11:38 <@Sporks> I like my work
11:39 <@Sporks> because I can proclaim, "time to make Bloxorz my bitch"
11:39 <@Sporks> and people just cheer me on

WoW Update: I need a new name!

I'm transferring servers on WoW, and my current name (Sporks) is taken, so I need to pick a new one (Spork is also taken).

Suggestions from Random Internet People and other friends:
- Conundrum
- Kushi
- Gankersore
- Sproks
- Foon
- Tomsawyer (as in Rush, not Mark Twain)
- Kingsleyzissou
- Blackcop
- Tongs
- Bitchincamaro
- Arrozconmuerte
- Dioconqueso

The Zen of Fish

As you probably know, I'm an NPR crack-addict. One of the downsides of this (besides the fact that I have no idea what a lot of important people look like) is that, when a new NPR-darling book is making the rounds, I hear about it from noon to night as the author passes through program through program. Morning Edition? Check. Fresh Air? Check. All Things Considered? Check. Maybe even Marketplace? Check. KUOW's local shows? Check. I went almost crazy from hearing about The Year of Magical Thinking and by the time they stopped talking about it, the mere mention of the name made me break out in hives.

Ok, that's not really true. But during this time period, I couldn't stand to hear about it.

Anyway, Trevor Corson's The Zen of Fish was [relatively] recently making the NPR rounds, though on a smaller scale (Googling "zen of fish" on npr.org returns only a couple of pages of results), and since I'm a lot less reluctant to read about fish than emotionally brutal memoirs, I thought I'd give it a try.

Corson interweaves scenes from a semester at the California Sushi Academy with historical and scientific tidbits about sushi and various fish. The CSA scenes mainly follow three students: Kate, Marcos, and Takumi; Kate emerges as the main focus of the "human" side of the book, but it falls flat. I'm not sure if the problem is that he didn't delve deep enough into the students' personal lives or develop their personalities, or if the focus was simply in the wrong place. I just couldn't care, much less sympathize, that this girl who had decided to pay $5,000 to learn to be a sushi chef was upset by the fact that she'd have to use sharp knives and was grossed out by cleaning fish, or that the instructor was mean to her. The whole girl-feels-like-quitting-when-confronted-with-reality-and-mean-teacher/
coach-but-perseveres-and-emerges-with-newfound-confidence-and-
appreciation-for-teacher thing felt forced; Zoran, the instructor, didn't seem like a sadistic drillmaster or a strict, stoic Japanese uber-traditionalist (this is a program, Corson tells us, that aims to train sushi chefs in just a few months instead of the years that traditional Japanese training would take). He didn't seem like a jovial, overly friendly sort, either, don't get me wrong; but he wasn't nearly as bad as we're meant to think. I couldn't see Kat's growing appreciation, either. I was, not surprisingly, also unable to muster any sympathy for Marcos--a teenager who'd attended cause he thought it'd be a good way to pick up girls. Takumi was interesting, but not a lot of time was spent with him. Any time that Corson tries to bring us into the inner lives of these students, the thoughts are a little too overwrought, the drama a little too pat and convenient. The non-student characters seemed much more interesting to me, but unfortunately he didn't spend much time with them: I would've loved to hear more about Zoran or Toshi; Fie also seemed interesting--the author goes to great lengths to tell us of her beauty, how men fawn over her, and how she questions if she's actually a good chef or men are being nice to her because of her looks, only to largely gloss over her. Except to come back once in a while to remind us that she's beautiful. And blonde.

After the exasperating treatment of his human subjects, it's a refreshing change of pace to read about the fish. Refreshing, but not unexpected; I haven't read The Secret Life of Lobsters, but I did read Corson's piece in Best American Science Writing 2003, and it was wonderful. I found myself looking forward to the historic interludes, and wishing they'd go on longer. The bits that touch on science--whether it be chemical reactions or the life cycles of various fish, are at once totally accessible, brisk, entertaining, and tantalizing. Afterwards, I found myself wasting days looking up information about eels or salmon. I wanted to hear more about seaweed, or fish runners in Japan, or about some warlord or another.

All in all, it was a fairly satisfying read, even though those pesky humans kept interrupting the fish narrative; maybe, to a more sympathetic reader, even the bits with the students could be appetizing.

It's a good thing I don't mind needles...

It's been over a month now since I last had blood drawn, and I still have purple/green bruises on top of my right hand and in the crook of my right arm, where the perky, red-headed phlebotomist jabbed in her needle.

Apparently, my veins are tricky. Normally it takes a couple of tries to get blood. Often, the phlebotomist will give me a warm towel or hot pack to hold over the site so they can have better luck. What they don't normally do, is start thrusting the needle in and out in hopes of getting blood, like this girl did. Or stick the needle in, and then sweep it around like the hands of a clock.

At this point, I start bleeding. Bleeding quite a bit. This is not that unusual either; in their zeal to find the vein, they usually end up scratching or poking or bruising something, and then I bleed. Usually, the nurse just gives me a piece of gauze, and that's that.

Instead, the phlebotomist lets loose a string of "damn it! shit!" under her breath, and scrambles around the tiny room.

Blood pools on my arm.

She finally finds a piece of gauze, fumbles it onto me, and I hold it down. Then she goes to try the top of my hand.

She does the needle-thrusting and sweeping once more, but with better results this time.

The gauze on my arm soaks through. She seems startled, and finds another one.

She tapes the new gauze on my arm, gives me a new one for my hand, and sends me on my way.