Rehearsal Dinner

Every Bo' student knows that the 3 best meals of the school year come in the first semester.

• The lobster bake on the eve of the first day of classes. Not my favorite and always left me hungry, but I feel obligated to list it, what with the whole lobster and all.
• The giant Thanksgiving feast right before Thanksgiving, which always concludes with a giant ovation for the staff. Yes, almost every school does it, but was your school voted to have the best dining hall 3 out of the 4 years you were there? OK then.
• The holiday feast right before reading period*. Just about the only time of the year we get duck. And guests won't feel ripped off paying the $17 to eat in the dining halls.

Like all college traditions, these meals are steeped in memories of being with friends and so every November, I gather my Bo' people to capture my lost youth and we eat a pre-Thanksgiving meal. Naturally, we had Greek food this year. Then headed over JWo's for semi-homemade desserts. And some Michael Jackson circa 1992.

I double dare you to think of a better food, people, and entertainment combination.


*Also loved the dining extras during reading period/exams, like smoothies and popcorn and espresso. They don't do that in grad school.

Mind the Gap

Talking to my parents on the phone...

Moi: ... remember that project I did? It turned out that [Professor Papa's] undergrad thesis was on the topic I -

Mother: Does he have brains?

Father: What?

Mother: I mean, is he a man with brains?

Father: He's a Harvard professor. Of course, he has brains. Why would you-

Moi: ... and his research is fascinating- Hi. Are we still having this conversation?

Heal Thyself

Are you looking for a primary care physician?  Are you on a long waiting list for a specialist?  If that's the case, I have some bad news.  They're all too busy being at my school.

In addition to making money off of its poor sucker students, my school runs these physician leadership seminars to make money off of people who already have money.  Lots of money.  And they do it every other day.  The classrooms across the hall from my lecture hall (I say "my" because I have all 4 classes in the same classroom- even when we split up to take exams, I am always assigned to that one room.  It's all very Truman and I'm not even sure if there are other classrooms here.  But I sure pay for them!) always have tables set up full of forbidden fruit.  And forbidden yogurt.  Coffee.  Granola.  Sandwiches.  Cookies.  Sparkling water.  All sorts of other things we're not allowed to eat.  They put up signs that say "for physician leadership only."  And set up people whose sole jobs it is to shoo away hungry grad students. 

The way my econ class has taught me to see it is this:  we are not creating enough incentives for doctors to want to stay at their jobs and not come to these cushy seminars full of elitist food.  So you, dear patients, must give your physicians a reason to want to see you.  I implore you, people, make up exciting injuries, pay your doctors far, far beyond the $10 copay, and get yourselves a lower-cut shirt.  Restore peace to my school.  I get very hungry looking at scones.

Left Behind

On a precious few Tuesdays, when there are no problem sets to go over, nothing to finish up at work, and no review sessions to attend, I get to leave campus early. It takes so much out of me, though, I wonder if it's worth it. No matter what time class ends (3:15, 3:20, 3:22), or what I do after class- head straight out, parting chatter, or, like this week- stop by the locker (I have a locker! it's like a real school), check my mail, bid my farewells, apologize for leading someone down the wrong path on a test question- I always see the bus pulling up the minute I step outside, still a good block away from the stop. Much like the good Lord, the shuttle bus schedule is mysterious and beyond comprehension. And the buses do not tarry. So I run for it. Have you ever 'run' down a sidewalk outside an academic hospital during the day? Do you know how many wheelchairs and trees and waddling old people in canes there are to delicately dodge (because courtesy always comes first)? I feel like I'm in a Jackie Chan market chase scene every single time. And do you know how embarrassing it is to be the only person who's out of breath and panting on the bus? I do.

Chairs! The Musical

When I grow up, I'd like to work at a place where we don't run out of chairs.  A place where, if people did steal our chairs, we would notice.  Then get the chairs back.  And dart the thieves to show them we're serious.  Apparently, I do not work at such a place.  Filing into the conference room for a lunch presentation today, someone pointed out that the room seemed empty.  It was true.  We were missing a lot of chairs.  Left in their place were many, many questions.  Like oh, where are our chairs?  There are rumors that it may have been those petty Women's Health people.  But their conference was at least a week ago.  Which means that it's either taken us at least a week to realize the loss, or it wasn't them.  And even if it was them, how did they take out so many chairs without anyone's notice?  What are they doing with them?  How did they even get into the office?  Whatever the answers, this is what we know: I work for a supposedly world-class hospital, in what is supposedly one of the premier research institutions in the country, and we're missing our chairs.

Moi: Where are those people keeping our chairs?

Young Bo': At the chair factory.

Why, of course.

Things I Have Made This Weekend

PB & cranberry J.

Roast soy chicken. (on bread, natch)

Corn and black bean pancakes.

Stir-fried bok choy.

Scallion beef stir-fry.

Spinach and mushroom pizza.

Country-fried steak egg sandwich extravaganza.

What can I say, I'm a great procrastinator. Plus, 15 years from now, epidemiology can't feed a family of four. But roast chicken can.

---
Speaking of my bete noire, a oldie but a goodie-

Prof Little Man: The only time you should use this estimation if you're discussing this at a cocktail party and you don't have a calculator handy. Having a calculator would just be too nerdy.

