I don't give a shit what anybody says, particularly Sharon Osbourne ... Iron Maiden rule.

i'm coming back, i will return
and i'll possess your body and i'll make you burn
i have the fire, i have the force
i have the power to make my evil take its course

See, that disclaimer i put on my World Cup projections was right. Well, actually even the disclaimer was incorrect in its prediction ... my projected bracket is in ruins on Friday, instead of Saturday as i had previously speculated. First quarterfinal of the tourney, and my champions Argentina are knocked out at the hands of hosts Germany. A good match, if not spectacular ... the South Americans dominated possession but were short of ideas in how to break down the organized German defense, which frequently looked as if there were fifteen men in white shirts around the penalty area. Roberto Ayala made the breakthrough just after halftime, heading home a Juan Riquelme corner. However, the Argentines then fell victim to Eriksson's disease ... after subbing their goalkeeper due to injury, coach Jose Pekerman then replaced Riquelme with defensive midfielder Esteban Cambiasso, and exhausted striker Hernan Crespo with unknown Jose Cruz. Argentina stopped playing their possession game and let the Germans come forward. Carlos Tevez struggled in vain to create in the infrequent Argentine attacks, but looked out of gas after running constantly for an hour. Meanwhile, potential gamewinners Lionel Messi and Javier Saviola languished on the bench as Pekerman had made his three substitutions. The German persistence finally paid off when midfield general Michael Ballack crossed into the area, which Tim Borowski flicked on to the charging Miroslav Klose, heading past substitute keeper Leo Franco to equalize. After that there really was only going to be one winner, with the Argentine attack more or less stalled. Even going through extra time scoreless and on to penalties, the Germans had to feel good with the imposing Jens Lehmann between the sticks, while the South Americans put their hopes in the untested Franco. Franco was helpless in the shootout, failing to sow any seeds of doubt in the German takers. Meanwhile Lehmann came up huge, guessing correctly on every single Argentine kick and saving two including the clincher taken by Cambiasso.

Apparently a big brawl erupted after the climax, by which time i had left for work but will inspect on Tivo when i get home. I'm sure it's a hard pill to swallow for the Argentines, particularly Man United wingback Gabriele Heinze who didn't have the best match and supposedly was one of the instigators of the fight. And now Pekerman has quit! Only minutes after bowing out, the Argentina coach has passively admitted that he blew it in forgoing the attack in the second half, keeping Messi and Saviola on the bench and ultimately unavailable to rescue the South Americans' hopes after Klose equalized. What a spectacle.

So my projected champions didn't even make it to the semis. I should know by now, never underestimate the advantage of playing at home. Even a squad with as many questions as Germany's can use that momentum to make an impact. Playing against Italy or Ukraine in the semis, i expect to see them in the final. Of course, i also expected to see Argentina in the final as of yesterday. Anyway, we may be in for a rematch of the 2002 final pitting the Germans against mighty Brazil ... unless England, Portugal, or France intervene to make it an all-European affair. Oh, the drama.

You've been on the go ever since you were born, and I imagine few people in the world today have travelled as much as you have. Now why?

Well, I don't know. I suppose some of us are cave dwellers, some of us live in houses, some of us like to be loose footed. I'm a ramblin' man.

Paris, Tibet, Sydney, Naxos, Rangoon, Berkeley, Rotterdam, Runcton, the Cayman Islands, Malawi, Mauritius, Oakland, Patagonia, Kingston, Kentish Town, Codrington, Koh Samui, Felixstowe, Fingrinhoe, Valmorel, the North Pole, Brixton, Antwerp, Gujarat, Prawle, Uganda, Shennington, Sudbury, Sri Lanka, Ecuador, Edinburgh, Stockholm, Abu Dhabi, Lexington, Lindos, San Francisco, Tokyo, Harlem, Ipanema, Nicosia, Granada, San Jose, Damascus, Mandalay, Boston, Atlantis, Adelaide, Angmering, Arumpo, Amsterdam, New York, Kabul, Rwanda, Kyoto, Manchester, San Mateo, Prague, Mendhurst, Toronto, Madrid, Melbourne, Dublin, Dakar, Redwood City, Oslo, Tooting, Belfast, Botswana, Tonga, Rayburn

I'm a ramblin' man.

And you're going to keep on rambling?

Oh yes. Heh heh. Have to.

I watched the Spain/France round of 16 World Cup encounter when i got home from work, albeit on fast forward as i already knew Spain had underachieved in yet another major tournament. Opening goal by David Villa was a straightforward penalty, equalized just before the half on a offside trap-busting run by elephant man Franck Ribery. Skip ahead to late in the second half, with Spanish coach Luis Aragones having gambled and brought on his full complement of subs, including the attack-minded Joaquin, Luis Garcia, and Marcos Senna, in a bid to win the game in regulation. Despite controlling the match, the Spaniards weren't really coming close to putting the ball in the net.

As the scene opens, we find France and Arsenal all-world striker Thierry Henry chasing a ball towards the Spanish goal, although Spain and Barcelona defender Carles Puyol has him beat to it. So what does Henry do? He runs straight into the back of Puyol, and falls over like he's been punched in the face, clutching his head. The ref blows the whistle and awards the Spaniard a yellow card, as Puyol looks on in disbelief. Replays show that although his arm raised slightly to shield Henry off the ball, his elbow came nowhere near the Frenchman's face, and the contact was clearly initiated by Henry. But despite that, the free kick goes to France, and Zinedine Zidane arcs a ball into the box that is met by Patrick Vieira and put in the net. 2-1 France, and Spain can't muster an equalizer in the seven minutes remaining, instead conceding the nail in the coffin on a counterattack by Zidane.

Something about this whole episode really rankles with me. I can't stand Arsenal, or France, but i always appreciated the skill of Thierry Henry. Once upon a time i even imagined him coming to Stamford Bridge. I also considered him a player who played the game the right way, free of referee deception or gamesmanship. But that's all out the window. Maybe he's smarting from Arsenal's Champions League defeat, oddly enough to Puyol and Barcelona. He seems to have evolved into a consummate whiner, having followed in his mentor Arsene Wenger's footsteps and learned to place blame anywhere but on himself.

It's not as if Spain did enough to win the match, clearly they fell short and continued their trend of underachievement. But France and Henry didn't do enough to win either, and can thank a hoodwinked ref for their good fortune. Way to go Henry. I hope you enjoy getting throttled by Brazil in a few days, and steamrollered by Chelsea, Manchester United, and Liverpool again next year. With any luck, Andriy Shevchenko can claim the title of best striker in the Premiership as well, and leave you second on all counts.

On my way into the Caltrain station to meet Fred, Amanda, and Jianghong last Friday, i saw something that made me feel a bit better about my relationship with the creatures of the world. I got out of my car and began walking about ten feet behind another gentleman who was on his way into the shopping center. Lo and behold, a little black bird swooped down into his back, and pestered him all the way across the street. I had a great view of the whole episode, and saw someone going through exactly what had happened to me on my birthday. We made eye contact and had a laugh about it. Turns out i didn't piss off the bird last week ... he's just an asshole. Protecting a nest perhaps.

V took me out for dinner and a movie last night to get my mind off this infuriating and depressing grant. We had a couple of slices of pizza at go on, take another little Pizza My Heart, then moved the Mini two blocks to a space in front of the downtown San Mateo theater and bought two tickets to Nacho Libre. Hrm. The big question going in was how long they could stretch out the joke of Jack Black as both a monk and a Mexican wrestler ("luchador"). Well, about 100 minutes, actually. The movie has some funny bits, particularly Black's feral wrestling partner who keeps reminding him "i don't believe in god, i believe in science" in the film's steadiest joke. But the whole thing feels tacked together and doesn't really provide Black the opportunity to showcase his comedy. Other than spitting out lines in his bizarre Mexican affect.

My mp3 genres need some serious work. Seeing the folk rock masterpiece Mermaid Avenue by Billy Bragg & Wilco labeled as "brit pop" just pushed me over the edge.

