Lee's Korea Blog

Poop and Parenting

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 14:29:00 +0000

Life with a baby is a journey of discovery. It's mostly uphill, but every once in a while the view gets a little better. Childhood development is truly rewarding to observe, but a baby wailing at 3am can be merciless in every sense of the word. There is no resistance possible to such incessant crying, only unconditional surrender.

Forty minutes after a parent is pounded into complete submission through an unstoppable bout of endless crying, the baby often stops spontaneously (sometimes with a cheeky grin), leaving the parent in a confused state of mental disarray. And then as if plunged into a cloud of ether, the parent hits the pillow in narcotic slumber, before the next scheduled barrage three hours later.

The three major challenges for parents are sleepless nights, an extended state of vigilance needed throughout the day and diverse encounters with Baby Poop™.

Of these three challenges, a fascination with the gastrointestinal process often lands me in a dazed fixation on the topic of poop. Though I find baby droppings to be not entirely repulsive, I'll keep such photos off this blog, lest Baengy rediscover them many years in the distant future.

Basically, it's a mushy yellow substance dispensed in unpredictable bursts with an aroma that can best be described as humanised natural yoghurt.

To manage appropriate household responses, I've devised the Farrand Level Alert for Poop (or FLAP, for short). It's a code to quickly categorise the magnitude of a detected nappy event, with severity scale as follows:

Category 1: False alarm, flatulence.

Category 2: Mild peppering of the loins.

Category 3: Medium intensity deposit. Weighted browning evident.

Category 4: Potentially damaging situation. Notify Mother-at-arms.

Monumental Poop: Deposit has oozed beyond containment barriers. Automatic response for all household members to DEFCON 2 level.

Mother Of All Poops (MOAP): Catastrophic devastation. Expect weeks of clean-up and counselling for survivors.

Fortunately, we at the Farrand household have only been subjected to a Monumental Poop on two historical occasions. Both events were preceded by excess milk consumption, had tummy rumblings as an immediate forewarning and were followed with aftershocks of flatulence.

While Baengy will occasionally take interest in other household fluids, such as beer, her ingrained lactophilia means inevitable rejection from her Bumbo table.

Very rarely will anything remain on her Bumbo table for long, before being thrown on the floor.

Her interest can be aroused by stirring, as we've found when mum scrambles eggs.

And also when mum stirs jjajjangmyeon.

Babies have excellent intuition when it comes to knowing what is important to adults. Trying to entertain a baby with jingling keys will rarely last 30 seconds, whereas clipping your own fingernails will evoke intense fascination and a futile attempt to grab the clippers.

Similarly, a plethora of colourful toys on the ground will not nearly be as fascinating as two bowls of hot soup on a table. And no matter how many times her inquisitive paw from below is swatted away, it just comes creeping back.

In a failed attempt at reverse psychology, I have indeed pretended to clip my nails with keys, and engaged in mock dining of colourful toys on a table. But babies are wily creatures.

They'll just give you a stare that says "What on Earth are you doing?"

One thing that rings true for both first-aid training sessions and babies, is that dummies and slings can work wonders.

I guess the prehistoric sling was the monkey mother's arms, while the prehistoric dummy was the monkey mother's nipple. From this, all I can conclude is that our prehistoric ancestors were incredible parents.

I don't know if a thousand-yard-stare is a sign of enjoyment, but Baengy sure is quiet when slung.

It also magnifies her comedic appearance when wearing hats.

This is a ParentCam shot, taken from a natural perspective when slinging. Baengy will often stare at me like this, for minutes on end.

I have no idea what she's looking at, and I've found that staring back just prolongs the engagement.

And walking around in a sling will magically put her to sleep in around 5 minutes flat. Maybe it's the warmth of the human body, or the close sound of a heartbeat. The result is always the same.

Knocked out like a butterfly in chloroform.

Autumn passed some time ago, taking with it the maple colours around Jahayeon, the campus pond.

We managed to squeeze in a picnic with homemade kimbap and boiled eggs. When I was young, I always wondered why parents liked tupperware so much. Now I know.

As a person who likes pointing out firsts, having a baby is a great thing. Baengy's first picnic was met with approval, but she was completely fixated on us and not the nice surroundings.

Next time we could just have a picnic in the living room.

Those who agree to babysit for the Farrands receive an automatic Order of Merit. Heather's mother has done it on more than one occasion, resulting in her status rising to Hero of the Farrand Family.

But in a puzzling turn of events, sometimes when babysitting has been organised, we squander the precious time by running in charity marathons.

Heather's father may have something to do with that. Just like my old man, Heather's old man likes to run around.

But we did our ten kilometres in rather nice weather and felt pretty good about it. Father-in-law's time was one hour and six minutes, which is great for a man of his age.

Oh look, he's eating natural yoghurt.

There's a little playground near our house that Baengy isn't quite tall enough to romp around in. So we just carry Baengy from place to place and she seems to enjoy it enough. These days she's eating a lot and growing fast.

Our developing morning ritual is to exclaim how much she grew overnight.

Our day at the park ended in tiny smiles, those frequent yet immeasurable rewards for tireless parenting. We're looking forward to a lot more of them over the months to come.

The Farrand Family Korea hopes you had a merry Givmas/Festivus/Christmas, and wishes you an exciting new year.

Baengy Bathtime!

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 05:19:00 +0000

It could be said that babies are like an industrial processing system for milk, from which useful nutrients are extracted for growth and development.
Liquid output is then excreted from every orifice in the repertoire of their miniature human anatomy.

In biological terms, we could think of them as compact milk bioreactors.

Baengy spends much of the day crying, drooling or otherwise liquefying a normally dry environment. To avoid the yuck factor, I simply remind myself that drool is just a dollop of orally hydrated glycoproteins, while boogie is much the same but of a nasal origin.

While being somewhat hypersensitive to household cleanliness (spotting a hair on the floor from a distance of eight metres), Heather suffers from no such aversion to baby fluids, including poop. Baby poop smudged on surfaces normally unassociated with baby poop are nonchalantly dismissed as 'Just Poop™.'

For this young blogger, the wonders of nature continue to amaze.

Cute as Baengy's face is, it often needs a wash. We experienced three phases of bathhood behaviour from our daughter, as follows:

First 2 months: Oblivion

2 to 3 months: Rebellion

3 months until present: Acceptance

As with many Koreans, Heather is of strong conviction that there exists a build-up of dead skin (때) on everyone, that must be removed daily for one to remain of good standing in the community. For Baengy, this means that mother ensures a thorough cleaning of every bodily sanctuary where 때 might possibly exist.

The (hidden) neck is an area of particular focus.

Unfortunately Baengy has developed a taste for soapy bathwater, and much as we try to discourage it, she'll often sample her surrounds by giving her hands a dip.

"Today's hors d'œuvre: a succulent baby thumb dipped in warm bathwater."

May Thor strike me down for doing so, but I've been roughly estimating Baengy's developing intelligence levels in comparison to familiar animals. As a keen biologist and animal enthusiast, it's an irresistible temptation. At the time this photo was taken, I estimated that her quiet blank stare was indicative of the IQ of a turtle. Nowadays, she's closer to a domestic cat.

We're expecting a baboon within the next few months.

Baengy enjoys a good scrub, along with the accompanying baby-talk happily provided by Mrs Farrand. Seeing her in the tub like this reminds me of that old rhyme:

Rub-a-dub-dub,

Three men in a tub,

And how do you think they got there?

The butcher, the baker,

The candlestick-maker,

They all jumped out of a rotten potato,

'Twas enough to make a man stare

As a parent, I'm experiencing the pleasure of reuniting with past songs and children's stories, the entertaining poignancy of which I had long since forgotten. Dr Seuss books are providing exceptionally good material.

I recommend The Foot Book.

And with a bit of soap and water, every baby is looking their best. Baengy's bathtime ritual has been repeated almost every day for the past six months, to which we must credit the Lady of the House. This despite the not-so-infrequent semi-submerged kicketty kicks that send arcs of soapy water in her general (and now unflinching) direction.

Decidedly less bemusing after so many recurrences.

When I'm home in time to witness these events, I often receive Baengy straight after the wash, with a freshly cleaned body reminiscent of a samgyetang chicken. I then proceed to pat her dry with towels, before dressing her for bed. Babies, in general, seem to prefer nakedness over cloth and when especially alert will often resist being clothed with admirable yet futile protest.

This coming Christmas will be the first such event with our daughter. I guess that means we'll be making some extra special festive food, like Santa's Rice Porridge and Rudolph's Formula Milk.

Now there's something to look forward to.

Ken Wong Comes to Korea

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 10:20:00 +0000

"We're all passengers on the ship of life... and my ship is heading to the realm of old people."

- in a recent letter to a friend

Around 10 years B.B (before Baengy), one of my closest friends was a chap named Ken Wong at the Norwood-Morialta Middle School. He and I would discuss the important things in life, like the theoretical speed limit for a Mechwarrior or the presence of AT-STs in the Battle of Hoth. Our destinies diverged, and I became more interested in social rebellion while he became fixated on graphic art. For years we lived parallel lives with little knowledge of each other, until I tracked him down on the other side of the Yellow Sea. Before long, in a much vaster homage to our reciprocal house visits between Dernancourt and Magill, he flew to Seoul from Shanghai by means of aluminium plane.

They say that fundamentally, our personalities are irreversibly defined during the first 12 years of life. After that, only minor changes will occur. Say for example, my personality was defined as mint at the age of 12. By the age of 29, my flavour would still be mint, but perhaps mint-choco-chip, or spearmint. It is not possible to change from mint at 12 years old to lemon sorbet at 29.

In the bemusing-yet-understandable situation above, after arriving in Seoul, Ken found himself tying helium balloons to some rungs on the side of a wall. Somehow this told me that he was pretty much the same guy I knew, all those years ago.

Ken and Baengy got along like a cat and a treadmill. Baengy, in general, doesn't mind being picked up and taken for mini-tours of the immediate surrounds, provided mum is within eyeshot.

Over-enthusiastic baby handlers who hold Baengy for longer than 5 minutes, outside of mum-viewing distance, soon find themselves a recipient of baby squeals, frantic struggling and kicketty-kicks.

Ken's sister Emily also came along for her first visit to the land of writhing seafood. And with all visitors who come to Seoul, I felt the need to show them some pylons.

As we used to say in the middle school days:
"Some day in the distant future, we shall view pylons together."

Ken is a formidable art nerd, and I'm a less formidable science nerd. We both appreciate the biology of octopuses, movies by the Coen brothers and the fact that someone beat Sim City.

If temples have been seen, folk villages undesirable and Seoul N Tower unremarkable, what else can one do in Seoul? We ended up going to Insadong, Gangnam, the Han River and Times Square.

Out the front of Times Square Seoul is a wrought iron monument, the meaning of which eludes me.

Being the inescapable artist that he is, Ken is drawn to surrounding examples of art like a bug toward a windshield.

An arcane motherly instinct present in the vast majority of human females creates a broad smile whenever a baby is slung to them. Baengy is a whopping 7.8 kilos these days, and we're only too happy to have someone else carry her around a shopping mall.

Down the rabbit hole we went, stumbling upon this imprisoned giant teddy bear, whose job delighting kids appeared nothing to envy. Whenever I picture myself being climbed upon like this by my kid(s) of the future, I imagine a feeling of overwhelming tiredness laced with necessary patience.

Baengy is an attention magnet, whose tentacles of distraction reach out and subdue innocent bystanders.

Fortunately she isn't carnivorous (only a devout lactivore).

There's even less Mexican food in Australia than there is Korean food. During celebratory occasions these days, I often feel like eating something other than pickled vegetables, gochujang and self-cooked meat.

On The Border is a Mexican restaurant doing the rounds at the moment. Our verdict is that they're conclusively superior to Dos Tacos in every aspect except pricing.

Wanna hear some geek humour?

"The number of particles in a guaca-mole is equal to Avocado's Constant."

Haha. Hilarious.

Surf and turf, Mexican style. Yum.

On The Border wrapped up our long overdue reunion with Ken quite nicely. To where he is going next, I know not, but hope to see him again in the not-too-distant future.

That little Panda was Ken's gift to Baengy. These days if you enter a room unannounced, stand outside her field of view and call her name, she'll start looking around for you. She hasn't yet mastered the usage of peripheral vision, but is rapidly getting better.

Previously she used to look around the room and if she saw my legs or body, she'd scan right past in the continuing search for the Origin of The Voice. But nowadays when she sees my legs, her eyes will slowly follow the trail of human body upwards to find the location of the Face from Whence the Voice Cometh. The process takes around 10 seconds.

And to reward her for such success, I always have an expression of feigned amazement, which invariably invokes a giggle or two.

Heather calls Baengy 'chim-jaengy' which means something like "drool person". Throughout most of the day, she's slobbering over items of inspection like a hairless St Bernard.

When I think about it, it's kinda funny how she has only ever consumed milk since birth. She was born at 3.6 kilos and is now more than double that weight. So more than half her body mass is just converted lactation.

Yet another fascinating idea courtesy of Human Babies:

Composed of and powered by milk.

