The first fruits of the Abramovich revolution at Stamford Bridge were harvested on Sunday as Chelsea pulled off a come-from-behind victory over Liverpool in the Carling Cup final. 1-nil down after 45 seconds thanks to John Arne Riise taking advantage of a rare defensive lapse, the Blues took the offensive and raided the Liverpool goal. However it wasn't until the 79th minute that our efforts paid off, and were rewarded with an own goal scored by 'pool's Steven Gerrard. In extra time we continued to turn up the pressure and surged to a 3-1 lead thanks to goals by Didier Drogba and oft-maligned Mateja Kezman. Antonio Nunez pulled one back for the scousers but after 120 minutes Chelsea had won their first trophy in 5 years, their first since Roman Abramovich poured £300+ million into the club and since José Mourinho took over as manager.

Still smarting from losses to Newcastle in the FA Cup and Barcelona in the Champions League, this win may be the morale booster the squad needed. It definitely speaks of a resilience absent at Chelsea in recent years that we could overcome a two match losing streak and an early 1-nil deficit. Eyes must now turn to maintaining our Premiership lead over in-form Manchester United and to sending the Spaniards home broken-hearted when they come to London for our Champions League second leg next week. Both are very possible goals and both will go a ways towards silencing those wanting to write off the Blues for daring to mingle with the footballing elite.

Unfortunately despite the win, my sore throat persists. God knows how crappy i'd be feeling if we'd lost though.

My new year's resolution to write in my journal more frequently appears to have fallen by the wayside. Let the excuses commence ... number 1, i've been sick. Number 2, i've been busy. Number 3 ... ah, screw it, nothing new here. Let's go back a week or so and fill you in on Ted-related happenings.

I ordered my belated Valentine's day present from Amazon the day after St. Valentine's holiday, a shiny, awe-inducing Motorola RAZR V3 cell phone. Due to assorted Cingular and Amazon snafus, it didn't arrive until yesterday. After one day of use, i'm still adjusting to the Motorola mode of operating a mobile phone. The phonebook is all kinds of screwy compared to the Nokia addressbooks i'm familiar with. I spent several hours last night trying to sync it via Bluetooth with my PC's Outlook, only succeeding after finding an obscure forum comment in the far corners of the web. I think that has more to do with my crappy Bluetooth USB adapter than the phone. The camera has a nice zoom feature, and i like having a petite flip phone after owning the Nokia 3660 brick for the last 1.5 years. At this point i realized i just want a nice-looking mobile phone that makes calls, text messages, and plays a game or two. I don't need an über-PDA/mp3 player/dishwasher/life manager, just something pretty that does its job. And the RAZR fits the bill.

Last Friday was spent in San Francisco at the Exploratorium for the first annual Molecular Imaging Program at Stanford (MIPS) retreat. I was a bit nervous, but it turned out to be a great time getting to know the core molecular imaging faculty at Stanford. I knew a lot of them from our biweekly admin meetings, but this was a chance to hear more about their work and then spend some informal time wandering around the great Exploratorium science museum. It's always interesting when you have five scientists (a biologist, two physicists, an engineer, and a chemist) disecting each exhibit for any schoolchildren (un)lucky enough to be within earshot. I went to the Exploratorium while in grad school with several friends, unofficially to prepare for our qualifying exams by analyzing the science of each display. Anyhow, i gave a five minute presentation that attempted to tie together the disparate work being conducted by my group. The whole day made me feel more comfortable within the Stanford academic community. Am i, heaven forbid, settling in here? After the retreat ended at 5pm, i took my two postdocs Ivana and Lan out to dinner at Thirsty Bear. We had a good low-key meal, with Veronica joining us before long. "The Graves lab". That phrase still sounds friggin bizarre to me. But less bizarre all the time.