I've improved the fac13 user account preferences interface with more options, and added a link for those of you that are too forgetful to remember your login information. I'm quite happy with my homegrown website, but sometimes wonder just what kind of coniption fit a real programmer would have upon inspecting my code.

I think i'm grinding my teeth again, dammit. I've got a dentist appointment coming up so we'll see if they can do anything for me. Getting out from under this grant hell is probably the best medicine, though.

With this savory encounter between France and Spain coming to a climax, the final eight of the World Cup are coming into view. Some enticing matchups on the horizon ... lackluster England facing a depleted but dangerous Portugal side, hosts Germany taking on the impressive Argentines, and defending champions Brazil awaiting the winner of this afternoon's match. Ted's predictions ... England, Brazil, Argentina, and Italy make the semis, Brazil exposes the Brits' inadequacy while Argentina manhandles the overrated Italians, and Argentina knocks off their familiar rivals to hoist the trophy. Of course, i'm no Kreskin so my picks could be looking pretty silly by Saturday.

French starlet Franck Ribery is one ugly bastard. He looks like the villain in Cobra that Sly Stallone hung on a hook and set on fire.

Okay, i'd like to meet the person who designed the online forms that the NIH is now using for all their grant applications. Or more precisely, i'd like to meet him/her and clock them. What a friggin' horrible interface. I banged my fist on my desk at least five times today while trying to transfer my application into the PureEdge application that manages the forms. For an agency that is funding the best minds in the country, you'd think they'd come up with something a little less ... well ... retarded.

Quite a bit has gone on since i last posted six days ago. First off, a sweltering two day heat wave descended upon the Bay Area, of which i got my first taste when i met Fred for lunch last Wednesday, emerging from my office for the first time since 8am and almost getting knocked on my ass from the heat. Ouch. Temperatures peaked at 100°C in Redwood City, giving our new lawn a true baptism by fire. I had arranged to drop off Veronica's old Toyota Tercel at a donation house that afternoon, so i headed home early, changed into a t-shirt and shorts, and spent twenty minutes trying to jump the mostly expired battery before succeeding. I drove a couple of miles to the place, leaving the car running in the driveway as i was fairly pessimistic about the chances of it starting again without assistance. They printed the forms for me and completed the transaction, seemingly not caring that the car was in less than spectacular condition. Unfortunately for me though, i had failed to devise a strategy for getting home after relinquishing ownership of the car. Eek ... a twenty minute walk home through the heat. I changed again and slathered myself in sunblock before driving back to Stanford for our softball game. Despite the weather, we put in our best effort yet, losing 9-3 in a competitive and good-natured game. Our defense is evolving, and despite some base-running errors from our foreign contingent the offense is gelling as well. V stuck around in the city that evening in a vain attempt to win Radiohead tickets, so i had a take-out dinner from Whole Paycheck before whiling away the night driving around shopping for a fan, finally purchasing one at Bed Bath & Beyond. That took the edge off being in the house and let me get some sleep.

I came in late to work on Thursday so i could watch the U.S.A.'s must-win World Cup match against Ghana from 7-9am. Quick summary: it was a better performance than we gave against the Czechs, but not nearly up to our effort in the Italy match. In other words, mostly disappointing. Landon Donovan was MIA again, and as such our offense was mostly harmless. The only player who ran at the African defense and looked like he was there to win was Clint Dempsey, someone who was thought to be a young fringe player going into the tournament. The die-hard members of Sam's Army will claim we got screwed by a bogus penalty decision against Oguchi Onyewu, but i didn't feel particularly aggrieved about it. There was contact, and although i personally wouldn't have called it a penalty, i can appreciate why the ref did. The guy who won the penalty, Razak Pimpong, didn't ingratiate himself with the American fans between earning the penalty and trying for a few more later on. At one point late in the second half he collapsed in a heap for no apparent reason, and had to be stretchered off. After wasting a good two minutes with that routine, he made a miraculous recovery and came right back on the pitch. Geez. All i could think about when seeing him was Mike Ditka's praise for his tiny Korean youth soccer player Byong Sun in Kicking and Screaming: "Way to go Bingbong!". Anyhoo, the Americans are out of the World Cup, at the hands of the surprising and worthy Ghana team. The American soccer gods had better produce a better team before they start hyping them to death. Step one: get more players overseas. Landon Donovan's ridiculous claim that "he plays better when he's comfortable at home" is sounding more and more like an admission that he couldn't hack it in Germany with Bayer Leverkusen. Our best players need to be competing at the level of Chelsea, AC Milan, and Barcelona ... miles above the likes of Real freaking Salt Lake that they get in the MLS.

Fred managed to get the Radiology Giants season tickets for Friday's Bay Bridge game against the Oakland A's, so with his wife Amanda and our MIPS chum Jianghong, we headed north on the Caltrain to AT&T Park. We settled into our box seats by the middle of the first, equipped with a couple of hot dogs, some garlic fries, and a beer. The more vocal A's fans made it feel like we were in Oakland, and were rewarded for their enthusiasm as the Giants blew a 3-2 lead in the top of the ninth and lost 4-3. Doh. It was worth it for the sausages and Ghirardelli hot fudge sundae. After yet another grant-dominated week, i was mostly exhausted by the end and suffered through the long train ride home to return joyously to my bed.

More World Cup on the weekend ... i went to rewind my Tivo to the beginning of the Germany/Sweden knockout match, but made the mistake of turning the TV on first and heard the announcer say "2-nil Germany" ... doh. So i skimmed that for highlights, then watched the afternoon's showdown between Argentina and Mexico. Great match, in keeping with the Argentine's run of good performances. To Veronica's chagrin, the goal of the tournament was scored in extra time by Maxi Rodriguez, a looping volley from the edge of the box that arced over Mexican keeper Osvaldo Sanchez to put the South American side into the quarterfinals. Sunday i caught the entirety of yet another unimpressive England win, with David Beckham temporarily distracting his critics with an excellent free kick to score the game's only goal. I also saw the card-fest between Portugal and the Netherlands. Truly bizarre ... the ref completely lost control of that match. Four reds and a mind-blowing 16 yellow cards, both World Cup records. England made out like bandits ... what looked like a daunting quarterfinal encounter with one of two strong teams is now very winnable, with Portuguese midfielders Costinha and Deco suspended and playmaker Cristiano Ronaldo nursing a gash on his thigh from a horrible challenge by Dutch defender Khalid Boulahrouz. The Dutch can't complain at their exit, they had way too many issues to make an impact in the tourney. As Soccernet commentator Ernst Bouwes astutely points out, "[Dirk] Kuyt worked on his own up front as wingers Robin van Persie and Arjen Robben were seemingly only interested in finishing their runs with shots on goal". Story of the World Cup for Holland ... Robben is fantastic but you can see that when he kicks into overdrive he is only concerned with scoring, and that makes him relatively easy to defend. He's not going to dribble through six defenders very often. He must mature, both for his country and (more important to me) for Chelsea.

On Saturday night we left poor Tara dog all by her lonesome to attend Leisure in the city. We met up with Gary, Naomi, and Jenz, as well as NorCal expatriate Kevin and his girlfriend Amy, up from L.A., and had a bunch of drinks and danced. We made reconvened at Pop Roxx after Leisure closed at 2am, but i was mostly dead by that point and just watched the fun from a table. It was good to hang with the gang and unwind from work a bit, but unfortunately the price for said relaxation was a Sunday spent in a zombie-like state from my interrupted sleep schedule. V and i also worked some more on our newborn lawn, which worryingly is already yellowing in patches. Presumably from the recent heat, perhaps coupled with the inability of our sprinkler system to completely cover the entire grassy area, or due to the failure of certain sod regions to take root. Our gardeners are returning tomorrow to replace the dying patch. Other than that, we watched the very sharp and witty Saved!, which oddly shared a lot of the same clique and popularity issues as Mean Girls which we caught a few weeks ago. But Saved! in general rang truer and avoided the head-slappingly bad "everyone gets along now" ending. Later in the evening i revelled in the season premiere of the Venture Bros., which answered the question "How do you have a second season of the Venture Bros. when the Venture brothers died at the end of the finale of season 1?". After flirting with several possible theories, the premiere provided a solution, rooted in Dr. Venture's experience with his "death prone" children.

