Here, fishy fishy!

When I was a young thing, I got the rare opportunity to watch TV, Sesame Street, of course, and there was this cute little episode between Bert and Ernie.  Bert was trying to fish like a normal person would, with a hook, line, sinker, bait, bobber, etc.. Ernie told him he could get the fish into the boat with fish call.  Ernie demos, and fish just jump in the boat:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUusX1Js6R0

Later in life, I learned of this alternative method to get fish to jump in the boat:  http://www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail44.html

Now, I have learned of a true phenomena where fish jump in your boat.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InENM6fwIwE

Too cool for words.

Amanda

Standardizing Language

Once, I lived in a lab where if you did a good job, the PI would say, "Good job," and if you did a bad job, he would say "bad job."

Now, I live in a lab where if you do a good job, the PI will say "Excellent work," and if you do a bad job, he will say "I'm glad you're exploring your creativity."

I advocate for standardizing language, but I will use the "I'm glad you're exploring your creativity" language in the future, when I am a PI.  I will say it with a grave face over carefully steepled fingers "Patrician" style.  *Evil laugh*

How I stay (somewhat) sane....

In my field, there are a lot of good people that I really like.  Unfortunately, those good people often hold diametrically different opinions from each other and sometimes me about how good science is done or should be presented.  To stay sane throughout the years, I've found myself creating little character links in my head between people in the field and the villians and heroes of pop and science fiction, mostly so I can attribute negative characteristics of the interactions to the villians and not to the individual concerned.

For example, there is the person who e-mails me back in less time than it takes for me to hit "send" on the e-mail, and therefore must be part of the borg collective.  There is the firey person who might not have originally chosen this work for her life, but was drawn in by the bigger struggle and is clearly on the side of right, she is Princess Leia.  We have the serpent from biblical literature, an Emperor Palpatine, a couple Darth Vaders, a Yoda, an Obiwan, a Chewie, a C3PO, a Wes Crusher, and a Lando.  I still think I am Chuck Norris, however.  Who doesn't see themselves as that?

He he he.... if you see me giggling randomly over the next few days, it's probably because I just made some new funny connection in my head, and am blatantly using it to humorize a potentially negative interaction... Please don't ask, though, because I don't typically fight and tell!

You know you're loved when...

You walk into the living room and....

...The turtles freak the F out and splash their salmonella laden water all over the living room, then try to bite your fingers off when you feed them....

...The tree frog surrepticiously climbs from  his perch on top of his log to his hiding place inside as if to say, "you didn't see me up here enjoying all those crickets you got me, they're all gone, get me more"...

...and the Beta fish suddenly floats belly up so you'll freak out that he's dead and play with him and feed him.  He turns back into a happy, food-eating fish after I poke at him with a spoon a couple times, see him wiggle his fins to stay belly up, and drop some food in.

...It's no wonder that the most common cause of death among reptilian and amphibious household pets is obesiety-induced heart attack.  All of my pets have such strong personalities and really have me trained.  This is why I probably should not be allowed to have mammals as pets.  Maybe a bird would be nice, though.....

Memorable Experiences from Thesis Writing

I wrote my thesis, largely at night, right next to a massive star jasmine bush.  Often, I’d hear this fairly loud high pitched noise going by at a surprisingly high speed. With the Doppler shift you'd think it was a tiny jet aircraft.  I never saw the offending critter at night, and decided it must be a bat picking off the bugs that were attracted to the light of my computer.  One Saturday I was facing a deadline, so I took the day off from experiments to write in my usual place.  By daylight, I finally saw the little guy making the noise, and found out that a pair of hummingbirds had made a nest in my star jasmine.  The noise I'd been hearing was me being "dive-bombed" by daddy hummingbird to get me to go away from his lady and babies!  I couldn't really change my routine mid-thesis, but it made me feel pretty badly until I realized they had gotten enough used to my presence to teach their little babies to fly and get honeysuckle nectar from the bush across from the jasmine.  Right in front of me!  That was pretty memorable.

Not as memorable as finding out that the roar I had thought probably belonged to the local rural-Martinez mountain lion actually belonged to a raccoon the size of a German Shepherd (okay, maybe she wasn't that big, but don't let the truth get in the way of a good story).  I happened to wind up between her and her babies because they were cavorting around and ended up on the roof of the toolshed in front of me with Mama behind me.  She was making the kind of noise the monkey in me did NOT want to hear from so close in the dark.  When I (like a slow-motion take in a horror movie) turned my head to look behind me, expecting to see the mountain lion, Mama was reared up on her hind legs and nearly as tall as me.  I did a quick trade study between halting thesis writing for the night and starting a fight with Mama raccoon.  I don't think I've ever run so fast in my life.

