I Have to Wash My Hair that Night...

A late addition to this week's favorite quotes.

Zvi: What're you doing for Jesus's bris?

The Friday lunch crew, we are trying out new nicknames for each other.  Zvi has two awesome ones to choose from.  It's actually a bit unfair how good his are.  Killer (short for Christ Killer) or Stealth Eater (probably just Stealth for short).  Preferences?

Favorite Quotes of the Short Work Week

Best "dear God, is this really the cubicle you've assigned me to?" Phone Overheard:
  No, you cannot have a pet tarantula.  -Co-worker, on the phone.

Best Reason to End that Love Affair with Turkey:
  Rather than making you never want to eat chicken again, it simply makes you angry.  It makes you hold a grudge.   You'll eat chicken again, by God, and you'll chew really, really hard.  -David Rakoff, from his book Fraud.

Best Threat, Ever:
  I'm going to club you like a baby seal.  -Some guy being interviewed on This American Life.

Best Evaluative Praise (methinks?):
  Your cynicism will serve you well.  -Nice Doc.

Spare Time/Change

Dear Man that Sometimes Stands by the Corner 7-11,
  Are you panhandling or just hanging out?  I can never tell if that's a cup of coffee in your hands or a cup of change, whether that man gave you a few dollar bills to pay you back for something, or so you'd have something to eat.  And when you look at me, are you saying, "Hi, how's it going?" or "hi, how's it going would you like to spare some change?"  I don't know.  I have change to give.  I don't care what you spend the money on.  And I'd like to serve you if I could.  But you're so ambiguous that I just don't know.  Either way, happy Friday.

peace, and

Jingling, Jangling, Wishing, and Wondering.

Rant on Rave

Today's Globe had a feature called "Twenty Raves" in which a quartet of Globe staff members raved about the best in food in 2007- this included the eating local trend, Ratatouille, fancy food items like cheeses, sushi, and liquor, and to top it all off- Market Basket.

I don't know whether to be amused, insulted, or pleased by their inclusion of the New England based grocery chain known among moms in the area as the chain for cheap produce. And cheap lots of other things, too. (Often with deals better than Costco!) Reminds me of that NYTimes article raving about Costco as the new go-to catering source among Washington dignitary circles. It's all more than slightly patronizing the way they write of how these new discoveries- cheap things aren't terrible, but actually sort of affordable and not half bad- who knew!?

Jen: What's next? An article on coupons?

I wouldn't be surprised, Jen. Those guilt-ridden dumpster diving kids browsing through thrift stores don't fall far from the tree. Their parents are slumming it at Market Basket, buying 99-cent loaves of bread and marveling at the culture experience of shopping alongside the middle class.

Going, Going...

Dear Self:
  In the future, please remember to refer to the person that delivers your mail as the "mail carrier."  I think that's the term they prefer, and have written on the Christmas cards for years, over "postal worker"- a term that sounds just as nice, but doesn't seem to be embraced by the mail carrier population as much.  I just realized that today.  That for years I wrote cards to postal workers and for years they wrote back signing as mail carriers.  I'm sure it's not a big deal, but whatever, self.  Let's aim for being perfect next time.  You already are in every other way.

Yours sincerely,

A Making Carriers Merrier Me

I Have Nothing to Say to You

Dear Blog:
This week could not be more different than the last. The snow is melting, the sun is shining, and work? There is no work. No intense doctors have replied to any emails at 3:15 in the morning. They all seem to have finally chillaxed and I have, too. I have food in the fridge, errands completed, friends to be with, movies to watch, and time to enjoy everything. I'm usually not a fan of Christmas, but I must say, it's growing on me just a little bit this year. I can't wait to go to the Christmas Eve service tonight.
Merry Christmas.


PS. What's a Sunday-after entry without a quote from Pastor Paul, the eminently quotable preacher? The Sunday service was full of songs and performances, including the hilarious vocal styling of 50 off-tune children, and thus a bit delayed as usual. But Pastor Paul took to the pulpit and announced, "We have a special treat for you today. Since so many of you missed last week's sermon [due to a huge snow storm], I'm preaching two messages today." Then he laughed heartily. And we all chuckled uncomfortably and squirmed. Because we knew he was capable of preaching two sermons. Turns out though, it really was just a joke. People shouldn't be allowed to joke around like that.

Listener's Delight

Is it wrong that of all the lyrics that could get stuck in my head, the refrain that's been playing all day is "hotel, motel, holiday inn?"  There isn't even any melody, but those are the lyrics running through my mind right now.

Three Impressions

Have you ever walked out on a guy as he was taking a shower?  Because I live far away and Mac doesn't, I've crashed at his apartment on a couple of occasions when the weather was bad or I was just too tired to make the trek home.  Usually, both of us leave together in the morning while his roommate TimmyCakes is in the shower, because we care about going into work early more than Tim cares about personal hygiene.  Mac wasn't around last night, so it was just me Wednesday morning, thanking TimmyCakes for the bed, eating his breakfast, and then sneaking out once he stepped into the shower.  

Moi: I feel bad I'm just going to be leaving and I won't be calling.

TimmyCakes: It's OK.  It happens a lot.

---

Earlier this week was our division holiday party (or choliday party, thanks to our pre-dominantly Jewish and heathen demographics).  We all had a lovely time chatting and cooing over babies.  No one spilled.  No one behaved inappropriately.  And no one made out with me by the coat racks.  Needless to say- all very disappointing.  What's worse, I'm afraid some spouses have incorrect impressions of me.

Whitecastle (introduces us all to wife by name, we all shake hands with her):  They are the research assistants.  They are all great, except for one (points at me).

Moi: Hey, what?

Whitecastle: That's Peace and Joy.

Wife: Ah.  (nods knowingly while I look confused by her understanding look)

Whitecastle: (to me) You don't know what that means, but we do.

---

So one of the other doctors I sometimes work with, other than Whitecastle and Query, is World's Nicest Doctor.  He's not the funniest and he's not nice enough to actually knit you sweaters, but he does gives you the impression that he's very genial and he can make you smile.  Not too bad traits to have.  He also has a fondness for salami and crackers, something I discovered (and he discovered of me) when the both of us kept bumping into each other in the kitchenette area.  It was a coincidence the first time.  Funny the second time.  Weird the third time.  And just uncomfortable after that.  But whoever brought in that tray of cheese, crackers, and salami- may you and your offsprings be blessed for generations to come.  Anyway, World's Nicest Doctor is trying to outdo my email sign off.  As you imagine, it's very difficult to outdo such a good thing, but he's trying.  Which makes me want to help me/beat him to it before he thinks of something on his own.  The name is Will- suggestions, anyone? 

Best Overheard Comment du Jour

So you peeled your skin off and named it?

Sweet and Snow Down

I wrote this on the train this morning.

I overslept this morning when I really couldn't afford to, and when I opened the garage door, I found snow- falling fast from the sky and plush on my driveway. I was not expecting snow either above or below. But there it was. Apparently, the plow trucks were also surprised by the snow as they were nowhere to be found. My car saved my life on at least two occasions this morning with its brainy tires, brakes, and technology. I ended up missing my usual train but didn't mind. Laid-back, out-of-school me is like that. Yes, I still relish in being early and arrive at work almost the same time daily, but it wrecks nothing when my routine changes. I just grabbed a coffee and donut and watched the snow. And the snow was beautiful. Without classes, assignments, and exams, I can afford not to care, to be blase, and say things like que serra, serra. As I was eating my French cruller (out-of-school me is surprisingly European and pretentious), I saw by the big tooth mark indent that I had taken a bite of the wax paper bag, but after a few seconds of chewing and deciding that I couldn't taste the bag, I took a gulp of coffee and just swallowed. C'est la vie. It's true that in a few weeks, I should start studying and once again become an intense kid so I may be prepared to take some big tests, go through applications, and go back to school again. But for now, life is good. The snow is falling, the train is rolling slowly, and I'm nodding off for my morning nap (caffeine doesn't really do it for me); let me weekly raise my small coffee to you and say L'chaim!

