Hej, Jag har inte bestämt några specifika tider men jag skulle kunna jobba hela Maj, halva Juni och hela Juli och kanske Augusti. Jag vill göra detta för att utöka min kunskap i immunology som jag tyvärr inte besitter stor kunskap i. Jag hade en liten presentation om immunologi i kemin i tredje ring. Men jag är villig att läsa en hel del om det innan jag börjar jobba om detta skulle vara nödvändigt. Jag har labbat sedan första ring i kemi, biologi och fysik konstant. Mer sådan information kan fås från min CV som jag har satt ihop och från min hemsida. Jeffrey H Lee Engineering & Applied Science Underg, Student Bx 0099/Rm 0209 Fitler Gh 3700 Spruce Street Philadelphia, PA 191046024 leejeffr@seas.upenn.edu 215-417-5138 kimberly kirsten... savahna@hotmail.com kimberly kristen marcelino leigh901@hotmail.com ICQ: 28161988 Pat Colay... 386_3052 / 751-0089 Royce or Vicki 898-4223 Payroll...(898-6301) Jessica 772-0418 Stat111 daniel buzavidas (private) 26266542 : 195.100.6.204 ToDO Another way of looking at things is seeing Talk to supervisor at VanPElt Study! Apply for job at newspaper (JAnuary) Transfer Credit HomeWork.. Monday, Phil225, Math Tuesday, Phil26, Chem, Phys Wednesday, Phil225, Chem Thursday, Phys, Chem, Math Friday, Phys,Chem, Math Saturday, All Sunday, All net use m: \\alexc\f$ 417-7194 Katie There is a bug on the net, on the window It's bugging the hell out of me Why? you ask... Well it does no want to leave I wonder why... I hit the net--it flies for a moment Then lands in a different place I hit the net-- it flies for a moment Or 2 Then lands in a different place. Aren't they supposed to die When it is cold outside? Wait! It's moving... Dooohhh.. It lands again... I wonder if it does it on purpose? Just to bug the hell out of me The bugs on the net, on the window You shining object That turns night-- into day You shining object Makes energy? Your way. You shining object And a push is all it takes (Some computations richer....) You opaque thing That refuses to work You opaque thing Are you? a dork You opaque thing And your soul is but quarks? The Love or the Lamp? The Truth? The lights are all illuminated And the guests are seated Their shadows--are pleated And seem fascinated The guest are all fascinated And the lights are seated Their shadows--are pleated And seem illuminated Now the soup is served By the kind waiter And the hungry guest Starts to disect Is the soup now more Or less a soup than before, when it was A soup? Is the truth now more Or less a truth than Before, when it was The truth? Ode to light Light, What would I do If you would not be? If I were not to study you, AND he(or she)! Light, you are sick! I think it has to do With the mind, I too am schizofrenic. When reading about you and your nature true. Maybe a cure would do a thing or 2 for he(or she), OR you. And undo, Einstein's crew. Time is the oil in a car A tapeplayer lies on the fair sun Of a distant planet's moon It's playing the tune Of times that are gone Or should I say That are to come After all, time lies In recycling cycles But linear has more of a kling Since succession is our king But then again kings are Recycled also, near and far In time that is-- and time is the oil in a car. inherit/merit Someone whispered yesterday in my sleep While I was in another world, too deep The creature said, with gloomy voice "Why are you sad, why no rejoice?" Before I could think, I made the words They seemed more like ruthless herds That rampage and destroy the land When I released them from my hand "The reason of my current state Is not a joke, but a twist of fate" But later looking back I see How I accused an innocent to be Guilty of the crimes I did commit And so the evil circle became lit And no end there was in sight Fate was abused but did not fight Back, because it knows just how to get A final laugh and a final set. On This November Day The Universe, on this November Day Was silent, give or take a sound As if vacuum were a dictator-- Fighting guerillas The Universe, on this November Day Was moving, give or take some feet Who were walking in vain-- Against their reference frame (the wind) The Universe, on this November Day Was balanced, give or take some holes That could not be explained In the soul The Universe, on this November Day Was sad, give or take some hiccups Of newborn shining suns And daughters The Universe, on this November Day Did not care, give or take some worry About what happened Yesterday It was closed, give or take an open door Why does it not make sense? When one and one and one and so on Become infinte, what becomes the end, I mean no offense. For the Philosphical Chemistry Student Don't you just hate when you forget that 1 + 3 is four forgetting adding it is still not to late and your temper starts to dissipitate into the jar of organic solvents, that do not stick inside your head, but rather quick make resonance forms, their trick. Then shift into new forms, Never seen, or imagined before Do you remember the formula Of the acid, commonly know as formic? and you temper starts to deform Suddenly you get to names of parts Of Molecules that are so Spartan That they should remain a part Of your vocabulary, from the start and your temper starts to depart Then the core is revealed The infinite reactions yield A headache not to be concealed Or the tumor may not be healed and your temper is gone... THE END! Around a Snake There is a snake that has no end and lurks and awaits around the bend and poisons and intoxicates the intelligence and digests the art of common sense You can see it, but wait, maybe not because it's how you see it, ad hoc It is hard to grasp and impossible to hold Of course I have not tried, only been told But it also may, without a single questionmark? Rejuvenate the child and allow him to embark On a voyage beyond existence, into the hights Of imagination's throne of cloudless nights 1? 