After dinner V and i scuttled off to the Independent (formerly the Justice League, and oh what a better moniker that was) for the evening's indie kid conference featuring the Secret Machines, Moving Units, and Autolux. We were among the first in and managed to get seats on the side of the stage. I've been impressed by Autolux's debut album Future Perfect and was keen to see the neo-shoegazing/drone rock outfit. They were incredibly tight, and excelled at putting together swells of noise reined in by driving melodies. Veronica somehow managed to sleep through them, more a comment on her lack of rest than the band. She awoke for Moving Units, an LA three-piece joining the legions of bands clamoring to recreate Gang of Four. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, as far as revivalist trends go this is one of the more palatable. MU were quite good ... engaging songs, good energy ... but unfortunately i kept thinking that many of their songs sounded like the Rapture with a much less interesting singer. Veronica added that he isn't as attractive either. Anyhow, i give them a B+ and look forward to future output. I harbored an interest in the Secret Machines, but we both were ready to collapse when Moving Units wrapped it up, and headed home to relieve my sister Hilary from her dog-sitting duties.

The rest of the weekend was spent with V purchasing and applying the finishing touches to our music room in the detached garage. By the time my President's day holiday had come to a close Monday evening, i had finished touching up the paint on the borders and corners, put another coat of red on the ceiling, applied a white cover-all primer to the baseboard and door, and installed two Ikea light fixtures where the recessed lighting used to be. Once Veronica puts up the blinds and curtains this weekend, the room will be ready for use ... go go garage band!

I also managed to finally put Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas to rest. The last chapters of the game dragged in places, particularly having to take over 35% of the gang territories in order to unlock the final mission. I was ready to break my PS2 into little black shards after being gunned down for the umpteenth time by angry Ballas defending their hoods. However, the conclusion to the epic gang-banger saga was very satisfying, and i must again give props to Rockstar for producing the best video game series around today. Unfortunately my post-finale game seems to have fallen prey to a bug, as i cannot find the girlfriend i need to woo in order to advance to the casino heist mission. She's never home! No chance i'm putting in another 30 hours starting from scratch just to rectify that shortcoming, so i may have to close the book on CJ Johnson and the Grove Street Families.

The downside of my industriousness over the weekend was that i ended up finally contracting the nasty cold virus that's been going around my department. I think it was the day in the music room breathing nasty primer fumes that knocked my immune system down and allowed the virus to seize control. So i've spent the last few days in bed, cuddling with the dogs while they look bored out of their minds at having to lay with me for hours on end. As i'd finally ended GTASA, i turned to Winning Eleven 8 International and put some time into the ultra-gory shoot-em-up The Punisher, a surprisingly entertaining game. I've also been checking out Mercenaries, a decent military shooter from LucasArts, and Mechassault 2: Lone Wolf, a mostly lackluster followup to the Battletech-inspired Xbox Live pioneer.

My illness couldn't have been timed worse, for Tuesday morning my uncle Bud arrived to begin modifying our living room-kitchen-dining room doorways. He's sealing up the door from the living room to the kitchen, and opening a new, larger doorway from the living room to the dining room (which is in turn connected to the kitchen). This will open up more space in the kitchen and redistribute space in the living room in a more appealing arrangement. So while the dogs and i rested in the bedroom, he was knocking plaster off the walls and chopping through lathe and diagonal supports. He's opened up the new passageway (save for removing the studs), and today is working on framing for the new threshold. Hopefully by the middle of next week the project will come to a successful close.

