Murphy's Law Be Gone!

Okay, that’s it. I simply won’t accept any more problems. No more barfing. No more wild goose chases. No more passing out in subway stations. No more.

Heh, any chance that will actually work?

While I normally lament the arrival of Monday mornings, I was almost eagerly anticipating getting up early and going to lab. There’s something comforting about the predictability of knowing what the next four to five days hold, where you can get your next meal, and how far exactly it is from the lab to dorm in case of crisis.

I seem to be doing better today. After a few small meals that I ate rather slowly, I am simply taking it easy and gradually increasing my strength. I haven’t had any dizzy episodes since the subway (boy, was that a trip in the not-so-good way) and my abdominal gurgling (cross your fingers) seems to have passed. Maybe it was all one cosmic sign for me to take a step back and slow down.

Nah.

Barring any further gastrointestinal cataclysms, I plan on visiting Yangmingshan National Park sometime next weekend in the northern Beitou area, with other activities pending.

And with that, I suppose it’s time for the word mix-up of the day. Well today is special, because we get double the pleasure, double the fun.

The first instance arose when Zhuo and I were carrying out experiments in the hood. I said I really liked tofu, and then he said something about eating too much and getting gout. (Although I looked this up and it said people with gout should eat tofu to prevent a relapse of the disease, so I don’t know if he was talking about it as helpful or destructive, but no matter, it’s neither here nor there.) Instead of saying ‘gout’, he said ‘goat.’ And I had no idea what he was talking about. Finally, I said, ‘Oh, you mean gout? Goat is an animal, gout is a disease.’ He replied, ‘Oh yes, that is correct!’

The second episode came during the graduate meeting with Dr. Yu. One of the post-docs was giving a presentation on melanocytes and various genetic transcription factors, and the paper had some very high-tech, high-res photos of cells.

‘That is fantasy,’ Zhuo said as he leaned over to me.

What is he talking about, I’m thinking. Please let him have a word mix-up lest he get turned on by cell pictures. It’s either that or he dreams of cells in his sleep, and either scenario is less than commendable.

I gave a puzzled look.

‘You know, fan-ta-sy?’

I was still utterly, utterly lost.

I searched my mental dictionary for possible mix-ups to match with context, and then it hit me.

‘You mean fancy?’ I asked. I wrote it down on paper.

‘Yes. Fan-uh-cy. Are these not the same word?’ he asked, pointing to the point above where he had written ‘fantasy.’

‘No, no they’re not,’ I said. ‘I’ll explain later.’

Later hasn’t come yet, and I hope it won’t for as long as I’m here.