Strange Encounters of the Infant Kind

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 15:08:00 +0000

The other day at work, I was looking at photos of my daughter when my phone rang. The caller ID indicated it was my wife. I picked up the call but it cut off, so I rang back.

"Baengy dialled your number, she was sitting on the phone."

While that little moment was the first definitive attempt at First Contact, there have been other occasions where I felt communication was attempted. Unfortunately the language of babies is cryptographically advanced and nobody I know has the cipher key.

From what I can tell, babies communicate through a combination of hypnotism and semaphore. They'll stare straight into your eyes, intensely but blankly, conjuring some kind of abyss that penetrates the mind. At the same time, they'll wave their arms around mechanically in simple morse code. When the receiver fails to decipher the message repeatedly, tears and wailing break out, which subside only when the baby is picked up and comforted.

The other day when this happened, I realised what the original message was: "It's time to hold me!"

One of the advantages of the Bumbo is that it allows the preparation of food.

Immobilisation of a baby is a marvellous thing, and is situationally more advantageous than having half your DNA rolling around on the living room floor.

It's rare these days for Heather and me to be able to enjoy a nice sit down meal at home. We're either exhausted or out of groceries. Luckily, this crafty chef knows that chopping a lot of veges and a bit of boiling can be passed off as cooking to an unsuspecting clientele.

I'm convinced beyond reasonable doubt of a supernatural link between babies and grandmothers. In some parallel world where babies are rockstars, grandmothers could be their hordes of adulating fans. This revelation struck me when I realised that rockstars often greet delighted fans with an air of nonchalance, while being generally dismissive of other rockstars.

Rockstars and fans also wear very different kinds of hats.

Hmm, yes.

Definitely some kind of rockstar.

We went for a walk in Geumjeong Park not so long ago, where I was witness to an historic event. Three generations of women from the Jung family, engaged in the ritual of babyslinging, Korean style.

Baengy enjoys being slung. She'll keep an eager watch from her new vantage point, like some kind of autonomous periscope scanning from left to right.

And I've noticed that she doesn't seem to stare for any specific purpose. It's just staring for the sake of staring, especially at passers-by. It has reaffirmed my belief that all humans, if stripped of social entrainment, bias and knowledge, would probably spend most of the day staring at other people's faces.

Baengy's head recently surpassed average Korean Pear size. That was a big milestone in our books.

We hope it stops somewhere between grapefruit and watermelon.

The first thing that a baby probably learns about themselves and other youngsters is that they're less adept at motor control than adults.

Luckily Baengy has learned to blink. Cousin Yujin will often launch an affectionate assault with very little warning.

And to round out this little post is a short task for our dear readers (and leaders?)

Match the emotive descriptions to the facial expressions above:

a) Delight

b) Accomplishment

c) Disgust/Horror

Good luck and see you soon.

Hey Cockalorum!

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 15:31:00 +0000

Aye¹(also ay)

noun.

An affirmative vote or voter.

Ex. The ayes outnumber the nays on this issue.

Hey

interjection.

An expression indicating surprise, dismay, discovery, etc, or calling for another's attention.

Ex. Hey cockalorum! (To view the definition of Hey cockalorum, activate your Merriam-Webster unabridged FREE TRIAL now!) ...

Let us pause for a moment to marvel at the emerging business strategies of free online dictionaries.

Okay I'm done.

Not long ago, 'Aye' and 'Hey' went down in history as the first identifiable words to emerge from Baengy's mouth. Audibly, they were more like "aaaaya" and "aaheey", but the author of Lee's Korea Blog is not one to deny credit where credit is due. One could endlessly debate the age old enigma "If a word is used unknowingly and completely out of context by an infant with no concept of words, is it still a word?"
To which I would say "Definitely. Please."

After all, if someone mumbles some meaningless nonsense in their bed while dreaming unaware, it's certainly enough to get them arrested by the Thought Police.

And I like to think that Baengy is actually expressing an early desire to participate in democratic process, while expressing her surprise and/or dismay at the general state of today's political landscape.

We pseudoinherited this babywalker from Heather's second sister. Pseudoinheritance is when a hand-me-down must eventually be returned to the giver, because the giver is pregnant with another baby on the way.

In the photo above, Baengy is greeting the walker with her customary gesture. For suckling reasons, the mouth is the most developed tactile organ of the human infant. As such, babies often investigate new objects by placing them within the mouth cavity, or for larger objects, by sucking on them. And I've observed that it's not always done in the most elegant way.

More like the early days of Soviet spacedocking, a bit of a hit-and-miss affair.

The woollen hat Baengy's wearing in this photo was knitted by Heather's mum. I prefer to call it a Brain Cosy.

Also note the emblem on her jumpsuit. I couldn't help but notice that it seems like the baby version of Amnesty's logo.

Along with attempting to revive words deserving of more attention, this young blog author also indulges in the forgotten art of frivolous nicknaming.

The blue patch on our daughter's left foot is a birthmark. Somewhat comically, I happen to have a similar one on my right hand. Baengy Bluefoot is my newest nickname currently doing the rounds. Earlier, her common household name was Milkytongue - due to her habit of finishing milk sessions, but somehow neglecting to perform the final swallowing action. This results in her tongue remaining visibly milky.

Here's Baengy Bluefoot, passed out on her mother's lap. We've long since learned the folly of waking her too soon, and her entire body is littered with motion sensors.

The indentation at the top of her forehead is called a fontanelle. It's a membranous part of a baby's skull that allows the bony plates to flex during birth. It also pulses with her heartbeat. Eventually it closes up and becomes bone (ossification), which coincidentally renders her entire brain impenetrable to ultrasound imaging. In other words, her skull becomes an acoustic fortress... which I'm only saying because it's fun to say.

Fontanelles are the reason why Heather's mother calls Baengy daechu-mori, which means Jujube¹ head.

¹Ziziphus zizyphus, a dried Korean date.

Fontanelle means fountain in French. These ones near the Hoam Faculty house caught Baengy's eye for a good five minutes. One could imagine that sparkly, stimulating objects would hold her attention the longest. But that isn't always the case. I've observed her to be fixated longest on the most unlikely objects, namely bits of discarded fruit peelings and the wrinkles on my forehead.

Baengy likes looking at things, and I like showing things to others. That's why I have this blog. We're a good match. I try to narrate my showing sessions to Baengy in an NPR-documentary style.

"And this is a device for aiding sausage consumption, colloquially referred to as a barbecue plate..."

I often have to work on the weekends, and sometimes wife and baby come along for a visit. To my knowledge, Baengy has successfully stared at every piece of furniture.

They'll often wait around and watch me like this until I'm finished.

Here's the new chairman of the board, sitting in my spot. The politically correct term would be chairperson, or a word I have recently coined myself:

Chairbaby

noun.

A baby who presides over meetings and ensures business is conducted in an orderly fashion.

Ex. "This meeting's chairbaby is none other than the amazing Ashley Farrand, with a full one hundred days of life experience. The meeting shall begin when she says the word 'Aye'."

When not chairing meetings of dubious outcome, Baengy can often be found slung to her mother in prominent Seoul locations. Wikipedia just told me that in this particular situation, we can say that the mother is wearing her daughter. How interesting.

She's like a little hot water bottle during these cooler autumn nights.

Baengy is a fine little baby, and Heather is a fine mother. I do what I can to clean poopies and make funny faces, but Heather is the real star. Credit where credit is due. I've recently decided to strive to be a more helpful nuisance around the house.

And so, Hey cockalorum! I guess that's the end of this blog post.

*For those wondering what cockalorum means, it's a noun. A little man with an unduly high opinion of himself

100 Days After The Big Bang

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 00:48:00 +0000

The feeling of grogginess experienced by someone who has just awoken, but whose body and mind is in need of further sleep, is called sleep inertia. At the Farrand residence, sleepless nights precede sleepy mornings on every day of the week ending in the letter Y.

Perhaps as some kind of ethereal compensation I have yet to understand, it could be said that the rocky road of early life is paved with abundant milestones. Ashley recently reached 100 days of age, giving us time to pause and reflect on the road we've covered.

Here are some videos from along the way.

This is the family that Baengy was born into. When this video was taken, Heather was only a few months pregnant, with Baengy just a suspended morsel of fragile life. Three female toddler cousins and numerous uncles and aunts ensured a consistent dull roar in the background, for Baengy's developing neurons to ponder.

The first thing that surprised me about Ashley was that she her little gums were a single line of upright flesh. I guess I should have known, but I previously imagined gums to be rather flat in the absence of teeth.

And like all babies born à la Homo sapiens, she came into this world blind as a bat. Although it often seemed that she could see us in the early days, what was really happening was that her eyes were looking in the general direction of where sound was coming from.

Crying is the first word in an infant's vocabulary. The younger they are, the cuter the pitch. So far we've translated the following definitions of crying:

"Waaaah, waaaaah" - I am hungry and/or sleepy

"Waaaah *hic* waaaaah *hic*" - I have hiccups

"uuu-waaa, uuu-waaa" - I dislike train rides to Busan

"A-a-a aaaa, a-a-aaaa" - I cannot see any adults and would like a cheek rub

"AAH! AAAAAH AYAAAHH!" - My prior requests have been ignored

Heather's voice at this stage must have sounded like garbled nonsense, although one would imagine somehow familiar and reassuring. She's saying "Are you hungry? Ooooh yes, you're hungry. You want some milk..."

These are the kicketty kicks that Baengy does when she's upset. When she first started doing them, it was with her right leg only. I therefore surmised that she was right-handed. When she's angry nowadays, she can cycle her legs like she's riding a bicycle.

Balance is something we adults take for granted.

A Bumbo is a device for immobilising a baby in an upright position. Baengy cannot yet locomote in any appreciable way, but the Bumbo is handy in that she is often happier when she's upright. That's because Baengy's newest hobby since she received the gift of sight, is looking.

Looking is another one of those free things in life that most of us take for granted.

These days she's getting more responsive and displaying primitive forms of curiousity. Items that have held her interest are often left with a complimentary smear of drool.

Baengy can touch her face with her hands, but has yet to figure out the dubious link between having one's eyes covered, and the diminished ability to see.

This is Baengy's newest trick. Evidently aware of the dangers of being smothered, she has developed her own close-in weapons system, which is a kind of primitive short range acoustic device. Good for repelling pirates and boisterous mothers.

All things considered, we're having a grand old time with our daughter, and the irritability of sleep deprivation is at least somewhat alleviated by the odd giggle or a brand new facial expression. The next milestone we're both looking forward to, and simultaneously dreading, is when Baengy receives the gift of self propulsion. We'll be sure to inform you when and how it happens.

Rain in Seoul

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 03:26:00 +0000

"Après moi le déluge"

(After me, the flood)

A person to whom I was listening was once talking about time management. The emerging point being that everyone tends to focus on time management, when really they should be thinking about priority management. When you get your priorities clear, time will take care of itself.

That was nice, I thought.

But what to do if one has too many priorities?

"People say 'I'm taking it one day at a time'. You know what? So is everybody. That's how time works."

- Hannibal Buress

If it weren't for a daily breakfast and a splash of humour when needed, I think I'd go a bit nutty. Not to say that going nuts isn't a good thing, it just makes it more difficult to accomplish tasks that require a degree of focus.

A baby and a parent can be thought of as two celestial objects orbiting each other in space. During pregnancy, the baby is a growing moon in fast orbit, inflicting a noticeably enlargening wobble on the lifestyle of the parent. Only by sheer weight of inertia, can the parent maintain accomplishment of daily tasks like doing the laundry or going shopping.

However, the gravity of the baby eventually increases to such a size that the parent's life stops and then in an unusual cosmic event, begins to revolve around the baby. At 3 months of age, the baby is sufficiently massive that once commonplace tasks like, say, eating or sleeping, often times become an unwinnable battle.

Most days at the Farrand household begin at 3am. At this unholy hour, Big Baengy will often make a sound, which I will call a snickle. It's a kind of snorting sound that she makes when she's about to wake up.

One snickle soon follows another, and ten or so snickles later, Baengy is awake and needing attention.

If such attention is not acceptably forthcoming, Baengy activates her personal siren, which can penetrate the deepest of adult dreams like some giant serpentine claw that yanks one from the depths of serenity and into a world of cacophonous din.

If the laws of physics are being policed by some kind of deity, I would like to promptly bring it to their attention that many of the laws are being broken every night at around 3am.

There would be no other way to explain how a body so small can create a sound so loud, for such an extended period of time.

But life hasn't all been about bawling babies. Arthur came over to our department a while ago and gave us a presentation on statistical analysis. One of my hobbies at university is to figure out new ways to educate ourselves.

Nisha also gave a summary of life in Korea. Her time here finished and she left for the greener pastures of the London School of Tropical Medicine.

Did you know that malaria comes from the words mal = bad and aria = air?

Baengy tends to emit her fair share of malaria in the mornings, to the tune of a tiny trumpet.

Jina and Franco's Trattoria serves cuisine that tastes even better when paid for by the lab credit card.