Stay Away from the Beans

Like I've said before, for one of our studies, we're giving drugs to people who have had heart attacks.  It is my job to look at databases and randomly assign numbers to numbers.

Moi: I'm all set.  There were less people with heart attacks this time.

Whitecastle: Oh, there will be more.

Moi: Are we rooting for heart attacks?

Whitecastle: Well, it's kind of screwing with our study if they don't have them.  We don't want people to die, just to have that initial heart attack.

Moi: Of course.  So no more exercising?

Whitecastle: And eat lots of MacDonalds.

And that's your health tip of the day, brought to you by socially conscious researchers who are changing the face of medicine.  Seriously, he's among the good folks in this.

Damn the Toros in the Atmosphere

Whoever said that you don't miss a great thing until it's gone is an idiot. Because you can't miss things if they're still around. I cannot, for example, lament how I long to be with my left arm because I'm too busy using it. One thing I did have time to miss today, however, was my heat. Woke up this morning and found the house to be a brisk 53 degrees. Looked around all the windows and didn't notice any anomalies, but decided to ignore it anyway. I had errands to run and a pastor to meet-- that's an interesting thing about having a pastor for a dad and going to a church where the pastor knows your dad-- he just might go up to you and say, "Let's get coffee sometimes." And over coffee and a long chat, he just might ask you to do a personality test. And you do it and have him analyze you right then and there because Pastor Paul isn't someone you say no to. And because he has an awesome dog that he brings to work with him.

I digress. After a morning of errands, I realized that it wasn't just a morning thing but that the house was still unseasonably cold when I returned. It remained so for many, many, hours. I guess it was shivering under two blankets, a sweater, and two long sleeves while sipping soup that first tipped me off that I should call for help. And I did. The Dahls came immediately. It was unfortunate that they could not fix the problem, but only keep me company. The heating company, on the other hand, took their slow time getting here. Which explains why I still cannot feel my toes, even with the heat now fixed, the hiking socks, slippers, and blanket draped over me. But whining and possible frostbite and amputation aside, in the end, the heat people delivered. My heater now works. And I delivered a $215 check for their ten-minute repair. With one hour to go, I really can't wait for the next week to come. From here on out, there's no place to go but up.

Snowed Out

Talking with my Bo' buddies at lunch today (now a favorite part of my week, I see Lisa and Zvi the Jew for lunch every Friday), we compared notes on how we spent our early release snow day.

Zvi: Walked home, went to the movies, went home to watch DVDs, then went out to a bar with friends.

Lisa: Drove home in an hour, went to the movies, picked up groceries, watched TV, baked holiday treats.

Moi: Got home in three and a half hours, crashed on the couch, ate leftover dregs, watched a DVD, tried to doze in front of the TV and nurse a cold, shoveled for a really long time.

Apparently, life goes on after the snow when you live in the city. Crazy.

Snow Blown

As many of you know, I have one of the world's longest commutes. The subway trolley ride is usually twenty five minutes long. Today it was forty five minutes. The commuter rail ride is usually fifteen minutes long. On the way home today, it was an hour and twenty minutes long. And the car ride from the station to my house is usually twenty minutes at the most, usually fifteen on a smooth ride. It took an hour this afternoon. When you add that up, it took about three hours to get home tonight. And how long did it take to shovel the seven inches off of my side of the driveway? With a snow blower, it should have taken about a half hour to blow and shovel and scrape. Luckily for me, the blower decided to give out about two thirds of the way through. Do you know how heavy snow blowers are when they're not moving by themselves? Especially when you're going up hill? Anyway, the whole ordeal took an hour and a half. And that's how I spent most of my day today. Yet I am so grateful that I got to spend ninety minutes fighting my driveway, because all over the local news are horror stories of people who got on the road just an hour or so after me and spent four hours driving, people who had to abandon their cars 'cause they ran out of gas or because they got stuck, and plow trucks who couldn't plow because highways were littered were cars. And now I don't want to go to bed. Because once I do, I'll fall asleep and only to wake up too soon (got to get up early to re-inspect the snow damage, though it should mostly be good) and there's no doubt that I'll be dog tired and sore when I do get up. C'est la vie, je suppose. How'd you spend your day?

Possibilities

Some days, I wake up and want to do nothing else but grab some salty snacks, dips, and bread, and watch trash TV for hours on end.  Some days, I wish I could spend the day sipping chai and reading.  And some days I just want a bunch of friends over so we can carbo load on pasta together.  This morning felt like a soup morning.  And I would give so many things (though probably neither my arm nor leg) to be able to do nothing but sit on the couch, sip endless soup, listen to carols, and just doze off.  

Snow, you better not come until I start heading home in an hour and a half.

Wonderful World

Last night, the T was packed per usual.  An older lady had gotten on and was smushed in the middle of the train, surrounded by people on all sides but without anything to hold on to.  All was well for awhile until the train jerked for a turn.  She lost her balance slightly and fell onto another older guy.  She apologized to everyone around her and everyone told her that it was OK and she did not need to apologize.  The next time the train jerked, this big arm held out to her and said, "Here, this is the only thing you'll need to hold on to."  And she did.  She gripped the arm tightly and the arm held steady for her.  And that was it.  We all got to our stops OK and I really enjoyed the ride.  No one was upset that the train was crowded and everyone got along swimmingly.  Then I got American fare at a German restaurant and celebrated my (belated) birthday with Bo' friends.  American food at German restaurant with Bo' folks-- that's pretty much the only way there is to celebrate momentous occasions. 

The Girl Who Cried Smart

Moi: Do you have a minute?  I have two questions for you.

Whitecastle: Just questions, no comment this time?

Moi: Huh?  No, just two questions.

Whitecastle: No smart remarks?  No wise cracks?

Moi: Oh.  No.  I don't know what you're talking about.  I work very hard and never make smart comments... Why are you laughing?  Could you please stop laughing?  I have real questions!


Walking back from Stop & Shop today, lunch in hand, I see one of our fellows in the hallway.  We don't really know each other and exchange curt greetings.  But a few seconds after we pass each other, I hear him stop, turn around, and exclaim, "Wait, were those Jamaican meat pies?"  By then, we had walked too far apart for me to respond.  But it was my favorite moment of the day.  And they sure were Jamaican meat pies.  Patties are my lunch of choice when I'm too lazy to bring anything and too cheap to buy real food.  It's unfortunate that the Stop & Shop kind falls quite short of others I've tasted, but hey, at least they try.  (I think the problem is that they make their own instead of ship them sketchily up from Jamaica the way Ada's does.)

Unfortunate Name of the Day

Dr. T. Graboys. 

Seriously? 

Acting Our Age

Moi: I think I've found where to find the answers to our Medicare questions. (hand Doc a packet of federal regulations) and how companies are dealing with it.(and doc slightly smaller packet of similarly small font and hard-to-read releases).

Whitecastle: Good. What does it say?

Moi: Well-

Whitecastle: (sighs) Do I look like I have time to read this? Do I look like a lawyer?

Moi: Isn't your brother a lawyer?

(Jess: He does look like a lawyer.)

Whitecastle: Just tell me what the answer is.

Moi: Do I look like a lawyer? I just know the general gist-

Whitecastle: See, you are a research assistant. You are to assist me in research. This is research. Now tell me the answers.

