pretty great to be home, sleeping with a warm husband in a comfy bed. I even got to sleep in this morning, all the way to 7:30am, which is a lot if you consider that I've been waking up at 5.

On

It has begun. It started on Monday the 8^th of October, a date to be remembered. That was the week I got home every night after 7:00pm and spent every day too busy to eat or check e-mail or make a phone call. Last week was the same and it culminated in some seriously hard core field work and the chance to trial my BRUV frame for the first time. The frame itself worked brilliantly, though I had some technical difficulties with the camera. It looks a bit like a small tank complete with gun turret, earning itself the obvious name The Tank, though the nickname I like best is the Dalek. I’ve been home for a couple of days and head out again tomorrow to do more fieldwork down at Wilsons Promontory. I think I will be around the week after, hopefully doing day trips though there may be an overnight or two in there somewhere. The following week, I’m off down the coast in the other direction to Pt Campbell for a few days. And this is what it will be like until May 2008. I was feeling really warn out until about Friday afternoon when we loaded up to the boat, wriggled into still-damp wet suits and headed out to catch a slack tide. The conditions were some of the best I have ever seen – on the surface, that is. There were ripples instead of waves and it was sunny and warm. As we motored out I got a glimpse of how enviable this life I lead is – how wonderful it is to be on a boat instead of in front of a desk in a cube in an office in a tall building full of desks and cubes and offices. It has recharged me and has me almost looking forward to this field season. Sure, I’ll be tired. Sure, there will be all sorts of technical difficulties and mechanical troubles and tired arms and legs and backs. But I’ll be out in the sun, swimming with the fishes. It sure doesn’t suck.

Hazzah!

My BRUV* frame is done! Done! Done! Done! After weeks of planning and two full weeks in the workshop, I can report success. This week I've felt like a kid who failed shop class and was assigned to a summer intensive; I've been in with the tools from 9:30am to 7:00pm for four days and haven't turned on my computer in three. My back aches, my hands ache, my feet ache, my legs ache. But it's done! And now, it's the weekend and I can relax. Coz the frame is built!

As you can probably guess, I've been pretty wiped out this week, as the following anecdote will cleverly illustrate. On my way into Uni this morning, I started digging through my bag for my keys. They weren't in the usual pocket, or in any of the other places they could be. Damn, I thought, I've left them at home. So I dug out my phone to call Z to make sure that I hadn't dropped them on the tram. As I was dialling I looked down at my hands and discovered my keys sitting there. That's right: I'd been holding them the whole time. I almost wet my pants I was laughing so hard!

And then I went and wielded power tools. Probably not a brilliant move as my scratched and beaten hands will attest.

Did I mention it's done??? I'll take pictures at some point so you have a better idea of what the hell I'm talking about. Then you can Ooh and Aah appropriately in the comments.

But until then, I think I'll have another glass of wine, thank you very much.


(*BRUV: Baited Remote Underwater Video.)

Chicken Little with a Sting

I spent all weekend gardening. Out the back, we now have tomatoes and strawberries growing, and a herb garden that includes mint, rosemary, thyme, basil, coriander (cilantro), and parsley. Our front yard is no longer a dirt box that the neighbour's cat can use for her bidness; it's planted with all sorts of flowers: clumping flowers and creeping flowers and scented flowers and bushy flowers. It took me about three hours at the nursery to choose what to buy. I find it really difficult to imagine how things will grow and what they will look like in a month when faced with something small and green in a pot. It was exciting to work in the front garden because there's a flowering gum that arches over our yard. As I worked, drunk bees fell from the sky with alarming frequency. When I first saw a bee stumbling around on the ground I thought it was injured. Then I saw another one, which I thought was the first one in a different place. After the fifth one I figured out what was going on, and then had to forcefully resist the urge to look up.

Some of the less pleasant side effects of gardening (thankfully not including bee stings) are an aching back, arms and hamstrings. Last night I went to Pilates, which I've decided is just a fancy word for sit-ups, which is a polite way of saying abdominal torture. Usually I enjoy at least part of the class - or perhaps I just enjoy thinking about the day that I could maybe perhaps do one of those more advanced exercises. But yesterday, it was pure torture; y'know, one of those gym classes where you spend the entire time thinking, I paid for this???