I also received a second birthday gift from my parents, the highly-acclaimed Call of Duty 2 for the Xbox 360. I gave it a whirl on Saturday, and was impressed with how it captures the visceral and chaotic environment of the battlefield. As i imagine it, at any rate. Very good, although not quite the strategic masterclass of Ghost Recon: Advanced Warfighter.

Next weekend we're down to L.A. to see Veronica's family, returning for my parents' fourth of July BBQ. After this R21 gets resubmitted on Friday, i'm going to need a four day weekend.

My birthday evening began with a trip home from work at 5:00pm to feed Tara. While at home i received a package from Amazon containing the season 1 DVD of the Venture Bros. ("have a scientastic day!"), a gift from the folks. Awesome. I then drove over to Sequoia Station to catch Caltrain up to the city. On my way into an open parking space, i noticed a little black bird hopping around on the pavement. I slowed down to let him get out of the way, but he didn't seem to be interested in helping me out so i drove on in, expecting he would either fly off or i would pull over him and he could hop out from under the car. I grabbed my iPod, got out of the car, and began walking to the station when i felt something hit me in the back. I turned around and saw the black bird had flown into me. Weird. I started walking again when i again felt him run into me, this time hovering just behind me flapping his wings. At this point i started flailing my arms wildly as the thought of a bird assaulting me was creeping me out. I began moving once again when chippy attacked a third time, afterward hovering at about 10 feet, giving me the evil eye. At this point i all but ran across the parking lot, glancing back occasionally to see if my cowardly escape was working. Bizarre. And on my birthday, too.

The festivities included a low-key dinner with Veronica, Naomi, Raffi, and lo and behold old roommate Alex and his new girlfriend, at the cozy environs of Chai Yo. We followed that up with a beer at the Hemlock, then headed home. To conclude the evening, we got to jump the Tercel that has been parked on the street for six months or so, in order to move it into our driveway at the request of the Redwood City police. I'm off later today to donate it to Parca, a charity serving the developmentally disabled.

Ana's site is almost ready for prime time. Rudha drew this cartoon fairy that i then colored and animated, which will serve as the host of the page. Awwww.

Our lawn is now fully sodded, and looks wonderful with next to the lone lemon tree. I've now got to figure out how to program the mess of pins and dials that is my sprinkler system. I now how to make it turn on and off for set periods of time, but haven't deduced how to schedule regular watering sessions. Hopefully with the aid of twice a month visits from our new gardeners, this lawn will have a longer life than the last one. Veronica and i are debating how to put our new backyard to use. Hammock, anyone?

Miami capped off a good season and a great postseason by coming back from an early 13 point deficit to beat the Mavericks 95-92 and win their first ever championship. As one of the millions for whom the NBA used to be a passion and is now mostly forgotten, i had but a few thoughts watching Shaq, DWade, and the Heat celebrate.

• Kobe Bryant must be popping a blood vessel or twelve about now. Between Shaq calling Wade the "best player ever" and Wade taking over the last four games in Jordan-esque fashion, Kobe is yesterday's news. Shaq made good on his promise to bring a championship to Miami and get his fourth ring after his ugly exit from the Lakers. Kobe isn't going to win his fourth in the foreseeable future. Bryant is now even further removed from the "next MJ" throne with the emergence of Wade and Lebron James. Boo freakin' hoo.

• The legions of Dallas faithful are crying about the refereeing the series ... news flash, this was brought on by your freakin' boss. If Mark Cuban wasn't constantly baiting the league, the Mavs might get a fair shake from the officials. I'm not saying David Stern is rigging games, but Cuban has definitely made enemies of the people who preside over the games.

• Wait a minute, what do i care about the fairness of the NBA? This sport lost 99% of its interest to me after Jordan retired. I harbor a secret hope that Lebron and DWade can recapture past glories for the league, but i doubt it.

• Congrats to Alonzo Mourning on his first championship. For a fierce competitor who has come back from a god damn kidney transplant, this is a fitting reward. Congrats to GP and Antoine Walker on their first as well, but they've been mostly petulant and annoying all these years so i'm not too teary-eyed for them.

There's something really comforting about the Howard Stern show. That sounds a bit odd, but it's true. The show perfectly captures the dynamic of a bunch of guys hanging around shooting the shit. It's not PC. But it's how we interact.

From the magical Wikipedia, a list of famous people past and present who share my birthday of June 19 ...

• Blaise Pascal (1623), French philosopher and mathematician, and namesake of the programming language in which i was fluent once upon a time.

• Yankee great Lou Gehrig (1903), although my enthusiasm over this coincidence is diminished by thoughts of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.

• Actor Louis Jourdan (1919), who i previously knew only from his silly villain roles in Octopussy and Swamp Thing, but thanks to Wiki learned he was a member of the French Resistance during the German occupation of France in World War II. Also cool is that he was born on June 19, 1919 ... 6/19/1919. If only there was a 19th month. I suppose September 19, 1919 (9/19/1919) is the best possible, but Wikipedia tells me no one (important) was born on that day.

• Aage Niels Bohr (1922), Danish Nobel laureate physicist and son of the pioneering Niels Bohr, who produced one of the first working quantum models of the atom.

• Salman Rushdie (1947), author of the enormously controversial Satanic Verses that i tried to read in high school but couldn't penetrate.

• Actress Phylicia Rashad (1948), who honestly i could care less about, but i certainly had to mention that i have the same birthday as Mrs. Huxtable.

• The brilliant and tragically short-lived British musician Nick Drake (1948), who produced three albums of spellbinding folk rock that laid the foundation for future indie pop torchbearers like Belle & Sebastian and Iron & Wine.

• Actress Kathleen Turner (1954), who i thought was really hot around the time of Romancing the Stone. Unfortunately, her recent role as Chandler's transsexual father on Friends is now all too fitting.

• Paula Abdul (1962) ... oh f@$#ing hell.

• American striker Brian McBride (1972), one of the members of the U.S. team that put in a fantastic performance against the odds to frustrate Italy last Saturday and breathe some life into the World Cup credibility of our developing soccer program. I watched the match and was amazed that this was the same team that completely folded against the Czech Republic five days earlier. The introduction of winger Clint Dempsey worked wonders, as he ran straight at a totally flat Italian squad and opened up several attacks. The flurry of red cards was unbelievable ... the first on Daniele de Rossi for a nasty intentional elbow on birthday boy McBride was completely deserved, while the second on Pablo Mastroeni was perhaps less clear cut and obviously intended to bring both teams level at ten men. The third on Eddie Pope was bizarre ... i have to think the ref forgot Pope already had a yellow card, whipped out a yellow for a Pope's illegal but not malicious tackle, and then realized he would have to follow it with a red. But even a man down at nine on ten, the U.S. played with confidence, technique, and heart, and produced chances to win. Kasey Keller made several fantastic saves and lived up to his rep as a superstar keeper. Way to go U.S. ... whether or not we qualify for the second round, you've done me proud.

• Dallas Mavericks forward Dirk Nowitzki (1978), who looked totally ridiculous trying to punch and kick anything he could get his hands on while exiting the court in Miami last night after his Mavs lost in overtime in Game 5 of the NBA Finals. Dirk smash exercycle! Dirk smash water cooler! Dirk mad! I've been pulling for the Heat, so their three game surge to come back from 2-0 down to be within one game of a championship has been great. Sure, cantankerous Mavs owner Mark Cuban's level of involvement with his team is laudable, but he's a f@$#ing whiner that cries when he doesn't get his way. He also always seems to be able to generate piles of statistics and video that support his team. I wonder if he's ever found similar data suggesting his team have their own advantages. I hope Shaq and the real next-MJ Dwyane Wade sieze the trophy in Dallas as Cuban looks on broken-hearted.

Also, Chelsea midfield general Frank Lampard was born on June 20, 1978, which frankly (yay! puns!) is close enough for me.

