Heaven's Gateway

My immune system may break down often, but it usually puts up a good fight when it's down. I'm never so sick that I should miss class. The last time I was really weakly, terribly sick was a couple of years ago, thanks to Jenny's dad's fateful prophecy. Otherwise, I'd feel weak for a few days, take some OTC stuff for the symptoms, and be fine.

As for the OTC medication, at the Bo', they give out Pseudoval, ibuprofen, and lozenges for free and the trio works wonderful. Pseudoval is a brand of pseudoephrine, the active ingredient in Sudafed. Works like a charm. Susan may have mentioned something about her doctor father not letting her take it when we roomed together freshman year, something about carcinogens I don't really recall, but whatever. I love the stuff.

And I desperately want some right now. Went to Walgreen's for some Sudafed today and noticed that all the decongestant medicine now proudly carry the label "does not contain pseudoephrine." In its place is phenylephrine, which, I've come to learn, is not half as effective, but also not half as conducive to manufacturing methamphetamine as pseudoephrine. Most major labels are now switching to phenylephrine because of the controversy. Under different circumstances I might poke fun at the Bo' for still handing out for free a drug that can be easily reduced to meth and has a lot more side effects than the widely available alternative, but my entire face is red and sore because I've spent the entire day blowing into tissues non-stop. Right now, I'd like a little no-longer-widely-accepted decongestant. It's not that I want it. I need my fix, y'all. I need it to feel good again.

More, Sir

My parents are very popular this Kwanzaa season. They've been invited out to at least one meal a day for the past week and the invitations just keep on piling. Today, we ate with yet another couple I had never met before. I taught their little girl how to make an origami boat because well, I'm a giver. And an incredibly crafty one at that. I'm mostly cool with the fact that lately, my parents have more of a social life than I do except that my mother seems to feel that eating out so much excuses her from cooking at all. If she's had one big meal of the day already, well, why cook another? This has let to many noodle or dumpling dinners the past two weeks- the Chinese equivalent of having a sandwich of leftovers, pasta and canned sauce, or other fast food as dinner. In fact, since I've been home, I've had exactly one and a half warmly cooked homemade meal. Tonight, the three of us all had something different, a hodge podge of the different left overs found in our fridge. It says something about the food supply in the house when even the leftovers can't sustain us and we have to piece together a variety meal. They all tasted great, but I can't help but feel as if I'm living in a Dickens novel.

Moi: Can I have more rice?

Mother: No. We don't have anymore.

There's snow outside, but if you're reading this, please, send in reinforcements.

Festival of Lights Part II

Before, when I used to get calendars for Christmas, I wouldn't know what to do with those six days between the new year and Christmas, when I couldn't yet dig into my new calendars. Now I know that that uneventful period with nothing on TV and no food in the house is called 'Kwanzaa.'

Now, nouns who were big in '06.

1. Motherlands: Scotland + China. Much of the earlier two thirds of this year was spent discovering my roots and living in the land of my ancestors. I read, I learned, I saw, and immersed myself in the lands. And now, in the last third of the year, I spend my days telling stories from abroad, missing friends from one motherland as I do academic work on another, all in this land I call my second, but most comfortable home.















2. The library. In Eddie Bert, and now back at the Bo', I visit these book barns too often and owe all these institutions too much in late fees (left Eddie Bert Uni without paying any of my dues, suckas!). It says something about one's life when I have a regular spot in the science computer lab, a desk in the main library with my name on it, and have a favorite reading room.

3. V-caffeine drinks: Vietnamese iced coffee. Vanilla milkshake with a shot of espresso. So sweet, so strong, so cold.

Nouns that weren't big in '06:

1. Goat. Lamb. And all their cousins. I don't feel like eating any of you for quite awhile. Especially not in any of the ways I had in Chinar. None of your milk either. Or milk tea. In fact, a ban on all the teas I had in China. And that cow-penis wine. Come to think of it, most drinks I had in China were quite vile, except for my bottled water and iced tea.





2. Immune system. I need to trade mine in. It's failed me everywhere. Hence me falling ill in Eddie Bert, France, Chinar, and now, in the US of A.

3. Procrastination. I wish I had more time for you, I really do. But since the academic year has started, I've hardly had time to put things off. It's really too bad, because we had a good thing going for some years.

The Big Two-O

A lot can happen in twenty days. The ancient Mayans believed that life was a cycle represented by twenty days. President Abraham Lincoln (not a Ford) was assassinated, and his conspirators arrested, tried, executed, and he himself buried within twenty days. Even the longest living Drosophilas live and die within twenty days. I would find you more examples, but I don't feel like googling much.

Twenty days ago, we celebrated my birthday- because it was my birthday. It was also the last day of classes, a day full of snow (per usual, I sort of have a long-term deal with God on that), frantic last minute printing, raising cans and money, and of course, friends. The experience of just sitting there smiling as people sing you happy birthday is exponentially more awkward when the singing is done by your soc class, Band Man included, and all the other students, faculty, and staff present at the Service Learning Symposium.

