Stars in her eyes

Sometimes the smallest things blow my mind. Last week one of my colleagues brought a toy to work; a little gadget called a spinthariscope. It's a device that contains a radioactive source* (thorium ore, in this case) which enables observation of nuclear disintegrations with the naked eye. The charged particles that are emitted during the decay process interact with a scintillating material within the device, which in turn emits visible light. An optical lens is added and the light flashes can be seen; simple as that.

That same day I was doing late-night imaging studies and borrowed the spinthariscope to play with in between acquisitions. The Hutch was more or less empty as I sat down on the darkroom floor, next to my dearly beloved alpha camera that builds on the very same principle as the little toy in my hand. After letting my eyes adjust to the lack of light for a few minutes, I held up the device to my eye, almost holding my breath from anticipation of what I would experience.

Imagine my disappointment when it turned out I couldn't see a thing; just pitch black nothingness. What a bust!

Then, small flashes started to protrude from the darkness. At first, I wasn't sure if I was imagining or if the tiny sensations of light were real, but after a couple of minutes I was certain: I could see them. It was like watching stars reflect on the bottom of a well. As my eyes continued to adjust, the flashes became more and more intense until they filled my entire field of vision, pulsating with light.

If you can imagine liquid diamonds, that's what it looked like, or boiling water filled with glittering stardust.

I don't know for how long I sat there, staring into hand-held space, but my ongoing imaging study eventually pulled me back to reality. But what a fantastic excursion it was! If you ever get a hold of one of these things, try it.

A tiny container, filled to the brim with galaxies.

*No, there's no need to worry about radiation exposure. The source is extremely weak and the emitted alpha particles are efficiently stopped by the casing; nothing slips out.

Seriously, Sweden

A short comment regarding the greatly disheartening Swedish election yesterday. To the infamous 13% (you know who you are): next time, take a few minutes to reconsider. Do these people you are about to vote for really represent how you feel about society, kindness and normal human decency? Do they really? Just think it over. Thanks.

As for the Feminist Initiative, I've already left my brief disappointment behind and look forward to 2018. We may not have reached the 4% threshold this time, but we'll get there. It's no longer a joke; F! is a force to be reckoned with.

These dudes ain't seen nothin' yet.

Screenshot from Gilda, which I happened to watch during my immediate post-election depression.

A couple of announcements

Apparently, I started feeling a little lazy this summer so I added a few extra commitments to my agenda. Commencing this month, I will be one of five writers/editors for the Fred Hutch newsletter Science Spotlight. In addition to that, I will share the position as chairperson for our Student/Postdoc Advisory Committee (SPAC) with a colleague from another lab.

This will be an interesting year.

(As a bonus, I signed up for this again.)

Cotton wedding

Seattle, baby.

It's been two years now and I'm more in love with you than I've ever been. I know we kind of rushed into things in the beginning, but it was the chance of a lifetime and I've not regretted my commitment to you a single time.

Every day we get to spend together I find new things I like about you. The food you cook and the wine you make. Your morning freshness and evening glow. The wet kisses (although, admittedly, they are not as plentiful as rumor has it). Your warm heart.

Here's to another joyful year; here's to us!

Cheers, my dear Emerald City.

Impressed! Inspired!

I've told you this before, but I feel like rubbing it in your faces one more time: working at Fred Hutch is oftentimes exceptionally awesome and curiously stimulating. The opportunitites for learning about science and scientific perserverance are plentiful, and my latest surge of inspiration hit me with full force last Wednesday at a seminar with Nobel laureate Dr. Françoise Barré-Sinoussi, during the first Conference on Cell and Gene Therapy for HIV Cure held at the Center.

This woman is nothing but remarkable; besides ignoring the men who advised her not to choose a research career and later co-discovering the HIV virus in 1983, she took on Pope Benedict XVI in 2009 by writing him an open letter protesting his tremendously ignorant and dangerous statement made in Cameroon, that condoms ”aggravate the problems” with AIDS.

*facepalm*

Dr. Barré-Sinoussi struck me as purely brilliant, brave, and empathetic; a scientist with stories and experiences I will carry with me for a long time.

