Terminal Velocity

So at a meeting for this Big Thing which I still cannot reveal because other parties are dragging their feet, the following snippet of conversation happened:

Me: I'd really like [Big Thing] to address some of the common misperceptions about science.
Him: So let me ask you a science question. I've always wondered about this.
Me: Shoot! I love science questions.
Him: The pharmaceutical companies, they have a cure or a vaccine or something for AIDS that they're not selling because it wouldn't make them any money, at least that's what I hear. Is that true?
Me: [speechless. jaw hanging open in Starbucks. yes, he's serious.]
Me: No, that's not true. I mean, pharmaceutical companies are evil, but they're not that evil. For one, think about all the people you could market an AIDS vaccine to. That's a huge market. Think about all the people you could sell an AIDS cure to who can't afford a lifetime of antiviral meds. Not to mention, HIV isn't exactly "curable." The reason it's such a nasty disease is the virus is constantly mutating, so our best attack isn't useful for very long.

At this point in the anecdote, my roommate asked "What was he like?" To which I too-candidly responded "fat," making the guy in front of us on the bus snort laugh, then apologize for eavesdropping.

Then we moved on to discussing our fears about parenting, someday. My single overriding fear is that I won't love my children if they're stupid. I am not, at heart, a very nice person, and I don't think I'd cut my kids any slack in the intelligence department. Maybe less slack, since they're my kids and I am, obviously, the most intelligent person I know. I mentioned the ex-boyfriend who told me that I had a responsibility to reproduce since all the stupid people are reproducing, and we can't have a nation full of stupid people.

K, my roommate: I guess that's true.
Me: But you can't really think about it like that. Stupid people don't necessarily make stupid babies. I mean, my parents couldn't figure out a condom and here I am.

Enzyme Kinetics

So I'm in a slew of new classes this semester, classes with names like "crashingly dull 8:30 am class" and "CANCER OMG." And in my cancer class, our first unit is on colorectal cancer. Very important, very interesting stuff, except for the fact that this involves lots of video of colonoscopies, which I have yet to sit through without the urge to giggle, yell "That's a butt!" and run out of the class.

I have developed lactose intolerance, which is getting more and more severe. When the pills say, in helpful, large, friendly letters, "TAKE WITH YOUR FIRST BITE!" you'd think I'd listen. But no. It's more like "Take with your first stomach cramp, and hope you learn your lesson this time." Also, my mental catalog of "things that have lactose" includes milk but not cheese and ice cream, both of which make me much sicker much faster than milk.

Will You Be My Rock of Love?

I'm watching Rock of Love II right now--the show where one aging rockstar chooses his girlfriend from a house full of strippers and former strippers. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work out the first time, so the show's on again for a second season.

This show is everything that's right with white trash America. It's amazing. Bret Michaels, formerly of Poison, is stupid and hilarious and led almost entirely by his penis. The girls are trashy, fake-tanned and bleached blonde almost to oblivion. The clothing is terrible. One girl this season may have once been (or still be) a man.

I swear I had more important thoughts in my head--thoughts about Sweeney Todd, thoughts about something, maybe, more profound than VH1 "reality" shows, but all I want to do right now is be superficial and shallow and stupid.

I Think 'It's A Wonderful Life' is One of the Most Depressing Movies Ever

So I've been blog-browsing, as I do, being a creepy internet stalker, and I ran across this interesting entry, somewhere:

What would you do, if you knew you couldn't fail?

And I read it, and read the comments, most of which were written by people whose creative urges are stifled (or who feel their creative urges are stifled, whatever) and I was really shocked to see how many people wanted not only to write a novel, but to have another child, or get married. Somehow I'd always thought of having children as something you didn't fear failing at. There were your standard "I'm getting divorced, and it's awesome" comments. The nicest thing about it was that it wasn't your standard "and what's stopping you?" inspirational deal--the chick was just honestly curious.

It didn't take me long to realize that I would do exactly what I'm doing now, if I couldn't fail. I'm certainly not the poster child for taking giant leaps or anything, but I am perfectly happy. I'm pursuing a career I love, one that brings me a ton of personal fulfillment. I'm writing enough to keep me happy and moderately stressed out, and always pushing myself to do better, which is more than I can say for my writing in the past.

I don't think it's possible to fail, if you're trying hard enough. I realize this shows how young I am, and how many doors have been opened for me, but I really believe that nothing, nothing, is out of my reach if I work hard enough. I'm going to make all my dreams come true.