One thing I've noticed in Korea is that there's no medium quality pasta. Sorrentos and Mr Pizza serve synthetic overpriced nonsense not worthy of sale, while places like Trattoria and Tombola dispense immaculately flavoured, but small, lumps of heavenly spaghetti.

In Australia you can get good cheap pasta at quite a few places. But then again, it's difficult to find good cheap kimchi. I guess it all balances out.

I also had the pleasure of drinking wine while Superman played the piano. This was a Hollywood themed night for the Area 30 Toastmasters clubs. I was supposed to be Neo and/or Morpheus.

Art Michalak coined the nickname Neopheus.

And in the immortal words of Impatient Chicken, we were serenaded by a co-worker again.

Actually, there were a few good performances that night.

My favourite ongoing wine joke is from Jef Robison. Whenever someone complains about something incessantly, he will quip

"Would you like some cheese with that whine?"

Cassie Sung also took off for greener pastures. For her, those were the hallowed fields of Vancouver. She's studying environmental management, a field to which I wholeheartedly tip my symbolic hat.

She might be interested in Upcycling and Mossariums.

Mount Gwanak towers over my lab like a watchful guardian. I like to think that it feels a certain amount of displeasure whenever I procrastinate.

I spotted this humourously long name for a workshop at the law school entitled 'International Seminar and Workshop on the Development of Multi-Disciplinary Program on Sustainability and Environmental Management.'

They felt it wise to leave out the ubiquitous -in the Asia Pacific Region suffix.

In this photo, you may notice that Baengy has a rather large cranium. I noticed it too. She has evidently concluded that her future hyperintelligence necessitates an expansionist policy in gray matter real estate.

She is also somewhat neckless. To explain this, I've come up with the Neckless Baby Hypothesis. In summary it states that babies have shortened necks to reduce the chance of whiplash, much like how a car-crash neckbrace is designed to immobilise the head. One comical outcome of this is that it's very easy to sneak up on a baby from a peripheral origin.

Then again, the most common outcome of sneaking up on a baby and surprising them is akin to the facial expression of a bug staring at a wall.

Domestic life is fairly good, especially when Baengy endows our household with one of her non-crying excerpts from the Book of Early Life.

But undeniable cuteness compensates for all inconveniences to that point experienced.

Goo-goo-goo, ga ga. I'm pretty sure that babyspeak is a natural instinct of parents. However, it's different in different countries.

For example, Heather uses the Korean form "ah-ja-ja-ja jaaa! ah ja-ja!"

It's worthy of further study by an infantile linguist.

And just as I enjoy a good gorgonzola, Baengy enjoys a good cheek rub.

A cheek rub for the cheeky, that's what it is.

The hanging mobile is a mysterious device with arcane powers.

The witchcraft it weaves, I ponder not.

Like some kind of primordial hallucinogen operating as suspended semaphore, it holds Baengy's undivided attention for minutes on end. And yes, minutes on end could just as well be a short eternity, in which a depraved parent is free to prepare a meal or visit the latrines.

The current mobile is black and white, designed to catch the attention of babies up to three months (who are unable to distinguish colours). Each of the toys makes a rattling or squeaking sound when agitated, and one of them plays a battery-operated "It's a Small World After All." Baengy will gaze at each artifact intensely, as if it is somehow communicating to the observer some hidden truth.

Overall, a splendidly conceived device worthy of praise.

An Auspicious Photoshoot

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 19:30:00 +0000

Incontiguous thoughts swirled, like milk in hot coffee.

A lab meeting tomorrow. An experiment to reschedule. Some emails to send. I should really start learning Korean again. And start running too. What's the weather going to be tomorrow? Probably too hot for running. I haven't blogged for a while. Maybe I should fire off a post before sunrise.

Who said insomnia couldn't be productive?

Well, I don't know if it's insomnia per se if it's primarily due to a tiny member of the human race with a disproportionately loud voice, wailing to the lyrics of a song that goes "waaaa, wa-wa.... waaaaaaaa"

But look at her! How can anyone be upset at such an adorable 3am wake-up call? Certainly not this stalwart young... slightly tired.... zzzz ...bloggerrr zzz

....

Surf Lifesaver Ashley! Hooray.

This photoshoot occurred when she had just turned 50 days old. She looks pretty much the same these days, but right after she was born, her face changed a lot each day.

I think it had something to do with being suspended in amniotic fluid for nine months.

This photo is on our desktop and gets a lot of chuckle-mileage. I used to be rather ambivalent towards the old Anne Geddes calendars in my youth.
But recently I've detected a stirring in the neurons of my brain responsible for the appreciation of baby-studio photography.

The studio photographers must know a thing or two, because I've long since tried to get Ashley to put her arms that way and keep them there. Even after carefully explaining to her that I'd like to replicate the cuteness seen in the studio photographs, she only holds the pose for a nanosecond before her spring-loaded arms pop out, upwards and into the air, like some kind of victorious jelly.

I suspect some kind of 3M adhesive patches were used.

Our little one really is an angel. Although definitely not the angel of sleep.

Cheonsa-Ashley. Bringer of cute insomnia.

Ashley has progressed in leaps and bounds. While before she was incapable of lifting her head or controlling her legs appreciably, she can now turn her head autonomously and kick in a sensible manner. Sometimes she'll kick us when we change her nappy.
Well, it's not really a kick, but a cuter version of a kick.

A kicketty-kick.

Baby skin is quite possibly the softest known material in the universe. I'd gladly use Ashley as a pillow, if not for the weight of my head. Come to think of it, babies are pretty well-designed in general. They smell quite nice and can usually be found in the same place you left them last.

Heather is a star-mother. She sleeps with Ashley in the spare bedroom and sings her back to sleep during her nightly outbursts of baby-song that penetrate every crevice of our humble abode. Ashley soon falls back to sleep, dreaming of whatever it is that babies dream of. I like to entertain the idea that they're about milk, mother, blurry images and muffled voices.

In the mornings when I go in to greet her, she gives me a toothless pseudo-smile, like some old ajosshi. -"Keep you up at night? Who... me?" - And sometimes she gurgles softly as if she's trying to tell me something. I always gurgle back.

So even though good sleep is a good thing, a multitude of other good things are making up for the loss.

And that brings us to 4:30am. Time to get back to sleep.

Life feat. Lil Ashley

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:30:00 +0000

Last week I finally located my old middle school friend, Kenneth Wong on Facebook. Both he and I spent many an afternoon class at the Morialta campus producing various flickbook animations in our maths textbooks, in the vain hope that we would someday become famous animators. Only one of us succeeded. Ken is now an accomplished artist living in Shanghai. In the eyes of an uncultured scientist, an artist becomes accomplished when they no longer need to worry about employment.

You can see some of his handiwork here.

Ken and I spent some time catching up online, although how he circumvents the Great Firewall of China is beyond my understanding. When we were young and extremely geeky, some of our favourite topics of conversation were console gaming, science fiction and inanely hypothetical situations. I often claimed (on paper) that my quarks were bigger than his.

It's funny how some things change and some things don't, while time moves on regardless. In some of my more recent studies of the human experience, I've observed that time is indeed influenced by the gravity of any situation.

The birth of our daughter has proven sufficiently situationally dense that it has distorted perception of time. In some ways it feels that things have slowed down to single frames of motion. They say that time compensates for this temporal anomaly by later accelerating and allowing children to grow up so fast.

Hoping not to let these events slip past the archives of memory, this young blogger will try to be more diligent in affixing them firmly to the walls of his little blog.

Sometimes we call her Ashley and sometimes 은서 (Eunseo), but overwhelmingly it's still variations of her fetal name of Big Baengy. It just seems more appropriate. Even Korean Grandmother prefers it.

Recent conversation in heavily accented Busan dialect:

Heather's mother: "Baengy is growing up very fast"

Heather's aunt: "What's a Baengy?"

Heather's mother: "My granddaughter."

These days, Baengy spends much of her waking hours trying out new facial expressions, oblivious to the situational context. For example, twenty minutes after absolutely nothing has happened, her face will suddenly light up in sheer astonishment.

Those in the neuroscience community should really try to identify the neurons responsible.

Babies, in general, are heavy. Now I know why the arms of Heather's mother are so stocky - she had five kids. In order to alleviate the eternal conflict between a baby continuously wanting to be held and a parent having sore arms, the mothers of generations past have invented the hot sling.

Baengy doesn't mind being hot slung too much, and generally powers down into passive mode when confined in such a way. It's kind of like how a kitten freezes when you hold it by the scruff of the neck.

Babies generally cry for 4 main reasons:

1) Baby is hungry

2) Baby is tired

3) Baby has pooped, nappy is soiled

4) Reason indeterminable

Mothers have a special ear for distinguishing between the different cries of babies and can remedy an outburst with lightning efficiency. My insensitive man-brain on the other hand has a difficult time even trying to distinguish which baby is mine.

I kid.

Nonetheless, when Baengy cries and mother is busy, I tend to assume it's reason number one. Often times, I am correct.

After milk time, it's always sleepy time. Heather tells me that good parenting is all about routine.

Heather, like many of her Venusian compatriots, is an excellent multitasker. Why nature did not afford the female race an extra set of arms is beyond me.

See that little sticker on Baengy's left thigh? That's from her vaccination shot. One consistent truth we've identified is that Baengy is vehemontly opposed to all things vaccine-related.

I propose that it's because she has yet to understand the science behind it.

Yujin is Ashley's boisterous one year old cousin, who has evidently figured out how to open doors.

This is comical for the first dozen times, but thereafter its comedic edge declines. Yujin cannot yet talk, but engages in baby proto-talk, which is basically composed of a whole lot of babbling. Sometimes she'll finish a babble sentence by pausing with an expectant facial expression, as if waiting for a reply.

I always attempt a reply in her own language.

When I think of myself as a baby, I assume that being held all the time would be annoying. That just goes to show how inept I am at thinking of myself as a baby.

One thing I find fascinating is Baengy's patience while being repositioned. If you want to switch arms while holding her, or place her in a hot sling, all manner of extended clumsiness of a father-in-training can occur during the transition. She usually just waits it out and will occasionally flash you a sidelong glance, as if to say "Whatever it is that you're trying to do, you're probably getting better at it."

Evolutionarily speaking, having big eyes is good for seeing in the dark and spotting predators. Why a baby would need to do either of those things is still confusing to me.

Baengy has a love-hate relationship with baths.

It's kind of like me and chicken feet.

Sometimes she'll do what we call a Monumental Poop. These considerable excretions often surpass the operational capacities of a wet towel/nappy change combo, and necessitate a bottom-washing session in the bathroom sink.

Baby poop is actually not so bad, by poop standards. If there were a scale for excremental disgustingness from one to ten, baby poop would be a one.

I guess ten would be the festering deposit of a carnivorous abomination with indigestion.

There are three amazing inventions in the baby world, each of which are worthy of a Nobel Prize. They are:

1) The pacifier

2) The new velcro on nappies

3) The hanging mobile

We'll address the latter two in a forthcoming blog post. We first introduced a pacifier to Baengy a few weeks ago, although we've heard that babies can get addicted to them. She and her pacifier are inseparable by a negative air pressure of about 60 psi.

I cut her toenails for the first time in her life on the 31st of July, 2011. Perhaps she'll like to know such things, when she's older.

And perhaps not.

Raising a baby is no easy task, but is made considerably easier with family members around and the wonders of modern absorbant technology. Heather and Ashley have since moved to Seoul with me, after spending a month in Busan with Korean grandmother. Things are going well.

With a baby around the place, long term plans become considerably curtailed. On the horizon for us is a rocking chair, and perhaps a larger size of nappy.

Have a good weekend everyone.

Korea Toastmasters Conference 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 22:01:00 +0000

The readers who occasion this blog from time to time are funny, smart, handsome and/or pretty. Or so I assume. They're also a forgiving bunch who digest awkward opening paragraphs with formidable skills of intellectual gastronomy. Thus I feel quite comfortable beginning this post with a tangential thought that I had, upon awakening at 4:30am this morning. You see, I didn't buy an air-conditioner for our Seoul residence because I tend to leave important purchases until they become painfully necessary. Heather and Ashley have various forms of temperature control at mother-in-law's house in Busan. But I'm not so lucky here. So I awoke, rather warmly, a little early. I think I'm a sensitive sleeper.

Anyway, that tangential thought.

If you're familiar with the blogging world, you'd probably know what a tag cloud is. It's a bunch of words, usually in the sidebar that have varying font sizes showing which words are used most frequently by the blog author. Do I have one? Wait. No I don't. Anyway, in molecular biology, we have a machine called a microarray. What a microarray can tell you is which of your genes are at different expression levels when compared to somebody else's. For example, one of your hair genes could be expressed at a higher activity level than your friend's, while your sweat gland gene could be lower. A microarray tells you what biological differences there are between you. If I was a blog and you were a blog, and genes were words, then a blog microarray would tell us how different our tagclouds appear.

Does that make sense? I hope so.