”I don't have conviction, I have evidence. I'm a scientist.”
”If you're a scientist and you don't have hope, you should quit.”

My new idol.

You can read more about Dr. Barré-Sinoussi's Fred Hutch visit here.

The votes are in

Mine is, at least.

Yesterday I performed my democratic duty as a bone fide utlandssvensk by making an expedition to the Swedish Consulate in Kirkland to cast my ballot.

Swedes, it's up to the rest of you now. Please don't make stupid choices; I'm not coming back if things keep deteriorating.

But most importantly: vote. I won't forgive you if you don't.

Baseball for beginners

Instead of suffering from aftereffects of the previous night's spontaneous partying, Ralph and I woke up early and walked across the street from my apartment to the Barrel Thief for a decadent Sunday waffle breakfast. Well, to be honest they didn't open until 10 am, so I went out in the morning sun to fill yet another bucket with blackberries while Ralph slumbered a little longer. (Side note: I might have a bit of a problem with my compulsory blackberry picking, but the season is approaching its end so I'll hopefully be able to stay out of the brambles soon - until next year, that is...).

The main event of the day was a première for both of us: baseball! This all-American game really hasn't been on my radar until now, but as a Fred Hutch employee I was offered discounted tickets and thought that Ralph's visit might be the perfect excuse to give it a go. We quickly browsed through the main rules and extensive terminology whilst nomming on our waffle sandwiches, concluding that this was slightly (just slightly) more complicated than Swedish brännboll.

That Sunday, Seattle Mariners were taking on the The Chicago White Sox at Safeco Field; a game that they ended up winning, quite easily it seemed, with 4 points against 2. Coincidentally, Scott and Shani had also bought tickets to the game and happened to be sitting more or less directly behind us (!) with little Cian. This turned out to be extremely fortunate for Ralph and me, as we would have been scratching our heads wondering what in the world was going on quite a few times otherwise. The Frayos explained what was happening on the field, what the stats meant, when we should yell ”Charge!”, the reason behind people's apparent obsession with peanuts and Cracker Jacks, and why everyone seemed so excited when the closing pitcher entered the field. The game itself was fairly slow, allowing plenty of time for grade A people watching and general chitchatting.

Our verdict: a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon with good friends!

After that, we hopped on a bus to Ballard to engage in one of my favorite Sunday activities: fika and board gaming. We got a table at Café Mox and stayed until Ralph was tired of getting his butt kicked. A lovely day to be me.

It's that day of the year...

...but I think I prefer not to make a big deal about it this time. Huge thanks and warm hugs to everyone who sent me cards, gifts, flowers and other greetings; it means a lot. Love to all.

Rollin rollin rollin

Wait, what happened to last week!? I'm way behind on the Ralph report, that's for sure... I'll just have to keep it short and snappy.

Saturday, two weeks ago: We went to roller derby! Then we had drinks and fun.

Hm. Okay. Maybe that was a little on the short side. Let's try again.

Saturday, two weeks ago: Ralph and I strolled off to Key Arena to watch two roller derby bouts. Sadly, our local teams lost both, but we had a swell time nonetheless. Rain of Terror (Rat City Rollergirls' non-WFTDA sanctioned travel team) were quite easily defeated by Bruising Altitude (174-248), but Rat City All-Stars put up a good fight against Minnesota Rollergirls (127-145).

Famished and thirsty after yelling and cheering for three hours, a quick decision was made to head towards the neaby 5-Point Café, one of Seattle's oldest diners. This unique little dive bar opened its doors in 1929 and is one of those places you either love or hate (at least judging by their reviews on yelp). In my opinion, you just have to take it for what it is; don't be a jerk and you'll have a great time. We ordered some tasty grub from a heavily bearded man in a dirty, washed-out tank top and decided that this was no night for artisan beer or fine wine; no, we aimed straight for the well drinks. If you're unfamiliar with the concept, well drinks are what you get if you walk up to a bar and ask for unspecified booze and soda. They're cheap, usually quite nasty, and are known to generate massive hangovers. Still, this was the path we chose.