Hot Creek Amusing Transcript

Particularly Amusing Transcript:

*Fer steps out next to a boiling bool.*

Fer: So, just here is fine, right?  Close to the green and…

*Fer bends down with a tube in her (gloved) hand and waves it over the pool.  *

Peter:  I’m going to hold your back belt loop, don’t be freaked out.  K?

*Girls laugh*

Fer:  Which color do you prefer, or does it matter?  *Pause*  Amanda?

Amanda:  Uuuum, well, take…. samples from wherever and I’ll write it down as you go.

*Fer leans way in and collects a sample, dunking a tube with her gloved hand*

Fer:  Ah, it’s hot!  Hot hot hot!  *Fer transfers tube to other hand and shakes hand that collected sample.*

*Amanda audibly giggles in the background, even Peter lets out an audible chuckle.*

Fer:  Ah, this one is boiling.  For sure.

Amanda:  (Still amused) Okay.  (More concerned) Do you want a string to dunk those with?  Instead of your fingers to dunk them with?

Fer:  I think I’m good with gloves.

Amanda:  Okay….

Fer:  You should bring the pH paper also because I am already here.

Amanda:  (Starting in at “because”) Yes ma’am.

Fer: If you want.  *laughs*

Fer:  That is so cool, Peter, that hole in the middle?!

Peter:  *laugh* I know!

*pause for transfer of goods, steam rises out of the sample collection site*

Fer:  I don’t have any other rock.  I think I can, do you think I can put my foot there?

*pause*

Peter:  (Apprehensive) Um.  No.

Fer:  No?

Peter:  (Definitive) No.

Fer:   Okay.  Let’s get here then.

*Fer reaches way out for another sample, mutters something under her breath as she collects it, then flicks fingers like it’s “hot hot hot”*

Cleanroom: Timers

I have a love-hate relationship with the cleanroom.  I love making cool devices to play with, and I kind of love the whole process of getting gowned up and being part of the small, elite club of cleanroom workers.  However, I have an on-going battle with it to get decent results, and I positively HATE the short breaks of waiting 3-5 minutes.  I mean really, truly, loathe them.  This, therefore, is an excerpt from the chronicles of my love-hate what-the-heck-am-I-doing-here life in the cleanroom.
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Timers (11/15/11)

Have I mentioned how much I hate waiting in the cleanroom?  I really hate it.  It would be one thing to have to wait an hour on something – I can go talk to people, catch up on some reading, degown and go do some other work, anything to disengage my brain from the monotony of waiting.  Even a break of 10 minutes is enough to walk away and think about something else than the fact that I am just waiting.  On the flip side, I really enjoy being so busy that I can’t get bored.  There is something very satisfying about getting home and sitting down and finally letting the brain think about whatever it wants instead of maintaining the constant focus I’ve forced it into all day.  Unfortunately, a fab process rarely affords me these luxurious wait times or exciting busy times, and instead forces me into 3-5 minute wait times that sap my soul away.

Let’s discuss today as a case study of all that is wrong with the cleanroom world of waiting.  My first item on the agenda: clean my wafers.  This is a 20 minute endeavor of first sonicating in acetone for 5 min, then in IPA for 5 min, then in water for 5 min, then in water AGAIN for 5 min.  I was fresh in the cleanroom and could handle the short 4 min breaks for the first 15 minutes.  By the start of the second water sonication, I was ready to gnaw my arm off at the shoulder to escape the cleanroom.  So I took a picture of the timer.  Yay, it’s almost done, only 2 min left to wait!  I sent the picture to Fernanda to pass the time and spread the crazy around a little.  Then I realized the ultrasonicator had shut off at some point during the 5 min, and I had no clue when, so I had to start the 5 minutes of torture over.  God, do I really have to wait another 5 min for this thing to finish?