2? 3? maybe 4? 5? 6? 7? and 8? 9? 10? How many can we live in? How many do we live in? And how does it make A single child partake Of a needed meal? That is the question. An Informal Meeting An electron and a proton met in the month of May They said hello, and hugged on that rainy day They started conversing underneath a red umbrella Uneasy at first, but they managed to tell their names, Arthur and Stella Arthur asked where Stella came from Stella replied politely, I was evicted And have been wandering alone And have been carrying the pain inflicted Not to worry, said Arthur I too am alone due to a reaction That, if I may say Did not end to my satisfaction Arthur thus offered to share the pain and Stella felt an attraction To this generous being that offered so bluntly, kindess, in such a fashion Not to mention that Arthur's heart was climbing higher and higher By each step a ray of light could add to his burning fire But Stella felt a little insecure Wondered if he was right for her Arthur did not sense this And made a small mistake He moved a little too close Stella felt a shock That she could not explain, like small arrows in her brain She shyed away and said no more She told herself that there was no more As she wandered through the rain Maybe looking for another one to share the fresh inflicted pain. An Element of Loneliness, Is a flower on a lonely mountain Is a drop of water in the desert Is a wind that does not rest Is a fire far into the west Is a bee without a hum Is a tree, o tannebaum Is a parasite without a host Is a thought within a ghost Is a sigh that lacks an ear Is a pain but not a tear Is a rhyme you cannot sense Is a youth without his love Is his love without the youth Preparations for a Prince A pit in hell was cleaneD and polishEd With the best detergent and polish Clinical treatment, bacterias abolished Disinfectant, Iodide, loVe abolIsh A pit in heLl was prepared For a very special and Dear guEst A close friend to his majesty snared By the rope of the seVenth test A pIt in heLl to encompass all Of nothing and then some more For a man that haD bEtrayed His faith, Valor, and hIs trade I saw this on a night of FaLl That made me sweat with fear and blood Red and moist, yet dry, it did not clogg As the Prince of Death was nobly installed The Law of Uncertainties I realize slowly that what is to come has already passed many times before but not in front of me Why does it have to be? So-I think we already know. And what would happen if we stumble upon While deaf and mute we roam the world Our senses are not used, yet we cry in vain Ask questions that we know the answer to and again ask why it is so. I think we already know. As the river knows not why it flows downstream instead of up, yet it does not condemn. As the cloud does not mourn that it headed west instead of east-at least I never hear it. So-I think we already know There is a booby trap in thought and awaiting Stays, throughout the years, throughout the days It does not care that it will die, just prays That we shall not think to hard So-I hope we will never know. On Genet(h)ic Engineering Genetically speaking it does make sense To turn a grown-up into infancy But poetically it is hard to restrict The ethical causes this does inflict For after all how will the child feel Being a grown-up at once Not being given a chance To return to the youth that DNA can steal As a sheep! I dare to state. Led by others on a pasture steep And away into the deep darkness It will fall, unless it can keep its balance. A Secret Revealed Evolution is a kind stick That slaps you over the hands Not too hard, but if you're quick and evade You might get even with the ruler of this mighty cognitive piece of eternally recyclable stubborn wood Statistics is a kind of belt That curves and shapes and hits Not too strong, but with more of a sting like a bee Which together you often do see, in a cup of freshly opened 7UP that bubbles furiously as if it thought about time! That is the secret of all life? Not anymore I guess... I hold the world in my hands I hold the world in my hands and my fingers squezze it gently It resists at first I guess this may be calculated and then subsides to my muscles and bones that seem to have more force Than the sturdiness of South America or the stubborness of Europe and Australia looks funny while the Pacific widens But its will -- will prevail because when I no longer am there It will take its predestined