Below is a compound pictogram describing my cranberry vodka drink. Note how the precise placement of the straw makes the first sip contain a perfect amount of cranberry juice; after that, not so much.

These guys are s.t.r.o.n.g. (And we had a few.)

Next, we wiggled our way back to Fremont, making a few stops on the promenade; first at the nearest 24-hour liquor store to obtain some high-end ultra delicious hand-made craft... er... alcopops as refreshment on our journey, and then by one of Lake Union's docks to enjoy said drinks while watching the stars and the water. And laughing quite a bit.

Best part: neither of us were even the slightest bit hungover the next morning. I'm hypothesizing that the sweet nastiness of the alcopops neutralized the hard-hitting power of the well drinks, but I'm not sure if I dare to try a replicate. It might be pushing my luck.

A Cinderella story

Ralph didn't have too many must-see or must-do items on his Seattle itinerary, but there was one activity that he much wanted to engage in: kayaking. I'm no kayakist but agreed to take a day off from work and join him for a salty day in Elliott Bay. Being a novice, only beginners' kayaks were available for me, but Ralph assured the somewhat brusque (some would say mildly hostile) shop girl that he was fully trained in handling the sleeker, albeit less stable, regular vessels. Did he know what to do if he capsized? Of course, no problemo! Easy-peasy.

We said tally ho to the snippy lady and embarked on our adventure, eagerly paddling away from the water taxi stop, rounding Duwamish Head, splashing away in the beaming sun for about an hour and a half alongside the beach to the Alki Point Light, where we turned and started heading back. Ralph gave me a few pointers here and there on how to operate the paddle more efficiently, in addition to goofing around and sillying about as I was learning how to best use my arms and torso in some sort of ordered motion. I'm quite generous, so I'd say that I did okay.

Naturally, Ralph could have out-paddled me with both hands tied behind his back, but we had lots of fun and even spotted a couple of swimming sea lions as I was energetically flapping myself forward.

Then all of a sudden I heard a big splash behind me, followed by a somewhat confused ”Vad var det som hände!?”. I turned and saw Ralph in the water beside his kayak, looking very wet and very surprised. Reassured by his knowing words at the rental store, I just sat there, giggling and waiting for him to effortlessly crawl up and into his boat again. But as it turned out, he hadn't actually practiced getting into a capsized vessel; he just knew how to do it in theory. Ah... Ok.

I paddled back to him, trying to stabilize his kayak as he was empirically testing the hypothesis, and after about ten minutes of him flopping around trying to re-embark, first from the wrong way, then from the right, almost tipping me over into the freezing water as well, he finally succeeded. By that time, we realized that we had drifted quite far off from shore, but our spirits were nevertheless high and I felt encouraged by the fact that we handled the situation so coolly.

Then I noticed that he was no longer wearing his sunglasses. Then he noticed that he no longer had two shoes.

Back at the kayak shop the terse girl smirked at us as we returned the gear, Ralph soaked, carrying his only shoe in his hand. I tried to figure out how to get him home to Fremont, through downtown, on the bus, barefoot. As a last resort, I went back to the shop to ask the not too friendly renter if she possibly knew of any places that sold footwear nearby, since we were in a bit of a pickle. She looked at me, smiled, and said that she may have something in the back that someone had forgotten. I heard her rummaging about behind the door, and she then emerged carrying a pair of bright pink rubber slippers.

She held them out, chuckled a little and said that they might be slightly too big but we could take them if we wanted to. I gave her my warmest, earnest thanks, and returned to Ralph who was sitting on the grass, sulking over his loss. And like the fairytale prince I presented the magical shoes to him, who in a Cinderella-esque fashion gently let his feet enter into the rubbery domain.

They. Fit. Perfectly.

All is well that ends well; the shoes found a new home, Ralph got a new look, and I got the best cry-laugh I've had in a long time.

Epilogue: the pink slippers accompanied Ralph back to Sweden, and have now begun their new life in the Old World. Sources say that they are getting along very well with Jimi, another Seattle emigrant who joined the travellers on their adventurous journey.

(Photo courtesy of Ralph.)