A few weeks ago i was reveling in my post-Mac conversion bliss, and started reminiscing about the old Mac classic days. When i was about 13 i spent a summer at my dad's work while my mom and sisters visited family in the midwest. To pass the time, i played with the company's new printer-mounted image scanner (the first scanner i'd ever seen). My dad also bought me a game to play on his Mac. I picked Dark Castle at the local software store (what was that place called? Those old school, pre-Best Buy stores, stocked with all the latest Infocom games?). A 2D platformer, it kept me amused for the summer and annoyed the rest of the office with its silly sound effects. A few years later i played the sequel Beyond Dark Castle at my friend's house. Ah, what fun. Surely this game must be freely available now, 20 years later? I did a web search and was surprised to find that the third entry in the series, Return to Dark Castle had been released a scant month earlier. It contains all the original levels from the first two games, integrated into a new quest involving Bryant, son of the original protagonist Duncan. All the old fun ... little one eyed monsters giggling "nee nee nee nee nee", throwing rocks at mechanical guards, picking a booby-trapped key from a wall based on whether the prisoners approve or not. Developer Z Sculpt Entertainment has done a great job colorizing and updating the visuals, and adding new levels with the spirit and humor of the originals. Highly recommended. Don't expect a quick jaunt through a nostalgic game if you try it, beating Dark Castle always separated the men from the boys.

When i can tear myself away from nostalgic Dark Castle fun, i've been delving deeper into Grand Theft Auto IV. As i'd hoped, the game has grown on me as the missions and plot become more complex. The shift in tone from cartoon silliness to serious drama in general works, with genuine emotion generated for antihero Niko Bellic, a good guy with a checkered past caught in an array of bad circumstances. Rockstar has continued developing some of the role-playing elements of the series, in particular giving you a variety of friends and girlfriends that you need to spend time with in order to maintain a good relationship. Veronica walked in on me playing the other day, while i was hanging out with buddy Little Jacob at a strip club. Very weird scene.

V and i saw my old favorites the Kids in the Hall at the War Memorial Opera House a few weeks back, the Bay Area stop on their latest reunion tour after their performance at SF Sketchfest in January. The show bore much of the same material, although this time round the Kids mixed new and old instead of doing new then old. They also picked more out of the way sketches from their backcatalog, like the Chicken Lady bit where she's working a phone sex line, and Gavin's (he of "so you're painting a chair, eh?") encounter with two Jehovah's witnesses. The climax of the show again was Mr. Headcrusher killing off the Kids one by one. Scott Thompson was up first, and after his demise he decided to ham it up a bit by rolling off the stage, which he guessed was the typical 4-5 feet off the ground. V and i were on the floor and thought the same, but it turns out an orchestra pit lurked just beyond the stage, meaning the drop was more like 10 feet. Scott's fall had the crowd standing up and gasping, but luckily Thompson was okay enough to giggle his way offstage. Apparently he went to the hospital later, but no serious harm was done. A typically great show, made slightly surreal by the fact it was held in the Opera House in environs usually reserved for the hoity toity, as opposed to theater geeks and chuckling nerds.

Went to Miami last week for the Tumor Microenvironment Workshop, co-organized by my Stanford colleague Amato. A nice small meeting, where both my postdoc Ivana and i got to give talks that were well received. And better yet, the meeting was held in the Palms Hotel, mere footsteps from lovely Miami Beach. We had a great Cuban dinner at Gloria Estefan's Yukka (although the former Miami Sound Machine singer's ownership was not a factor in our decision to eat there nor our approval), and lounged around the pool smoking cigars after the meeting's gala dinner. I had a grant due at Stanford the first day of the conference so i spent a lot of that day at the back of the meeting room working on my laptop.

Upon my return from Florida on Saturday morning, i was fetched by Veronica and Tara and whisked off to my dad's birthday party in Fremont. I had fun with the family, horsing around with now year-old nephew Camden as he fed me strawberries, although by 6pm i was spent. In order to catch my 7:45am eastern time flight, i had to get up at what was 2:30am Pacific time, so i think i was entitled to pass out. The next day i was much more awake, and V and i headed over to the Redwood City Century Theater to catch the first of the summer blockbusters, Robert Downey Jr.'s turn as Marvel superhero Iron Man. I'm not up on Iron Man lore, so although i'm told the origin story presented in the movie is fairly true to the comic, i still found it a bit hokey. However, the full story arc was great, as were the effects and Downey's portrayal of billionaire arms developer Tony Stark as a cocky playboy.

Basic cable's incessant replays of the original Indiana Jones trilogy has got me excited for the next big summer movie Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, despite so far lackluster reviews. Being one of the few who enjoyed Ang Lee's Hulk, i'm also interested in the forthcoming the Incredible Hulk. I'm disappointed that Speed Racer got such crappy reviews, although despite my affection for the campy cartoon hero i can see what went wrong in the Wachowski brother's manic film adaptation. Then there's the Dark Knight (opening night material, that) and Hellboy II, and a variety of other points of interest like the latest from M. Night Shyamalan and Pixar's Wall-E. Might be a summer at the movies, that is if i can get myself away from the pile of grants and papers i need to write.

