My boss, Lynda, had a brain tumor and her surgeon friend (who looked like Cory) was going to operate on her. But for some reason, I decided I was good enough to do it myself, so I grabbed her head and took it home. It was slightly larger than a doll's head, and I cracked open a quadrant of it with a chisel. Her brain looked like pink jello, and the tumor showed up as embedded bits of white. Using a little two-pronged fork, I lifted out most of the intact brain, then scooped out as much of the tumor underneath as I could. I accidentally took off a slice of pink, and got a little worried. I then dumped back in the bulk of the brain and quickly tried to fit the skull quadrant back on. But I had forgotten to bring any glue with me. I desperately tried to fit it up perfectly, hoping that the head would start to heal itself, when I noticed a major hole right on the top! Remembering that I some had splintered off when I was first chiseling, I now began to seriously worry that it was irreparable.

Somehow, I realized that this was all occurring in the past, when I had just joined the lab six years ago. I believed now that I was re-doing the past, in an attempt to fix things - because the first time around Lynda had died another way! Just like in the movies, I had been trapped in one of those time paradoxes where changing things drastically still won't save someone if it was their time to go. However, I also remembered that the first time around, a year after her death, she came back to life and things carried on as if nothing had happened. So I didn't worry. Instead, I helped to edit chapters of an upcoming book of Lynda's unpublished material. I had majorly contributed to some of these previously, including an article on a gene called Hey3, and looked forward to seeing them in print. When the book arrived, it was huge, maybe 1000 pages long. I flipped through eagerly, only to be disappointed in seeing that my name had been removed at every opportunity from the author lists and relegated to the acknowledgements. Still, I kept reading. The first half of the book was papers Lynda had been writing, and the second half was papers that she had been reviewing. I wondered how it was legal to publish those here before the authors themselves published them. What was astounding (looking back in real life now) was that there was clear, legible, and intelligible text on every page - I must have flipped through a couple dozen one by one. There were even tables with color-coded rows and full author names.

Next, I was walking through a mall's food court. There were the usual chain restaurants, but right next to the Taco Bell was an "indie" food stall. I walked in and asked what the special was. The proprietor, who was also clearly the owner, was a woman in her late 30s with short hair and a blue and white striped apron. She enthusiastically told me that today's dish is an antique book sauteed with chicken pomodoro. She showed me the book, which was in a white sauce, and tore a chunk from the corner to show how tender it was. She explained that they had them flown in from museums and simmered them for hours. When she saw my expression, she became less animated, and then took a call on her cell phone. As she chatted away, she went to sit down in the corner. I waited patiently while playing on my phone, but after a while it was clear she wasn't finishing up any time soon. So I went home. As soon as I get there, she texted me to indignantly ask if her store wasn't good enough for me. I made a lame excuse that I had to be somewhere on time and left it at that.

At home, my neighbor, an older blonde woman, had come over to watch a demonstration with me. A little old Chinese woman had come over to sell us a "learning German" online software and was demonstrating it on our TV. My parents came out from the back rooms to check if everything was okay, and I nodded. I became intrigued by the program, but was wary about the costs. She said it was only 3-5 cents to access it. I thought that it would add up pretty fast if that was per minute, so I asked to be clear. She said that was per day! But I still thought there was a catch. Finally, she admitted that there was a $110 initial fee. My neighbor jumped at the chance and bought it. But as I was trying to decide, I saw on the screen that there was a lot of Chinese involved as well as English and German. I thought that would be too confusing, so after a very long pause, I finally said "nope, I can't do it." My parents said they were okay with my choice, and the woman, disappointed, packed up her things and left. She gave me her card, just in case.

posted by Larry at 9:43 AM