(Uncomfortable silence)

(Aaaaand, scene! Whitecastle finally laughs, takes the packets, and says he'll read it. I am relieved that it is all over and that I am not fired for yet another day. Acts are fun when I'm not being fired.)

PS- The second battle of Scrabble War is nearing an end and things aren't looking so sunny for our boys. Keep them in your prayers, everyone. Query/Evil isn't as easy to conquer as we had hoped. Or maybe my brilliance is just not shining as bright in this dark hour.

Running on Empty

What kind of drug store runs out of cold medication?  A drug store next to a world-class teaching hospital during flu season, apparently.  A drug store without drugs is as ridiculous as a grocery store without groceries.  Oh, wait, we've seen that happen, too.  Honestly, people, does capitalism mean nothing to you?  Are you trying to lose money?  We're not in Soviet Russia anymore, you know.  Or China.  Or Cuba.  Especially not Cuba.  They don't even have to stand in line for stuff.  They have a great state-run healthcare system.  

I like to buy the sort of cold medication that's behind the counter, because illicit drugs are fun and pseudoephrine works wonders.  When I didn't see any generic version of the multi-symptom cold medication I wanted (generics are just as good, always go with generics, down with big pharma!), I opted for Tylenol, picked up the card, and went to the counter.

Counter Lady: I'm sorry, we're out of this.

Moi: Do you have the generic Drug Store Not to Be Named kind?

Counter Lady: (searches around) What are your symptoms?

Moi: I just have a cold.  

Counter Lady: (impatient) What are your symptoms?

Moi: Nasal congestion, and-

Counter Lady: (runs away before I could finish, picks up a generic allergy med, consults with co-worker if it's right for me, decides against it, and comes back to me with Sudafed)  You don't need the other one.  Here's Sudafed.

Moi: But-

Counter Lady: (look of death)

And thus I reluctantly bought the Sudafed that only covered one third of my symptoms.  Then took some of my own painkillers to cover the rest, forgetting there was also caffeine in them.  Now my chest feels funny. 

Tumble-Down, Work-a-Day

For months, working life was a breeze. I went to the office. Did some menial tasks. Got home at a reasonable hour. Worked out. Cooked dinner and lunch. Watched TV or hung out with friends. Rinse and repeat.

In recent weeks, however, things have been turned upside down. Work is kicking my butt. The weather is, too. Family things keep coming up. And I've pretty much packed on all the holiday weight that I would ever need for the next decade or so. I know that things come in waves and this, too, shall pass. But it's been a hectic few weeks and things don't look like they'll let up. I've even started working late and bringing stuff home. (Turns out, I have a work ethic- who knew?)

But I don't mind being beat up because I sort of like work. Last week, Doc Whitecastle shared that for one of the studies I'm minimally helping him on (we're giving some people free medication after they have heart attacks, how awesome is that!?), two patients have called in tears to thank the study. That's pretty cool. I don't mind giving up celebrity gossip and facebook stalking for that. Of course, when the work dies down again, I wouldn't mind going back to stalking and gossip, either. And I'll be right back here to tell you all about it. G'night.

Knee Jerk

Church ran a little long this morning. An old lady miraculously recovering from cancer had went on a little too long sharing about her experiences so the pastor's sermon started about twenty minutes late. But Pastor Paul is not one to skimp on messages. He just told us to sit tight for he had important things to share. And when he caught one couple sneaking out, he made sure that they'd never make the same mistake again. He called them out in the middle of the sermon.

Pastor: Hey Kenny, where're you going?! The Patriots don't play until four.

Kenny, upon hearing his name, immediately drops to his knees and crawls the rest of the way out of the sanctuary.

Awesome (though also scary) moment. Awesome reaction. Though I just might have nightmares about church tonight.

Best Week Ever

OK, this week was not the best week ever. But it was a pretty solid one. I made a good point in an important meeting at work. I served food to the homeless. And I got to see/hear from some great friends. And I lived another year. Of the fifty two out of the year, it definitely makes the top twenty. Here are some of the week’s highlights.

Best Pot Meet Kettle Comment

Doc Whitecastle: [Even though you have it on the computer], I’ll just print it out for you.

Moi: Yeah, just kill trees, whatever.

Doc Whitecastle: Killing trees, but saving lives.

Moi: Yes. Once you’ve seen one tree, you’ve pretty much seen them all anyway, right? (I know I just referenced that early this week. Get used to it. I say this stupid line a lot.)

Doc: Right. Like Chinese people.

This from an Indian man?

Best ‘Dear God, Is He Still Speaking?’ Look

Given by Doc Query during the division meeting. Not one for subtlety, Query sighed and widened his eyes with such a look of disdain I couldn’t help but break out laughing, which once again, did not make a great impression.

Best Multiple Level Discomfort Joke

Moi: (telling my family lush myth story) So at my grandfather’s banquet, I had one beer-

Mrs. Cho: Then got up on the table and started dancing?

Jim: Happy birthday, Mr. President--

Moi: Haha! (Pause to reflect) Wait, what? Ew! That’s so wrong. That’s my grandfather!

Jim: He was not Catholic!

Best Dating of Oneself While Trying to Act Cool

Supervisor, explaining my 'Go Shorty' reference to the Chief, a reference she had to ask to clear up herself just moments earlier...

Supervisor (sounding all confident and knowledgeable): You see, it's the first line of a pop song.


Best New Friend I've Always Known

Often when I meet new Boston Project staff, folks like Dwighters forget to introduce them to me because they just assume that we have known each other for years. And most of the time, an hour into hanging out and working together, it feels like it too. It was that way again today when I met Liz, worked with her, grew to like her very quickly, and after the workday was over, hung out with her with a few of our mutual BP friends. Moments like that make me marvel again at how awesome BP is and how it's impacted my life. And oh, Dusty, we all eagerly await your arrival in March.

Generation Over

I have not used AIM in years.  Like all good kids of my generation, I spent much of my adolescent in front of a screen checking away messages and talking with friends online even as I gossip about them with someone else.  And in college, IM'ing made comparing chem answers with Mac much easier than actually picking up the phone or walking down two flights of stairs.  But somewhere around the end of sophomore year, I started using AIM less and less.  GChat, I found, was much easier.  There were less people to deal with (I don't know if you know this, but I have an ardent crowd of fans on AIM) and I didn't have to sign on and off.  Thus was life for the past few years, blissfully Gchatting.  Until yesterday.  The Corporation that Never Ceases Hungering unveiled that AIM was now available in google chat.  And so, I loaded up my buddy list again after many, many moons away.  Here was my first conversation:

Kid from Long Ago: amy?

Moi: No.  Andy?  Jeff?

Kid from Long Ago: No.  Geoff.

Moi: Oh.  

And suddenly, it dawned on me.  Dear God, I really am growing old.  My mind is just not as agile as it used to be.  My brain can't retain all those screen names of years past.  And very soon, I'll turn twenty three.

Yet the Sides are Two

Last night, on the T ride home, the train took a longer stop than usual and after several minutes of shutting the train on and off, the conductor asked everyone to move to the left side of the train.  We've all heard conductors stop to wait for passengers to move to the back, but to the left? 

Here, is what he said next, "Ladies and gentlemen, we need all the passengers to please move to the left side of the train.  The door on the right is stuck and we're trying to close it.  Thank you for your patience, we will be moving once the door closes." 

It took awhile longer for the door to close.  I guess it was stuck on the curb.  But next time you're asked to tilt to one side of the train, you'll know why.

When You're Sitting on the Lawn

Do you know the diarrhea song(s)?  Did you sing them growing up?  I know that you don't like to comment, but please tell me one way or another.  I simply need to know.