Speaking of paying, we have copies of our new lease to sign, which list our rent at the old price - as in, without the 10% increase. We think it's a mistake, but aren't going to say anything just in case no-one else notices.

Beech Forest

Today Geelong schooled Port Adelaide in the AFL Grand Finals. If it's any consolation (and I'm sure it's not), Port Adelaide set a new record for losing margin in a grand final - something like 120 points. I think the problem is that their mascot isn't; they're called The Power. It's hard to say "Go the Power!" and easy to say "Go Cats!"

Last weekend we took a second anniversary trip down the Great Ocean Road, which Z thinks isn't so great or so ocean-filled. I did, however, manage to find him his first wild koala sighting. While driving. In the rain. I'm talented like that.

While driving the long way home on Sunday, we passed a sign that said "Beech Forest". I remembered mum telling us something about a great hike she and Ken took in Beech Forest. So, off the paved road we turned, winding our way up and down a bumpy road through various types of forest, none of it particularly beechy. After about 40 minutes we popped out onto a paved road where we found a sign next to a house that read, Welcome to Beech Forest, population 106. This is, of course, when we pulled out the map only to discover what was now quite obvious: Beech Forest is not a forest; it's a town. We decided to one day start our own town called Scenic Waterfall or perhaps Koala Viewing Platform. It will be an industrial strip mining centre a long way off the main highway. But it will be well signed.

We did all of this driving in our newer car. It has four working windows, a radio and CD player, and it starts without needing a choke or a prayer. You'll find a picture of it as well as pictures of koalas (say, awwww) and various other things in my Flickr account. Link is to the right.

Galvanic potential

I have bought and used countless nails and bolts and nuts and washers in my lifetime. Whenever it comes time to buy such hardware, I find myself in that aisle of the hardware store (you know the one: it's lined with small drawers and tubs filled with fasteners), glossing over terms like "galvanized" and "cadmium plated" to make a purchase based on size and price. Oh, how things have changed. For the past week, I've been designing a frame to hold an underwater camera. The camera and frame will form a BRUV, or baited remote underwater video station. It's like its name says: it gets dropped into the ocean with bait and left to film all the creatures that are attracted to the mushed pilchards (mmm, mushed pilchards). The frame will be made out of aluminium (note the extra "i" and pronounce accordingly when speaking to men at the hardware shop) and bolted together with, um, well.... er. What was that about galvanized screws?

So, I've been learning about galvanic potential and oxidation and corrosion and which metals can be in contact with eachother given area ratios and the presence of salty water. It's all quite, uh, illuminating. I've also had to buy a protractor and graph paper; I'm amazed that anyone sells that stuff any more, but thank god they do. I've been using trigonometry (SOHCAHTOA anyone?), which I barely remember since it's been about 15 years since I last thought about it. And I've been trying to think and draw in 3D.

And what have I learned? I have learned that I am not an engineer. And I've had a helluva good time learning that. It's been a nice to pull out the pencils rather than the journals; to draw rather than to type; to think about aluminium fitting together rather than communities of fish species interacting. But at the end of the day, it's very clear that I'm an ecologist.

All in a name

Last Friday, we went downtown for dinner, drinks and a movie. While walking up Bourke street, a shop sign caught my eye. It read surfdivenski. I assumed that Divenski was the name of a famous Australian surfer of Polish descent until I noticed that a second sign in the window read Surf Dive & Ski. I like my version of the shop name much better.

Further down the road, I saw a billboard advertising a gentleman's club called the Spearmint Rhino. Z thinks it makes for a great euphemism, as in: He gave her the spearmint rhino (wink wink). I have no idea what that means and I don't want to think about it too hard.

In other entirely unrelated news, spring arrived on Friday. Suddenly it's warm and sunny. We haven't used the heater in six days, we were able to dry two loads of laundry on the line outside, and we spent the weekend gardening and sitting in the back yard playing Carcasonne with my neighbour/lab-mate. He has the extended game which is so much more complicated and interesting than the simple version we've been playing.