shape ready for another set of fingers Rasism shall its own death die Is not the claim insane that others are less worth because of pigment on their skin, I wonder Then one must ask himself, worth in what? compared to what? weighed by who Decided when? and so together then These ideas are but nonsense expressions of mutated genes, that create a monster like a non-defragmented hard drive. Of the lethal kind, not for others but for itself, that has no fathers or mothers, and swallows its children. Since pride cannot be raised by bloody hands Nor sense from drunkeness in borderlands Nor fame from fear and fake amence Or hope from a starved intelligence Rasism shall its own death die When people are mature enough To penetrate its.. evil.. lie.. Setbacks are part of existance For intelligence that may acknowledge them As a hopeless test or paper, for instance Can retard you to your age of stem Wishing time would stop-- and then go back a tiny ounce of time, and then restart and so continue again. If only this and if only that...does not help you now at all, what must be done must be done, even if it is bitter as gawll. So return to labour you tired face of snow Since this is all you know or will ever know Concrete, my thoughts take shape and then the great architect changes his mind, and bricks fly out into the clouds, a million of them haphazardly spreading themselves They are sad bricks, as the architect is sad today because things had not the intended effect the arrival did not bring... They should pass the moon by now Out of my reach they are, by far Some birds try to follow In vain, for there is no gain in chasing flying bricks It's 10 am, they salute Saturn with a cordial grin and his chin turns pink or so they think A firetruck flies by in the opposite direction A couple of seconds earlier they left this system and visited another, and another and anotherm and then a couple more, as before-- and evermore What knows where they are now and how they can get back, as if they could, if they choose and when, if ever again, will they return and reform and finally why? About love and tears and pots of gold All these people walk me by And I just can't stop to wonder why? will they or I be the first to die? Then just arrived from different lands And already making moderate plans As I catch them by these hands They are young and fine and old What stories have they heard or told? About love and tears and pots of gold At the speed of rushing feet they hurry on and our glimpses meet some go fast other slow, infinte repeats Wardrobe differs in size and color as personalities shift within the hour do they know what they own in their power? Some shoes are black as ravens at night Others choose brown, their shade of light One chose red, entirely to my delight Are they lonely in heads or beds which nowadays is an awful dread because feelings are no longer encased with lead Some are beautiful, some are sad some are good, some are bad some have and others had Spice Classics (spiral shape) Like people at a table of jokers Competing for the biggest laugh so we humans sit gathered on this point in space Food, clothes, cars do not count Because in reality only an idea can make a difference in the circle of life So who will get the biggest laugh? In the end everyone does win by virtue of their thought caused by a heavied mind In the end everyone will lose What they practically never owned but in theory, ah! deerest theory how rich is a lifetime! The squirrel and an alligator Once upon a legend or so A squirrel was walking to and fro On an empty beach of sand Along came an alligator With teeth as sharp as a razor And hungry as demand He saw the squirrel and grinned "A nice snack", so he leaned On the corny sand And trampled towards the targét Heavy, and slow like internet He felt the demand The squirrel noticed, observed And laughed, almost lost his head Anywhere, in the golden sand Then he jumped on Al's back so Al had a heartattack and lost control of his hand fell unto the sand with the squirrel under his back squished into a brand new shape, so they both die and they lie, there in the sand in case the story has an end the moral is that you should no more, give a heartattack to an alligator but let him eat you instead! Getting a job is like fishing just think about it Somethings have to fit right in You have to meet the right fish You have to have the right bait You have to be right on time and you have to be in the right state And if you don't get a catch even if it is and splendid match you don't get food 4 the young batch life is a short sweet lie for that which gives us life also makes us die The individual who requires the support of others to see his own greatness is then merely seeing the greatness of others To be seen is good To be acknowledged is better To be understood is the best To understand oneself is pure paradise Cut in bits by digestive enzymes In the stomach of the hungry Rotweilers For such thoughts must originate in Rotting genes or missing ones, that together constitute a misfit of nature, a mutant The Debate I think it is a perril to leave this place No it is not... Closed is the case...