Fun with jetlag!

Compare and contrast the flattering versus unflattering filters on Photobooth.

Hot...




...Not.




Slimming...




...Not slimming.



Arty...



...Farty.

Please a check my...... medical a bracelet.

The conference is now over, and was overall a pretty good experience for me. It was fun – a little slow to start with but I really enjoyed the poster session and met some other paeleobotanists who were lovely. The third day fossil talks were all Cenozoic, and I felt a sense of kinship not unlike what attending your first Star Trek convention must feel like. It felt good to be amongst ones own.

So on Wednesday morning after finishing up and pulling our posters down, we made our way back to our hostel to pack up and prepare to move on. Stuart was flying onto London the next day, and Lizzie and I needed to pick up our hire car early in the morning and Drive to Carbondale in southern Illinois.

At Around 7pm, we decided that we were hungry and should have ‘one last quick drink’ at Hamilton’s, the bar around the corner from the hostel. We counted on a bowl of cheese fries and a pint before resuming the tri-missionary position and falling asleep at around 9.30pm. What we didn’t count on was running into every single person we had met at both our hostel and the Dawghaus café where we had coffee every morning.

The following sequence says more than words could ever say.











*SCENE MISSING*






We all ended up at The Anvil, a great bar where we met many wonderful new people who were more than willing to provide us with all of the colours to drink. After many hours of Kath and Kim impersonations (VERY popular around these parts), we said our final goodbyes to our new friends and returned to our lodgings. I drank what I considered an adequate amount of water before hitting the hay.

Suffice to say, water levels were deemed not to be adequate on awakening. Apparently one good spew isn’t enough to cleanse ones body of the previous evenings poisons these days. In fact, if you eat Buffalo wings with hot sauce and spend a night out on the town, whatever enzymes driving the digestion reaction forward must somehow be inhibited. Instead of describing exactly what happened in the bathroom to me many, many times that day, I will instead attempt a chemical equation for the reaction that didn’t take place.

Normally

Buffalo wings + Hot sauce + Protease = firm stool + water

However

Buffalo wings + Hot sauce + 17 DRINKS = (Buffalo wings + Hot sauce)²

Two hours passed in the foyer of the hostel like two minutes. We thought we were going to die, but after a particularly good vomit I was able to convince Lizzie that I was okay to get to our rental company. After bidding Stuart farewell (who on the way to O’Hare had to vomit out of a taxi door) we got a cab into the city to get the car. After lingering at garbage can for a little to long, I rushed into Hertz and was able to extract the staff toilet key from the woman before loosing every last drop of moisture from my body. We were given the keys to our Subaru liberty, and hit the road as a pair of dried out husks. Despite the fact that Lizzie couldn’t move her neck and I couldn’t talk, she drove and I navigated our way along the mean streets of Chicago and onto the Dan Ryan expressway. Luckily, we were on the mend soon enough and ended up having a great drive after the Tylenol, MacDonald’s and coffee kicked in. Witnessed cornfield after cornfield, and generally marveled at the towns we passed through. I will never scoff at Caroline Springs ever again after seeing street after street of the same fucking house devoid of all personality (actually, yes I will – Caroline Springs can still suck my balls).

We were almost back to 100% when we hit Carbondale where our luxurious motel room was like arriving home after a 24-hour flight. Our host in Carbondale was fantastic, and we were taken out for a delicious Midwestern BBQ dinner, where we both subtly drank 14 cokes each to regain our strength.

The next morning we were shown around the local university and taken to see the sights around town. It’s a really gorgeous area, so green and lush. To a couple of botanists from Australia, the ‘bush’ in the USA just looks so strange – like it’s some kind of cultivated garden instead of a perfectly planned collection of species that have never evolved and have always been there thanks to the Divine Creator.

Anyways, around lunchtime I was unfortunate enough to develop a migraine headache. I haven’t had one for years, so it was probably something to do with the Native American burial ground were traipsing all over. I took some pills and decided to fight through it, but I was green around the gills by the time we were passing the Taco bell. So for the eleventy-hundredth time in 24 hours, I vomited in a public restroom. After that, our very kind host took me to his very kind sisters house who let me crash out on her couch for a few hours. Talk about hospitality – I introduced myself by saying “Hi, I’m Emma, and I’m going to vomit in your toilet now…”

Two hours later and I was feeling much better, so after an icecream at the Dairy Queen, Lizzie and I could drive on to St Louis, or as we like to call it ‘the Tullamarine of Southern Illinois’. After getting quite lost and stopping for directions, we were fairly pooped and were tempted to eat at Denny’s next to our motel. That was until we found directions to the nearest ‘Outback Steakhouse’…

If anyone out there is after the least Australian experience (cliché or otherwise) on planet earth, please visit the Outback Steakhouse. We are completely convinced that not a single employee has ever met or even heard the voice of an Australian. We were after a bit of a laugh at the tacky décor, silly menu items and if we were lucky, a poor impersonation of Crocodile Dundee. What we got was service provided as if it was a recorded message – no matter how many times we told them that we were Australian or tried to engage them in small talk the waiters had no idea what we were talking about. They didn’t even know what I meant when I showed them my ‘coalition of the willing and PROUD!!!” tattoo. Or my George Bush shaped birthmark. There wasn’t even a ‘Kangaroos next 10km’ sign on the wall. Just the odd Tina Arena song on the stereo. For shame.