My weekend again began on Saturday and Sunday with watching the World Cup. Ghana surprised me by completely outplaying the previously outstanding Czech Republic, earning a deserved 2-nil win that should've been 4- or 5-nil if the Ghana strikers hadn't wasted a handful of chances. Saturday was red card day ... in addition to the three in the U.S./Italy match, Czech defender Tomas Ujfalusi was sent off for altering Matthew Amoah's shot from behind. That may have been a bit harsh, but by the letter of the law he was the last defender and off he must go. Coupled with the U.S. match, the best day of the Cup so far. Although Ghana's emergence has ominous portents for the U.S.'s final, must-win group match. Sunday was less exciting ... Brazil again failed to impress despite running out 2-nil winners over Australia, and France are beginning to look frustrated with their World Cup malaise, giving up a late equalizer to draw 1-1 with Korea and failing to win their first World Cup match since the final of the 1998 tourney.

Our gardeners worked all weekend, removing five trees/overgrown hedges from our backyard fence, leveling the lawn area, and laying down about 80% of the "Medallion Dwarf Bonsai" sod on our new backyard. We now have a yard that welcomes rather than horrifies me when i pull into our driveway. Man, watching those guys labor out there in the baking heat was brutal. I'm getting tired just thinking about it.

On Saturday night Veronica and i prepared a batch of my now-standard chipotle-rubbed t-bones and cilantro-lime butter and drove down to have dinner with my MIPS colleague/gym buddy/softball coach Fred and his wife Amanda, nine month old son Ethan, and mother-in-law. We supplied the steaks for Fred's grill, while he prepared corn on the cob, vegetable skewers, garlic bread, salad, and several huge Dungeness crabs. After a gargantuan meal we settled down on the couch and watched the decent Steve Martin novella-turned-film Shopgirl. Quite heavy on the symbolism, and not entirely cohesive. But Jason Schwartzman was entertaining. A fun night out with some new friends.

We had dinner with my parents and Hilary and Jeff at Café La Scala in Burlingame last night to celebrate Father's Day as well as my early birthday. V and i got my dad a Tommy Bahama shirt for his upcoming cruise with mom around Scandinavia ... not a tropical trip, but a cruise nonetheless and deserving of cruisewear. We then came home and i cleaned the kitchen before completing a particularly tough level on Ghost Recon: Advanced Warfighter. I was down to minimal health (i.e., one shot and i'm dead), and had to cross a railroad depot chock full of concealed enemy soldiers to get to the extraction point. I must've died twenty times before i finally was able to successfully whittle down their numbers with my sniper rifle and cautiously creep across the tracks, eliminating the few remaining dug-in enemies. What a game. Tonight V is organizing something for me in the city with some friends. I'm content to have a beer and toast to another year.

After a brief interlude, i'm back with my nose to the grant grindstone. My twice-rejected R21 project on imaging hypoxia-inducible reporter genes is currently getting a thorough makeover, one that will hopefully quiet the reviewers' criticisms on its third and final attempt. It's tough to get back in the saddle after the horror of preparing the R01 ... my brain sees what i'm doing and shouts "oh no, not this again!" It's a continuing battle against procrastination.

Ghost Recon: Advanced Warfighter isn't helping in that battle. Nor is Brain Age: Train Your Brain in Minutes a Day, despite its useful-sounding title. V heard about this Nintendo DS game and was curious, so we picked it up at Best Buy a week ago. It was inspired by the research of Japanese neuroscientist Ryuta Kawashima, who claims that our brains peak at age 20 and decline thereafter. With his training, a set of games and puzzles designed to activate your prefrontal cortex, he proposes that you can slow your brain's aging and make it perform as if you were younger. Ignoring the semi-believable self-help aspects, it is a fun puzzle game.

Okay, this really isn't right, but i could't help but giggle a bit when i read that the son of the defendant in a murder trial described his mother in his testimony as "cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs". From Orinda, no less.

The World Cup grinds on ... i'm fairly pissed that the one match i forgot to Tivo, today's group of death match between Argentina and Serbia & Montenegro, resulted in a 6-nil South American romp. Between that and their defeat of the Ivory Coast, as well as Brazil's less-than-stellar 1-nil victory over Croatia, the Argentines have installed themselves as the team to beat. Next Wednesday's showdown between group C leaders Argentina and the Netherlands should be a cracker. I'm a bit saddened that the Ivory Coast is out after successive losses to those teams, but they certainly played each team tough and were unlucky to be drawn in such a brutal group. Meanwhile, i maintain a silly optimism that the United States can pull themselves together to give Italy a run for its money. But on the evidence of last Monday, i have to believe they're going to get embarassed again. It's not good when the media is touting the Ukraine's 4-nil defeat at the hands of Spain because it means the U.S. is no longer in last place in the World Cup. Eek. A few days of reflection on the Czech debacle hasn't really produced any answers ... coach Bruce Arena singled out poor performances by Landon Donovan and DaMarcus Beasley, while Beasley and Bobby Convey suggested that the team was not properly prepared ... something i mentioned immediately after the match. In retrospect, i would now believe that both parties are probably correct. Meanwhile, England are through to the knockout stages on the strength of victories over Paraguay and Trinidad & Tobago. The problem is the team didn't look particularly convincing in either win, basically floundering after getting an early goal against the South Americans, and then looking useless for 80 minutes against the Caribbeans. As much as i hate to badmouth my Chelsea hero, Frank Lampard has been shite. This whole Peter Crouch experiment has failed against lesser oppositions ... mainly because of horrible service ... so why does anyone think it will succeed against an Argentina or a Brazil? The English defense looks sound, but on the attack Joe Cole is to my eye the only English player willing to run at an opponent's defense. The Brits should be thanking their lucky stars that they didn't get drawn in a tougher group ... put them in Serbia's place and they don't make it out of the group phase. Call it a poor showing from the English-speaking nations (Australia being a moderate exception). Karmic retribution for Iraq, perhaps?

On the slate for the weekend is an as-yet unplanned Father's Day/Ted's birthday get-together with my parents, a second visit from our newly-hired gardeners to remove a set of trees along one of our fences and lay down sod on our freshly deweeded lawn, and a barbecue dinner with my friend Fred and his family down in Santa Clara. And that grant. @#%*$!

Jodie never sleeps 'cause there are always needles in the hay she says that a girl needs a gun these days hey, on account of all the rattlesnakes she looks like Eva Marie Saint in On The Waterfront as she reads Simone de Beauvoir, in her American circumstance her heart, heart's like crazy paving upside down and back to front she says "ooh, it's so hard to love when love was your great disappointment"

Contrary to the theme of my previous post, my weekend did manage to include non-soccer activities. One was the aforementioned BFD festival, discussed in more detail here. Another was the arrival of our newly hired gardeners on Sunday morning, who spent the day removing untold quantities of weeds from our front and back yards. At day's end, our 10 x 30' lawn had been reduced to a patch of dirt, ready for laying sod which will happen later this week. The assorted shrubs, trees, and hedges had also been beautified. Veronica has asked them to remove a collection of overgrown trees and hedges from our back yard, which they will tackle next weekend. We had to check with the city as apparently we need a permit to remove certain kinds of trees, but luckily our foliage doesn't fall under the governmental protection. When it came time to pay our crew, we got the nasty surprise that we were out of checks ... luckily Veronica made a quick trip to the ATM and was able to get out enough to cover the day's work.

I've also been playing a lot of Ghost Recon: Advanced Warfighter lately. What a fabulous game. The joy of organizing a raid on an unsuspecting enemy force is unparalleled ... sneaking through the brush, creeping along an enbankment, sending your squad to flank the enemy, then bursting in on them from two directions and mowing them down with automatic fire. Or locating an enemy on your tracking system using your reconaissance drone, then crawling to a sniper point and picking them off using night vision. Really, really well done. The killer app for the Xbox 360 to date, no doubt. I'm also playing a bit of FIFA World Cup 2006, but that's mostly to get my video soccer fix. It's no Winning Eleven, not even close. Hopefully Konami will release a 360 version of that in the near future ... IGN has it listed, but not due for release in the US until January 2007.

