I ought to be studying for my three upcoming exams and writing my two 8-10 pages papers, but I figured I needed to share with the general public this wonderful video I came across as I was checking my e-mails. It’s absolutely infectious — I couldn’t stop laughing the entire minute and eighteen seconds of the video and gasping every time the poor kid hurt himself. Not everyone will find this entertaining; I just tend to have a soft spot for the innocent, melodious laughter of infants.

Enjoy, my little munchkins.


Solely for a quick release of all those trapped endorphins, enjoy the videos presented below! (And their subsequent episodes if you so wish.)

Almost a month has passed since my last entry, and it wasn’t even an actual entry. Apart from entertaining guests from the other side of the planet, studying for the DAT, OAT, and GRE, buying furniture for my new condo, meeting up with former high school friends, stuffing myself with food, and watching TV to temporarily escape reality, I haven’t been doing much else since summer school ended.

Whilst watching CNN a couple of nights ago, I noticed the grimace on each speaker’s visage while the hypercritical anchor castigated each and every one of them until she was blue in the face. Not only did these individuals appear to be afraid of her, the majority also proved to be inept in defending themselves. What is so outrageously intimidating about Nancy Grace?

The Nancy Grace Effect:

What amazes me the most is her ability to resist the natural desideratum to breath until her complete argument is put forth, and in what appears to be a double standard, she unreservedly unleashes her wrath if anyone dares interrupt her but holds no restraint in interrupting the counterparty’s commentary.

Above all else, though, I believe her appearance itself (especially her make-up) poses a drastic hindrance to the guests’ ability and/or willingness to deliver a compelling argument. Although expressions are devised by an amalgamation of all aspects of the face, the mien of the top half of the face procures a more indicative verbalization than that of the lower half alone. That being said, Nancy Grace’s make-up artist succeeded in creating an aggressive, domineering facade — Her eyebrows are drawn past their natural line and extended along her nose bridge for goodness sake.

Two pictures are presented below — One shows the original Nancy Grace picture whilst the other is photoshopped to show her softer side.

Original Nancy Grace Picture
Nice Nancy Grace

Fix the eyebrows, lighten the eyeshadow, reduce the dark circles below the eyes with more concealer, replace the black leather jacket with a flower-patterned blazer and she actually looks human!

The author’s not done yet — More fun was to be had. Meet baby Cherie and demon child:

        Baby CherieDemon Child

*Note: The author bodes no ill will against Nancy Grace; it’s actually quite refreshing to see a female digress from the cliched, feminine categorization of how a woman should behave.

What better way to end the last Physics Lab day than nerdy shenanigans with liquid nitrogen? The small laboratory floor was infested with shattered objects by the end of the day — Just to name a few: Grapes, flower petals, tree bark, chapstick, rubber ball shards, gummy bears… ‘Twas a fun day indeed!

I felt it was necessary to bring my camera with me so that I may divulge the wonders of science; hence, below are a few pictures and short clips of today’s hullabaloo. Enjoy!

Rubber ball

(Above) This originally elastic, bouncy, rubber ball is being prepped in liquid nitrogen for what lies ahead (below).

… so much for elastic, bouncy, rubber ball. I wonder if Wal-Mart will provide a refund? “This ball was, uh, defective.”


(Above) These were the plants/flowers in their initial states.


… and these (above) are their ash- and glass-like remains — Followed by (below) what we used to clean up the mess: More liquid nitrogen!

As follows are 2 pictures. One of which shows an ordinary balloon filled with air whilst the other presents the same balloon but shrunken in size from liquid nitrogen.

                     Balloon                Shrunken balloon

Now, last but certainly not least, resurrection of the orange balloon!

Unfortunately, the balloon popped and hence could not endure further beguilement, which warranted the “That’s sad” on my part.

Warning for the upcoming entry: A rant is in store regarding human generosity (or lack thereof), so please, get some good nights’ rest as prospective safeguard for thine eyes.

I must say, Katy Memorial Hermann Hospital will certainly be my hospital of choice henceforth. There’s something strangely unique about this place to which every other facility I’ve had the pleasure of visiting seem to pale in comparison.

Everything is extremely organized.
Typical scenario for most other hospitals: In the cramped waiting area, roughly eight patients are sitting restlessly; 1/3 of these patients, in desperate need of immediate treatment, are most likely bleeding profusely from one or more of their body parts. The background melody consists of wailing babies and quarrels between the frantic patient and the receptionist. Behind the receptionist, insurance validity reviewers bustle about with papers in one hand and multiple phones in the other, with conversations between the auditor and the insurance companies serving as the principal cacophony. Now, past the reception hall, expeditious physicians play musical chairs with patients’ rooms. Painful crying, nervous laughing, and leery yelling can be heard here.