So here's my tangential idea: Imagine all the spoken vocabulary that Koreans use in a day and translate it into English. We'll call that the Korean vocal tagcloud. Also imagine an Australian vocal tagcloud (already in English). Now compare the two using a microarray. What we'd see in the results would be the words that are more frequently used in one culture than the other. My guess is that some conspicuously overexpressed words in Korea would be ones like 'burden,' 'endure,' and 'delicious,' while Australians would overexpress 'G'day,' 'mate,' and 'relax.'

We'd probably use the word 'barbecue' equally.

So the main point here is that the words 'burden' and 'endure' are a curiously frequent part of the Korean lexicon. During my time in the Korean tertiary education system, I've often felt that some of my fellow students are enduring some kind of burden. This causes them to pick subjects they're not particularly interested in, and study harder than they'd like to. Perhaps a more preferable alternative is to navigate life through intrinsic motivation.

So this all leads to the Toastmasters National Conference, that I attended a little while ago. You see, Toastmasters is an education system built purely on intrinsic motivation. It's a whole bunch of volunteers helping each other improve public speaking in their spare time. Amazing? Well, not everybody thinks so.

In the photo above is Kiminari Azuma, a public speaking champion and our special guest from Japan. Kiminari told us a few useful things that day, one of which was his habit of always accepting speaking challenges by default.

Everything gets better with practice. I remember my first day giving a speech. I had a tail between my legs and waffled on about something that was of no interest to anyone.

We held the event at BEXCO in Busan and it was attended by a few hundred members from around Korea.

Here's our club, the South River Toastmasters. Quite possibly the finest club in the universe. I've just finished six months as president, which has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.

The winner of the national speech competition was Frank Lev, from Sincheon Toastmasters. Members reach their zenith at the nationals, and it's an inspiring show.

The other half of my education comes from the lab. In the photo above are the boys of the Tsang Lab: Professor Tsang, Akechai and Dr Vahlberg. Our professor just finished his annual 3 months in Korea and is now back in Ottawa. Actually, I have to video conference with him in approximately one hour (8am every Tuesday).

The only thing I dislike more than 8am Skyping, is 7am Skyping.

But we still manage to have our fair share of fun. Nothing says fun more than green bottles and shot glasses.

We've been going out a fair bit recently. Saving money via cheaper alcohol tends to cause an increase in the amount spent on Tylenol. But if I buy cheap Tylenol, then it kind of balances out.

Oh look, it's Ashley. Me and Ashley are already best friends. She's busy developing a personality and is now nearly two months old.

Some people have pointed out that my legs are hairy in this photo.

Hey, man. Stay focused on the cute baby, not the hairy legs.

She gets very excited by milk. When she's about to be fed, she opens her mouth and starts hyperventilating. And sometimes she smiles when she dreams.

I assume it's because she's dreaming about milk.

This photo is from when we were still in the maternity ward. Heather and I are proud parents. Having a kid is definitely no easy task, but a good thing to do. Hat tips go out to all the other parents and those who appreciate them.

And now it's time for me to start the day.

Have a good one, everyone.

Our Daughter's Birth

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 07:15:00 +0000

Our little one is just over a month old now. She's with her mother in Busan, and I'm heading down there every second weekend to visit. The past month has been a rainstorm of activity with KTX bookings, diaper changes and all manner of things in between.

Things are going fine now, with a lot of support received from friends and family. Heather is seeming comfortable and is an excellent mother. The birth itself though, was a stressful event.

This is the story of how it all happened.

We entered the Areum Women's Hospital on Monday the 23rd of May at 10pm. The ETA was actually May 20th, but we wanted to wait for a natural birth if possible. By that time our little one was already a menacing 3.6kg, a big baby for a small mother. Taller mothers tend to have easier births, so say the midwives. The head of our daughter was 10cm wide, considered a large lump to pass. Bigger is not always better, in the world of births.

After some deliberating, we decided to choose labour induction via intravenous drip. The baby could be out in a matter of hours, they said. But every ward-wisened midwife knows only too well that every pregnancy is different.

Monday night passed with contractions a few times per hour. All I could do was attempt the act of sleep on a chair next to the lady of the day, as she lay uncomfortably on a hospital bed. Tuesday morning arrived, with the advice to walk around. Heather and I trolleyed her various drips (shown in the photo above) out into the corridor, and we shuffled slowly up and down the hallway. By this time she was feeling a fair amount of pain, and receiving what I could only imagine to be a very bad stomach cramp every 15 minutes.

Tuesday morning passed excruciatingly slowly into Tuesday night, with mother-in-law ferrying food from home. Heather was not allowed to eat, and I was feeling very uneasy. The feeling could be described as riding a rollercoaster for the first time, backwards, while blindfolded. Deep down you're pretty sure that things will turn out okay, but that doesn't make it any less scary.

At 6pm, the nurses told us that the baby wasn't coming anytime soon and to retire to a hospital bedroom and return if there were further developments. Heather and I went to another floor and I fell asleep at 8:30pm. Heather rang my cell phone at 10pm, telling me she had gone back to the birthing room again.

If there ever were an understated euphemism in the world of medical nomenclature, 'labour' would be it. Heather was in an extremely uncomfortable state, twisted in an unnatural posture of pain on a delivery bed. Her toes bundled up and shuddered every 5 minutes, as labour reared a nasty dose of all-consuming pain. Attempting what reassuring conversation I could, along with hand-holding, it became clear that the pain experienced was not a regular knife-in-the-gut kind of jab, but some kind of blunt-edged sword inserted into the stomach and twisted slowly for 90 seconds at a time. At the end of each extended contraction, all she could do was gasp for breath and wait for the next one.

Heather had been in labour since late Monday (although her water wasn't breaking), but the nurses on night duty weren't particularly alarmed. They gave me a blanket and put on some piano music on a CD player. There, in that overwarmed maternity ward, holding the hand of a wife in pain and utterly unable to do anything but wait, I listened to a recording of a single person playing a piano. I have no idea what the meaning of it all was, but that's exactly what happened. The nurses told us to wait until 8:30am, when the doctor would be back. That was around 4am. For Heather, it was turning into a matter of whether she could survive the intensity while remaining psychologically stable. We kept conversation going, but anytime I asked her a question before a contraction started, she was physically incapable of replying for two minutes. At the end of the contraction, she had usually forgotten the question. We both did what we could to reassure each other. From time to time she would bang her wrists on the bed rails, repeatedly and hard, to try and distract herself from the pain.

Babies get born every hour in the Areum Women's Hospital during the daytime, but almost none at night. The longest hours that I've ever experienced passed, before the doctor came in, performed a cervical check and pulled back with a concerned expression. The cervix was dilated but the head of our baby was not where it was supposed to be. We then had two options: keep waiting or choose surgery.

There are a few things that are useful to discuss beforehand between a mother-to-be and her closest ones. Those would be: whether to induce labour, whether to use an epidural, and in what scenarios a Caesarean will be chosen.

In general, natural births are a good thing, in a scientific sense. Passage through the birth canal can clear the airways of the child, and although damage occurs, it is not as bad as getting surgically eviscerated. I maintained my previous opinion, which was that the choice of surgery would always be up to Heather. Mother-in-law wasn't particularly keen on anything but a natural birth, but developments had left us little choice. Heather had been for 2 days without food, endured 36 hours of pain and there was no guarantee that further labour would orientate our daughter in the womb properly. Labour is also an extremely stressful experience for the baby. Heather chose to go under the knife.

I concurred, and resigned myself to the skill of the doctors on duty.

Her mother was still under general anaesthetic when this photo of our daughter was taken, exactly 12 minutes old. She was placed slightly upside-down in a baby bed, to drain the mucus from her airways. Shortly after this, I was allowed to hold her with carefully washed hands. She was clearly awake, and for a brief moment she stopped crying, but was shivering from the temperature drop.

How did it feel?

Well, I was expecting some strong waves of emotion, but mostly I felt relieved, tired, happy and still a little worried all at the same time. It was definitely a good feeling, but in every sense of the word, I was exhausted.

Heather was out of action for a few hours, but mother-in-law and I were allowed to stare at our baby through the large windows of the intensive care unit. Baengy was awake and yawning every few minutes.

She was looking peaceful, but also as if she'd had a bit of a rough time. The first things I noticed were that her ears and mouth were exactly like her mother's.

After writing down the birth details, the first thing that the nurses of the Areum Women's Hospital do is to record a tiny ink footprint and handprint of the baby. It's a good way to avoid baby mix-ups in the intensive care unit.

Heather couldn't walk for a day or so, but was eventually back on her feet. My professor gave me some time off and I was allowed to stay at the hospital for a few days. One major difference between Korea and most western countries is that births in Korea occur at special birthing clinics, which also have accommodation options. Most mothers will choose to have an extended stay at the clinic for a couple of weeks before going home. This provides the benefit of being looked after with meals cooked, and the babies are taken care of by nurses while the mother recuperates.

Breastfeeding occurs whenever the baby awakens, with the nurses ringing each mother's bedroom. It's an interesting system, and one that I've come to appreciate.

The food is designed to be very mild and bland. It also serves a secondary purpose of getting everyone looking forward to going back home.

We soon named our daughter Ashley Farrand. Her Korean name is 이은서 (Eun-Seo Lee), suggested by her Korean grandmother. So her registered name is Ashley Eun-Seo Farrand, a delightful ethnographic mix of names.

Ashley means Ash tree meadow, and Eun-Seo is from the Chinese characters which mean rising to, or achieving, dreams or aspirations.

Each day immediately after her birth it was clear to see her becoming visibly healthier and awake for longer. Very satisfying. Viewing times were in the afternoon, which were always the highlight of the day.

In Korea, they wrap up infants in these little sausage roll type affairs. Besides making the babies look hilariously cute, it also prevents them from injuring their fragile bones.

This video is of Ashley on her third day of life outside the womb. She's looking around because she can sense the movement of her bed, but newborns are actually blind for quite some time. They start seeing simple shades of black and white after a few days, but it takes longer for their brain to figure out what all the information means.

Heather took this photo of Ashley on her phone camera.

I distributed it accordingly.

Here's one of the responses that made me chuckle. Rebecca is also pregnant, and due to give birth in early December. I wish both her and her husband loads of good luck.

Ashley is feeding and growing normally. All the medical tests were passed with flying colours and she's received her first vaccination shots already.

She doesn't like needles - that's one thing she has in common with her parents.

There are a lot of things I like about this video, from the slow yawn to the expression of annoyance that subsides after the nurse repositions her head.

Diaper changing, breastfeeding and crying during the night are the main activities going on these days. Newborns are a 24 hour liability, and Heather is performing marvellously. I'm doing what I can to participate, but the real action starts when they both move back to Seoul, which will probably be in a month.

In the end, I can only describe the process of birth as an ordeal, to which males can only ever participate at the periphery. It's a worthwhile ordeal to go through together; stressful, but of epic value. Some fathers tend to wait outside the maternity room or at home, but I imagine many women would appreciate their partners close by and staying, or pretending to stay as positive-minded as possible.

Our Little One

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 22:33:00 +0000

Our 3.62kg baby daughter entered our world at 9:12am on Wednesday, May 25th. She's healthy, beautiful and doing well. Heather also.

Isn't she lovely? We're going to name her very soon.

More details when time permits. I'm currently traveling between Seoul and Busan frequently to visit mother and child. Recent events have been tiring, but I'm happy and looking forward to this new chapter in life with a wonderful family.

Thanks go out to all who have been wishing us well.

Becoming a Father

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Tue, 24 May 2011 07:37:00 +0000

It's taking a while to upload, but I'm managing to stay online through a single bar of free wireless reception from someone downstairs. Whoever you are 'bon3F,' I salute you for your radiowaves of generousity, allowing this young blogger to publish his updates.

Let's pick up where we left off...

A couple of Thursdays ago, it was Teacher's Day at our university. This year we provided mandatory gifts for our professors, which most of us would probably have bought anyway, given a choice. Nevertheless, the end result was that gifts were given to professors that truly deserved them.

As for the Teacher's Day ceremony, it was a rather nice affair, with the ever-present bottles of Minute Maid orange juice that tend to accompany such events (with paper cups).

Unfortunately we ran out of space around the perimeter of the desks, so some students had to sit in the middle during the announcements.

Awkward...

And then we held another student education session. We're popping these events out frequently to make the most of the international faculty's time here, which is due to end in June. The theme of the day was "How to create and defend a scientific poster," in time with the annual poster competition coming later this week.

During this particular session, there was acting involved for the edutainment of the students. Professor Fuller Bazer, on the left, is a rock of a man and holds legendary status in the field of livestock reproductive biology. He was roleplaying as an exemplary student with exemplary responses to questions from a professor.

And then we had Professor Tsang roleplaying a 'what not to do during a poster session' scenario. Note his definition of inappropriate attire for such an event, including his unmatching socks, which are sure to get a squint of criticism from an eagle-eyed professor.

Professor Tsang is an excellent professor, but he played the role of an aggressive, boisterous and generally obnoxious student very well.

Extraordinarily well, in fact.

Playing the role of the inquisitive professor on the right was Nisha Hazra, a Canadian exchange student who is joining our lab for the summer. She's bright, socially ept* and quite unbotherable by the complexities of Korean culture, a necessary requirement for survival at SNU.