I've also been lamenting Chelsea's foibles of late. Last weekend our mostly reserve squad (still nothing to be sneezed at) was knocked out of the FA Cup by Newcastle. José Mourinho made all three subs at halftime when trailing 1-nil, and 10 minutes into the second half Wayne Bridge broke his ankle and had to be removed, leaving the team to come back with only 10 men. What seems to have been lost in the post-match analysis is that Mourinho made exactly the same mistake that Liverpool's Rafael Benitez did in the previous round: he took the competition lightly and fielded a makeshift team so as to rest his stars for other competitions. Granted, the makeshift team still boasted a number of talents, but a continual problem with post-Abramovich Chelsea has been the lack of consistency when implementing heavy squad rotation. Different players don't play together often enough and hence don't produce together, despite their individual skills. On Wednesday the Blues faced Barcelona in Spain in the first leg of our key Champions League showdown. Despite going up 1-nil when a Barça defender turned Damien Duff's cross into his own net, Chelsea were beaten down for the the majority of the 90 minutes. We managed to hold onto our lead until early in the second half, when Didier Drogba was sent off for a second bookable offense. This event gave new life to the Catalonians, who proceeded to set up camp in the Chelsea half. We ended up losing 2-1, a respectable result given the complete absence of our attack. After the match Mourinho alluded to a forthcoming formal complaint to UEFA regarding Barcelona coach Frank Rijkaard meeting with the ref at halftime. Whether or not it's true is irrelevant, Mourinho has got bigger fish to fry. Like figuring out how to keep the ball and put it in Barça's net when they come to London in two weeks. Arsenal and Manchester United fans are hoping these two consecutive Chelsea losses signal the "blip" they've been waiting for. I must admit, i'm nervous. We've got our first Mourinho-era cup final in the Carling Cup this Sunday, against Liverpool. Like i said before the Arsenal Champions League quarterfinal last year, it's time for the squad to put up and make everyone else shut up.

On the cards for this weekend is moving into our music room (at long last!), and continuing my recuperation. The latter may be irrevocably tied to Chelsea's performance on Sunday. Such is my complex biosystem.

V and i had a belated Valentine's night out yesterday (shifted due to me having to attend a seminar the previous evening). I picked her up at work and took her for a tasty Italian dinner at Vino e Cucina on 3rd, then we headed to Market and the Warfield to see Interpol, supported by Blonde Redhead. Our seats were a ways up in the left balcony, not prime by any stretch of the imagination, but as i get older and more crotchety i find myself thankful for being able to sit during a concert. I like Blonde Redhead a lot, but tend to put them in the "mood music" category. Their songs are quite enthralling, haunting, and complex, with Kazu Makino's vocals similar to the Cocteau Twins' Liz Frazier in tone but more abrasive. The band's music however works best for me as a soundtrack while something else has got my attention. Their performance demonstrated their talent but had Veronica and i yawning by the end.

Interpol emerged after a short delay, and during the first song i noticed something that would hold my interest for the rest of the show. The bass player (already a pretentious looking f@$k) was wearing a shoulder holster. Who does he think he is, Steve friggin McQueen? The set played on, mostly drawn from their latest album Antics but with a smattering of older material, i wasn't focusing so much on the music (which was definitely improved from the lackluster sets we'd seen them give in Boston) but on David Starsky, bassist and crimefighter. At this point i realized i was obsessing, and lines from Seinfeld became relevant.

"I broke it off with her. She ate her peas ONE AT A TIME! I'd seen her eat corn niblets before, but she scooped them! But the peas, one at a time. That's what was so vexing!"

He's wearing a friggin shoulder holster! Where's the gat? Does he keep his picks in there? Tuner? ID? Did he see Bullitt one too many times and finally think "hey, there's a fashion accessory i could do something with!"?

Despite my fascination with the bassist's choice of strapwear, the show was fairly good. I missed a few songs from Turn On The Bright Lights, notably "Stella Was A Diver And She Was Always Down". Although that might've been because the couple behind us discussed its absence every five minutes. My wandering mind also noted that this was the fifth time i'd seen Interpol, interesting since they're not a band i'm going out of my way to follow. After the show we met up with former Popscene mogul DJ Jeremy, now laboring for Matador Records in New York and working with Interpol on tour. We had a quick discussion of the upcoming Champions League matches and life in New York before we headed home to see the doggies.

dominoes, a pack of cards a picture of the queen a dress to wear on sundays and a handle for the door a letter that i'd sent for you a note you'd left for me a wave, a pack of cigarettes a pocket full of beads you didn't leave me anything that i can understand