Up until a month ago, I thought they were the type of songs that everyone grew up singing, like Twinkle Twinkle (hee), but I have recently discovered that that is simply not true.  Most people I have asked about the diarrhea songs give me a blank look at best and a repulsed shake at worst.  I learned the songs from my brother.  Who says that he learned them in middle school.  The songs are a real and legit part of American culture because there's a wikipedia entry out there on it and they were even mentioned in a Steve Martin movie. Yet most of my contemporaries not knowing them.  So I wonder- is it geographic?  Is it generational?  Is it intellect (those who know, of course, being those who possess higher intellect)?  What makes it so that my brother, his middle school, and I learned this popular cultural phenomenon and none of my high school/college friends did? 

Example of diarrhea song:

When you're sitting on the lawn
and you see something brown
diarrhea~  diarrhea~

Can you add more?

What the World Needs Now

New things are exciting.  Take my life, for instance, new work place, new responsibilities, new face, and non-stop thrills.  Sometimes though, it's good to feel comfortable and know everyone's name.  Yesterday, I was walking down the hallway (outside of our division but inside of our building) with my supervisor.  My supervisor has worked in the division much longer than I have and is much higher up than I am so natch, she knows more people than I do.  I can name everyone in our division but step outside the confines of our office and I'm generally clueless about the ways of the greater Brigham world, but I'm learning.  And after six months, when you see a face enough times, it makes an impression.  We walked past a petite little lady who looked very excited to see me and exchanged greetings.

(Once the lady is out of earshot)

Supervisor: Do you know her?

Moi: No.

Supervisor: Does she work in the dental office?

Moi: I don't know.  Maybe. 

Supervisor: I've never seen her before in my life.

Moi: That's impossible.  I see her all the time-  I call her Unusually Friendly Lady.  Jen and I, we love Unusually Friendly Lady.  She's so- friendly.

We could really use more unusually friendly ladies in the world (not to be confused with easy ladies-- we don't need those).  Sometimes though, we also need more people to understand sarcasm.  I made the same stupid crack I always make this morning about how "once you've seen one tree, you've seen them all."  And instead of saying, "that's not funny, moron" the lady I was working with just looked really, really sad.  Then quietly said, with a resigned voice, that she tries to recycle.  Which made me feel sad, too.  And I wanted to cry with her.

Miss You like a Missing Child

I'll be impressed if you know the title song, though I have a feeling I've used it before.

In many ways, snow is like children.  Much more enjoyable from a distance, but very messy up close (except for Nora, of course!  Hello, Nora's Mother).  This morning, I got up a little before the ungodly hour of 5am to rid my long and hilly driveway of snow.  It was freezing outside, so I donned a black fleece face mask that I found, much akin to the ninja masks I used to wear in old country (I moonlighted as a ninja because the assassin industry, unlike textiles was unregulated and rife with fortunes).  I'm not sure what the neighbors thought of me when they peered out of their windows to check out the loud rumbling and saw a little ninja with a bright red jacket, fighting the snow so, so, so early in the morning.  I know what I thought of them: Lazy bastards.  None of them had even stepped outside to check out the snow by the time I drove off at 6:20am.  It was my first time clearing the snow by myself via snowblower and doing it so early in the morning to then drive in the snow and then head off to work, so I may have overestimated the amount of time I needed by just a little.  But still, my neighbors are lazy bastards.  

(Let's all pause to reflect and cheer on the fact that snow blower did not mangle my limbs and I did not die in a fiery car crash en route to work.)

Speaking of sleep deprivation, I've been dozing off on the T lately.  I normally nap on the commuter, but doing so on the subway is much more tricky and risky.  There are stops and people to pay attention to and you miss much more when you fall asleep.  On Friday, the subway car came to a stop for a minute and I nodded off right way.  During that period of sleep, something important apparently happened because when I woke up, it was almost my stop and the conductor was apologizing (again) for the delay and reassuring passengers that connecting trains will be held for them.  They've never assured us that connecting trains will be held for us before.  But I guess what the delay was all about will just have to be one of those mysteries of life I'll ever find out.  Unless you know what it was about.  Then you could tell me and I wouldn't have to be in the dark.

Chuck Norris Hearts Huckabee

I saw presidential hopeful (but maybe not too hopeful) Mike Huckabee this morning. He spoke at the new church I go to and was very good at playing the down-to-earth game. Going to church in New Hampshire means that politicians occasionally stop by and hope to make a good impression, though Huckabee is the highest level candidate I've seen so far. The church does not side with a specific political party (refreshing difference from the crushing right-wind politics of the churches I went to up at the Bo') and has always been careful to support those placed in authority no matter their affiliations. This morning, for example, the pastor thanked God that all was safe and well with the Clinton campaign even as Huckabee was in the audience. With that said, I think most of the church will be supporting Huckabee now.

He was told not to talk politics but to just preach (he used to be a Baptist minister). And I'm impressed by how shrewd he was. I guess it makes sense that preaching helps you to become a convincing political speaker and a political speaker an engaging preacher. Technically, yes, Huckabee stuck to the Bible, generally steered clear of politics, and made no promises of what he was going to do if he ever became elected. But he subtly made references to his trip(s?) to Iraq, his respect and gratitude to American soldiers, and his commitment to the poor, tooting his own horn in offhand ways, mixing the medicine of his campaign in with his message. He was self-deprecating, full of jokes, and incredibly charming. He even joined in with the praise band for an impromptu jam, playing a little bit of bass. The worship leader made a crack about how Huckabee was the only person to ever wear a tie in the praise band, which prompted Huckabee, in a suit and far sharply dressed than the rest of the casual-clad congregation, to rip off his tie on the spot. This then led the pastor, who had only put on a tie for the occasion, to gladly rip his off as well.

Reading up on him, I realize now that he's not as awful as I had expected him to be and that his politics exhibits some real nice differences from the other Republicans in contention (which explains why the party conservatives are still complaining about the Mormon Romney and divorced Giuliani instead of jumping on-board behind the Baptist minister). It's too bad that I still think he's wrong on health care, foreign policy, national security, etc, etc (you know, the details), because I liked what I read, appreciated his charismatic and restrained performance this morning, and thinks that if he ought to run for something, maybe he should try being governor again. And while I would never vote or endorse him, if you have to vote for his party, go Huckabee. We could do (have seen/are seeing) a lot worse.

Not My Style

Three Stories on Personal Style

I hate schmoozing and generally suck at polite chit chat, which is why if and when I do suck up, I like to do it in such an exaggerated manner that people must know that I'm joking, but are still just a little bit flattered. Most people know to laugh it off, but there's always that one person in the crowd who thinks I just really suck at being subtle.

So we're standing in line for our lunch conference, I've already grabbed my sandwiches, there's still a steady line of hungry people waiting, but I want to go back for some hot sauce. I patiently stand on the edge of the line waiting for people to pass by and grab their sandwiches first when Doc Gollum (he's a great guy, but for some reason more than reminds me of Gollum) steps back and stops the sandwich line for me.

Gollum: Why don't you go ahead-

Moi: Wow, really? Thank you. I'll be real quick.

Gollum: Sure. Anything for hot sauce.

Moi: Thanks so much. You're totally my favorite doctor! (really, how can you not love someone who holds their hunger so you can get hot sauce on your sub? I turn head and spot another faculty member behind him, staring at me) I mean, definitely top five. (turn to faculty behind) You are included there, too.

Supervisor: (sigh) You're such a suck up.

Hm. She doesn't complain when it's she that I'm sucking up to.

----
Doc Whitecastle: Oh, I just replied to [angry pharma lady]'s email, telling her what an idiot she was.

Moi: Really? I thought we were going to be bigger people and just ignore how wrong she was.