Friday Flashback

I have been exiled in my room the past couple of days, studying biostats and preparing myself for defeat. So I'd appreciate it if we didn't dwell on the present (or the grim future).

Let's instead look back to Friday, a time before I'd realized how little I knew of biostatistics, a day when Grant (that's Doc McDarty to the rest of you) 'darted' a patient for the first time, thereby shooting him high up on my list of fascinating peoples of 2009 (two can play at this game, Barb). Take a moment now and let the significance of that sink in: Stuck a tranquilizer. Into another person. Stealthily. Like a ninja. Or a zookeeper. As a part of his day job. As a part of my day job, I graph things in Excel and use my TI-86.

But I digress. Freaky Friday. The best part wasn't even Grant, but getting my econ test back. Not because I'm an econ rock star (or even did well), but because I have the best TAs ever. In my test booklet, I had written pleadingly for them to grade mercifully "not for me, but do it for Grandmama Lee." When I got the booklet back, on the one question that I had gotten full credit, a TA wrote "Well done! G-mama Lee will be proud." Best education moment. Ever.

Sweet

My neighborhood is full of fancy cafes. And galleries. Condos. Boutiques. Etc. Unfortunately, overpriced baked goods is the only one I can afford. Just barely at that. I usually have the wherewithal to resist South End Buttery, Appleton Cafe, and even Flour. But I can't resist Haley House. Despite my heart and resolve of steel, I'm still human- powerless to resist their coconut shortbread cookies. Plus, their whole operation is volunteer run, with proceeds going to the adjacent soup kitchen. Food that alleviates hunger, that's just bloody brilliant. Yesterday, remembering that Meghan the Rock had the "best cupcake of her life" there, I picked one up after work and skipped all the way home.

"Are you sitting down?" I asked Landlady Chang as I kicked off my shoes.
"Yes."
"You better stay that way, we're having do-gooder cupcake."

And so we both sat down, each with half a coconut cupcake on our plates, on opposite ends of the dining room table. It was great, and the passion fruit layer really kicked it up a notch, but I wouldn't say best ever. Just top 8. We ate. We listened to Kiss-108. And we talked about Thanksgiving. Pretty good for a Wednesday afternoon.

Occam's Razor

Mother just phoned me to ask if I had made my bed before I had left home this past weekend.  Because she found my room in a mess (totally being dramatic- all's I did was not make the bed, leave a shirt on the floor, and the closet door open).  Had it not been me, Mother's next logical explanation was that someone had broken into our house, hung up clothes in my closet, and lived in my room the past 3 days.  All the whilst unbeknown to her.  "And that would scare me to death," she said.

Le Diner de Cons

I may or may not have used this title; the google is giving me conflicting messages. Either way, don't say this in class, Claire. It has a not-nice word.

A few months ago, to demonstrate the sampling powers of Stata, our professor used the program to randomly draw 8 names out of the hundred-plus students in the class. Those lucky students would have dinner with him. I was one of those students. For everyone else in the group, tonight was a chance for the professor to get to know them, earn brownie points, and get a free meal. A win-win-win. But I beat the odds and lost on all 3.

Things went downhill almost from the start:

Waiter: Would anyone like anything to drink?

Prof: Go ahead, guys, feel free to order whatever you'd like.

Moi: Vietnamese coffee, iced.

Everyone else at the table: "Water" "Water" "Water"..."Water"

Prof: I'll just have water, please.

Then there was Captain Bloody Heart:

Moi: Interesting, everyone is getting pho. (I got vermicelli)

Bloody Boy: I just love that stuff.

Moi: I do, too, but I don't trust broth I haven't tested. (1. Not in a Vietnamese neighborhood, 2. has the name of an herb in the restaurant name, and 3. all English menu- you'd be suspicious, too)

Bloody Boy: Oh, I've learned to eat whatever is given to me. After spending time in Kenya, I'm grateful for all food.

Hearing this, I couldn't decide between throwing up or slapping the boy (brass knuckles seem severe, Zvi), but everyone else regarded Captain Bloody Heart with fondness, so I held my tongue. This allowed the professor to turn to me for my one-on-one spotlight of the night:

Professor: So do you believe there should be one China?

Totally bringing brass knuckles to class.

Father Knows

Times when it's useful to have a preacher father:

-Sunday School (teachers are nicer to you).
-Weekends (too busy to notice whatever you're planning).
-Christmas (so many presents, though they're usually cheap chocolates).

Times when it's not useful to have a preacher father:

-Sunday School (teachers expect you to be "mature" and a "role model" and "stop picking on the new kid").
-Weekends (so many hours at church).
-Any time Father brings God into the argument.

Moi: With [brother's] vertigo due to allergies and my skin allergies, we have some terrible genes. And who do we have to thank for this?

Father: Are you blaming God? Are you saying your Creator didn't make you right?

Split Ends

Dear Times.
Life would be so much less fun without you. An article today indicates that this man just got an expensive hair cut but I feel like this is a page from Highlights and I'm failing to spot 5 differences.

PS. I guess there's still fat to trim at The Times. This is your second story on the same topic in as many months.