Here are some pictures from later that day, away from the crowds, with an intimate group of friends, a custom-ordered Chinese birthday cake, and of course, great German food.
It's embarassing how happy Hillary was over my birth.


Jenny and Mac try to look on while Vita-K shows off her ninja skills.

Gak thinks he's the man. Karina and Liz humour him.

Holly and Karina, incredibly excited over the fancy-pants corked beer.

Gak likes pictures of himself, especially when they're posted in blogs.

My two favorite geeks: clotter and bleeder beautifully coexisting.

What a Friend I Have

Sunday morning: Father is at his podium, inviting people to the Christmas eve service at church.

Father: At tonight's service, I have a special friend who is stopping by. I've known him for thirty-some years and today happens to be his birthday. I'm sure many of you know him, too, and he would love to see you here.

Lady next to Me: Oh yeah? What a coincidence! He has a friend coming? Do you know who this special guest is?

Man in front of Me: Um, I'm pretty it's Jesus ('you moron' implied).

Lady next to Me: Oh. (quite disappointed). (Pause) Wait, I thought his birthday was tomorrow.

Man in front of Me: Maybe he made a mistake.

What a relief that Christmas has come and gone. I spent too many hours at church on Sunday. Sort of rocked my translation gig at the evening service, making up for a shoddy job last year. The sheep in the pageant were as cute as ever, and as poor in following stage directions. I heart sheep.

The Food Chain

Mother just told me to fetch the phone for her. And I did. She wanted to tell Neighbor George to send his sons over to pick up some dumplings for their family.

Initial reaction: I thought, "Awn, that's adorable, sharing with our neighbors on Christmas morning."

Second reaction: Then it came to me, Mother has yet to feed me this morning, what's she doing giving away perfectly good food to George's children?"

Third Reaction: Tackled the boys as they crossed the street. Took the dumplings and scarfed them down. The boys survived. The dumplings didn't.

Do not mess with my hunger. Merry Christmas.

Monkey Business

 

So proud of the entry title. Haven't been so happy in so long.

So you thought that being back in the States would mean less pictures of toilets, huh? That the land of abundant water pressure and soft toilet papers would spell the end of my engaged interest in bathrooms? I scoff at your innocence. And mine. I cannot believe I had gone three years without realizing the anomalies of Maine toilet seats. I've very recently spotted a couple in the Bo', and this one here at the local movie theatre. (What? You don't bring your camera with you to movie theatre toilets? That's your loss.) They may exist in other locales, but I have seen them most in Maine. Please not the little indent in the very back of the seat. Why!? Why the added curve? My only logical explanation is that these special seats are designed for people with tails. The added little blip provides added room for the tail. Otherwise, I'm stumped.

On the Chops Block

I am sorry I have been away. My glamorous life of academics, being entered into The System yet again, and riding on the MBTA has kept me far away from Dakota the Computer and too occupied to write.

This should not be a surprise to any of you, but of the four members in my nuclear family, I am not the funniest. Yeah, I was taken aback, too. What will really shock you, however, is that I am not the un-funniest either.

Today, because my life is a non-stop party, I had lunch with the parents and a few of their friends from church. The conversation shifted to a certain anecdote that Father had told during one of his sermons. One lady recounted how funny it was that her husband immediately laughed at the joke when no one else did. Following his own guffaw, the husband instructed everyone to laugh along. "Why aren't you guys laughing?" he had asked, "it's a joke!"

One of those un-laughers was also at lunch today, and defended her choice to abstain.

Dedendant: But Pastor Lee, joke telling is a talent, it requires a gift for it!

Father: Thank you, thank you very much.

Audio Post

I should be sleeping or studying. But instead, a few lines I was playing with. The audio is not optimal, but whatever, I know what I'm saying.

Before you listen, do me a favor and step into the wayback machine, to when baseball was still in season. This starts off, "A Rod. I hear you. My pen is dry-"

Gabcast! Popepotsie #1

Darkness Rising

Light Fixture Update: There seems to be an apparent dearth of qualified electricians or a glut of electrical problems in the state. We may perhaps be on the verge of a total electrical meltdown, with our noble electricians, those quiet and skilled laborer diligently working around the clock, and not even be aware of it. The building manager said that the electrician won't come by until Tuesday morning. Tuesday. As in the day after finals. Marvelous. Where, I demand to know, have all of our electricians gone!? What dark secret is the energy industry hiding this time!? I just want to study at my desk.

The Shining

What's worse than living in a windowless room during the Maine winter? Living in a lightless, windowless room, of course. Tried to replace a lightbulb this morning and instead, pulled out the entire fixture. The building manager came by and although she called me sweetheart (it's not creepy when a nice lady says it), she couldn't fix the light for me. But she did call someone, and perhaps help will eventually come. In the meantime, with the heavy fixture, defective light bulbs still trapped inside, dangling precariously from two wires, I have been told not to walk under the light. But I can't really tell what I'm walking under and what I am not. It's so dark in here.