*What I assume to be the antonym of the word 'inept.'

From time to time, there's also time for a drink at our timeless campus hof. A while ago, we launched the SNUGHATS (Seoul National University Global House Alcohol and Talking Society) drinking club, which we recently revived from winter hibernation.

Joining us that night was Glenn Danielson, a jazz musician and former Korean language school classmate of mine. He and his friend belted out a few extraordinary notes on the bar piano, and before long attracted the curiousity of two Korean kids who were too young to be in a bar at that time of night.

Or any time of night, for that matter.

And we also had our SRTM Spring Picnic on a dazzlingly fine day in May. Stealing the attention in the middle of this photo is Sungil's little kid, performing admirably, as kids do, by simply sitting down and staring at things in an unknowingly adorable way.

We plan on getting ourselves one of these soon too.

Thanks to our hard working Spring Picnic Taskforce, the event was a sunny success. We played some games and managed to get ourselves lightly sunburned, which I thought was a small price to pay for victory in the Word Game.

Here's Art Michalak, an intellectual marvel and physics pedagogist. While most people may justly assume that Art would be admiring the prettiness of the bubbles in this situation, I would alternatively surmise that he is staring as any physicist would stare at soap bubbles.

Analytically.

Kites were flown that day. I'm a big fan of kites, and whenever I see one I remind myself of the world's inevitable victory over people who don't like kites.

The Spring Picnic's second round grew spores and proliferated into a sixth round. The details of which are fairly guessable by anyone who has lived in Korea for more than two weekends.

Eat. Drink. Laugh. Repeat.

This bat-dog is Anthony's little pup, called Ocean. He's a Boston Terrier, a breed well admired for their irresistibly good looks.

And they say pets look just like their owners...

As soon as we hit the beachy sands of Busan, Anthony called us over to try some of his homemade pho. There are not many surfing Vietnamese Hawaiians living in Korea who can make good pho, but Anthony is one of them.

Anthony also bought himself a ukelele, as one does when one has such a busy schedule. What I think the world needs is a new word to describe the joy of eating pho while listening to a ukelele played by an intermediate beginner.

It should be either Phokelele or Ukephopho.

I don't know if dogs can be diagnosed with ADHD, but Ocean would be an interesting case study. When he's not biting my pant legs, he's either jumping on furniture or putting his sandy paws on my wife's pregnant belly.

This is one of Ocean's tricks. Very useful during an armed robbery.

And here's Ocean playing fetch with the Lady of the Hour.

Anthony is snipping his pho.

And so then I came down to Busan on Thursday to be with my wife. It has been an interesting time. We were originally expecting the birth to occur on Friday, and arranged our schedule as such. But nature has more important priorities than so-called human timetables, and although Big Baengy is stirring, she didn't seem to want to come out and see us just yet.

As a result, we sat around the living room with Heather's mother and niece for most of the day, and went for some walks. Light exercise is good for pregnancy, they say. Even more so when a cute little niece is running around and picking up leaves.

Little Ji-Woo is quieter than her older sister, but equally as playful. She doesn't say a whole lot, but makes a lot of gurgling sounds when she wants to eat something that she can see.

Why waste time with pesky word pronunciation, when you can just gurgle?

Here's one thing that Ji-Woo gurgles at, guksoo made by her halmoni.

I never realised that for some smaller members of the human race, eating is a task that requires considerable concentration.

Nor did I realise that a mere kitchen table could have so many sources of distraction.

But the considerable attention and ceaseless mouth wiping (with a spoon!) needed to feed a toddler all pays off with the brief flash of a miniature smile.

This was the last photo I took of us at home, with Heather packing up her mother's banchan. Note the size of her belly, representative of a woman in her ninth month of pregnancy.

And here I am now in the maternity ward. Time passes very, very... very slowly here. Sometimes it seems like the seconds on the clock are pausing to have a think before clicking onto the next second. We decided to induce labour via oxytocin drip last night, as the doctors said the baby may become too large. However, strong contractions are not arriving yet, so it's looking like the birth may not come until tomorrow.

In terms of starting a family and becoming a father, I'm managing to remain fairly calm, but am certainly not in my comfort zone. How does one prepare their mind for such an event? My thoughts are wandering fairly aimlessly, and I'm having a few odd ones. As an adoptee, our daughter will be the first biological relative of mine that I've ever met. I'm a little worried and a little excited, with a bit of fatigue on the side.
One of the shortcomings of atheism is that there's little to turn to when things seem out of your own control. Instead I place a level of agreed trust in the laws of nature and an appreciative confidence in modern medical science. Stoic philosophy recommends contemplating possible negative outcomes in such situations, and I must admit I've thought a fair bit about what might happen if things go wrong. As our friend John Ngo would say, 'an optimist at heart but a realist by nature.' If something does go wrong, I guess it was bound to go wrong regardless. Best to hope not so.

What really shines through is the support bestowed upon us by family and friends. There are so many people wishing us well through various channels of communication, and no time to thank them all. I guess we'll just have to have their back when they need it in future. And Heather is doing extremely well. She isn't enjoying having her cervix painfully probed by the nurses every other hour (they're poking it to check how much it has dilated). But she is putting up with the discomfort and remaining cool.

If you are planning on getting married anytime, make sure you marry someone who you respect. It's worth the wait.

This is the final post until the birth, which is likely to occur sometime in the next 24 hours. I hope to follow up soon after, when mum and baby are resting well.

See you after the jump.

A Little Calm Before the Storm

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Tue, 24 May 2011 00:38:00 +0000

For some reason my Firefox browser is not on communicative terms with our hospital wireless connection, so I've resorted to blogging with Internet Explorer. It's mildly disconcerting, although not quite as newsworthy as the fact that we're currently sitting in a birthing ward at a maternity clinic in Busan.
We came in at 10pm last night and in between a flurry of medical staff, broadcasted sounds of fetal heartrate and various kinds of saline drip, we've gotten a couple of winks of sleep despite an environment unbecoming of a bedroom.

Time passes slowly in this place, like we're trapped in some kind of wormhole vortex at the gateway to a new dimension of parenthood. Positive and negative thoughts come and go, generally lingering around before being contemplated with a grin or dismissed with a mental flyswat.

So I thought, what better way to pass the time than to catch up with the blog while my wife dozes in and out of sleep. I've neglected this old thing a little lately, and as the peppering rainstorm of unusual thoughts circulating my brain appear to be unhelpful, perhaps a little productive output will help put them at ease.

A week before Heather arrived in Busan, we went to the Han River to enjoy the breeze. There are many rivers nicer than the Han, although none quite so suited to the character of Seoul.

Hey look, it's my pregnant wife. Heather is lying in a hospital bed next to me right now, eyes closed and breathing slowly. But she's awake, occasionally opening her eyes to inspect the drip tubes running into her arm or to lightly complain of the labour-inducing harness around her belly.

Heather is a star. She's only 155cm in stature, and the doctors say that it's easier for tall people to give birth. But she ignores such notions with characteristically pleasant passiveness.

On the Han, you can hire boats with buffets on board for weddings or indulgent corporate gatherings.

That day we had a pleasant walk and had a paddle on the 'duckboats', a misnomer since they're clearly representing some kind of goose. I'm constantly bewildered by how my wife responds to me pointing out such trivial matters with a smile.

The duckboats are on the north side of the Han, and will cost you W13,000 for an hour. They're surprisingly easy to paddle, and even have room for two in the back. We'll come back someday when we have two kids, I guess.

Last night we saw Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, the title of which comes to mind when I see this photo.

In this case it would be Escalators Near The Han: On Tides of Strangers.

Our good man James Lim got married to his lovely partner Jinkang recently too. They went for an exotic honeymoon in Spain, of which they both deserved.

They make a great couple and have an abundance of people wishing them a happy marriage. James just bought a new apartment for his newlywed, making him much more of a man than myself.

The most I can come up with is a mossarium.

Once nice thing about starting a family is that people send gifts for the baby. In the photo above, I'm demonstrating how not to hang a mobile. 90% of the time, gifts are baby clothes. My personal theory is that people enjoy purchasing baby clothes because they're comically small.

Well, we've reached the end of this group of photos, but there's more to come. I'll see if I can squeeze them out before Heather wakes up and squeezes out our baby girl. She was actually due last Friday, but is biding her time in the cosy confines of Heather's womb. She'll enter the busy world of the 21st century soon enough.

As Pooh would say, what's the rush?

TAF Cafe, Sincheon

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Sun, 22 May 2011 03:02:00 +0000

This blog has become a funny thing. Originally constructed as a diary for friends and family, it has now evolved into a kind of public way to talk to myself. As thoughts get tapped via netbook into Blogspot's familiar little editing window, wallowing in the back of my mind is the knowledge that pretty much anyone in the world can see what's going on in my life. Then I remind myself not to be so vain.

And also that the stereotypical psychotic internet stalker is statistically unlikely to select me at random from the multitude of other blogs available to the common reader.

Another funny thing about this blog is that Heather has been granted veto power over any photos of herself that appear in it. I had originally put a different image of her as the opening photo, but she just came into the room right now and vetoed my choice. Rule Number One of living with a pregnant lady is "Avoid upsetting pregnant ladies."

As such, I have replaced it with this one which was taken sometime after the other events in this post. I like to adhere to chronological order as much as possible, but some things in life are more important, like Rule Number Two of living with a pregnant lady: "A happy pregnant lady is a good thing."

Here are some members of the SNU Tsang Lab, where I work. We've recently been busy engulfing new members and increasing in size, like some kind of metastatic amoeba. Our daily work consists primarily of mixing small amounts of liquids with various reagents and scrutinizing X-ray film for miniscule changes in the intensity of a single band.

Our faculty has unwavering enthusiasm for graduate student extracurricular activities. These are arranged by the students and usually involve one or more presentations. Last month's topic was the International Dispatch, that sent me to Ottawa and two other students to the US.

Free money to travel? Yes please.

I quite like talking, especially when someone is listening. When I was young, they say that I used to talk to myself a lot. Now I have the blog to take care of that instinct.

Pizza is ingested after such sessions. Pizza chains and graduate students share a mutualistic relationship in most parts of the world.

Graphically speaking, pizzas are interesting because the exact fraction remaining in the box is represented as a pie graph.

Another thing our faculty like to do is hold bi-annual hiking events. These always begin with a somewhat awkward meetup of different lab members, blinking in the unfamiliarity of sunlight. We then shuffle to the beginning of a walking trail located within the Seoul metropolitan area and locomote upwards in bipedal fashion.

Group photos like this one are always taken. Their main purpose is to prove to everyone how much fun we had.

Professor Tsang is in Seoul for a few months of the year and one thing he goes nuts about is Korean noraebang. He's a much better singer than I am, although that really isn't saying a lot because I sing so badly that Heather's niece will block her ears.

Dori Lee is one of the co-founders of the TAF Cafe and Bar in Sincheon. She recently held a launch party there, with the theme of the venue directed at the indie art scene. Her venue caters for special events and she is especially keen on hearing proposals for art promotion. If you mention this blog when booking an event, you may even get a special deal. The venue is located here.

I myself have been known to be artistic at times. For example when I hang up washing on the line, I like to colour-coordinate my socks in an aesthetically pleasing manner.

Blue, grey, blue, grey.

The Toastmasters were out in force that day. One thing I like about Toastmasters is that they're not afraid of sitting in the front row.

I try to refrain from Tequila as much as humanly possible, but sometimes it sneaks into my lexicon during the course of a night out. A wayward suggestion then becomes an impulse gathering momentum, and before long I find myself holding a tiny glass pot of foul-tasting spirits. A chronologically indeterminable period of time after that, I occasionally then find myself in confusing surroundings, dancing above a crowd of people.

Note to self: Going home early keeps pregnant ladies happy.

There will be more Heather and baby related news coming soon. Stay tuned!

Funny English #5

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Tue, 10 May 2011 15:01:00 +0000

Things have been a little active in the Farrand household of late. Heather's pregnant stomach has expanded to new horizons of enormity that I previously thought only possible in cartoons. She's feeling fine and dutifully performing her stretching exercises each night. As our finest hour approaches with quickened pace, various aspects of normal life are quietening before what I can only imagine to be some kind of storm.

One of the more recent routines to stop was Heather's pregnant ballet classes. That's her in the white skirt. I woe my own immaturity, but nevertheless indulge in continuously seeing something comical about pregnant ladies doing ballet. Hopefully this kind of childishness will all clear up when I become a father.

For the meantime though, let's indulge in some funny English. For those of you new to this phenomena, Funny English is a recurring feature of this blog, attempting to catalogue examples of English in Korea that this young author finds amusing in some way.

This is a tin that you keep tissues in, for sale at our local D/C Mart.

I had at first thought the name 'Goog Frinds' to be an attempt to circumvent another company's trademark.

But on closer investigation found that they managed to get the title of their brand correct on the side. The little blurb manages to delve into new depths of linguistic absurdity.

Seems that trash is not the only thing that needs checking.

"It's so wonderful to be able to maintain your dreams."