Doc Whitecastle: Clearly, that's not how I roll.

---
It may make you sad to know how drab my life has become but I'm pretty excited about tomorrow night. Instead of the usual Friday dinner and a movie with myself, I'm babysitting a two and a half year old. I haven't babysat in almost a decade but I like kids. I like keeping tabs and learning the names of as many church kids as I can. It's fun watching them grow up Sunday after Sunday without putting in any of the work. I'm not as natural with the giggly goofiness as more experienced pros, but I think kids like me. Dogs like me at least. Even though I don't have dogs. Or kiss them. Or address them as if they're babies. We just nod at each other going, "hey, you're all right." I bet it's the same with kids. It must be. Wow. It astounds me that I've lived long enough to remember not just one but two decades. And soon, I'll even have a few years to spare. I love being in my twenties.

Cold Hard Truth

Every morning, a part of me wishes that I could just pull out my red parka, put it on, and be warm forever.  A part of me wants to tough out the cold and just pull on a fleece, partly because I went to school in Maine and partly because parkas don't look very business chic.  A part of me is in too much of a rush to take the minute to consider the weather and how I should dress for it.  A part of me is just plain lazy when it comes to layering and jackets.  But all of me is cold every morning as I trudge into work, thinking of all the other things I could have worn.  And all of me dreads leaving the office at night, when a deeper cold and darkness will have settled in.

The Chocolate War

After the past weekend, my house was awash in chocolate. There was Chelsea's gigantic chocolate cake, completely uneaten, three quarters of Nick's chocolate tofu pie, and half of a mysterious chocolate torte whose origins remain unclear. So, faced with a daunting task too big for one to handle alone, I did what anyone else would do in my situation: I outsourced, bringing the chocolate cake to small group then work, leaving others to eat my dirty work. But I should have known that I wouldn't be the only one with the idea.

Brilliant but Devious Doc (who needs a new nickname because his name is a. too long and b. it's been awhile since he's lived up to the title, so we're switching to Doc Query, or just Query for short) also brought in leftover chocolate. His was spiked with alcohol to boot. Who wouldn't choose dark, alcoholic chocolate over store-bought cake laden with frosting? The entire division, I hoped. Of course, one could propose cake and liquor to exist peacefully side by side. Why must everything be a competition, you might ask, when the two choices could work together for the benefit of the division and when Query clearly didn't care which went faster? Why? Because life is much more fun when it's a competition. When life is a competition, my chances of winning are that much greater. And so it was on.

We both had a rough start in the beginning. Apparently, not many people wake up desiring either chocolate cake or chocolate liqueurs with their morning coffee. I also had the disadvantage of having chocolate in much greater quantities and less attractive packaging. But by 10am, I could see signs of promise and by lunch time, I had a commanding lead. There was some question over whether my cake was homemade. The revelation that it wasn't seemed to disappoint (did that mean the cake was ugly?) but within a few hours, the cake was gone. The chocolate liquers were not. Boo-yah.

Query: (acting completely gracious) That's good cake.

Moi: Oh, thanks. How're your chocolates going?

Query: People need to space them out throughout the day, you know? I think your cake is going faster.

Moi: So I'm winning (announcing for the first time that this was a competition)? Yes! (being cool and subtle is not a strong suit)

Query: You can announce it at the next division meeting, how's that?

I think I'd like that very much.

That's Query: 1 (scrabble); Moi: 1 (cake hawking)

After the Sunset

Do not come over. The house is a mess.

After years of sleep deprivation and the Maine cold, my body has gone weak over the last few months. No longer can I skip lunch, hold marathon writing sessions, or concentrate in the face of noise and temptations. I have become accustomed to early retirements and early risings and grown used to sharing a spacious 4-bedroom with just one other person. I'm not great at being a grown up and sometimes take out the recycling on the wrong week, but generally, I have fallen into a solid pattern and taken care of myself and the house OK. Then Thanksgiving weekend rolled around.

My house, which has adjusted to the slower pace, saw the arrival of 22 guests over 2 days. Not much compared to the flow we used to have, but it's the most we've seen since the summer. And my mom's not here to pick up after me. There are dishes to be done, floors to vacuum, and tables to clear. And I'm pooped. Just hanging out, catching up, and entertaining some of my oldest friends has tired me out. It feels as if I've just come back from the first practice of the season-- I'm sore all over and all I want to do is sleep.

Goodnight, lone reader. I hope I dream sweet dreams of sleeping, sleeping much longer than I can actually afford.

More Blessed to Flexi-give

I don't quite know the origins-- it may have started toward the end of high school, so many years back-- but Veggie-Giving has been a tradition loosely kept by a group of my W'ville friends for years now. It usually occurs the day or two after Thanksgiving and has been a time when vegetarians, who traditionally felt marginalized by the holiday, gather to feast. The sort of event suburban teenagers would come up with for an excuse to eat fancy cheese and feel superior. Needless to say, I was never involved in the promotion of the holiday, but was a mere tag-along to the events, the cranky girl who sat on the side and lamented how odd everything tasted without meat.

(Case in point, talking to Creegan the Vegan this afternoon: "Can I come over early to cook the cranberry sauce?" "Cranberry sauce? What will we eat it with?" "What do you mean, you just eat the cranberry sauce." "Without turkey? Can you do that?")

But oh how everything has changed. This year, Nick proposed renaming the holiday to Flexigiving to better reflect our breaking away from the strict Friday after rules of cooking together. The event was held at my house, (without parental supervision, my house is now the cool place to hang for every occasion) the only one of the group who has not even thought of being a vegetarian. And what was a solid group of vegetarians and vegans now has more carnivores than Texas Roadhouse. Both Nick and Lenny flexi-gave even more when they crossed the line and introduced meat to the Veggie Giving potluck-- Nick was somewhat excused because he made soup with the turkey broth of some local free range turkey he personally knew-- but Lenny, she brought chicken.

Moi: What would possessive you to bring chicken to Veggie Giving?! It's called Veggie Giving!

Lenny: I thought it'd make you happy!

It did. Both the hilarity of her line-crossing and the taste of her chicken.

And after all the soups and dips and pasta and Indian and savory pies (but not before the dessert pies, Mallory's wondrous mascarpone and onion dip, and that amazing pumpkin cheesecake), we settled in to play a game that only my WA friends of that blend of nerdiness, creativity, and bawdiness could come up with: f*ck, chuck, or marry with courses of study.

My subjects were Forensic Science (marry for the security), Primatology (f*ck), and Film Noire (chuck. Too much weeping and women bashing for any viable relationship, no matter how long).

Who would you f*ck, chuck, or marry? 19th Century British Empire, Accounting, or Spanish Literature?

*Apologies (or maybe not) for the self-censoring. Even at this age, I can't bear to bring myself to type or say these words without pausing and blushing.

It's Good for You

Woke up early this morning and watched a bit of Thomas the Engine, which taught me some valuable lessons about vegetables: They don't lay eggs and they don't complain! With qualities like that, who doesn't like vegetables?

Grumpy Graffiti

On the train ride in this morning, I looked up and saw the most resigned act of vandalism ever.  In black sharpie, someone had scrawled on the window, no doubt during a long ride, the words "Commuting Sucks."  Thinking of the frustrated commuter made my own morning commute that much more awesome.