Allergies have been a royal pain in the ass for me so far this summer. I've never fallen victim to them in any major way before, except for my well-known sensitivity to cats. I'm wondering if the lack of a proper spring this year, given the continual rain from February through May, has increased the amount of pollen in the air in this early summer. The dust Veronica and i have been kicking up at home through our cleaning efforts is also having its way with me. Tara's rampant fur isn't helping either. Claritin helps, but only slightly. Now i know what my mom and sister were suffering with all those years growing up.

Only five shopping days left ...

Thwarted in my attempt to usher in the World Cup watching hosts Germany take on Costa Rica by a bevvy of meetings on Friday, my introduction to this year's competition had to wait until Saturday. I set the Tivo to tape the 6am match, but as expected i failed to awake at the designated hour, mostly because i stayed up until 2am playing Ghost Recon and FIFA World Cup 2006 on the 360. So i rose around 9am and fired up the match from the beginning.

Match 1: England v. Paraguay (group B).
Thank god i didn't lose any sleep to wake up for this piece of crap. The English started off brightly enough, making some probing runs into the Paraguay defense. Within four minutes they were rewarded for their attacks as a dangerous David Beckham free kick into the penalty area was headed into goal by Paraguayan defender Carlos Gamarra. As soon as this happened, i had the pestering thought that this could be the worst thing for England ... in Euro 2004 they closed up shop against France and Portugal after getting an early lead, content to sit on their slim advantage, and wound up losing both matches. While i'm not sure you can accuse them of such a strategy in this case, it's clear their attack never clicked. Peter Crouch failed to use his height to any sort of advantage, as balls in to him frequently overestimated his stature and dribbled out of play harmlessly. Joe Cole was the lone creative element in midfield, executing several impressive runs past the South Americans, but nearly everyone else looked totally flat. Lampard, Gerrard, Owen ... there was next to no link-up play and hence the attack was reduced to a series of long balls in to Crouch. England managed to hold on for the win, but worryingly they allowed a clearly overmatched Paraguay side to hang around and flirt with an equalizer. Striker Nelson Valdez and midfielder Carlos Paredes showed more offensive verve than the whole of England. Luckily England are in arguably the weakest qualifying group and should have no trouble cruising into the knockout stages, but on this evidence they'll be hard pressed to contend with a top side.

I skipped the surprising draw between Sweden and Trinidad & Tobago to grab a quick shower, so as to be unfettered when the highly anticipated afternoon match began.

Match 2: Argentina v. Ivory Coast (group C).
A much-welcome change of pace from the dire morning match, this encounter showcased end-to-end attack and entertained throughout. The Ivory Coast looked menacing in the early going, with Chelsea-boy Didier Drogba running the attack and linking up with midfielder Kader Keita to threaten the Argentine goal. However the South American side were not to be underestimated, and went ahead when another Chelsea striker, Hernan Crespo, latched onto a loose ball in the Ivory Coast six yard box and punched it home. The strike boosted the Argentines, who proceeded to add another before halftime when Juan Riquelme excellently split the Africans' defense with a through ball to Javier Saviola, who slotted past the keeper to double their advantage. The Ivory Coast maintained their pressure throughout the second half, and were rewarded when Didier Drogba turned home an Arthur Boka cross to cut the lead to one. Despite a frantic finish, the Africans would get no closer. Both sides produced excellent football, doing justice to the "group of death" label assigned to group C.

After watching my second match of the day, i headed off to Live 105's BFD at Shoreline with Veronica and Jenz. Unfortunately an outbreak of allergies forced me to head home early at 7pm, but not before i caught up with Aaron and Jeremy Popscene, and saw a disturbingly old-looking Ian McCulloch and Echo and the Bunnymen. A good night's sleep did well to quell my aching sinuses, and allowed me to continue with the World Cup viewing on Sunday morning.

Match 3: Netherlands v. Serbia & Montenegro (group C).
The other half of the group of death faced off at 6am Pacific Time on Sunday, although i joined in via Tivo around 9am. The Dutch have been flying under a lot of pundits' radars because of their relatively young and inexperienced squad, but on this evidence the rest of the world had better heed them. The attacking trio of Ruud van Nistelrooy, Arjen Robben, and Robin van Persie (representing the English triumvirate of Manchester United, Chelsea, and Arsenal) ran the stingy Serbian defense ragged, with Robben stealing the limelight via a series of jinking moves. A lobbed ball from van Persie allowed Robben to race behind the Serbian back four, after which he easily slotted past the keeper for the opener. The Serbs offered next to nothing in attack ... not surprising as they're led by Chelsea castoff Mateja Kezman. After a 1-nil win, the Dutch now look forward to a daunting encounter with Ivory Coast. They can do so confident in their abilities, but rumblings in the Netherlands camp suggest some players are unhappy with Robben's unwillingness to spread the ball. Most of the Dutch attack was routed through him, and as at Chelsea he was worringly uninclined to pass the ball once he kicked on his afterburners. I noticed several occasions where his entertaining run ended in a turnover while an unmarked teammate in prime position to score was left frustrated. If Robben can learn to pass the Dutch may penetrate deep into the knockout stages.

Match 4: Iran v. Mexico (group D).
I only caught the second half of this match as i was watching my tivoed copy of the Netherlands match until 10:15am. Mexico aren't quite as daunting as pre-Cup speculation made them out to be, and triumphed against Iran only thanks to a series of mistakes by the Iranian keeper and defense allowed striker Omar Bravo a clean shot on goal, putting the Mexicans ahead 2-1. A late cross from Mario Mendez to Brazilian-turned-Mexican Antonio Zinha produced a third goal for the Mexicans, a scoreline which based on what i saw flattered the North American side. Room to improve surely. The most interesting thing i took away from this match was watching the Mexican coach smoke on the sidelines. WTF?!

I napped through most of the afternoon group D game between Portugal and Angola, but was awake long enough to see aging superstar Luis Figo set up an easy goal for Pedro Pauleta, and to see a spirited Angola side produce some fine if ultimately unsuccessful football.

Match 5: Czech Republic v. United States (group E).
Which brings us to this morning's match, or as i like to call it, "i stayed home from work to watch this?!" The American press and national team camp were united in their optimism for the team's chances, playing to the Americans' continuing improvement in world soccer as well as signs that the highly regarded Czech team were overrated. Even Dubya called coach Bruce Arena before the match the wish the team luck. Unfortunately, this optimism was unfounded on both counts. The U.S. is not nearly as good as anyone thought it was. And the Czech Republic is definitely not out of gas yet. The Americans were run ragged in defense by a Czech attack orchestrated by the veteran Pavel Nedved, who played like he was 23 rather than 33. On five minutes the Americans did exactly what they had repeatedly said they wouldn't, namely let the giant Czech striker Jan Koller get service in the box. A perfect cross from poorly marked full back Zdenek Grygera found the head of Koller, who had lost not one but two American defenders to head past Kasey Keller for the opening goal. To their credit, the Americans attempted a comeback following this early blow, and were nearly rewarded with an equalizer when Claudio Reyna's shot from the top of the area beat Chelsea and Czech goalkeeper Petr Cech but bounced off the crossbar. However, this was one of frustratingly few American excursions into the Czech half. The U.S. couldn't keep possession, and seemed to pass backward more than they pressed forward. Passes were commonly off by five yards or more from their intended target, even back passes made under little or no pressure. Such sloppy play and poor fundamentals against a well-organized Czech side doomed the U.S. to failure. The star of the European side was undoubtedly new Arsenal signing Tomas Rosicky, who scored the Czech's second with a looping shot into the right top corner of the goal when left disturbingly unmarked on the edge of the area. I felt for Kasey Keller, the American keeper who has yet to win a World Cup match. He's a class act but could do nothing to stem the Czech tide as his back four wilted in front of him. Rosicky added a third midway through the second half when a Nedved through ball found him behind the American defense, and he sidefooted a chip over Keller. That goal really broke the Americans, who thereafter were resigned to a humiliating defeat. Few positives can be taken from this debacle ... we really got housed. Everyone was culpable, from the coaches who fielded a team that looked like they'd never played together before (does everyone think Bruce Arena's policy of not announcing a lineup until the day of the match is still a good thing?) to the players who suddenly forgot the basics of the game. DaMarcus Beasley and Bobby Convey were useless on the wings, routinely failing to get crosses past even the first defender. I think Landon Donovan is wasted as a striker, and needs to be played in midfield where he can exert a greater influence on the game. Reyna is and always has been overrated. Highly touted young U.S. defender Oguchi Onyewu was frequently bamboozled by the creative Czech attack. Where do we go from here? It doesn't get any easier, with Italy (2-nil winners against Ghana later in the day) looming. I'll hold out hope that today's showing was a terrible aberration, but will reluctantly admit that it looks like the Americans may be in for a repeat of the humiliation of France 1998. Despite the media's best spin to market the U.S. team to the American masses in hopes of popularizing the sport here, it seems we are still two (or fifteen, or 2,386) steps behind the international soccer powers. Meanwhile, the Czechs look a force to be reckoned with, although treetrunk striker Jan Koller suffered a potentially World Cup-ending hamstring injury in the second half that may force a reorganization of their attack.

