Science news of interest. Recently, some neuroscientists classically conditioned mouses to exhibit fear behavior and showed new and specific neural pathways are created in the mouse's brains after a period of intensive conditioning. That in itself is useful, but not very surprising, since the mechanism is intuitive: when we see a mouse learns to anticipate a electric shock at the sound of a bell, it's concievable and logical to think new neural pathways are built to connect the two previously unrelated concepts. Further, it is already known that after a period, classically conditioned behavioral response fades away to nothing in the absence of reinforcment.

But the surprising part of the experiment is that even after the conditioned behavioral responses has gone, the neural pathways created during the conditioning still persists, maybe becoming a permanent feature in the brain. In a way, the conditioning process left an anatomical "scar" in the mouse.

Marooned in Porltand II

The saga continues. The worst part is every night since Tuesday I have closed my eyes and confident that next day would bring the sunshine the rise in temperature that enable me to fly out. But two morning in a roll I have woken up, rubbing my groggy eyes, to the TV chatter that once again, airport complete shut down, roads closed, more ice rain coming from south, second horseman of apoclypse sighted in northeastern sky, blah blah. The weatherman makes a sad face as if to comfort a child who needs to swallow a spoonful of foul medicine.

Outside the ice and snow press tightly against the house. Have been cooped up in this house since Monday night. Food running low in the fridge, nerves frayed. This weather better lift soon, or it's going to turn into a Donner Party situation here.

Marooned in Portland!

Two days of snow and sleet has turned the Metropolitan Portland Area into a giant skating rink. All flights out of Portland has been canceled. Most of the city's much-touted public transportation system has grounded to a halt, reduced to a few bus crawling around like big slugs. The area around my home, a semi-rural area invaded by armies of cookie-cutter suburbs, is a scene of winter wonderland, replete with undulating hills of snow, crystalline tree branches and the unearthly quiet. But amidst all this beauty, I am trapped! No way to get anywhere, had to postpone flight to LA two days in a row. The storm has been a boon for the local media, which dubbed it the biggest storm in a decade. Indeed, the only people having fun are the children enjoying no school days and TV news crews. There is nothing on TV except smug-looking weathermen tracing the flow of cold air on the screen as if they are God shaping the weather by their hands and over-excited reporters bouncing around in snow. I guess it is a mark of my personal growth now that I look upon snow as a nuisance, not as the powdery magical substance that can be shaped into little balls perfect for throwing against other people.

Spent the New Year at Seattle, the city of spotless sky and eternal sun shine. First, went to the Night Market to see "fish-throwing," an attraction that's frequently mentioned in touristy descriptions of the city. The fish-mongers there are quite scary-looking, wouldn't be out of place in a crew for a pirate ship. We did see one of them fling a big fish across the length of the stand, where it landed with a loud SMACK in the hands of a co-worker. The absurd thing is they would only do this act if a customer buy a fish, which is muderorusly expensive. Most of the visitors, like us, only want to see the fish-throwing, not to take home a giant, over-priced fish. So we all waited around for some wealthy and kind benefactor to show up and lay down the money so us ordinary folks can enjoy the spectacle. When it happens, all the joy and spontaneity has been sucked out of the act. It's no longer a exuebrant tradition but a mechnical ritual perfected for the flash of disposable cameras.

The same can be said of the World's First Starbuck, which is found just down the block from fish stand. I never realized Starbuck had a humble beginning in this little store in the early 1900's. Yet there is little to distinguish this particular store from millions of other Starbucks, other than a plethora of company-themed merchandise and a few historical photographs of what this place used to look like. The heavily-mustoched, aproned men in the pictures looked out with the type of blank stare that all early photographic subjects adopts(It seems "Cheese!" had not yet been invented). They seem mystified by the current incarnation of the store.

Considerably more interesting is the trip next day to a shooting range, where I learned to fire a gun. I had some mixed feelings about this trip. My internal dialogue went something like this. First, the Bad Angel said: "Yeah! Guns! Let's blow some stuff up! Woho!" Then, the Good Angel said: "Ahem, you do realize that you are participating in the fascination of violence that's cancerous to society. Now, instead of this trip, I recommend a screening of Bowling for Columbine, followed by a soothing herbal bath. . . " Suddenly, the Bad Angel drew a Sig Auer 9mm Revolver blasted the Good Angel full of holes. And that was that.

At the shooting range I was surprised that instructions for newbies is minimum. All you need is a driver's License and some money then you are offered a buffet of guns to sample and endless rounds of ammunition to play with. The store offer three basic classes of hand guns based on their calibers: .22, 9mm, and .40. I've devised a equivalent and more intuitive classification system based on the sound the bullets make: .22 = "pop", 9mm = "bang", .40 = "BOOM".

They do offer another pistol that's higher than .40: the Smith & Wesson Magnum 500, which is apparently the largest caliber pistol in existence. This monster is 15 inches long and weigh 4.5 pounds and use .50 bullets. For perspective, that caliber of bullets is usually used in heavy machine guns. I found myself staring dumbly at this weapon under the glass case, simply the size of it overwhelms rational thought.

As for the actual shootings, I didn't do too well. The .22 I can manage all right, but the 9mm give a good kick which I never mastered. In one sequence I emptied a clip at a paper target 20 feet away and found out I missed everything. Now I can understand why in movies the bad guys can shoot point blank at action heroes and miss everything; They all have very weak wrists! So much for the childhood fantasies of Action Hero Tom, the only role I am good for is Terrorist #3.

After the shootings, we moved on to the attached gun shop, where I played around with some old WWII rifles. A British Enfield, German Mausers, a Japanese Arisaki and some Soviet Nosin-Nagant. Though battered and probably inoperable, their bolt actions still give a crisp "ka-cha" when pulled.

In one of the cookbook I am reading now I came across the phrase that cooking is "one of the simple, routine joys of daily lives." It occurs to me, with some surprise, how much I've come to agree with it.

Such bad timing. Just the day before I fly home they raise the alarm level to orange! I guess I just have to be extra suspicious of Arab people in the next few days.

Ha, how is this for irony? I recently joined the AAA and they sent me these stickers to put on my car. So I did it and a while later realized that I actually locked my car with my car-keys inside during the process. So immediately after putting on those stickers I require AAA service. How timely is that.