Humble lessons from a basic pail.

This gift wrapping paper seems intended for animals with multiple hearts. That would include our cephalopod friends like the squid and octopus, as well as the hagfish (which has 5 hearts).

Who said seafood couldn't be romantic?

Blogged by Australia.

My name is Advertising.

Bad Advertising.

For those still opposed to GM Food, you may have been misled by the real meaning of the acronym.

One could be forgiven for assuming that the last vestiges of headhunting disappeared in remote archipelagos of the Pacific decades ago. But it's alive and well in the Gyodae area of Seoul.

A timely observation indeed. I have plans to buy this clock, after I save enough money to buy a HotSling.

And what is a HotSling, I hear you ask? Why, a HotSling is a handsfree device for holding babies, strapped to your chest. You can see a whole bunch of them right here. They seem handy for all the rockclimbing I intend to do.

For past episodes of Funny English that you may have missed, they're here: #1, #2, #3, #4.

Enjoy!

Hopefully I'll be able to post again soon.

Nanoomi Running and Cafe Monsieur

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 12:21:00 +0000

Running gear in backpack... check

Refillable bottle of Arisu*... check

Supportive wife cheersquad... check

*Delicious and safe Seoul city tap water

To run or not to run? That was the question eventually answered yes by a small slice of the Nanoomi blogging community half a moon ago.

How far did we run? Ten kilometres.

Where was the event? World Cup Stadium.

Why were we running? For a free* pair of socks and an excuse to wake up early.

*Free upon payment of the mandatory fee

I myself don't mind too much paying money to someone to do what can always be done alone for free. Was that an awkward sentence? I hope not. My grammar tends to funny up a bit when blogging in evening late. But let's not digress. What you're paying for when you pay for a run is the luxury of running with others along a predetermined track guaranteed to be free of bicycles approaching in the opposite direction.

Which you can only do by leaving Seoul, or simply wiring $30 to some guy somewhere who knows how to get permission from the city council to cordon off a portion of public space for a limited period of time.

Here's the World's Most Underappreciated Running Team, minus Keira who arrived shortly thereafter. This snap was photo'ed by my lovely wife, who hauled 2.6kg of baby all the way to World Cup Stadium just to show support. On the left is Hannah, then me, then Alice and on the right is Ed.

I like to think that we were all smiling in anticipation of this particular sentence.

Without so much as a starter's pistol, off we ran into the sunny unknown. I'd been jogging around campus as well as running various errands for Professor Tsang in the weeks leading up to the event, so was in fairly good shape.

Helium filled balloons are nice, although they're all destined to land as a potential traffic hazard or a miniscule component of the Pacific Trash Vortex.
What the world needs is some kind of alternative biodegradable balloon. Something that stretches, is natural, would normally be discarded, is opaque and can be filled with helium.

How about lamb stomachs?

If you leave a camera with your pregnant wife, it's possible to determine what she was up to in your absence by inspecting the photos left behind.

Using special powers of deductive reasoning, I can surmise a few things from this photo. At some point in time she was obviously inspecting the lens of my camera while holding it up in the air, and accidentally pressed the shutter button. She also looks a bit like a bug when wearing those sunglasses.

And from this photo I can see that she enjoyed a Vegemil A while sitting at a park bench.
Apparently she also knows how to read Korean.

This is me crossing the finishing line. I never realised my legs were so sinewy. They don't look like that when I'm sitting in a chair.

I just checked.

Post-race we were all feeling a little proud of ourselves, mostly for not bombing out halfway and dejectedly sauntering off to Dunkin' Donuts. Not that Nanoomites would consider such a thing. We all received a medallion for our efforts and the promise to one day partake in such an activity again.

It was a good time.

Now we're in the Gyodae area. The lady behind that counter is Taewon Seo's wife, busily making a green tea latte' for Heather and myself. Her coffees are among the best in the northern hemisphere. I'm also fond of the wine glasses on the shelf below, featuring sequential volumetric increments of coffee beans. It probably represents the shared linearity between consumption of mutually diuretic beverages.

This is how to get to Taewon's Cafe Monsieur. For some reason I have the Sesame Street song in my head now.

"Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?"

A few characters from Gyodae Toastmasters were also enjoying our favourite coffee retreat that day. In this photo you can see Trinity on the left, David Koch and good ol' Vronny Jentakis.

That's cream cheese in the middle there. I tend to avoid repeating myself on the blog wherever possible, but let me say once again with utmost conviction that while Taewon's wife's coffee is the best in the northern hemisphere, Taewon's bread is the most delicious bread south of the Han River.

And I'm not just saying that because Taewon is a nice guy.
His bread really is delicious.

Mmm, here's our green tea latte'. Needless to say, deliciousness rarely appears in such a light shade of green. I myself prefer drinks more traditionally befitting of a masculine character, like ox blood or dragon tears, but every once in a while depart from my usual ungrantable requests.

If you're in the Gyodae area, pop over to Cafe Monsieur and order yourself a coffee and a baguette. And if you're familiar with the ever-widening sphere of Nanoomi influence, consider coming along for a 10km run sometime.

See you soon.

Rebecca and Anthony's Wedding

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 10:12:00 +0000

We recently found out that Big Baengy is a girl, and is due for her grand entrée into the wider world next month. She spends most of the day in suspended animation, enjoying the cosy confines of Heather's Tummy Hotel and seems to wake up at night. When Heather lies down, Big Baengy will become more active and sometimes push a tiny foot or elbow out as a bulge in Heather's stomach. It's quite comical. Heather will often tap the new protrusions and ask "Baengy, ii ge mwo ya? (Baengy, what's this?)"

My theory is that there's more room in there when her mother is lying down, so Baengy reacts to the extra space by having a stretch.
Now all we need to do is think of a name for her.

Heather's not too keen on Big Baengette.

A sign of the times, perhaps? This one isn't ours, it's Heather's second sister's daughter, Yujin.

Yujin spends a lot of time staring at me knowingly, as if aware that my germ-free and toilet trained life is very soon going to be tsunami'ed by a representative from the baby realm.

It's not often that the Queen Ant and I can be drawn out from our familiar and optimised schedule in Seoul. However, the murmurings of Anthony Nguyen's activities in Busan were becoming more than a distant rumble, requiring a special journey by this small time blogger and his heavily pregnant better half.

Some of you may remember Anthony as the English-teaching, American football playing surfer that John Ngo and I used to live with. That period of time in the old Hansol Polaris building were among the most enjoyable of our Busan years. He is often referred to by the nicknames 'Anne-Sony,' 'Ants-on-me,' 'Tones,' 'Tony,' or 'Ants,' depending on the particular blood type of the person.

He summoned me down to Busan to help pitch a seminar to some medical doctors, the day before his wedding. Needless to say, we were both feeling a little pressure. Luckily, my black belt in Powerpoint proved useful, and we co-delivered a high impact presentation that I was still modifying on the train ride down.

No sweat, hey? One of the most useful things that weekly attendance at Toastmasters confers, is the ability to organise a fairly good presentation in a very short amount of time.

And then, in true Anthony style, less than a moment's notice passed before the next epic event. Anthony and Rebecca's wedding ceremony was held at 3pm the very next day. They had bestowed upon Heather and me, the monolithic task of MC'ing their wedding in replacement of a celebrant. Family members from across the pacific had arrived the week before, and Anthony had spent the week taking them around the city.

Photo: Anthony Nguyen

Somewhat experienced from our own wedding exactly 18 months to the day prior, Heather and I did what we could to lend an air of officiality to the proceedings. Rebecca was impressively calm throughout, and Anthony demonstrated the finest example of grace under pressure I've ever witnessed. A hectic week eliminated any possibility of a proper rehearsal, and the details of the ceremony were finalised in the 30 minutes before he came down the aisle. Dancing.

Photo: Anthony Nguyen

One of Anthony's relatives posted this video of the ceremony up on Youtube. It was a truly wonderful ceremony in every aspect, but if you're not up for watching all of it, just have a look at entrance of the wedding procession at 3:30.

How did we feel about our roles?

Well it was a tough thing to do, but also one of the greatest honours we've ever had.

Video: Christian Nguyen

When the ceremony had finished, we enjoyed a very relaxed reception overlooking the Gwangan Beach area. The food was great, the company was excellent and the atmosphere very much alive.

The band for the night was Pokolambro, an amazing duet who pulled all of the right strings. If you're getting married in Busan, these are the musicians you need to call.

Needless to say, I was a happy chap that day. Being useful makes me feel good, and helping long time friends even better.

Although of course, it wouldn't have been a success without the one to whom I'm married. Heather, in general, gets things done without much fuss.

Luckily, both Anthony and myself have managed to find ourselves a diamond in the rough.

Here's to their prosperous future together.

Photos: Charles Jeong

Times Square, Seoul

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 14:04:00 +0000

ice·break·er (sbrkr)

Nautical. A sturdy ship built for breaking a passage through icebound waters. Also called iceboat.
1. Something done or said to relax an unduly formal atmosphere or situation
2. A beginning; a start.

Here's SRTM's newest Polish American inductee, Art Michalak, giving his iceboat.

In general, the best first speeches involve a mix of personal insight and self-deprecating humour. Art used both of these elements well and had the audience in fits of amazement and laughter, respectively.

A couple of weeks ago, it was time for Toastmasters officer's training. We held the event at Taewon Seo's new venue near Gyodae station. Cafe Monsieur has excellent tea and coffee, and also serves the most delicious bread south of the Han river.

And I'm not just saying that because Taewon is a nice guy.
His bread really is delicious.

Our volunteer organisation runs on water, sunlight and enthusiasm. While I have plenty of all three, one thing that I don't have a lot of, is time. These days I have all sorts of odd jobs and mischievous extra tasks popping up during the week, much of it traceable to an anonymous source that we'll just refer to as Professor Tsang. So, with such a busy schedule, why do I attend Toastmasters so often?

Well, because I have to.

Let me show you around our new place. It's big and warm and has all sorts of hidden secrets, like an inexplicable glass door on the balcony that leads to nowhere and doesn't open.

We've gradually been filling it up with stuff from G-Market. You can buy pretty much anything in the world on G-Market, except for self confidence and personal growth. Back when I was an impoverished undergrad student, a large majority of my furniture resembled discarded-yet-sturdy plastic milk crates. But, as I always claimed, it was actually from IKEA and designed to look that way.

This is Jang-Ho's room, to which I rarely venture. A man's home is his castle, and so I guess a boy's room is his mini-boy-castle.

This is our pseudo-balcony, called MiG Alley. There are no jets here, but that's not to say that there won't be in the future.

And this is a small room, that Jang-Ho has insightfully named the computer-ot-bang (computer and clothes room).

My nickname for Jang-Ho is 'Jang-Ho the Genius,' and it's not for nothing.

That's our new fridge on the left. Heather's Dad bought it for us as a housewarming gift. It's much larger and sophisticated than we need and has a small computer, a pressure-activated drinks tray and a black belt in Taekwondo.

Heather does a lot of stretching for a variety of reasons. As pregnant women's bellies enlargen to Leviathanic dimensions, the body releases a hormone called Relaxin that gives flexibility to joints. A number of exercises are beneficial in such situations, including yoga, swimming and ballet.

Heather has found that one unexpected outcome of being heavily pregnant is that it's very difficult for her to cut her own toenails.

Fascinating.

Every self-respecting megacity in the world has a location called Times Square. Seoul's is located at Yeongdeungpo Station on subway line 1 and seems to have sprouted up overnight without so much as a pair of complimentary dancing girls to celebrate its opening.

If there's one thing that excites me slightly more than going shopping, it's Not Going Shopping. That's not to say that I don't like going shopping, it's actually more representative of the fact that I find not going shopping to be unusually exciting in and of itself.

Such considerable explanations are to no avail when trying to cover one's tracks when one has told one's wife that they are happy to go shopping on the weekends and thereafter appear less than excited to do so.

The frown of the Queen Ant induces all sorts of odd behavioural changes.

Times Square is a lot like Shinsegae at Centum City in Busan. The floors are shiny, the shops are many and the walls are an arbitrary shade of white.

Our newest favourite shop is called Franc Franc. Our old favourite shop was a Japanese store called Muji that sells a plethora of useful items, all in earthy shades of brown. Franc Franc sells nice stuff that you can put around your house, like towels and clocks.

So now, my favourite shops in the world are:

Franc Franc
Muji
Australian Geographic
Costco

I heard that this particular quote was from an 80 year old female Tibetan monk who broke forty years of silence to share these words of wisdom with us all.

Here's a self portrait taken in one of the high-fidelity mirrors of Franc Franc.

Heather doesn't seem to be too worried about her physical line.

And to cap off this post are some sleepy puppies seen through a pet shop window. They were small enough that you could put them both in a baseball cap and have room to spare. I guess you could put the baseball cap on and have a slightly wriggly head-warmer. In general, I like dogs a lot, though not so much in soup.

Have a good weekend everyone!