Happy Slapsgiving

I was an orphan for Thanksgiving this year and yesterday, the Colonial Wongs took me into their home for a very pleasant day, one that leads me to believe that many families are pretty much interchangeable.  Except for one awesome difference.  The Colonial Wongs eat roast beef and turkey on Thanksgiving, with roast beef being the more celebrate center piece and the turkey merely for legitimacy's sake.  It is a brilliant tradition on their part and one that everyone should adopt because as much as I love Thanksgiving turkey, turkey gone bad can be pretty awful.  Of course by interchangeable, I do not mean that my aunts or uncles are anything like Jenny's, but  being at the Colonial Wongs felt very familiar (though who doesn't have aunts that are too curious about your life or one uncle that tells dirty jokes).  The mix of generations and languages, the tasty Thanksgiving menu everyone is supposed to abide by, and the afternoon laziness of content... they were scenarios I'd lived through a thousand times and will see at least a thousand times more.  The beauty of the day lay in its familiar feeling.  And I am grateful for the Colonial Wongs and their extended family.  Their relatives were the perfect mix of welcoming without asking too many questions.  The teenagers were self-conscious.  The adults catty.  The grandmother sweet.  The little kids impressed by my mad magic skills.  And the roast, oh so beautifully bloody.  A perfectly ordinary feast.  How was your Thanksgiving?

The Greatest Generation

Why is it that reading about my peers always makes me sad?  Are college students my peers anymore?  We're still of the same generation, right?  A snippet from today's Times :

"I'm not really shopping every day online," Ms. Johnson said. "Most of my time online I spend on Facebook."

But time spent "Facebooking" is also prime shopping time for multitasking students. Another U.S.C. student, Margaret Heck, 18, said she usually checked a few online retailers' sites whenever she checked in on Facebook.

Some people spend their college years shopping alone, but some others spend those years studying, work-studying, participating in activities, and eating extended meals at Thorne, all with a really great group of kids.
 

But We'll Win the War

Comrades, the epic DOPE scrabble battle has long last ended and I am sad to announce defeat.  (While my opponent was more than happy to announce victory... at our division wide meeting.  I'm making a great impression at work.)  For awhile there, it appeared that I might pull a comeback with GOUTIER but alas, sometimes good does not overcome evil and the underdog, well, goes under.  In the brawl of letters, my measly BA could not compare to Brilliant but Devious Doc's JD, MD, and MPH.  And thus it was a close defeat (just 8 points even though he had a bingo and command of most of the triple word posts), more like the grueling Gettysburgh than an outright slaughter that the Other Side had hoped (in this case I'd be the Conferedrate... hm, need to rework analogy), but a defeat nevertheless.  Lose not hope, my fearless leaders, for this is merely the first battle of what should be a long and glorious war. 

Plus, BbDDoc brought in his son today.  And boy is one cute infant.

My.  It's the first snowfall of the year!

Saving It

Are you on your knees, readers, because the Scrabble game is not looking good. Every time I try to pull away, Brilliant but Devious Doc catches up. And I'm about out of moves. If only I had an umbrella today, my life would have been so different...

(It's nearing the close of the work day and raining outside, BbdDoc is looking for ways to stay dry...)

BbdDoc: Did you bring an umbrella today?

Moi: I've got a raincoat.

BbdDoc: How much do you want for it?

Moi: Hm... Max.

BbdDoc: Max what?

Moi: Max, your [first and only] offspring (who's just six weeks old).

BbdDoc: Oh. Max. Don't tempt me. He's been keeping me from sleep.

Moi: Or a turn on Scrabulous.

But alas, I had to keep the raincoat for myself. (Would've been too tight on him anyway.) Now I'm losing in Scrabble and time is running out. This ought to be a lesson for kids out there: always keep a spare umbrella. You never know when you'd need the leverage.

Keep the prayers going, folks.

Power of the Word

I am engaged in a scrabble duel (scrabulous duel, to be precise) with Brilliant but Devious Doc. It is not going well. I had a great lead but it all crumbled when BbDDoc played a bingo. A 75-point word. He is not, however, content with a lead. He wants to bury me.

BbDDoc: What I don't understand is, how is it that I played a bingo but I'm only winning by 15 points?

Moi: Because I'm that good? Actually, you haven't gone yet. So you're winning by at least fifteen points.

BbDDoc: I feel like I should be winning a lot more than that. I mean, come on, I should be slaughtering you.

Thanks for the vote of confidence?

Them's fighting words, people. Now, I normally suck at scrabble, but by God, I'm going to put in a fight. So dear faithful readers, get on your knees- praying types or not, this match is so on and I need all the hope that I can get.

Subtle as a Seizure

In normal day to day conversations, I don't actually talk about Taiwan much. I feel like it's one of those things people know about me without too much advertising, like the fact that I like Jesus, sarcasm, food, and books. I don't get offended when people confuse it with China or ask me the difference between the two. I've lived in New England for more than half of my life. I know how small Taiwan seems to the rest of the world. And when asked, I'm more than happy to explain the history of the two lands.

But once in awhile, I bear one grievance too many and indignities come bubbling up. Today, it was when a girl at work mentioned the "SARS masks" I had brought back "from China." Coming back from Taiwan, I brought back cute face masks, like the one the lady is wearing below, for a few colleagues because the masks are adorable, unique to Asia, and because I work with germaphobes. They were worn in Taiwan long before and after SARS and is as natural and prevalent part of the culture as mittens are in the States.

I have, of course, been explaining this since I've been back. Yet this one girl only sees them as SARS mask. I have also explained forty gazillion times pre- and post- trip that no, I did not eat scorpions on this trip because I did not go to China and no, scorpions are not part of a normal Chinese or Taiwanese diet. Today, when I spoke up once again to say that I did not go to Taiwan, she just shrugged and looked at me as if I was trying to pick a fight that wasn't there.

"Whatever," she said with a smile, "you're all from the same part of the world." She tried to say it like a joke, but I was brewing an anger so strong that the flames were far past red and blazing an ashen white. I am not nitpicking when I point out the difference between China and Taiwan. It is a difference beyond night and day, but one between Communism and Democracy. Industrializing and post-industrial. World's most populous country and one slightly smaller in area than Delaware and Maryland combined. Oppression and freedom. I can understand ignorance. But I'm pissed off by her unwillingness to be corrected and learn time after time. I guess it's another form of ignorance. I hate writing long, boring posts about things like this, but I feel like sharing, even if I'll regret it tomorrow. If I don't record this, I feel like I'm letting her off the hook. And forgiveness isn't coming easy tonight.

Unhealthy Choices

This morning, Doc Whitecastle asked me to edit a figure.  I wasn't sure how he wanted it exactly and hate going back and forth being wrong all the time, so I took three guesses and gave him different options to choose from.  

Moi: I wasn't sure if you wanted [boring details about heading]... so I made three graphs.

(Whitecastle gives me incredulous look)

Moi: What?  I felt like making graphs this morning.

Whitecastle: I've got to find you more work to do.

Can't a girl just enjoy making graphs without being punished?

Hope I Get a Harmonica

I like this picture. The bricks, the mopeds, old, tall doors, and big basin... this isn't the Taiwan I grew up in. This captures an older, small-town, 'rural' Taiwan.

Once again, today's story has nothing to do with the picture above but everything to do with awkwardity. This morning, Brilliant but Devious Doc brought in leftover cake to share. Brilliant but Devious Doc is always bringing in good food, especially those related to family visits and Jewish holidays. He once brought in a chocolate cake his mom made that ranks among the three best slices of chocolate cake I've had in my long life. Because I do not have two doctorates, when I heard the words "leftover party favors" I hurried to the kitchen area. Doc #2, however, was thinking on a higher plane.

#2: So you celebrate diwali?

BbDDoc: The what?

#2: Diwali. The Hindu Festival of Lights. I think it was this weekend.

BbDDoc: Oh, I had no idea.

#2: You said you brought in party favors-

BbDDoc: I did. It was my sister-in-law's birthday.

#2: Oh.

