I haven't updated in a little while. I've been pretty busy. My lab took a little trip to the countryside where we listened to everybody from the whole consortium of labs talk about their planetary science research. I got to hear about what French people reaaaaally think of Americans. Which is that they think that we 1) have a giant amount of money to spend on space research (so the Europeans shouldn't feel too bad that their space program is way lamer) 2) that we are militaristic (they were describing the Deep Impact mission, where we crashed something into a comet and then took pictures of what happened, as being 'so typically American') 3) That we are a bit anal about deadlines (a guy gave a talk about how working on the Curiosity Rover at JPL in California was like being in prison because everybody worked with military-like precision on round-the-clock shifts to maximize the science output of the mission... to give a counter-point, the Italians have an active radar instrument on a satellite currently in orbit around Mars which they TURN OFF during the ENTIRE MONTH of August because nobody wants to miss his vacation. Active space mission. Millions of dollars per year here.) They also think that Americans don't actually have their own culture, and that our culture is just a mix of a bunch of different cultures (they have clearly forgotten that culture is our biggest export). They were laughing about our obsession with receiving money promptly (most American enterprises won't start working on a collaborative project until the first money arrives in the bank), but then they began lamenting the fact that due to bureaucracy they have collaborating nations who finished their work more than a year ago and have yet to be paid. Some people came up to me afterwards and apologized that their colleagues were being so frank about what they think of my countrymen. I was not fazed... just think about how much more awkward it would be for a Frenchman hearing what Americans really think about his countrymen!

On the other hand we got to learn that they find that working with the Russians to be mind-bogglingly frustrating because you can't trust anything they say vis-�-vis deadlines or costs. I told them that you just can't trust communists. They said that now that I live in France I'll have to change my mind and learn to love Russian and the commies. NEVER.

The event was at a luxury golf resort and spa, and all of our lunches and dinners were three courses with five pieces of cutlery and two types of wine. The quality of the food was.... amazing. Especially the french toast made from a slice of brioche and covered with french vanilla ice cream and hot fudge. O.o

When I returned I ran straight to an Argentinian tango class that I found on meetup.com. The room we were supposed to be using was locked so the guy took us to a real tango club. It was in a small alleyway through an unmarked door up several flights of stairs and into what seemed like an apartment but was actually a club. It was the first time I had ever danced the Argentinian tango, but surprisingly my other dance experience held me in good stead and by the end of the evening I was dancing with everybody in the room. I finally got home around 11 pm.

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Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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So the Hawaiians rejected me. But they accepted my friend, which is actually pretty cool. Let's take a moment to mourn my Hawaiian life that could-have-been....

Let's see... I would have lived in Waikiki on the island of Oahu. I might have bought Crater Boy's surfboard off him (it's a long, foam board). When there were waves, I'd go surfing, who are you kidding. When there weren't any waves, I'd go snorkeling. One of the best snorkeling bays is right up the road. I'd hike up Diamondhead and catch lizards around the old WWII bunkers.

I'd revive my old long-board that I used to have in California (depending on the state of the sidewalks) and I'd skate from my house to the University. On weekends I'd take off around the island. Dole Pineapple Plantation, pineapple frozen yogurt, hedge maze. I'd take my surfboard up to Bonzai Pipeline to watch the pros.

When I got really bored, I'd fly to the big island to check out some sweet geology. Green sand beach, black sand beach, the southernmost point, ash deposits, sand dunes made of ash, a giant volcano with lava spilling out everywhere. Snowcapped volcanic peaks covered in some of the best telescopes in the world. Unbelievable views of the Milky Way Galaxy. Trips to Kauai and Maui, to hike waterfall trails and lounge on tropical beaches.

When I wasn't surfing, which would be almost never, I'd pop on down to the marine biology lab where they study coral, dolphins, and sharks. I'd meet a replacement shark-boy, only he'd be studying dolphin language, and I'd help him finally crack the dolphin-language code so that we could speak to our brother dolphins. It would be kind of awkward because he would see Shark-boy at all of the year's most important conferences during which Replacement Shark-boy would be receiving all kinds of accolades for his amazing work. More awkward still, I'd be in all of the photos of the dolphins in the presentation, since obviously the dolphins would feel most comfortable talking to me.

And when I was working? Ah yes, that would be one of the best parts. I would work on WHATEVER I WANTED. I'd work with all of the Mercury people on Mercury stuff, I'd work with the legions of Hawaiian volcanologists on volcano stuff, I'd work on wind and sand dune stuff complete with measuring dunes made of volcanic ash in the FIELD, and I'd work on my favorite Mars formation whenever I wanted, no longer under cover of darkness. And I'd get paid nearly THREE TIMES AS MUCH AS I AM PAID NOW.

Yeah, ok, the gasoline and food would cost more. Yeah, ok, I heard that they occasionally have cockroaches. Yeah, ok, it's an island and everything else is really far away from it.

BUT. BUT. BUT.

We have to think of the dolphins here.

Let's consider the dolphins. Please change your mind, Hawaii.

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So I planned a little trip for myself to Ireland in May. I'm flying into Dublin, driving along this lovely coastal highway near a lough and through the hill country to 'where the mountains of Morne meet the sea'. After that I'll go on to the grave of St. Patrick and finally on into Belfast. From there I'm going to the Giant's Causeway (GEOLOGY!!!)

and the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge,

Dunluce Castle and the Glens of Antrim. After that it'll be Donegal and the Sliabh (Slieve?) League Cliffs and the Silver Strand... stay the night, drive down to Galway, see what they know. From here I'll start heading back to Dublin across the middle of Ireland, stopping for the Festival of Fire, which is apparently a revival of the ancient pagan festival of Beltane, and consists of playing traditional music, lighting giant bonfires, and watching people dressed up like ancient Irish warriors ride horses across the plains. Only they added modern bands and FIRE DANCERS. It's supposed to be "family friendly". At last I shall return to Dublin and fly to the meeting I have to go to in England, as the planet Mercury is not going to explore itself.