Change of Address

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Wed, 09 Mar 2011 23:35:00 +0000

After an eventful and enlightening sojourn in the land of ice and maple, I hit the tarmac running upon return to Seoul. The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of activity, punctuated by short bursts of sleep between part-time work, a full time PhD and a change of address with a pregnant wife.

Here's the Queen Ant, watching TV. To say the least, it was good to see her again after a month overseas.

My wonderful wife is having a fairly smooth pregnancy, with the baby due on May 20th. She gets a little itchy at times, but is generally walking around with her hands on her tummy and a big grin. The most common question that people ask is whether it's a boy or a girl (which we still don't know). And the second most common question is whether she has any cravings. As her master dietician, I haven't noticed her eating anything unusual, except for dried squid, dried fish and ice cream.

I'm dreaming up a recipe for a dried squid/fish pat-bing-soo.

Our unisex placeholder name for our baby is Big Baengy, a choice which often receives humourous appraise. Heather has taken up pregnant ballet classes, during which time she wears this tag. Can you imagine a large gathering of pregnant Korean women doing ballet?

That's what occurs every Tuesday and Thursday in a mirrored gym near our place.

Upon returning to the lab, I noticed that not much had changed. Except for the fact that El Cid the Weed had become rather unkempt and was sporting dreadlocks.

I gave the fellow a little crop. Now all he needs is a suit and tie.

The lady weeds are sure to be impressed.

Those particularly observant with regards to the title of this post may have understood it to mean a change of abode. Indeed, our lease at BK International House expired after the maximum two years and we ~~were forcibly relocated~~ had to move out. How a PhD student can afford to live off campus on scholarship income after two years is beyond me.

Luckily, the Queen Ant to whom I am married had been squirreling away monetary nuts in the time prior, and we had enough money for a reasonable apartment deposit.

Art Michalak, a stalwart friend of ours, showed up on the day of moving and contributed immensely to its success. He spent from morning until late afternoon lifting boxes, pushing carts and offering helpful opinions regarding placement de materiel.

Some people enjoy moving, while others harbour an immense disdain for it. I don't mind it too much myself. One golden rule that remains however, is that the act of helping someone else move house incurs a debt repayable in blood.

Or in Art's case, Mexican food.

One thing Heather goes nuts about, except for cockroaches, is mess around the house. Heather in general, is extremely mentally stable to the point where her cool and calculated response to every drama becomes somewhat soothing, although monotonously predictable.

Hypothetical situation

Lee: "Hey hun, the North has invaded and they're enslaving everyone."

Heather: "I see. What's for dinner then?"

But a dead cockroach on the other side of the road can cause her to jump out of her shoes, even while heavily pregnant. During times such as these, she'll transform miraculously into a bleating lamb, hiding behind me and ensuring the continual placement of my body between her and the dead cockroach. To a similar degree, mess around the house causes her to lose sleep at night.

By the careful stacking of boxes and the cunning placement of things unseeable to a pregnant lady, one can create the illusion of order in a messy house. Or so I found.

Stiff muscles and an aching back were rewarded with a pregnant wife sleeping soundly.

Damien Mugavin, an Australian professor at SNU, also lent us his car for the day, thereby saving us money and time. It was highly appreciated.

As a small recompense for car-borrowing, we took it through an automated car wash for Damien. Art had never seen such a thing before, although he grew up in the developed world. He is involved with the field of physics, enjoys the analysis of things and asks questions that often don't have convenient answers.

"How is the balance of soap and water achieved so that the car is optimally washed?"

As could reasonably be imagined, our new 3-bedroom dwellings have been a circus of activity in recent times. Heather's brother is now living with us, which is turning out excellently. And things are slowly finding their ordered places, in a case of unusual reverse entropy.

Moving house in Korea is generally less painful than in the west, provided that two criteria are met: a) someone fluent in Korean is helping and b) you have the help of friends, repayable in Mexican food.

Once things are tidied up, I'll have to show you around the place.
It's nice and spacious.

A Toastmasters Evaluation of Ottawa

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 03:37:00 +0000

"Happy to have been here, and happy to go home as well."

- what I was thinking in the departure lounge of Ottawa International Airport.

Ottawa's objectives for this particular project were to:

a) facilitate educational progress

b) build relationships between international collaborators and

c) provide a favourable first impression of Canada

I would have to say that all objectives were passed with flying colours and with light snow in the background. There were many things that I liked, one thing that confused me, and one suggested improvement for an even better experience.

Like all good openings, Ottawa started off with a strong hook. Everywhere I looked, up and down the streets, across the houses and flying through the air, I saw snow. Lots of snow.

This was a very effective way of getting a seasoned Australian audience wide-eyed and receptive to the body of the experience. For someone who grew up on the sandy beaches of South Australia, the snow in Korea at first seemed surreal.
But snow in Korea is nothing compared to Snow in Ottawa™.

I felt it in my fingers. I felt it in my toes. Snow was all around me...

Like the icing on some kind of massive suburban cake.

Love it or hate it, snow is just a fact of life for those living precariously close to the poles. Although I found myself bemoaning its arrival on occasion, overall it was a pleasant and reliable companion to have on my trip. As soon as I stepped out of the warmth of any well-insulated Canadian abode, I would find myself thinking "Hello snow, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again."

The conversation consisted of a crunching sound beneath my shoes.

Another area where Ottawa scores high marks, is in its high concentration of Canadian people. I've met the odd Canadian English teacher in Korea before, and have found them to be worthy drinking partners. Our shared Commonwealth roots allow us to chat about all sorts of things unintelligible to your average rest-of-the-worlder. Such topics include a searing affection or lukewarm disdain for cricket, lingering familiarity with the Queen (because she's on our coins), and the ability to speak the English language more correctly than our immediate neighbours.

But the famous Canadian way of saying 'out' did surpass novelty value after a couple weeks.

"Ooh, so you're goin' oot, eh?"

"Yeah, I am. Mate."

Another pivotal part of the Ottawa experience was going to Tim Horton's. Although not a regular coffee drinker in Seoul, I was converted to Tim's 'Large Double-Double,' which is the colloquial name for a coffee with two helpings of cream and sugar. You can get enough coffee to give you a cheshire cat grin and involuntary hand shudders for a mere $1.47.

The food in Ottawa was generally excellent. I managed to eat Italian food without pickles, sandwiches without coleslaw and pizza without sweetcorn.

Foodwise, everything in Ottawa is expensive except for eggs, which you can buy at an enormous tire store called Canadian Tire. You can buy a dozen eggs there for only $1.20.

Why do you need to go to an enormous tire store to purchase cheap eggs? It's one of those Canada things.

"F@$#ing cheap eggs!" as Bao would say, walking victoriously out of the tire shop.

The research experience was very enlightening. I immediately felt more academically free than in Korea, where the barrier of hierarchy between professors and students remains a stalwart reminder of Confucianism's former glory. In Canada, as with Australia, students can refer to their professors by first name, or even by nickname if they like. They can also use the word 'whatever,' when replying to a criticism, without fear of physical harm.

One thing that could be good or bad, depending on how you like your cities, is Ottawa's size. Ottawa is around the same size as Adelaide, which is often teased by our eastern Australian counterparts as being an irrelevant destination that most holidaymakers plan to avoid. If you imagine Seoul's population to be a birthday cake, Ottawa's population would be a single slice.

I, however, like small cities and big cities alike. We spent some of our youth living in the town of Pt Augusta, a small village in outback South Australia with its own tribal chieftain (it was Mayor Joy Baluch at the time).

We had three supermarkets, two sets of traffic lights and a single toy shop in the whole town.

One thing that I thought was Korea-specific, was the rapid accumulation of jingling coins in one's pocket. I don't understand money at all, but I'm sure there's some kind of mathematical relationship going on between the values of coin denominations and the local prices specific to each country. In Australia, I'd hardly ever have to deal with coins, or would run out of them in front of the parking ticket machines. In Korea, I always seem to have too many, especially the pesky 10 won coins that are only useful for purchasing coffee from 100 won vending machines.

In Canada, it was the same as Korea. After a long day out, I would often find myself with two pockets full of silver. Which I didn't mind much, but here's what confuses me: Have a look at the denominations above.

On the far left is the $1 coin, then the 25 cent, then the 5 cent and the copper coin is the 1 cent coin. What would you guess is the coin on the far right? Logic dictates that it would perhaps be a 2 cent coin. It's actually the Canadian ten cent coin, unintuitively smaller than the 5 cent and a cause for much ponderment.

"What are you talking aboot, eh?"

Now it's time for a suggested improvement. The photo above is from the frozen Dow's Lake, which we skated along until dusk. Nearby was a large restaurant selling Mexican food, where we entered with Professor Tsang who wanted to do some work on a laptop. This was how the conversation went:

Prof Tsang: "Is there a wireless internet connection here?"

Waiter: (mild frown) "We are a restaurant."

Here's me at a hairdresser:

Me: "Can I get a haircut?"

Man behind the counter: (without looking up from his magazine) "You're going to have to wait."

Some places in Ottawa had very good service, but there were many instances that made my other favourite cities look sparkling in comparison. I'm no whinger and take what I can get, but hey, man, how about a smile and a bit of cheer when you're selling something?

Let's turn those frowns upside-down!

Overall though, Ottawa was a memorable experience and I had a great time. I brought home a plethora of gifts and goodies, including Fisherman's Friend.
The snow was good, the research was interesting and the food was excellent.

I even enjoyed the flights on Air Canada. Northern Canada looks a bit like the moon. My eager efforts at spotting muskoxen from these heights proved fruitless.

As I sat on the plane though, I realised that the highlight of the trip was the people who I met along the way. The lab members were all friendly and welcoming, Bao's family members were warmly hospitable and I made great friends with Ji-Young nuna, who I'm convinced is a scientific genius. I look forward to going back someday.

Now that I've arrived home in Korea, things are starting to heat up. The new term is starting, my wonder-woman of a wife is 7 months pregnant and the pressure is on to produce some results in my research. I once asked Professor Tsang what advice he had for being a successful PhD student.

He said "Work hard. And think hard."

Snowbot

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 08:58:00 +0000

"À Rome, fais comme les Romains."

- A certain quote in French.

In some of the great beehives of humanity around the world, one can be chased by raging bulls down city streets. In others, one can find oneself wondering in wonderment in front of one of the most wonderful Wonders of the World.

And in Ottawa, you can skate along the largest skating rink on the planet. Mike told me that it's actually the second largest.

The first is called Antarctica.

Adhering to the age-old addage of "When in Ottawa, do as the Chinese students do," I once again headed out to this spectacle of winter. In the picture above are Cheng and Kai, two zhung-guk saram from the Tsang Lab.

Council workers drill test holes all along the Rideau Canal, to ensure that the ice is thick enough for the masses to skate on. So it's perfectly safe.

Apart from the danger of falling down a test hole.

I found out from Alaa and Nadeen that there aren't many skating opportunities in Saudi Arabia. One interesting thing that they both do is always put ice in their drinks, despite it being unnecessary in the Land of Polar Bears.

Nuna on ice is a fun thing to watch. Arguably more entertaining than Disney on Ice.

But as with all things that Ji-Young nuna encounters, she learned extremely quickly. It wasn't long before she was propelling herself along the Rideau with skills reminiscent of Kim Yuna.

Alaa treated us to Maple Taffy. It's maple syrup, boiled down to a thick glue-like paste and dipped in clean snow. Well at least, I hope it was clean. I washed it down with my cup of hot apple cider.

The taste was "interesting," as my Dad would say.

It's been many years since I made a snowman. The Kong family and I ventured out into his backyard one morning to attempt what is normally impossible for those dwelling between the tropics.

Making a snowman is no easy feat. For a start, the snow needs to be compacted and it tends to fall apart. And creating the head is a sculpturist's nightmare. After a multitude of inadequate approaches, I used a square bucket as a mold and simply placed it on top. It was fine, but made my snowman look more like a robot.

I named it Snowbot.

Here's Ethan with Wei-Wei's snow creation, reminiscent of the seal pups currently in the midst of a clubbing controversy.

Here's my finished Snowbot, complete with infrared vision and ready to blast any competing snowman to smithereens.

In a rare instance of superior political correctness for the Korean language, I recently realised that unlike its English counterpart, the word 'snowman' in Korean (nun-saram) is not gender biased. I was enthralled.

Snowpersons, firepersons, watchpersons... you can never be too politically correct these days.

If you were observant enough in the last photo to recognise that Snowbot was on a table, you may realise where in this photo Snowbot ought to be.

I guess you could say it was 'enrobed' in snow.

And that little lump in the centre was all that remained of Wei-Wei's snowpup the next day. I'm guessing though, that as the snow melts, both of our creations will re-emerge from their enrobement with victorious expressions on their faces.

Snow is a little bit like mess. It continues piling up over time, which makes you wonder why you bother dealing with it.

My answer is because I like to.

Enrobed Manotick Faerie Duck

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 07:05:00 +0000

"Tis not the ice nor frosty winds,

but shadows in the winter gloom,

That thicks man's blood with cold."

- My Canadian respin of an ancient mariner's rime

Yet another Canadian dawn draws forth a minor agitation: What manner of arctic illusion doth beset mine eyes, this time?