Value of a Man

I don't go to my adorable country church anymore (now attend a different one with the ASA), but I am still on their mailing list. I love the mailing list.

Today, a plea came looking for a Joseph in the children's Christmas pageant. Chayenne is Mary and none of her friends are willing to be her Joseph, so the role has been opened up to pretty much any male in the church, perhaps a young father. Joseph has been promised a pretty sweet setup: no talking, not even rehearsals are necessary, just stand there and look pleased. The desperate Sunday School organizer ended her email with this exhortation: "Of course, I could just change the script to 'A Single Family Manger Scene' (Not funny, Inge!)"

God bless us, everyone.

Trix are for Kids

Silly first years...

(BCF girls discussing how hard Band Man's 101 class is in comparison to J-Lo's. Now Band Man's classes, work intensive as they are, have been among the most rewarding I've taken at the Bo', both in terms of materials learned and grades.)

Connie: Yeah, I was reading over the syllabus, J-Lo only assigned us three books. In [Band Man]'s class, he had nine on the syllabus!

Moi: Oh no, nine books!?

Connie: AND he assigned a seven-page paper!

Moi: I think you guys just killed me a little inside.

And silly senior...

Remember those soc candidate talks I complain about about once a year? Lots of professors, very few students, very intense? It's senior year, I've grown even closer with the professors and even used to seeing ten of them in contrast to one of me. So what could possibly go wrong? Oh, I don't know. Perhaps reading the email wrong and showing up to the talk half an hour late, not have a seat, have the entire talk interrupted, the candidate pause, and all the professors (eleven from the Bo' this time) stare at me as one of them clears off a chair for me, off to the side of the room, away from the table? Maybe that. Riles smirked a little when she saw me walk in. Not embarassing at all, no. Very suave move.

The Pied President

 

Illustrious Bo' alum and Civil War hero, looking as if he was trying to maintain his dignity after being freshly splattered with whip cream on Friday morning. 

Pieces of Me

 

Exactly a week ago tonight, my toes were savagely stomped on by sharp stilettoes. Quite an alliteration, yes, also quite painful. Now, one week later, my right toes are still bruised and tender. That ought to teach me not to wear open-toed shoes at the Junior Senior Ball, but that's just ridiculous. My shoes and toes were both beautiful that night. The only lesson I've learned is to step on others before they can get on my toes. 

Bring No Challah Back

I don't get it, church, why must you complicate communion? Matzoh and juice. Wine and crackers. What's so hard about that? Why can't we stick to the classics?

This past Sunday at North Harbor, we observed communion with Challah bread. Not only did we use this leavened Sabbath bread, but it was also braided to resemble a baby. It was served in a basket, covered in blanket, surrounded by dried grass, and passed around- a combination manger-Jesus, passover-Jesus, Jewish holidays, and Moses-themed- Lord's-supper. The bread was delicious, albeit odd. The service, as always, was meaningful and a great reminder of Jesus' sacrifice.

Brian: You know, I don't think fetus-shaped bread is going to catch on.

(No, but I wonder how embryo/stem-cell bread will fare with churches).

White Flights of Fancy

So Sarah (Vita-K) and I are deciding the soundtrack for our chemistry slideshow...

Hillary: How 'bout White and Nerdy? Wait, is there anyone that's not white in your class?

(Pause)

Hillary: (Looks at me and finally figures it out) Oh! You're not white. Maybe all the non-white kids can just leave the class...

Moi: Yeah, it's ok. Sarah and I can just wait in the hallways.

Sarah: You're not white!

Moi: I know. I wasn't talking about you. I meant the other Sarah...

Sarah: Oh! You and Black Sarah can wait outside!

Moi: (Sigh, head shake, sigh)

Season's Greetings

In the final push before the final push. Body so tired. Sore. And weak.

Last night, sitting around Vita-K's room, with folks doing physics, anthro, German, art history, and a host of other things, eating breakfast cakes and salsa chips, cookies, chocolate, sour patch kids, we realized we'd gone into reading-period-mode a week early.

Karina: What do you mean reading period mode?

Ben: Eating everything in sight because you're too stressed out?

That's right, Benny Boy.

Hey, There Stranger

It sucks getting spam sent in your own name.

Well, If It Quacks Like a Six-Armed Monster...

I don't know if you remember the Eyeball-
-he's my toy. We're sort of good friends, too. Last time you met, Eyeball was showing hotel Duck who was boss. Today, a new threat has invaded Eyeball's territory (namely my desk).















Meet Tommy Merengue, the six-armed finger puppet that came free with Lightning Reaction (which, btw, still reigns as the greatest game in the world).


Tommy Merengue taunts Eyeball.





























Eyeball climbs up and demands that Tommy Merengue take it back. Tommy Merengue refuses.















Eyeball pulls its arm back.

He swings.













He knocks Tommy Merengue down.









Eyeball celebrates its winning record.










That's Eyeball: 2 Cocky New Toy(s): 0.