Last weekend was spent in the mountains for a retreat with my Stanford Radiation Physics faculty. The drive up on Friday afternoon was a bit of a pain as everyone and their mother were heading east to take advantage of the bountiful snow and wonderful weather. I travelled with just my iPod, arriving at the Stanford Alpine Chalet around 7pm for dinner. This Stanford-owned facility is a traditional ski lodge, with a large common room where the tenants congregate before or after a day on the slopes. Our meeting was held the next day in an employee meeting room at the adjacent Alpine Meadows ski resort. As i discovered Friday evening, the plan was to meet in the early morning and late afternoon so as to facilitate skiing in the interim. Not having been on skis in 12 years, i was a bit apprehensive ... but the thought of spending six hours doing nothing at the lodge convinced me to try my luck on the snow. I rented skis, boots, and poles and bought a hat and some gloves. I decided against paying $120 for snow pants, wagering that i would be able to avoid falling repeatedly and soaking my jeans. This was the prime reason i decided against trying out snowboarding, as then i would be guaranteed of spending most of the day on my butt. My gamble paid off as my skiing skills returned after a trial run down the bunny slope. I advanced to the intermediate runs and gradually remembered most of the balance tricks i had developed while in high school. The weather was perfect, i ended up not even wearing my new hat. Maybe i'll end up getting some snow pants and giving snowboarding a try with my board-adept sister Hilary.

The business end of the retreat went fairly well, concluding after a Sunday morning meeting at which i threw out a couple of apparently fruitful ideas. I headed home at 10am, arriving in plenty of time for the Super Bowl. However, my interest in the game waned during the first half. I tuned in for most of the 4th quarter, but just wasn't as enthusiastic as in previous years. I think this may be the first SB in 6 years that i haven't watched in its entirety. At any rate, i was pleased that the Patriots again proved the power of the team and the genius of coaches Bellichick, Weis, and Crennel. But perhaps the bigger story was the horrible clock management of Donovan McNabb and the Eagles in the 4th quarter. Faced with 45 seconds on the clock, no timeouts, and ~60 yards to get into range to attempt a tying field goal, McNabb and co. start throwing short passes over the middle and walking back to the line of scrimmage after the play. Guys, it's called a "hurry up" offense for a reason. After partaking in the end of the game, Naomi and Geoff came over for dinner and video games. Our Halo 2 skills are continually improving, as evidenced by the gradual rise of DrTed2001 and guest up the post-match statistics tables.

I'm still trying to wrap up Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, but Jesus H. Christ that game is friggin huge. I'm in the Las Vegas replica of "Las Venturas" at the moment, learning to fly planes and helicopters and planning a bank heist. Detractors can always point out the less than impressive graphics and curious game flow, but there is no doubt that the GTA series excels at drawing you into its totally immersive environment. After GTASA has been put to rest, i'm going to spend some more time with new acquisition Winning Eleven 8 International. This is the first incarnation of the series on the Xbox, and from initial observations it doesn't fail to deliver.

Naturally, just when the media at large had pronounced Chelsea to be effectively unbeatable, we go and draw with Manchester City (squandering our chance to exact revenge on the one English team that had defeated us this season). Worse yet, budding star Arjen Robben breaks two bones in his foot and is out for six weeks, with the Carling Cup final against Liverpool and the first leg of our mammoth Champions League showdown with Barcelona included in that span. Perhaps these events will rightly quiet talk of Chelsea winning the quadruple and allow us to prioritize our season. Paramount on our list must be maintaining (if not padding) our nine point lead in the Premiership over Manchester United, who lately have taken every interview opportunity to cast doubt on the Blues' ability to close out the season. Keep singing, Neville, Keane, and Fergie, you have yet to defeat us this season.

As one of the British biology postdocs commented to me yesterday, it's much more stressful when your team is winning than when they're losing. Everything to lose. I'm toying with the idea of flying over to London at the beginning of May and trying to get into Chelsea's final home match of the season, which will hopefully also be their Premiership title celebration. God knows what that would cost. Hrm ... maybe i should avoid making plans that assume a certain outcome to Chelsea's season. No jinxing from me.