It's really nice to not be cold all the time, though I do worry that we're in for another rip roarin' roastin' toastin' never ending summer. That should make Z nice and happy and me lethargic and sweaty.

Bed

We are settling into Melbourne in all sorts of ways. One of our recent and rather large investments in this city has been a new mattress, a king-size doona (comforter) and cover. Buh-bye mid-night blanket thievery. Hello bright red and orange Indian-style bedroom!


This may not seem like a big deal to you, and you probably don't care, but for us it marks a turning point. We're no longer buying any old cheap crap to sleep on and live with. We have a bit more money and we're spending it to be a bit more (OK, a lot more) comfortable. This is also the first big joint purchase of our marriage, which is funny considering all our friends who are buying houses right now. We're transitioning from everything-we-need-is-in-a-backpack to choosing a country and city to live in, to renting a house, to having jobs, and now a real bed. And soon, we might even have a real car.

Aussification

Three things that indicate that I'm feeling more at home Down Undah:

1. I drive on the left hand side of the road in my dreams;

2. When I type an URL into my browser, I automatically add a .au to the end, whether or not it's needed;

3. I can drink three beers and not feel a thing.

Not so far up/down

I've been in a lot of airplanes lately, what with the trip around Australia and the visit to SF - oh, and don't forget the side-trip to Boston and Maine. You'd think at this point that I would have enough frequent flyer miles to earn a free one-way business class ticket to the moon. But alas, the different airlines make for no miles worth a hoot. Z flew all the way to NY and back and around Australia on one airline and now has almost but not quite enough miles for a one way trip to Sydney (a 1.5 hour flight). This further supports my theory that frequent flyer programs are a bunch of baloney.

On the charter flights to and from Lizard Island on the Great Barrier Reef, I got to sit up front with a splendid view of the cockpit (on one flight, I actually sat in the co-pilots seat, where I had to refrain from making jokes like, "Hey Mr. Pilot, what happens if I grab this lever and pull like this?"). These premier seats gave me a splendid view of the altimeter, which is when I had a big realization: 300ft above sea level isn't that far up. In fact, it makes the water look close enough to touch. So what, you ask? Well, the maximum workable depth for most scientific research projects is about 70ft, which is literally just skimming the surface albeit in an upside down kind of way. Floating in a small plane 300ft above the ocean and miles below the upper reaches of the atmosphere underscores just how not-deep (uh, the word I'm looking for is shallow) most of us will ever go. And the kicker? When you're down at 70ft, the surface feels a very long way away, especially when the water's murky. It was quite a powerful experience to realize just how shallow I am. When I'm diving, that is.

Living the single life

I always thought that I would live alone at some point in my life, certainly before I got married. Living in SF killed that idea off right smart - it was just too expensive. And then Z and I started dating, moved in together, got married, and I realized that I would never have the chance to live alone, to see what that was like. Until this week, that is. First impressions? I didn't like coming home to a cold, empty house. There was no-one to hear about my day. Then I discovered that if I cooked dinner, I also had to do the dishes. No fair! Late on Tuesday night, I crawled into bed, a bed that was missing a heater. I had been reading for about five minutes when I realized that I was lying all the way on my side, with the blankets neatly shared between both halves of the bed. With a giggle and a grin, I moved into the middle of the bed and gathered all the blankets into a bundle around me. Now, I thought, This is something I could get used to!

A long way to go

Allow me to share exactly how far it is from Melbourne to New York with the following, riveting story:

Yesterday morning, I woke a little before 7am, had a quick shower and a cup of tea, and drove Z to the airport. On the horizon, the rising sun lit the edge of a big cloud turning it brilliantly gold. I left Z at the terminal, battled rush hour traffic on the way back home, and had some breakfast. Then I rode to school, had a two hour meeting with the high school student I'm mentoring, spent a scintillating three hours editing an Excel spreadsheet, and another three slightly more scintillating hours watching lab-mates practice their presentations. The ride home was through crisp winter air, underneath bare-limbed trees silhouetted against a dusky sky. I made myself some dinner, did the dishes and headed down to the pub for trivia night. The pub was packed and, thanks to a new smoking ban, full of breathable air. After a few too many beers, I walked back home, thankful to not smell and feel like an old ashtray, and crawled into bed to read for a couple of hours. Eight hours later, I woke up, checked my email and headed back to Uni. I spent two hours working on a manuscript, another hour editing that damn Excel file, and caught up with the people who share my office. I was sitting at my desk eating lunch when I an email arrived from Z saying that he had reached his Manhattan hotel.