Added a few shots of my Georgian wanderings on the photos page, have a look. In other web news, i've been working on a long-delayed site for Veronica's sister Ana lately ... i've worked out most of the CSS kinks, and now need to modify my journal and photos scripts to provide a suitable backend for the new site. Shortly i'll unveil it to the masses. Expect lots of girly things.

Speaking of girly things, has anyone seen the "Apocalypse Ponies" skit on Robot Chicken? Brilliant. "... and i am DEATH PONY!".

We had our second softball match of the season yesterday. Our offensive output increased, tripling the number of runs scored from our last game. However, our defense is in need of some work. Our starting pitcher was out injured, and our substitutes Fred and Chris learned just how tricky it is to find the strike zone. Some of our softball novices need some more education in the rules of the game, which in fairness are rather involved. I got a few hits and got a few outs at first, but got a nasty bruise from a rifled throw by baseball alum Chris that bounced off the grass and hit my throwing hand. I couldn't complain though, because our rookie third baseman Gayatri fell victim to two bad hops, nailing her in the chin and then the hand. Amazingly, she shook them off and hung in there.

This new Radio Dept. album is masterful in a subtle, understated way. Listening to it makes me happy. Something i need every now and then in between that hollow feeling i revel in when listening to the likes of the Chameleons. As for other new music, i must say i am thoroughly disgusted by Rock Kills Kid. Absolutely horrible ... a shameless attempt to cash in on the profound post-punk style of infinitely more genuine acts like the Rapture. They're from L.A., you say? Whoda thunk it?

(... well, me.)

two sips from the cup of human kindness and i'm shitfaced

I've gotten in a little more time with my Xbox 360 since returning from Atlanta. I was freaked out the other day when two minutes into a game of FIFA World Cup 2006, the screen went blank and a message reading "Disc unreadable" popped up. I've heard the rumors of system failures with the first batch of 360's, and don't want to go through the headache of convincing Microsoft to fix or replace mine. Luckily a quick cleaning of the disc got everything back in running order. The disc's surface looks a little weird, so for now i'm telling myself the problem is with it and not the 360's drive.

That double mocha this afternoon was a mistake ... i've got shaky hands now, thanks to the spike and subsequent bottoming out of my blood sugar. Eek.

The World Cup is here! I toyed with the idea of skipping work to watch the inaugural match pitting hosts Germany against Costa Rica, but my morning was chock full of meetings so that was out of the question. Apparently i missed a cracker, with Germany winning 4-2 despite exhibiting some worrisome defensive frailties. I'm all set to spend Saturday morning watching England open their campaign against Paraguay, followed by a key early afternoon matchup between Argentina and the Ivory Coast. Assuming i don't get dragged off to the BFD festival by V and Jenz. Game on!

So something is coming up in the next couple of weeks ... that glorious event that marks the start of summer as well as the passing of another season for me. Anyone wishing to commemorate this storied occasion would do well to look here. Note the imageless entry midway through the list, a perfect option for those wishing to enable my unfettered enjoyment of the impending season.

After participating in Sandip's molecular imaging session on Tuesday morning at the ASCO meeting, we got in one final Atlanta touristy activity ... we walked over to the CNN Center and went on the studio tour. Not the wildest afternoon for two science guys let loose on the town, but it was interesting nonetheless. At the very least we got to ride on the world's biggest freestanding escalator, an eight story behemoth in the CNN Center atrium. Seeing just how a broadcast is synthesized from live and archived video and computer-generated graphics was pretty cool, especially for an amateur graphic designer such as myself. We then taxied over to the airport and went on our respective flights ... Sandip direct to San Jose, and me to San Francisco via Denver. Four great relaxing days to recharge my batteries.

I've tried using my frequent flier miles to upgrade to first class on my last three flights, and have failed in each attempt. On the last, the United person at the gate checked my position on the waitlist, looked at me, and said "don't even think about it". There must be some trick to this, like checking in online at the earliest possible moment (i believe for United this is 24 hours before the flight). I wouldn't care that much if i hadn't been exposed to the glory of first class travel in my recent flight home from Palm Springs.

The PSP provided a welcome distraction on my flights yesterday. I spent the trip to Denver finishing another few missions in SOCOM: Fireteam Bravo, and then switched to Lumines for the SF leg. It's amazing how fast time flies when you fire that thing up. I was pretty peeved when i had to cut my high score bid on Lumines short because we were on final approach to SFO.

World Cup is two short days away ... bring it on! I am incredibly excited about it ... perhaps because i have no real vested interest in what team does well. I seem to be over my long-standing anglophilia, not really giving a crap how they do. I mean, i still want my Chelsea boys Terry, Lamps, and Cole to shine, but part of me now understands that it's silly to go overboard pulling for England because ... i ... am ... not ... English. Go USA!

After reenergizing ourselves following our afternoon at Turner Field, Sandip and i had a surprisingly great and cheap dinner at a fish place called Bonehead's in Atlantic Station, a sort of Santana Row-esque outside mall. This chain restaurant specializes in fish and chicken grilled with piri piri sauce, a Portuguese invention based on a pepper discovered in Mozambique. Quite good, especially the grilled zuchinni side. We then walked down to the Atlantic Station theater and caught the 8:30pm showing of the Da Vinci Code. I've been a bit leary of this whole phenomenon since popular culture has adopted it as truth, despite its variety of historical exaggerations, inaccuracies, and flat-out misrepresentations. Author Dan Brown has taken a smug back seat to this whole controversy, clearly enjoying the attention his work has received while retreating into his "it's a work of fiction" excuse whenever someone tries to nail him on something. I enjoyed the book, despite the more unbelievable and poorly written aspects of the suspense thriller. And in spite of all the mediocre reviews, both Sandip and i found the movie to be a worthwhile endeavor. It can be heavy-handed in parts, with both Tom Hanks and Ian McKellen launching into extended diatribes on the Knights Templar, the Council of Nicea, art history, and a variety of other subjects. Also, certain elements of the plotline just flat-out do not make sense, such as McKellen's thought processes in the later portions of the story, something that bothered Sandip. And Ron Howard's visual deconstruction of some of the puzzles and codes borders on insulting. But on the whole, the film presents an interesting speculation on the history of Christianity. Taken as a historical fiction as opposed to fact, it's great food for thought.

you're a taker of vanities, a stealer of games
now show me a night where us both can be safe

Today i again avoided the conference, and instead slept in, finished my presentation for tomorrow morning, had a late lunch at an Asian bistro down the street from our hotel, then went on a two hour walk around downtown Atlanta. Like every city, it's got nice parts ... the Atlanta Underground is a cool mall area, and the centennial Olympic park is a nice place to relax, if a bit on the small side ... and not so nice parts. The racial makeup here is worlds different than California, with fewer ethnicities and, to my eye, African Americans clearly the majority. Despite the liberal west priding itself on racial diversity and tolerance, visiting a place like this where diversity comes in a different form makes me wonder if we Californians are really as progressive and color-blind as we like to think we are. But at any rate, people here are definitely friendly, the food is great, and i've had a great time.