My health has been turning south the last few days, culminating in a sleepless Tuesday night and a pair of clogged sinuses Wednesday morning. As V headed off to work, i set myself up on the couch and set the tivo to record the Champions League final between Chelsea and Manchester United. I awoke around noon and pulled myself into some semblance of coherence to watch the match.

Nerves were present both on the pitch and on my sofa as the match began, with each side probing the other. Chelsea opted for a lone striker in Didier Drogba, with Florent Malouda and Joe Cole on the wings and Ballack and Lampard in central midfield. Michael Essien started at right back with the job of shadowing Cristiano Ronaldo for the afternoon. United put Wayne Rooney and Carlos Tevez up front, with the aforementioned Ronaldo lurking behind with Paul Scholes, Michael Carrick, and Owen Hargreaves. United looked the more dangerous in the early going, consistently putting the Blues on the back foot. The game looked every bit a rough and tumble Premiership clash, with Paul Scholes getting a bloody (broken?) nose early on. Ronaldo skinned his marker Essien several times, and was on the receiving end of a cross in the 25th minute that he headed past Petr Cech to put United ahead. Chelsea regrouped but found it difficult to organize effective attacks, and managed barely a shot on goal until just before half, when a deflected Essien shot befuddled both Rio Ferdinand and keeper Edwin van der Sar, leaving Frank Lampard an easy chip to equalize. A huge boost going into halftime for my side, even if it was a combination of defensive error and luck.

The ref was finding it difficult to control the match, having dished out yellows to Scholes and Claude Makelele in the first half for what looked like a relatively innocent 50/50 challenge. Chelsea and United were showing their disgraceful tendency to surround and harangue the ref when a decision went against them, and there were at least three mass confrontations that threatened to devolve into brawls. Drogba and United manager Alex Ferguson were seen yelling at the ref as they came onto the pitch to start the second half, in what can only be interpreted as Mourinho-esque attempts to influence his subsequent decisions. My assessment that our late first half goal would be a spark turned out to be correct, as Chelsea dominated possession in the second half and completely shut down Ronaldo, Tevez, and Rooney. Despite the shooting advantage, the Blues could not find a second (coming as close as hitting the post), and on to extra time we went.

At every dead ball in extra time, the Chelsea trainers were running onto the pitch to give quick rubdowns and stretches to the rapidly tiring players. The steadily increasing downpour wasn't helping either. We again bossed play in the two 15 minute extra periods, with a quick Lampard turn and shoot bouncing off the crossbar, but could not net a winner. At yet another flare-up ten minutes from time, Didier Drogba gave United defender Nemanja Vidic a light slap on the face, and was given a rightful straight red. A ridiculous end of the season for the brilliant striker, even moreso when you consider that may be his last action in a Chelsea kit if he gets his transfer wish. The dismissal did little to alter the final ten minutes, other than to put the skids on any hope of a winner. And on to penalties we go. Stomach churning mightily.

With Drogba gone, Chelsea manager brought on Juliano Belletti and Nicolas Anelka in extra time to play a part in penalties. United went first, with Tevez sending Cech the wrong way. 1-nil. Ballack evened it up with a well struck kick. Carrick and Belletti kept on track. Then up came Ronaldo, known for a ridiculous stutter step when taking penalties. He starts running, then stops completely a few steps from the ball, then finishes his kick. Ronaldo accentuated the pause this time, ostensibly to unseat the keeper, but his strategy backfired as Cech saved comfortably. After Lampard converted his kick, Chelsea held a slim 3-2 advantage. Makes from Hargreaves, Ashley Cole, and Nani evened the score with Chelsea to take the last kick for the championship. And up comes ... John Terry? Sure, he's our emotional leader, but when has he ever been a penalty taker? Salomon Kalou and Nicolas Anelka still hadn't shot, why not them? But i kept telling myself, "just one more. just one more". John runs up, sends van der Sar the wrong way, and ... sends the ball wide off the right post. Agony. He sat on the pitch for a good 30 seconds after the miss pondering, and then the drama continued. Makes from Anderson, Kalou, and Ryan Giggs put United up 6-5, and when Anelka's weakly taken shot was saved, United ran out the victors.

They call it a cruel game, and this was among the cruelest i've experienced. Terry broke down in tears as the Red Devils celebrated, and i teared up myself. So close ... just one penalty away from a European championship ... and we walk away with nothing. I can't argue with United's status as the best team in Europe, or with Ronaldo's status as the best player in the world. In fact, i congratulate both teams for what was arguably the best Champions League final in years. But it hurts just the same for my club to be denied by a single miss. I keep seeing Terry's kick in my head, and wondering what might have been.