[silence]

I don't know what prompted Doc #2, who is just as white and far from Indian as BbDDoc to see cake and think diwali. It made my day trying to figure that out.

Shady Origins

As the Unity Steppers used to chant, "Everywhere I go, people want to know, who we are and where we come from."

A few questions about my past:

Do we like Robert E.?  I thought the consensus was that yes, he fought for the South, but he was so honorable about it and opposed to slavery that we counted him as a good guy (as good and honorable as Thomas Jefferson at least).  But the other day when I claimed him as a part of my heritage, Zvi disagreed.

Why does my mother always have to clarify that she's my birth mother calling?  And why did my brother say, just yesterday, that I "might actually be" his sister?  What are they hinting at?

Is an eggplant supposed to cost $2.69?  I bought eggplants yesterday and didn't look at the receipt until this morning (because I can afford to just throw money around now with my glorious non-profit job.  Note to self: should really call the loans people again.)  I don't really know how much vegetables should cost, I just know that Market Basket is supposed to have the cheapest produce.  If eggplant costs $2.69 and pie only costs $3.99, how is that supposed to motivate me to eat my fruit and veg?  For just a dollar more, I could eat nothing but pie for days and be happy.

Pepper in My Paprikash

I baked a pie for my new small group today. I often use small groups as an excuse to have all the bad food that I normally would not eat by myself- cakes, cookies, nachos, and in today's case, pecan pie. (Not that I eat healthy alone- that creamed spinach I've been eating by myself has been downright disgusting... and delicious. I just eat less sweets.)

As we sat there, in leather armchairs softer than cream, someone remarked that enjoying the pie was testament to how we were truly adults, for she had always thought of pecan as a grown up pie. No little kid ever loved pecan. I liked her comment. It made me think of just how far a few years can take us (forced tie in to picture above). I just started eating pecan pies last year. And with all the bill paying, car maintenance, going to work, and finding a gutter guy on adulthood's cons list, it's comforting to know that there's a boon so nice as a slice of pecan pie on its pro list. Waiter, I'd be proud to partake of your pecan pie.

I've Got a Friend in You

My favorite breakfast food, mantou, being pulled out of a steamer. This vendor only makes two batches of dumplings and steamed breads a day and each batch usually sells in two hours.

Now on an unrelated note...

Took a much needed afternoon break at work on Thursday with fellow new-ish research assistance Jen. I've been working for five months and have not witnessed the slightest whiff of conflict or scandal. Everyone is civil and professional to the point that when Jen and I chat, we talk how much we like everyone in the division (except for Xenophobe and Humorless) and which faculty has the most interesting research. But it was such sweet relief toward the end of our conversation, griping about the work day away from the office, when we both, after some hemming and hawing, finally blurted out the one flaw to our division:

Awkwardity.

"Well... and again, she's really nice and we talk a lot, but sometimes when I talk to her, I don't know how to end the conversation..."

"Because there are always a lot of pauses? But then she'll think of something and start talking again?"

"Yes! I thought I was the only one!"

Oh. Sweet validation. It's really isn't me. It's them. This gig is so not going to help me with social graces.

The Short List

Proudest Moments of My Life*:

1. Winning the Edinburgh poetry slam.

2. Winning the award for my honors.

3. Just now- ending my scrabble game with a bingo- Riotous! I had never even had a bingo on my own before, not to mention a dramatic, come-from-behind game-ending bingo. Tears are lining up in formation in my eyes now, preparing for a celebratory dash down my face. I can spell seven letter words!


*Yes, it concerns me a little that all three proudest moments involved beating others, and all happened within the last two years, but whatever, have you done any of the other three things, Judgie McJudge?

Chicken Fried Brain

One more picture from the Taichung nightmarket. It's an unusally calm scene of a crazy crowded market. The stand in the middle here serves my favorite Taiwanese snack- salty crispy chicken, where vendors freshly fry up ingredients of your choosing, including of course, salty crispy chicken. Taiwanese fried chicken tastes nothing like American fried chicken. But I've found room in my clogged arteries to love both. To the right of the stand is a stall that sells cute socks and stationary and stickers and to the left is a place that does engravings.

Since I've been back, and especially this week with daylight savings, I've noticed that the sky is much darker when I leave work and the air smells much more like fried chicken (the Southern kind). Why, Lord, is the sky so dark? And why, Lord, must it smell like fried chicken? It was just my luck that the lady who sat next to me on the train ride home tonight was eating McDonald's chicken selects. Moments like that make me wonder why it is that I have not had McDonald's in years, and whatever happened to traditional values and sharing our bounties with our neighbors. It's never fair for one to smell chicken and not taste it.

Dream Deflated

Apparently, I have very low standards for myself when it comes to my dreams.  You know how the rules to a dream shift to accommodate the situation?  Sometimes, you can suddenly scale fences when running a villain, other times you speak French fluently, and sometimes you end up in Sri Lanka even though the dream started in your backyard.  This morning the rules to my dream shifted a few times within seconds.  At first, I was telling my mother about a literary award I had won, then, perhaps sensing the far fetched nature of the dream, the circumstance changed.  I hadn't won the award, I was telling my mother about a contest I was invited to submit to.  And just as I had gotten used to the idea, it all changed again.  I didn't win an award, nor was I going to enter one, I was just reading a piece of commentary on an essay that had won.  What a crappy dream.  How am I supposed to reach for lofty goals if my subconscious won't even let me dream?  I just read commentary about other people's accomplishments in my dream. 

In my dream, I also got lost in the streets of Taiwan, started chatting with a roadside dumpling vendor, accidentally called the vendor 'wife' instead of 'store owner' (they're homonyms in Chinese, though one's a mainland slang and I was not in the mainland), tried to play it off like I didn't make the mistake and blame it on the vendor's hearing, and had to buy shrimp dumplings from the stall to change the topic of conversation, even though they weren't that great and I was on my way to dinner.  I really hate my dreams.

Wake Up Call

This is my brother in daylight (as opposed to the picture below). He often awakes before the sun to meditate atop mountains and practice tai-chi. Actually, he's standing on the summit of that really tall mountain I climbed in Taiwan. See how he's above the clouds? We worked hard for this view. We also learned a valuable lesson from this hike. My brother did, at least. He gives himself more opportunities for learning than I do: always, always go to the bathroom before you head for the top.

High Achiever

This is my brother. He can can fly. He is fly. He once caught a fly between his teeth. He is one third of the reason why I'm the good, quiet one in the family. My parents are the other two third.

i.e.

The Sh*tty Things that I Do:

I never flush when I use public bathrooms. 

When friends ask if they look fat, I always hesitate before saying, "no... ?" 

As a child, I kicked a puppy to see if it still feels that warm and soft meeting my foot at a high velocity.  It felt warm, but not soft.  I also shoplift to get caught so I can blame it on the maid.

I don't like deaf people.  Or international students.

Out of laziness, I 'accidentally' hang up on patients that call into the office.

I play Sesame and Gak's confidence against each other.

I make up lies about stuff that I do so I don't have to reveal anything about myself.

Creature of the Night

This was from a Japanese fast food stall at the night market in Taichung, perhaps the biggest night market in Taiwan. That night, we grabbed a booth upstairs and made it our base while my mom and a couple of our friends picked up a little bit of this and that from several vendors. I ate some glorious junk that night. The place was huge and chaotic. We were tired. My dad's feet hurt. There was the usual stress of taking a family trip. But by God, my stomach was so happy. And there was a giant octopus. A really adorable octopus!

Notes on Church

On a scale of one to bad, how bad is cutting a child in line for communion? Not that I did or anything. I'm just wondering.