After a hollow experience like that, we were on the road early and ready for more cornfields. How can the world need so much corn? It’s incredible. Here are some corny highlights.


Even Cowgirls get the blues... on the wrong side of the road.



"Delicious corn. Haven't had that in a while."



The Bloomin' onion. Traditional Aussie tucker mate.



"I love you Thelma. I love you Louise..."

Heading to Nashville on Wednesday for more superfun with super friends. I’m having the best time, and I want you to know that you are all dead to me now.

Regards,

Emma.

This must be just like living in paradise.

After a ‘Die Hard’ length day in transit across the Specific Ocean, I arrived in Chicago on Monday night a little crunchy around the gills but otherwise fine. It was a pretty good flight as far as twenty four hours moving between airports and airplanes go. On the way to LA I had a great seat at the rear of the plane that was so close to the toilet that I barely had to move in order to evacuate, allowing me to drink approximately 3000 liters of water. I shared a row with a mum, dad, three year old and a one year old but was hardly bothered by the continual tantrums and weeping. I was too busy watching movies and episodes of Extras that are still of pants pooing quality the fourth time around. I also managed to catch a John Farnham concert from the early nineties, which naturally I found to be TOTALLY FUCKEN GROUSE MATE. I’m sure I was the only person in the world at that moment to be hurtling at 900 km per hour 31,000 feet above the earth’s surface and being barely able to contain full body tapping as I watched The Voice pumping out his touching rendition of ‘Take the Pressure Down’.

At the end of the flight as we were preparing to exit the plane, I turned to the parents next to me and commented that even though I hadn’t slept a wink, “The flight had gone pretty fast, hadn’t it?” Their dead eyes and crumpled, child-weary faces said it all – easy words indeed from a single 25 year old whose main responsibility for the flight revolved around maintaining lip moisture with lip gloss.

After clearing customs at LA and heading to the American Airlines terminal for my Chicago flight, the fatigue really began to kick in. Despite my efforts to erect a personal bubble exclusion zone with ear plugs and an eye mask, I was soon tapped on the shoulder by the elderly American woman beside me. Upon hearing the dreaded “would you like a chocolate coated peppermint?” I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping at all on that leg of my journey and so began to silently weep tears of rich arterial blood. However, being kept awake with sentences that started with the likes of “I’m a Republican – not that it matters, but…” for two hours allowed me to take in some of the Road Runner-esque scenery passing us by as we crossed the dessert. That baby Jebus sure knew how to create himself a dessert all those 5000 years ago. Really, Australian desserts should be at least 23% more pointy and at least 45% more plateau-licious.

Stepping of the train platform in Chicago thirty hours after my alarm went off in Melbourne, I was greeted by Stuart and Lizzie who were able to photograph the sheer relief on my face as I stepped through the doors.



Sorry to the Melbournians suffering through winter, but I must say that the weather in Chicago is truly spectacular. It’s 25-30 degrees with blue skies and those white fluffy clouds you just don’t see in Melbourne that much anymore (I think they might have water in them). Lake Michigan is Alpine cigarette commercial aquamarine when we sit and watch it every morning from the vantage of our café. The gardens and lawns are lush and green, and most streets are brightly colored with flowers.

We have spent the last few days relaxing and visiting the different neighborhoods. One of the most satisfying activities is walking into the Walgreen’s drugstore and seeing just how many seconds it takes me to develop Bell’s palsy with excitement. The cheap and oh so deliciously unfamiliar candy. The less than half-price beauty products, and Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah, the off-the-shelf pain killers. This must be just like living in PARADISE. I actually teared up in isle three this afternoon when I was able to purchase cocoa butter, two mascaras, a bronzer, a soap box, deep heat, sleeping pills (with a “TRY ME I’M $2!!” label), pain killers, a notepad and two chocolate bars for a measly $33 US dollars. You couldn’t buy that much with $100 at Priceline in Melbourne. Unfortunately, Stu and Lizze won’t let me take a box of sleeping pills followed by a box of AWAKE! Just to see what happens. Amy Lewis, if you want to save heaps on anal bleaching and moustache removal, just ask and I’ll be able to hook you up with some ma$$ive a$$ $aving$.