I didn't mention that i finally finished reading Eduardo Galeano's Soccer in Sun and Shadow a week or two ago. It took me quite a while because unfortunately it got to the point where the only place i was reading it was on the toilet. (no, not a pretty mental image, but typically male, eh?) But it was a fittingly beautiful description of the history of the beautiful game, with lyrical prose recounting exquisite goals, the mythology of the game's great competitions, and the philosophy of football. It's a brilliant poetic treatment of soccer, something for every fan to revel in and wax nostalgic about their sport.

After playing some more Xbox 360 at home, Veronica dropped me off at SFO on her way to work on Friday morning, and i flew off to Atlanta, GA. I was curious about the "purchase upgrade with miles" option on the e-checkin booth, and investigating further found i had over 16,000 miles on my frequent flier account, so i gleefully accepted the offer to move into first class for a measly 8,000 miles. However, it turns out i was among 33 other people who had done the same, competing for a paltry 8 first class seats. So i was relegated to the usual coach seat, unfortunately on the aisle as a travel agent had done the booking for me. And of course my neighbor had to get up repeatedly to use the bathroom ... grr. I passed the time reading my latest issue of Electronic Gaming Monthly and listening to my iPod. I arrived at Atlanta International, grabbed my suitcase, and hopped in a taxi just before the skies opened up in a torrential thunderstorm. East coast rain, mind you, not this piddly shit that passes for a storm in California. A crack of lightning touched ground maybe a quarter mile from our taxi as we crawled along the freeway, scaring the crap out of both me and the cabbie. I got to my quite posh room at the Marriot Marquis around 7:30pm eastern time, ordered some room service, and whiled away the evening reacquainting myself with my PSP and SOCOM: Fireteam Bravo.

I had arranged to meet my Stanford colleague Sandip at 7am the next morning, which came incredibly early both because of the time zone and because i got sucked into watching Goodfellas on TNT the night before. We took the hotel shuttle over to the Georgia Convention Center and the American Society of Clinical Oncology meeting. I felt privileged to register at the faculty room, even for the first time getting a special "faculty" ribbon to affix to my meeting badge. We partook of the faculty continental breakfast spread then headed to separate sessions. The meeting is a bit too clinical for my tastes ... endless descriptions of drug trials with barely perceptible improvements in treating cancer. Only a smattering of imaging besides the session Sandip and i are in on Tuesday morning, scattered across the huge conference. We reconnoitered and headed back to the hotel for lunch at the sports bar and an afternoon of lounging. We both wanted to try some southern food for dinner, and were recommended Gladys Knight & Ron Winan's Chicken and Waffles by our concierge, a mere five blocks from the hotel. I was unsure if it would be a good choice as it looked a little chain-ish, but it was fabulous. I've always been curious of the pairing of chicken with waffles, but decided to go with it and get the chicken wings and waffle combo. Sandip and i split an appetizer of catfish tenders, and sides of collard greens and fried corn with jalapeno. Mmmmmm. That was arguably the best waffle i've ever had, and oddly enough the syrup-drenched cake went great with wings and hot sauce.

Today Sandip and i had tickets for the Braves game, the finale of their home series against the Arizona Diamondbacks. I managed to get seats in the second row just past the infield, which were awesome. Best i've ever had for a ballgame. In the first two innings alone there were four or five foul balls hit within ten feet of us. Luckily none that would've caused any serious damage had they hit us unaware. Mostly slow rollers into foul territory that the folks in the row in front of us reached over the barrier to snag. The Braves got creamed 9-3, giving up a homer in the first at-bat of the game. They were in it at 5-3 going into the ninth, but their closer Chris Reitsma gave up a single, double, and two home runs in the ninth, putting the game out of reach. Fun nonetheless though ... i picked up a nice red Braves cap, and had a beer and brat for lunch. We're off for another southern dinner and a movie later this evening. I've got to finish my 15 minute talk sometime before 9:15am Tuesday, but that shouldn't be too hard ... it's a condensed version of the 45 minute talk i gave at the AMI in March.

*Sigh* ... feeling very relaxed at the moment. Better enjoy it before returning to the Bay to get that R21 resubmission together.

Our Stanford recreational softball team, "the Rays", had its first game the Thursday before i left. Our motley crew of softball novices played admirably but expectedly got beat somewhere in the neighborhood of 15-1. I was proud of my play at first, and was equally proud of the girls we had manning the left side of the infield, who despite their inexperience with the game made a number of great plays. I also got two base hits, the latter coming just before our player/coach Fred hit a towering drive that scored me from first. Unfortunately, Fred tried to stretch it into a home run and was tagged out at the plate for the last out of the game. Fun though. Coupled with the basketball games Fred and i are planning on playing with Sandip and co., i may regain my athleticism yet.

The R01 application packet, consisting of two cover letters and six copies of a 65 page proposal (for a grand total of 392 pages) was FedExed to the NIH yesterday, and should be arriving in Washington sometime around now. A job well done, i tell myself. In six months i'll get my first inkling of how the federal government feels about my scientific ramblings. In the meantime, i've got to revise and resubmit my R21 proposal on HIF-1-regulated reporter genes, and i should be getting word back on the three applications i sent out in March. I've also been invited to sit on my first grant review panel, this one for the Department of Defense reviewing breast cancer grants. One of my March applications was to the DoD on ovarian cancer, so i'm wondering if being asked to sit on a DoD panel is a good omen regarding the fate of my proposal. I've spent yesterday afternoon and today perusing the initial group of 30 applications in my section, reporting on how familiar i am with the subject matter of each and giving a brief indication of whether i think the grant is innovative or important. Fun fun fun, but that's the way academics roll.

i have found a way to bring the shakes down, gently
just one more means that i can drift away to safety
don't tell me that i will bring myself down, surely
'cause i don't care, believe me i know just what i'm doin'

But as previously reported, the R01 was all but done last week, so what have i been doing in the interim? Well ... the Xbox 360 has been prominently involved, i can assure you of that. I'm getting further sucked into the world of Ghost Recon: Advanced Warfighter. Now that i've attained some semblance of control over my squad, i'm discovering the joys of orchestrating a perfectly choreographed assault, making effective use of cover and surprise. I haven't acquired the grapes to try playing online yet, for fear of getting abused in a manner similar to what happened when i went online with Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow. My sister's boyfriend Jeff is a frequent GRAW player though, so maybe i can have him take me under his wing. I did venture into the Xbox Live Marketplace the other day, and downloaded a trial version of the acclaimed 2D shooter Geometry Wars. Pretty cool ... Tempest-like retro visuals with assorted fluorishes, and simple but deep gameplay mechanics. Veronica however commented that she didn't buy me a $600 system so i could play Asteroids. Touché. Over the weekend i expanded my fledgling 360 game collection, picking up a used copy of Burnout Revenge as well as the latest EA soccer offering, FIFA 2006 World Cup. The former carries the torch of previous brilliant Burnout incarnations, adding the silky smooth graphics capability of the 360. Load times are a bit of a pain in the butt, but i'm managing. It also seems takedown techniques have matured since Burnout 3, as my side-ramming does precious little in Revenge. Time to rethink my strategy. FIFA World Cupdoesn't really do much to improve upon recent lackluster showings in the series, and as the title suggests the game omits club teams to focus exclusively on international competition. As is routine with the series, gameplay and tactics have been overhauled yet again, making it a bit easier to exhibit individual skill. However, for some reason defenses tend to play in a line. Coupled with strikers' general proficiency in avoiding the offside trap, this means you can repeatedly shred defenses with through balls. Despite these shortcomings the game is fun to play, although lacking the realism of Winning Eleven. One thing i can't complain about is the graphics ... holy god. Player models are exquisite. While some players are reconstructed more accurately than others, they all look beautiful, with detailed skin textures and realistic hair. Watching the better modeled players such as Shaun Wright-Phillips and Wayne Rooney, you feel like you're watching a live game. That statement has been overused in the last ten years ... my ex-girlfriend's mom once said that watching me play NBA Live 97, with its polygonal, faceless ballers. But it's getting truer all the time. What would it be like to be frozen today and awoken in ten years to play the game of the future?