And that, my friends, is how far it is from Melbourne to New York.

Brain is mush

A lot has happened since I last posted. I've been to three places that have been on my Must Visit list for a looong time: Kata Tjuta, Uluru and the Great Barrier Reef. I spent two weeks with Z's parent and god-parents, making up information about Australia and laughing more than I've laughed in a while. I found my new favourite annual sporting event where I watched some of the crappiest footy I've ever seen. My weekly pub trivia group miraculously placed first in one of the three rounds, though we came in third overall -- again. And I learned that I've had part of my master's thesis provisionally accepted for publication in a scientific journal. I got the reviewers' comments back upon return to Melbourne and discovered that I had about a week to respond. I've spent this entire week working on the document, making changes to figures, tables and text, and then changing the changes, and changing the changes to the changes, ad nauseum. The biggest struggle has been keeping the damn thing under 6000 words. As of about noon, I was down to 6024, and spent the next couple of hours identifying 24 words to cut. It's now at a respectable 5,986. The unfortunate side effect of this process is everything I write turns dry and scientific, no matter how hard I try to make it witty and lighthearted. I swear, science is killing my creativity. Soon enough it will be printed an on its way back to the editors. Maybe then I'll be able to post something decent...

Making News

This may be my favourite headline of all time:

Orlando Bloom Hoping to Grow Out of Elf and Pirate Roles, Perhaps Play Dancing Cat on London Stage

From here.

Missing You

From a description of Bay to Breakers:

Some participants were motivated to run fast and others were motivated to drink beer in imaginative ways -- such as while doing a handstand over a keg in a shopping cart on the corner of Howard and Fifth streets.

Oh, how I miss you San Francisco. I miss your crazy residents (except for the certifiable wackos whose curses fill your rather squalid public buses), your sanctioned public looniness, your familiar steep and winding streets, and your abundant taquerias. I miss the friends who are similarly attracted to your aforementioned qualities and who choose to live in and near you. Hopefully, we will all see each other again soon.

Stoopidhead vs. the braggart

One of the issues I've been struggling with lately is feeling stupid. Like most PhD students, I find that the more I learn, the less I know. However, feeling stupid is, well, stupid considering that all the evidence points to me not being stupid. Yes, I feel stupid for feeling stupid. I'm smart like that.

Z has been "gently" encouraging me to get over this by saying things like, "Get over it already!" I've been doing my best to heed his advice but it's a challenge. Whenever I start feeling clever, I either immediately do or say something really dumb or, more insidiously, start to feel like a proud braggart. This leads me to my question de mois:

How does one act smart and clever without coming across as a know-it-all jerk?

Got any answers? I sure don't.

For me, this goes back a long way. I remember winning the maths prize in year 8 and dying on the inside as what little social standing I had evaporated. There was nothing cute about a smart girl in middle school. Being smart incurred much ribbing and I quickly learned to down-play my grades when I couldn't hide them. I really only stopped doing this during the final years of my masters, though I rarely volunteered to share my marks.

This all came to a head last week when I attended a reception for recipients of the University's prestigious scholarships. There are about 1,000 post-grads at the University, 350 of which have been granted federal scholarships. I'm one of the 350. Of the 1,000, 11 were awarded a prestigious scholarship; I'm one of those 11. Hearing these statistics out loud made me realize that someone, somewhere thinks I'm smart (I can hear you groaning at that sentence, Z). I need to remember this when I find myself unable to articulate a complex scientific thought.

One of the difficulties is that I'm me and so am completely unqualified to assess how well (or not) I present myself and my thoughts. I don't know if I come across as a bumbling idiot or a brilliant scientist, though can guess that it's somewhere in between and highly reliant upon my caffeine intake. Yes, it's true: caffeine does make you smarter.