The nurses are delightfully friendly, too. Our conversations lasted well over 2-hours prior to the procedure and consisted of topics on my studies, their recent vacation locales, Tokyo’s technologically advanced society, one of the nurses’ son’s accomplishments in life, and a lariat of equipment cables dangling from the ceiling that they’ve been trying to convince the doctors to relocate so that the area would become more aesthetically pleasing for patients. One of the nurses tirelessly apologized for possibly inducing pain as she inserted an IV into my veins. A newly washed hospital gown was given to me as well as new slipper socks, a garment cover, and oven toasted blankets. I felt more hedonistic at this hospital than at home.

Excursus: I’m not sure who came up with the idea to furnish each patient’s ceiling with a different illuminated, natural landscape picture but he/she is simply brilliant.

I really wanted to slur nonsense, “Wezza kappla wonky? Goo lamooshka yabba baaa. HeeeeeeeeHeeeeeeeeee,” when the nurses asked me if I was feeling all right after having administered the sedatives just to see their reaction, but alas, I feared a chaotic uprising would errupt whilst I, dozing off to unconsciousness, was strapped down to a table with 5 different wires running around and through me and surrounded by computer monitors above, below, and to both sides. (Hm, did I leave out any prepositions?)

Interestingly, I don’t recall any part of the procedure. I only remember the doctor coming into the room and, then, being carted back out into the recovery room. Where’d those 45 minutes of my life go? I asked one of the nurses whether I was awake during the procedure or not, and she said I was talking the entire time. What? When? Huh? Perhaps this is justification enough that I should never drink to the point of intoxication — I would wake up the next morning not knowing how and to where my hair and eyebrows had disappeared.

Alas, I am dreadfully tired so I shall depart for bed early tonight. Au revoir!

Life has been rather strange lately — I can’t quite muster the appropriate words to describe it. The intangibility of my current state of mind is unfathomable, but I shall try my best to elucidate it.

What I’ve thus realized from my old personality is that I tended to shift between extremes. One minute, I would care too much to the point of profusion and the next minute, I would feel beyond irascible or apathetic. This affected multiple aspects of my life:
When dealing with people — If you caught me on a “good” day, I would readily give you my right arm, whereas if you caught me on a “bad” day… Well, then let’s hope you have exceptional health insurance or a heart of teflon.
With regard to activities — I either found a field of work that (metaphorically) “took over my life” or became the notorious couch potato embracing a tub of ice cream.
In reference to academia — Consecutive days of procastination and nights of no sleep were numerous.

I seemed to be incapable of finding balance, or in a scientific sense, equilibrium.

For the longest time, I thought that that is perfectly normal and acceptable, but in retrospect, I never want to return to such a life again. The elusive question that, for the life of me, I am unable to answer remains, though — How or why had I handled situations in that manner? Usually, when resolving complicated issues, people delve into their past in an au courant attempt to uncover any significant disturbances.

1) Whilst carrying my stroller and me, my grandfather slipped on a stairstep, sending both my stroller and me tumbling down the stairs headfirst.
2) As curious as ever, I managed to unlock my own cradle hatch and fell to the wooden flooring headfirst.
3) During an ice-skating party, my friend Joseph swung me around and let go; I landed on the ice… headfirst.

Do I see a trend? Perhaps having been dropped on my head multiple times is a factor, but I highly doubt my antecedent mental instability was a direct result of the ball-like characteristics of my skull. Alas, maybe I shall never know. However, pondering about my abandoned dispositions left me subconsciously feeling hollow. This is the feeling for which I can’t quite grasp the appropriate terminology. Though I had shed a layer of myself that I loathed, it was still an aspect of me. I felt as though I’d lost a substantial component of myself, as if without that component, I no longer recognized myself. An internal debate thus transpired as to whether those characteristics should be recouped or kept in the wastebasket until the sanitation engineer comes to collect it.

Although the obvious answer would be the latter, I cannot deny that I still hold slight attachments to my comfort zone. Forsaking those components of myself would require a considerable amount of conscious effort. And albeit I’m already half-way to triumph, the remaining moiety will be that much harder if I allow my retrograde idiosyncrasies to tempt me.


Some time ago, I came across a dessert called “Pavlova” on Australia’s Next Top Model (Shhh! Guilty pleasure!), and being the curious person that I am who’s up for a new challenge anyday, I decided to experiment. Pictures can be accessed as follows:

here              here              here

I have only one thing to say about the dessert — It tastes simply heavenly.
Thanks Wendy for separating the eggs!

This roughly epitomizes both my life and how serious we consider studying to be.


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