Next on the list is the Gods-forsaken plasma asher.  This machine is one of many that is decidedly out to get me.  First, most people pump it WAY down when they leave it.  Some people pump it down less so, so when I set it to purge, it could be 30 seconds or 3 minutes before it opens.  I usually start off hopeful, but by the time it finally opens I am usually gently tapping my forehead against it, pulling slightly at the door, and begging it under my breath to open already.  At this point, I get the overwhelming excitement and joy of loading my wafers.  After that breathless minute of pleasure, I set the machine to high vac and get to wait for it to pump down.  This doesn’t take very long, so I usually leisurely fill out the machine log before having nothing to do but to stare at it for about 30 more seconds while it finishes up its task at hand.  At about 25 seconds, I said “screw it, 0.5 torr is low enough today!” and started up the ashing. 

This is one of the most exciting parts of the using the plasma asher, so let me describe it in detail.  First, I flip a switch to say that I’d like to choose oxygen plasma (the other option is CF₄).  Then, I get to turn the dial off to the right of this switch to inform the machine that yes, indeed I am serious about choosing oxygen plasma.[1]  This next step is critical:  I have to hit the “Off” button.  If I don’t, the power won’t turn on when I hit the “On” button.  Don’t ask me how I know this.[2]  But before I hit the “On” button, I must turn the power dial all the way to 0.  After I’ve hit the “On” button, I get to turn the dial up and watch for the reflected power to drop, indicating that I have a plasma and things are going well.  This happens at about 150 V.  Then I get to start the timer.  All this takes me about 5 seconds.  Total.  Tops.  And it’s the most exciting thing about running this machine.

The next 5 minutes are sheer agony.  This is the one machine with an analog timer, which means I get to physically watch each millisecond of my fleeting life stripped away from me as the second hand turns.  I maintain my composure for the first 42 seconds of this assault, then photograph the offending timer and send it to Fernanda.

Somehow, I hold it together enough while the clock counts away another two minutes and 55 seconds before I lose it again and take another picture of the timer.

I send this to Fernanda, too, expending a further 5 seconds of the waiting, leaving me a remaining one minute and 17 seconds to wait. 

About 15 seconds later I decide that 4 minutes ashing is just as good as 5 minutes ashing, leading me to another exciting time on the plasma asher.  First I hit the “Off” button, giving me a tingling feeling inside that my time with this blasted machine is almost over.  Then I turn the dial from O₂ to off.  I flip the O₂ switch to off.  I wait for the high vac to evacuate the chamber, and leisurely turn the power dial all the way off while I do so (about 3 seconds).  This is enough time, I figure, to remove enough of the O₂, and I flip the vacuum switch to off and the purge switch to on.  I wait a couple of seconds (maybe 5?)  before I get impatient and flip open the handle so the door will automatically open when the chamber is purged.

About 5 years later (maybe 30 seconds) I start to get really impatient.  I tug on the handle.  It’s still stuck, there’s still a vacuum in the chamber.  I rest my forehead against the door and slowly count down another 5 years (another 5 seconds), and tug again.  It’s still stuck.  I bang my forehead against the door and beg it to open, then count down another 5 years (about 3 seconds this time) before tugging again.  It’s still stuck!!  Okay, if it wants to play this game, two can play it.  I walk away and sing half of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody in my head.  I walk back up the plasma asher and give the handle another gentle tug.  It’s STILL stuck.  I wail in frustration, and apparently not just in my head this time because Anita looks over and says, “What’s wrong, is it misbehaving again?” and I have to admit that, “No, Anita, the asher is working just fine, I’m just impatient.”  Her kind words about the virtues of patience wash right over me.

Just when I am starting to seethe with impatience and frustration (and contemplating all the exciting methods of completely destroying the plasma asher), Cliff distracts me across the room by showing me pictures of his adorable baby girl on his iPhone.  When I get back to the asher 5-10 minutes later, it is finally open and someone I probably know but can’t recognize in their cleanroom getup (only his eyes show) tries to tell me how inappropriate it is to leave the asher unattended on purge because it wastes nitrogen gas and costs the lab money.  I could’ve kissed him through our facemasks because finally my torment with the plasma etcher was over.

[1] Again, the only other option is CF₄.  I wonder what would happen if I gave the plasma asher conflicting information?  I am afraid to find out, it might hunt me down in my sleep.

[2] Okay, fine, I’ll reveal the source of this information this time: it’s on a handwritten sign next to the “On” button.  Sometimes I fantasize about being a rebel and hitting the “On” button WITHOUT hitting the “Off” button, but like I mentioned in the previous footnote, I’m a little concerned about the bedtime ramifications of angering this machine.

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