I've recently realized that this only matters so much, is so important, because science is what I want to do with my life. This is what I enjoy doing. If I'm not good at this - or am only mediocre, I'll feel like I'm wasting my time. I want to accomplish things and feel like I contribute; if I'm only ever fair to middlin', I won't feel like I'm doing the best thing with my life.

Fortunately, someone somewhere thinks this is a good thing for me to do. Perhaps one day I'll realize that they're right.

Commitment? What commitment?

From Day in Pictures.

This could start a war somewhere else

I finally dropped the boat off for repairs today. It's taken this long (this being about four weeks!) to get the approval from the department to not file an insurance claim. It has been an incredibly frustrating process.

On my drive down to Williamstown, I saw a billboard advertisement for a web-site that lists homes for sale and lease. The caption read something like, "It's so easy, anyone can find a new home." The photo was of a man in a nicely tailored grey suit sitting on a chair. The model's head had been replaced with that of Dubya. I'm glad to see that Australia is not above publicly mocking his stupidity. Now if we would all just get around to recognizing Howard's stupidity in the upcoming election...

Plastic crap

We have been trying unsuccessfully for the past few months to get a credit card. My credit rating in the States is good enough to get me a card with a $28,000 limit, but here no-one will even consider my applications. So, we got a debit card instead. Yes that's right: our bank account came with an ATM card only; the debit card is extra. Do you remember the last time you saw an ATM card without a credit card logo on it? Me neither. When the cards arrived, Z called up and activated them. Yay! We can now do things like make on-line purchases and order concert tickets. Today I used my card for the first time to make a reservation at a house down near Wilson's Prom. Like all my credit card applications, my little debit card was rejected. A little panicky, I checked our account and found it adequately stocked with moola. So I called the bank to find out what was going on. I was informed that I hadn't linked the card to my account.

Say what???

Yes folks, it's true. The bank sent me a card, allowed me to activate the card, but never connected the card to any money thereby making the card a completely useless piece of plastic taking up space in my wallet.

Media Cottons On to Scientists' Predictions

The press is full of bad news about global climate change (I'm not calling it "global warning" any more because every time there's a cold snap, people say, "See? There's no such thing as global warming."). When we got back to the land of newspapers after our trip around the world, I noticed that there seemed to be a lot more news coverage of environmental problems. 'Suddenly' the mainstream papers were talking about fisheries collapse and carbon emissions. That sort of coverage has only increased; it seems almost weekly that an article discusses the seriousness and severity of global warming. I guess the media has finally caught up to what scientists have been saying for a couple of decades now.

A couple of months ago, I came across this article that talks about the larger-than-predicted spike in greenhouse gas emissions in 2006. That has me worried because there are all sorts of positive feedback loops that could kick into action, speeding up climate change suddenly. OK, not as suddenly as "The Day After Tomorrow" but more quickly than current models predict. For a great discussion of these (and a really great scary novel), read "The Weather Makers" by Tim Flannery.

In January, an article in the NY Times quotes Dr. Rees, a cosmologist at Cambridge, as giving civilization no more than a 50 percent chance of surviving until the year 2100. Meanwhile Brisbane is on stage 5 water restrictions - stage 5 of 5. I don't know what happens next. There are very real concerns that hydropower plants supplying Sydney will have to close down if there isn't rain in the 18 months. A couple of months ago, the cover of our local paper The Age proclaimed that the Great Barrier Reef is facing extinction. But don't worry, according to Howard climate change is not a major issue and Australians aren't the biggest emitters of carbon - we're behind the US and China. What he fails to mention is that our total population is around 20 million so it's no surprise that we're emitting less carbon than two vastly more populous nations. Unfortunately, on a per capita rate, we're number two.

There's only one piece of good news I can glean from all of this: I chose the right field. If I'd chosen to study coral reef fish ecology, I'd be seriously worried about job stability. All those days spent diving in cold murky waters may reap a pay-off yet.

File this post under the category: glass one eighth full.