And please – don’t even get me started on the supermarkets. We keep making late night reconnaissance trips to photograph hilarious bakery items such as 7UP cake and Elvis Presley flavored banana and peanut butter Reeces Peeces.



`



Aside from the dizzying highs associated with the actual act of consuming and dreaming of future products I may like to purchase, Chicago is a truly awesome city just to walk around in. I love jumping on the train and getting off wherever looks interesting. The beauty of the above ground train is that you can usually spot an interesting street thirty seconds before the train stops. Just listening to the conversations of local residents is almost entertainment enough. Chicagonites (I just made up a word, didn’t I?) are incredibly polite and friendly people, which sits very well with my ‘no retreat – no surrender’ manners policy. Dining around town has been fun and is always an eye opener in the USA wherever you go. The food is always hilarious and surprisingly good considering that many of the meals I have enjoyed have been listed on menus alongside such treats as ‘Biscuits and Gravy with Pork Chop’ as seen on a breakfast menu yesterday.

The conference is in two days and seems more and more like going to school in the middle of a holiday, but I’m sure it will be a good experience and very inspirational for us all. Now where did I put my glasses with the eyes painted on…

The future.

I’m twenty five years old, I’ve spent nearly eight years at university and I’m still not really sure what I want to be when I grow up.

This is something that I think about all the time. However, instead of making any big decisions, I just did an Honours year studying fossil conifers. Then two years looking down a microscope at leaves for my Masters thesis. I’m even eyeing off potential PhD projects involving exotic field trips (duration one week) and three years of sequencing plant DNA and data analysis (duration three years minus one week).

As you may have guessed from my recent past, I think that time wondering about possible careers is best spent pursuing an academic career in a narrow field with few jobs and little prospects. You wouldn’t want a job at the end of nearly a decade of study, would you? I just figured that I may as well learn how to use an electron microscope and get an extra degree whist weighing up my options. Don’t get me wrong – I loved the projects I’ve done and wouldn’t swap the experiences I’ve had in the lab for anything. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – my life is a fantasy camp. The thought of leaving the lab and saying goodbye to the endless laughter, joy rides in mining trucks and weekly industrial accident cover-ups makes me want to be a plant scientician forever. Unfortunately, I still just don’t know if academia is the life for me. So as my project nears completion, I am forced to decide what to do next with my life.

The following list represents the things I’m not willing to do for any amount of money:

Work in a discount variety store of any description
Work in a shitty suburban cinema, even if I was the manager and making more money than Donald Trump
Watch more than three consecutive minutes of Medium or CSI
Eat own poo

Conversely, here is a list of things I love to do and will gladly engage in for cash:

Write abusive letters to the editor of the Herald Sun about Tony Abbott being a complete cockchop who can shove his Christian family ideals right up his Uranus
Listen to talkback radio just to hear Beryl from North Balwyn’s opinion on “that Michelle Colby”
Watch the entire back catalogue of Prisoner on DVD
Photoshop myself into photos of The Highwaymen

Unfortunately, not many employment opportunities come with the above selection criteria.

So what am I to do with myself?

How about run off overseas for two months with no money and only one legitimate reason for being there in the first place? So I’m off to Chicago in July for a botany conference, then flying on to London to find myself* in Europe for a little while. I guess I’ll just finish my thesis and choose a career when I get back.

Haaaaaa!


*possibly eat own poo

The Family... Gardners Hut circa 2007.

Photography by Stuart 'sex machine' Gardner.

A train of thought.

*sound of tumbleweed blowing through lab*



*sound of a scientific discovery...*



*..that had already been discovered*



*sound of spongy mesophyll*



*sound of low secondary vein angle*



*audible sound of chord being struck*



FIN.

More fantasy tan nights.

The cold, dead eyes of the red eye reduced.


Papa Lazzaru and Aunt Jemima.


Faces of leaf evolution 2006 - making the Cookson Lab proud.


Me and Megatron Basketball's MVP 1980-2006, Steve Henderson.


Burning up with Rollergirl and Radiation therapy boy.



How to take a theme seriously.

Lou and Emma worked hard each day at the library...

...but often let their hair down at night.

First batch of fake tan shots.

Official new headshot for my CV.


Amy on the dance floor.


"Um... like.. who the fuck is that, and what the fuck is she, like, wearing?"


"Thats's not a hole in the wall... that's Rollergirl."


Possible Veronica's album cover #1


Possible Veronica's album cover #2


Two like, anorexic bitches who came to like, steal Cam.. or something? Fat moles.


Just another shot from Friday night dinner... how did this get in amongst the party shots?


More to come over the next few days...