So far my favorite thing about Ireland is the fact that half the places on the map sound like they belong in some awesome fantasy novel. The other half of the places on the map I've already heard of a million times in Irish songs. Take, for example, the Star of the County Down.... apparently there is an actual County Down.... like Down County. What?!

From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.

I have all of the Pimsleur lessons I need to learn Gaelic, so I guess I should get started.

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Me: Wazzup homies?
French3: Whazzah ohmie?
Me: No. Wazzzzup, hhhomie. G-funk.
French3: Is that what Americans are saying these days?
Me: No. We were saying that like... in the 90s I think. Really old-school Gs.
French3: So what could we say in present-day America?
Me: I guess you could still say, 'Wazzup dawg'
Mr. Mime: Whazzah doggie?
Me: No, you can't say that. Wazzzup dawg.
French3: Wazzup hot dog.
Me: No, you definitely can't say that.
French3: But what if she is a good looking girl? Then she would be a hot dog.
Me: No. She definitely wouldn't. Anyway, 'dawg' is something you call guys. If you want to call your girlfriend something, though, you can call her 'boo'.
Mr. Mime: Bou.
French3: 'Ey my Bou?
Me: Sure.

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"In the winter we lived in the city. In the summer we lived in a small village. Not a village like they have in France... a village village. In those days most families had at least one cow. Some had a crowd of cows. I had many friends in the village."

Viktor the Siberian is telling me about his childhood. We are surrounded by drunken french people.

"It was just me and my mother. She took me to the village in the summers. In the winter it was too difficult to stay; the winter is very cold in Siberia. There were people who stayed during the winter, yes, the real people of the village. Things are different now. Many of the buildings are empty. There is no work on the farms anymore. Some people try to grow enough to live, but nothing interesting grows. My mother grows strawberries now, flowers, something interesting. She only goes to the house to prepare it for the winter."

A drunken frenchman interrupts us, settling an arm on each of our shoulders.

"Where you from?"
"Russia," says Viktor the Siberian.
"Where you from?"
"America," I answer. The Frenchman lifts his arms in amazement.
"An American! A Russian! Talking together!"
We are both taller than the Frenchman, Viktor with his Russianness, I with my heels. For a moment we feel larger than we are, two representatives of vast nations, East and West, the globe balanced between us. The Frenchman disappears back into the crowd.

"It doesn't matter who you are as an individual anymore," I tell Viktor the Siberian. "You are Russian, that is the only important thing. You drink nothing but vodka, you drive a tank and you have a pet bear." He smiles his Russian smile. I demonstrate how to be American for him... my demonstration consists of saying "Yeee-haw!" and pretending to draw and shoot pistols from my belt. He says that he is going to try that in America, and pantomimes the scene. "Hmmm... he seems American, but he must be Russian," I remark, pretending to be someone in the fantasy, "why else would he have that bear following him?"

"Bad bear!" he says, directing his attention to where I was pointing. "I told you to stay home! No!"



"There were trains that came by our village in summer," he continues after a short interlude. "They carried missiles and tanks and many arms. They would cover them with some sheets, so you could only see some parts. It is better this way... if you saw everything it is not as exciting. You can only see rocket there, side of tank."

"Usually when I hear people talking about that kind of thing, they're talking about a woman," I interject.

"Ah yes, yes, woman, I was talking about woman."

"OoOoOohh, look at those tanks."

He says that the weapons were bound for the Chechen war. He says that it was a strange war because it was a war where Russians were fighting Russians. He said that he once saw a BBC broadcast about it and every detail was the opposite of what he had seen broadcast on Russian TV. Who shot first, who refused to compromise, who was winning, who was bullying whom. Even if the journalists had the same facts they came to completely different conclusions.

There is a loud crash and raucous laughter from the drunk Frenchmen.

"What is this?" says Viktor the Siberian. "Here America and Russia are talking peacefully together-- about guns and wars-- and France is crazy."

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It's 10:30 pm and I'm in my office listening to John Philip Sousa marches while trying to load global maps of Mercury on ArcMap.

My future is uncertain. NASA funding is in quite a state.

Hawaii hasn't said yes, no, or maybe.

My boss here says that I could stay a couple extra months if I wanted to. Or a year, heck, I could stay another year, he says, God bless him, if he could find some cash lying around. Which he is pretty good at finding.

My buddy at JPL says I could come for a few months to California. We could collab. I made that abbreviation up just now. A little bit of surfing. A little bit of hanging out with "film-makers" that she apparently knows.

Maybe I could get a post-doc in Padua, Italy....

Heck, I'm so free right now, I ain't got nothing to tie me down. I could move to Japan! I could move to Antarctica! South Africa! Peru! Norway! Australia! Tahiti! Why can't I just write grants and live in Tahiti?????

Well, there is the whole "only 1-in-10 grants gets funded" thing going on right now. The whole "we spend more than 80% of our time just writing grants, less than 20% doing science" thing. Those kinds of statistics make one a bit wary of joining a soft-money, grant-supported institution, even if it does give you the flexibility to live in Tahiti. Those kinds of statistics make you wonder if now is the right time to be moving back to the USA.



Hence the fact that I switched music:

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So they haven't emailed me to say that I've made it through the first rounds of cuts for the Hawaiian job.

But they haven't emailed me saying that I haven't made it [an email that my friend got].... so.... I'm going to take that as a "maybe".

In other news my friend says that I'm on his "shortlist" for a return trip to Antarctica.... so...................... we'll see how that goes.

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