seven forty five am, seven forty five am
i toss my soul, and i trick my heart
seven forty five am

I've been pretty good about keeping up with my workout schedule. Given that Fred and i are playing softball once a week now, things haven't devolved into daily trudges to the gym. Yesterday we expanded our athletic repertoire to include weekly basketball games with the radiology residents as well as MIPS colleagues Sandip and Andy. Thank god we started with softball ... b-ball is a whole other level. In days of yore i whiled away many an afternoon shooting hoops with friends from high school. At 5'11" i was the shot blocker and rebounder. Yesterday i learned that i have no dribbling skills whatsoever anymore, although as you might have surmised from my previous skills i didn't have much to begin with. I also get winded way too easily, something my new workout regimen will hopefully remedy. I did manage to execute a few good low post moves, getting down low and hitting turnaround hooks four or five times. Lots of fun, and lots to work on. Our first softball game is this afternoon, with me penciled in at first base. Since i can't throw for s@$# anymore but can catch well, that should work just fine.

V and i squeezed quite a bit into our long Memorial Day weekend. Naomi spent the night on Friday, and hung out Saturday morning while we cleaned. Our target was to clean off the shelving unit in the bedroom and move it out to the garage, freeing space in our bedroom so we can move towards getting rid of the carpet and unifying the house in hardwood flooring. We accomplished that by 7pm, including a reorganization of the garage so it could accomodate the sizeable set of shelves. The living room also got tidied a bit ... allowing me reason to show off the nice Frida Kahlo painting our good friend Danny bought Veronica for Christmas. However, the dust raised by this in-depth cleaning wreaked havoc on my fragile sinuses, which have been succumbing to seasonal allergies lately. Not something i've been prone to in the past, but i seem to be getting more sensitive all the while. V and Naomi had talked me into going to the evening's Leisure in the city, and i put on a brave face and readied. However on the drive north, somewhere around the airport i realized there was no way i was going to feel okay in a cramped, noisy club. As i couldn't just tell the girls we were going home, i continued on, dropped them off at the venue, parked the car, and fell asleep listening to Live 105's Memorial Day countdown. I fetched them at 3am at an after-club party, having a brief conversation with old friend Noel about the Champions League final. Some unknown quantity of people hopped in my car, and i dropped them at various locations around the SOMA area. V and i then drove home and passed out.

I slowly recovered on Sunday, but felt well enough that night to head to San Mateo with the de la Mora cousins to take in a showing of X-Men: The Last Stand. I'm no comics guru, but i certainly enjoyed the occasional one while growing up, and the X-Men were always a favorite. I liked the first two X-Men films, feeling that they did well to condense the complex storylines of the comic and do justice to the wealth of characters. The third ... well ... i believe "ham-fisted" is the correct term. New director Brett Ratner, taking over from Bryan Singer who has moved on to direct the new Superman flick, tries to cram so much drama and melodrama into the film that it ends up being a parody of itself. Jean Grey's resurrection as Dark Phoenix is more puzzling than apocalyptic, and the Rogue-Iceman-Kitty Pryde love triangle is basically forgotten. I can appreciate the difficulty of accurately representing the hopelessly dense X-Men universe and history in a two hour movie, but the first two films succeeded by generating a single coherent storyline and sticking to it. References to other characters and events aren't forbidden, but are instead a sort of easter egg for devoted fans and something unfamiliar viewers aren't left scratching their heads over. The third (and supposedly final) X-Men movie tries to do everything and succeeds at ... not much. What a disappointment. In trailer news, the head-slappingly bad premise of Jack Black's Nacho Libre looks like it might actually be watchable, while as successive trailers reveal more of the plot, the aforementioned Superman Returns is looking better and better.

On Monday V and i decided to see how Tara fares at a dog park. During trips to the park she's been aggressive towards other dogs, but we wanted to socialize her and get her more exercise. We drove her up to the Foster City public dog park, bringing a leash so we could see how she does without giving her the freedom to really make a name for herself. Tara whined frequently while there, although whether this was because she a) was embarassed to be on a leash in the midst of her free-roaming brethren, b) wanted to get away from us and pick a few fights, or c) wanted to get the hell out of there, we don't know. I'd go with a combination of a and b. We took her in with the small dogs as she met the weight requirement. We also noticed that she really doesn't like big dogs ... during encounters with them at the dividing fence she tensed up, the hair on her back sticking up and her dropping into an attack crouch. She innocently sniffed the other dogs in the small dog area, but we're not sold that she'll act as graciously when out of our control. Can an old dog learn new tricks? We'll find out.

Shevchenko		Crespo
Lampard
Robben		Ballack
Makelele
Del Horno	Terry	Gallas	Ferreira
Cech

Chelsea haven't let the impending World Cup distract them from their favorite summer activity ... spending gobs of money in a continuing attempt to create the roster of Roman Abramovich and Peter Kenyon's dreams. Lately i've been wondering if these dreams center on dominating the pitch or the pocketbooks of their fans, however. Germany captain Michael Ballack is now wearing blue, as is Ukraine skipper and former AC Milan all-world striker Andriy Shevchenko. If that moron Kenyon signs aging Brazil and Real Madrid left-back Roberto Carlos, then i'll know the management is primarily interested in selling more replica kits. I'm curious what strategy José Mourinho has in mind that will effectively integrate the brilliant and frequently overlapping abilities of his players. I've taken my best stab at a starting eleven given the current players, and am not particularly happy with it. Where will Michael Essien and Joe Cole fit in? What about Damien Duff? If Hernan Crespo gets his wish to return to Italy then Dider Drogba would play the second striker, but i'd really like to see Shevchenko and Crespo recreate the magic they conjured together at AC Milan.

One odd Chelsea thing that happened last week was the signing of twenty year old Feyenoord Rotterdam striker Salomon Kalou. Why is this strange? Because i sat next to him on a train from Paris to Amsterdam last summer! Good omen?

I'm anxiously awaiting the kick-off of the World Cup a week from Friday. I took in some of the U.S.'s warm-up matches over the weekend, including the comprehensive 2-nil win over Venezuela and the somewhat uninspired 1-nil win over Latvia. As always, it's all too easy to attribute a good performance by the Americans to an untalented opponent. The yanks' opening match against European powerhouse Czech Republic on June 12 will provide a good indication of our status among the footballing powers of the world. I have an unshakeable notion that we will find a way to squeek through the "group of death" and make it to the knockout stage. Or, as an ESPN.com columnist put it, "piss off the rest of the world". Although if that happens we would likely be welcomed with a brutal match against favorites Brazil. I also saw most of England's tune-up against Hungary on Tuesday. Despite the final 3-1 scoreline, England looked lost in their new 4-1-3-1-1 formation, with Steven Gerrard playing behind the lone striker Michael Owen. The England penalty curse continued, with new taker Frank Lampard relieving David Beckham, who was horrifically ineffective from the spot in Euro 2004. Chelsea kingpin Lamps missed a penalty late in the first half, putting the ball too close to the Hungarian keeper ... what is it with England and penalties? Headers from Gerrard and John Terry off set pieces provided two goals, while Joe Cole set up beanpole Peter Crouch for a turn and shoot for the third. Again, not a dominating performance by any stretch of the imagination. Can they penetrate the later rounds? Who knows? Whatever happens, it's going to be a great month.

I'm off to Atlanta tomorrow for a free trip to the American Society of Clinical Oncology meeting, provided as i've been invited to give a 15 minute talk on Tuesday morning. Sweeeet. Free trips and honorariums are very good things. While there, my colleague Sandip and i are going to take in a Braves game at Turner Field. I picked up great tickets on Ticketmaster, in the second row along the third base line, just past the infield. Although after buying them, i realized that is prime territory for foul ball line drives from right-handed batters. Better pay attention, for fear of getting nailed with an errant ball while lounging with a beer.