Presentations and other sad things

I have not yet written about the conference I attended last week. It was a conference run by graduate students and meant as a forum for biology students at prairie universities to present and share their research. There were also a number of undergrads at the conference, more so than there were last year. I will say that the quality of talks given by undergrad students was sub par. There are some things you just don’t do when you give a talk, and these undergrads managed to do them all. I was aghast at the number of people who took up, and read off of, notes. One girl was reading paragraphs verbatim, and others seemed to have written everything on cue cards and read directly from those. You don’t do that for a scientific presentation! You. Just. Don’t.

My talk went well. I was able to talk at normal human speeds, which – if you haven’t heard me present - is a monumental achievement for me. I’m glad that I went, and I hope I do as well when I present in San Francisco at my next conference.

I also haven’t yet written about the book I just finished called What is the What by Dave Eggers. It’s a fictionalized account of the real life of Valentino Deng, who was one of the Lost Boys of the Sudanese civil war. It was an incredibly sad book, right from the start, and more than once I was struck by the futility of the lives of refugees. They flee their own country and try to rebuild and they’re just torn down, over and over again. Even after he moves to the United States his life is still torn down. I don’t know how people can survive that kind of constant disappointment and turmoil. I believe that everything in this book actually happened. Even if it didn’t happen (in real life) to Deng, I have no doubt that it happened to another Lost Boy or refugee. Believing that, however, doesn’t make it any easier. Some of the scenes were so horrific that I couldn’t begin to picture them. Imagine walking with hundreds of other boys through the desert. You’ve had no food or water for days, some of you have no clothes. Everyday some of you die, and all along the road you walk are the bodies of those who have walked before you and perished on the way. I can’t imagine seeing the bodies of dead women, children, and babies just lying on the side of the road. But that was the reality. It was a good book, despite the sadness of it; it was full of hope. The main character was strong and never felt as sorry for himself as I did for him.

On a completely unrelated note, Winter and I have broken up again. This time it’s permanent. We’re dividing up the books and furniture and my friends should decide whose side they’re on.