Faerie fire, perhaps.

Or maybe steam from somebody's shower vent.

Look, it's another Toastmasters club. Lucille Bouthillier, who I met at the Above and Beyond Advanced TM Club was kind enough to invite me to the Manotick Toastmasters, home club of Chris Ford.

I had no idea who Chris Ford was, but by the way I was told that information it felt as though it was something I should have known.

Manotick is a quaint little town just outside of Ottawa. The club was formed in 1996 and meets in an 18th century building. That night, the local Pathfinders Girl Guides joined in the meeting as observers. Back when I was in the Australian Scouts, our patrol set the state time record for pitching a 6-person tent.

One minute and forty one seconds, to be precise.

I liked a lot about the Manotick Toastmasters. They had a good variety of speakers, tea and biscuits, as well as an early portrait of Queen Elizabeth II mounted on the wall. During the table topics session, I was a reporter interviewing Albert Einstein.

Once upon a time in my life, snow was fun and frolic-worthy. Not long after that, it became a nuisance. The Canadians have all manner of methods for its removal, including local neighbourhood patrols of modified trucks that meander through the sidestreets.

These would also be useful to collect up all the cash when a Lotto truck tips over on the highway.

During our ritual weekly visit to the supermarket, I extended my camera out with my hand and said "Hey Ethan, look at this."

Above is what a three year old boy looks like, observing the click of a camera shutter.

Going anywhere in the Ottawan winter requires careful risk assessment of the pros and cons.

You could find something new and amazing, or you could end up being found by a search party, frozen in a large block of ice holding a map in your hand.

Little Italy is worth the hassle though. Simply for the quality of their antipasto seafood dishes.

King Neptune himself wouldn't mind his minions being relished so tastily.

I bought a packet of SKOR chocolate from the local supermarket, just because they used the word 'enrobed' in their description. It seems like a word that we need to use more often.

Such enrapturing vocabulary enthralls me as I sit enthroned upon my chair.

I like museums as much as any other amateur childhood palaeontologist, but one country's heavily lacquered dinosaur skeleton often seems as good as the next's.

Hmm... 'next's'... now there's a funny word.

The Canadian Museum of Nature was fairly good, but nothing out of the ordinary except for an unusually large collection of fluorescent rocks. I heard that the Museum of Civilisation is more impressive, but it was north of the river and thus beyond the borders of my bus route knowledge.

We had some good times at Alaa's place eating pizza, inhaling shisha and playing cards. I learned a new card game called Con Carne. The aim is to get rid of your cards by producing certain sets. And out of about 100 rounds, I failed to win a single game.

In retrospect, I think I played a little too conservatively.

We spent the Chinese New Year at Bao's house, with Wei-Wei making a traditional dumpling recipe from their hometown of Shandong.

Shandong dumplings have pork and chives as stuffing and are a nice alternative to Korean mandu. We had a good time exchanging international dumpling technology.

In Australia, we have really large ones called pasties.

It was a nice and cosy night with some good food and a little wine. I contributed the plate of roast duck, sourced from the Green Fresh Chinese Grocery. There were many firsts that night as well: First New Year in North America, First Time Eating Shandong Dumplings and First Time I've Spent a New Year Thinking a Lot About Firsts.

The Year of the Rabbit hopped in quietly without much further ado. Here's hoping that it will be a good one for us all.

Ice Hockey

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 15:55:00 +0000

Commentator #1: "For the Senators to make the play-offs, they'll have to win 24 of the next 32 matches. Yes, that could happen. Just like the next time my phone rings, it could be Scarlett Johansson."

*cell phone rings in the background*

Commentator #2: "I think that's Scarlett calling."

Most sports involve chasing something around, passing it to teammates and placing it in a predesignated place, upon which time a point is scored. This task is made considerably more difficult by the presence of an opposing team who are trying to do the same thing in the opposite direction. All else equal, the superior team should prevail, the anticipated satisfaction of which is the motivating factor to compete.

Ice hockey has all of these identifying features and involves a vulcanized rubber puck, with skaters using special paddles in an ice rink that is disproportionately small for the speeds involved. The result is a beautiful orgy of precise collisions.

I had seen a couple of games on television here, but had various motivations for seeing a game in real life. Those motivations included the fact that I could then claim to have seen a game in real life, and so that my Canadian friends would feel more at ease with me in future engagements. If you want to make friends with a Korean, you compose and dedicate a song to the unending deliciousness of Korean food, and for Canadians you talk about hockey.

Fortunately, the University of Ottawa student union sent out a coupon password to everyone associated with the university. Bao got the email and sent it to me, and we all got tickets for $20 each. The password was 'Union.'

I would have preferred a secret handshake myself.

The Canadians love their ice hockey as much as fat men love beer. Not all fat men love beer, and not all Canadians love ice hockey, so I think the analogy is accurate. But I guess a more accurate one would be that ice hockey-loving Canadians love ice hockey as much as fat, beer-loving men love beer.

One of the biggest things I like about going to sports events is to consume junk food under the convenient excuse that it's the only thing for sale.

And packing your own cucumber sandwiches or couscous salad to see an ice hockey game just wouldn't be right.

I'm now a big fan of ice hockey and my favourite team is the Ottawa Senators, even though they've lost 13 of the past 14 games this season. There's only one team lower than them on the ladder now, and that's the most despised team in the NHL, the Islanders. And I'm not just saying they're despised to make the Senators look better.

There was actually a poll on TV, asking viewers which team they like the least.

The rules for violence in ice hockey are somewhat bewildering. Players are allowed to bump, prod and decapitate each other, while the referee's job is to make it seem like everything is under control. Knocking a stationary player off their feet is called 'checking.'

As in, "I was just checking to see if you could keep your balance."

But going on a rampage using your stick as a baton is generally frowned upon, and will land you in the naughty box for 120 whole seconds.

The match commentators will use all manner of superlatives to describe a testosterone-charged confrontation between two players from opposing teams. They'll say things like "Seems like those two are having a chat."

I'm no lip reader, but the zoomed-in camera views appear to reveal the use of expletives.

One thing I find fascinating is that the Ottawa team have named themselves The Senators. Judging from their behaviour while resolving disputes within the rink, that would be akin to a professional WWF wrestler calling himself The Diplomat.

But then again, the psychology behind sports team names in general is quite interesting. Certain animals are more preferred than others, but it isn't clearly logical. Names like The Sharks, The Wolves or The Tigers are just fine. We would assume it's because of the attributes that they'd like to be renowned for. But there are plenty of other fine animals that have important distinctions.

For example, one could name their team as The Chimpanzees (for intelligence), The Armadillos (impenetrable defense) or The Barnacles (proportionally large gonads).

The game itself is composed of three - twenty minute quarters, affirming my perception that some North Americans are bad at maths. Or math.

During the breaktimes, one can tour the outer area of the stands, which are coincidentally stockpiled with merchandise and overpriced junk food. I was about to purchase a 100g packet of peanut M&Ms, with approximately 20 pieces in it, before being shocked and politely rejecting the requested price of seven Canadian dollars.

A zoomed-in view of the thoughts in my mind would reveal the use of expletives.

While professional ice hockey players travel at speeds of around 40 kilometres per hour, Ji-Young asks an impressive 20 questions about the game per minute.

"Where is the puck?"

"What is the score?"

"How much time is left?"

I thoroughly enjoyed the match, even though we lost 3:2. And on Youtube I've recently discovered a goldmine of various ice hockey clips.

While I have no doubt that ice hockey has great sportsmanship involved, I think that it perhaps isn't the best sport for exemplary behaviour. Therefore, I suggest the creation of a new and alternative game.
We can call it 'Nice Hockey.'

It would be similar to ice hockey, but with only three players on each team. The ball would be made of polystyrene or papier-mâché. Whenever two players on opposing teams come within 2 metres of each other and the ball, the game is paused. The two players then do a Rock, Scissors, Paper, to determine who gets possession of the ball. We'll call that Entrustment. So the newly Entrusted player is then given three seconds to leave the area and score a goal. Of course, there is no goalie, but the lightness of the polystyrene ball would make it difficult to go very far. To slow things down even more, it's played on a grassy soccer field in spring and all players have to hop on one leg.

Sounds like a fine game to me. There would also be less physical injuries.

So, who's up for a game of Nice Hockey?

Too Much Electronics

noreply@blogger.com (Lee Farrand) — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 15:12:00 +0000

"Maybe I need one more lab coat. This one is too much electronics."

- Bao Kong, referring to his lab coat's static electricity.

The past week could be appropriately described as warmly stimulating in scientific aspects while mind-numbingly cold outside. I think the two have balanced each other out for a fairly consistent overall experience.

The coldest day passed at -22C, with a windchill factor of -40C. On that day, I walked ten minutes from the bus stop home with 4 layers of clothing, and when I got inside Bao exclaimed "Wow, look at your face!"

I still have no idea what he was talking about, because I immediately sat on the kitchen chair, stared straight at the wall and tried to mentally accelerate my blood flow to wake my body up from cryostasis.

Now I know how frozen cell lines feel.

While acutely aware of the growing foci of this blog on trivial minutae, one can't help but express a number of qualms about the label on this laboratory refrigerator. My future ambition is now to work at a lab where they test claims such as these.

This particular myth is sure to be busted, due to the inescapable existence of a bigger possible explosion.

Ji-Young is a Korean post-doc in our Ottawa lab, bringing all of the necessary Korean quirkiness that every lab requires. In this photo, she's isolating rat follicles using a 40X objective and associated glassware. Rat follicles are the essence of the rat species, in the same way that flowers are the essence of beanstalks.

You can take the boy out of his local Toastmasters, but you can't take the Toastmaster out of the boy. That's because Toastmasterness is an intangible element that exists in fluidic space, parallel to our own universe. Last week I went to Above and Beyond Toastmasters, an advanced club also based at the hospital here.

I was mulling over signing up for a prepared speech at one of the clubs in Ottawa, but a schedule packed to the brim has ensured otherwise.

I enjoyed the night here and spoke during Table Topics.

Some time in the distant future, humanoid cyborgs will note that the ancestors of their Ewok friends once looked like this little fellow here.

I heard that a pack of starving squirrels once attacked and ate a small dog in Central Park, in a rare case of necessity-based carnivory. Either that or they had long wondered what dog tasted like.

A hookah is a special middle-eastern apparata for inhaling fruit flavoured tobacco fumes. The physics of the device are particularly fascinating, whereby the operator uses their diaphragm to create a localised region of low pressure in their lungs. Due to a myriad of pipes being the only avenue in existence between their lungs and the outside world, the weight of the atmosphere forces air past the smouldering tobacco and into a goldfish bowl. This bubbles as a result of gravity pulling more on the water than the air, allowing the fumes to dissipate upwards and into the unassuming windpipe of the operator. What the operator then does with the fumes is up to them.

I generally try to blow rings, like Gandalf.

Alaa and Nadeen are two extremely new students who joined the OHRI lab a week after I arrived here. They're Saudi Arabian, and good to hang out with. Both of them have their own pipe, and smoke their own favourite tobacco on surprisingly frequent occasions. Last week I found out that if you're in pleasant company, apple-flavoured tobacco smoke and Apple laptops are more than adequate to chill with, even if you don't have any furniture.

While acutely aware of the link between smoking and cancer, I've only recently understood that there also exists a link between smoking and making new friends in far away places.

Ottawa's Chinatown has a nice gate, nearby which Professor Tsang and I ate yum-cha, the circulating cart-themed dining experience colloquially known as dim-sum. Back in Adelaide, Hong's mum used to take us out on Sundays to yum-cha at Adelaide Chinatown's Mongkok restaurant.

My favourite dish is har gow: prawn dumplings steamed in mandatory bamboo containers.

The Rideau Centre is Canada's version of Westfield at Marion. The similar building layout, the names of the shops and the foodcourt all reflect the glorious global homogeneity of modern consumer culture. From this beehive of retail activity I purchased a pack of gum and some bus tickets.

There's no doubt in my mind that beer drinkers throughout the world can tell a HoneyBrown from a Moosehead, without having to take some kind of educational course that costs money. However, my beer tongue is slightly less sophisticated and can only distinguish between polar comparisons like Miller Light versus Guinness.

Canadian beer tastes good to me. One brand in particular is imaginatively named 'Canadian.'

Downtown Ottawa reminds me of downtown Adelaide. For those rare few who have had the luxury of visiting both, Ottawa's Bank Street is Adelaide's King William Rd. And the Byward Market Road is Rundle Street.

The resemblance is uncanny.

This is downtown Ottawa at night, with the canal serving much the same aesthetic role as The Torrens does for Adelaide. Only ours remains unfrozen during the winter months. And our winter months also have enough sunshine to give your regular Ottawite a tan. Speaking of which, I still haven't found an answer to the question of how to refer to an Ottawa resident.
Ottawanians, perhaps?

In fact, apart from our Québécois friends, most of the names for Canadian city residents continue to elude me. Possibly on purpose.

Torontinos? Vancouvorians?

I wonder who's responsible for such nomenclature, and how I can find them.