During the communion service today, this old, white minister got up to the mic and said, in total seriousness, "Regardless of what you heard from the first service, I will not be doing the communion in rap." Now, I don't know what went down during the first service, but I think that it would have been awesome if nothing went down at all. And that that was just his deadpan style. If that's the case, it's really the greatest line in the world. And no, I will not be conducting communion in rap today.

This church I'm going to has a rabid Red Sox and Patriots loyalty, from the pulpit to the pews. This morning the senior pastor once again pretended to be all serious and told the congregation that there was waywardness in the church that needed to be addressed- that waywardness being the youth pastor who cheered on for the Rockies. He called the man on stage for the whole church to see and presented him with a Red Sox World Series champion hat.

Those of you who aren't churchy should know that during communion services, they give you a lot of time to just think as the music flows. I use it to write down all the funny things I see at church but also to actually think about what I'm doing holding a little piece of cracker and white grape juice in my hand. Today, it hit me that if Jesus died for my sins, it means that he died for all the crappy things that I've done and said and thought of. That's no noble cause. Those are some sh*tty things (is that how the asterisk works? I never know where to put it) to die for. Which makes it all the more amazing that he did. It's hard enough dying for good people. I know this is pretty basic. Even if you don't believe this stuff, you've probably heard it before: Jesus died for you. But the enormity of what that means hit me anew today. And that's pretty cool.

Am I?

I don't think anyone who reads this will remember, but I can dream, can't I?  So this morning, I was looking through my mom's computer because she called me from Taiwan to find a few vague files for her ("he may have emailed it to me, or maybe it's on disks, or CDs, or in my computer?  2004?  2003?  2005?  I don't know.  And if you can't find it on the computer, I have the hard copies in a folder downstairs... somewhere... so you could scan them for me...?"), and I came upon a reference to the greatest LYF game ever invented:

 

Whose Brother Am I?

 

It's a deceptively simple game we made up circa summer '03.  For example, someone would say "I killed my brother to found Rome, whose brother am I?"  And the answer would be "Remus" because Remus is Romulus's brother.  That was perhaps the most confusing example I could have used, but the first one that popped into my head.  I think in a level of complexity far above everyone's.  For those of you who think in simpler terms, the answer to "I played a gay cowboy" would be Maggie Gyllenhal.  Or any of Heath Ledger's siblings.  The game is most fun played without famous names, though, among a group of friends, as we imitate each other, pick on each other's little quirks, and complain about how stupid the game is.  It's amazing how many people get tripped up by the rules and answer incorrectly.  And the only children of the world always feel left out of the game, but whatever, they should just shove it and go play with all those toys that the rest of us never got to have.

Season of Advent

After my turkey-with-all-the-fixing slider last night at the North Street Grille (product placement!  please give me free food!), I've realized cannot wait for Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year.  (Is it wrong that turkey trumps both the birth and resurrection of my Lord and personal savior?  I hope not.)  That tiny little sandwich was the most delicious turkey sandwich I had ever tasted that was not made by myself.  And really, when I look back on it now, the gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and sweet, moist turkey...  oh, the fourth Thursday of November has never seemed so far away.
 

I Shall Return

Dear Diary-

Remember how I used to write to you? There used to be times when things happened to me and I didn't sit in a cubicle for eight hours a day. I'd tell you stories and once in a blue moon the stories were interesting and made you smile just a tiny bit? Yeah, I vaguely recall those times. Well, Diary, I promise that I'll pay attention to you again real soon. Things do happen to me. I went to Vermont, had a wonderful time at a real, small town celebration, with a big fire and everything, and realized that I may be real adaptable anywhere, but I'm certainly not cut out for farm life. It's mostly because I've grown up spoiled. I'm not used to physical labor or cows who try to eat me (it was afraid of Becca's touch but somehow felt it was OK to try to swallow my hand). Mostly though, it's because I really don't get country music. Except that one Megan showed me with the 14 year old girl all bitter about her man's truck. That little girl had spunk.

And even at work, something interesting happens once in awhile. This week, I held a hand turkey contest called The Epic Epi Turkey Challenge 2007 (you can't call it first annual, because Gak said so). But I have to go to bed now, so I'll bottle all these stories inside and not share them with you the way emotionally stunted people do. Good night.

(more on making boring phone calls to big pharmas)

Whitecastle: Did you give anyone my name? Should I be expecting any bombs in the mail?

Moi: Only once. This place would only give me an application if I said it was for a doctor, so I said that you were the doctor.

Doctor Whitecastle: Well, I am a doctor.

Moi: That's right, a real doctor. Two times a doctor, even. (he's got an MD and PhD. sickening)

Doctor Whitecastle: I'm two times the doctor they'll ever be! Ha!

Sometimes he gets carried away and forgets that I'm talking to customer representatives, representatives who are of no threat to him...

Walrus Among Us

Is this not the goofiest animal you have ever seen (ok, maybe tied with the sea lion)? It boggles me how the God who created brilliant foliages and birds who could make their own hooks and avocadoes would also create an animal like the walrus. What do they do again?

Good Work

There was a costume themed lunch at work today, so I went in ninja outfit. Ninja outfit just means wearing all black plus a mask and shades, a mask I only put on for the first few minutes of lunch and a brief meeting with my supervisor (who called me a "nut" yesterday, affectionately, I hope), whose idea it was to have the costumes. Of course, as God would have it, I put my mask on right when our division chief entered the office and made his greeting rounds. There are very few contexts in which chief actually knows me in. Dropping my pen loudly as he made a speech would be one. And wearing inappropriate work clothes on not-Halloween would be another. The man has been in Japan for two weeks, came into work late today, and it just so happens that the moment he enters would be the moment I put my mask on?

As I may have mentioned, the past week and a half has been spent calling pharmaceutical companies and talking to their customer service reps. It's tedious, soul-draining work and today, I talked to the doc in charge about it...

Moi: ... has to be one of the worst tasks ever.

Doc Whitecastle: Really? The paper is going to be interesting.

Moi: Yeah, it'll be interesting for you, but the calling is terrible.

Doc Whitecastle: Don't you know that what's good for me is good for you?

When I grow up, I want kids to boss around, too.

Conditional Love

These are the good people that raised me, standing in front of some gorgeous sunset clouds in Taiwan.

Mother called today and left a message in my voicemail, it began, as always, with "This is your birth mother calling," drifted into how she missed me (Sesame: "It's not because you're a good kid, they're obligated to say such things") and ended with my mother telling me to take care of myself, to dress warmly and eat well... which all sounded nice and loving until she mentioned that I shouldn't forget to eat vegetables, "but if you do have vegetables, you should try to steam/boil it [as opposed to stir fry], because you don't want to grow chubbier than you already are."

Miss you, too, Mother.

Three Random Thoughts

1. Crisp fall days are colder than I remembered.

2. Things I Am Allergic To:
  Llama, not ginkgo biloba, dust, unknown seafood substance, my grandfather's house, and most recently: farm life.  Or EB's cat.  Or EB's house.  Or EB's blankets/sheets/pillows.  Or just Vermont itself.  There was something on that farm that made me sneeze so much that I'm not sure if I still have a soul.

3. Dear 5-7 Pounds:
  Yes, we had a great time meeting each other in Taiwan.  But it's been a little over a week now and I'm not eating as much crap as I did then.  So please, leave me.  Leave me now.

Bitterly,
Fleshy and Confused

Ice Caps Melting

This has been the most Bo'-intense hour I've had outside of the Bo' itself.  I just bumped into two Bo' alums en route to my lunch with Lisa (another alum).  Zvi apparently works in my building.  Now, this kind of stuff might fly in Cambridge, or around MGH, where Bo' alums abound, but it never happens in this neck of the woods.  I can go whole months without running into Bo' folks and then suddenly, two separate encounters within ten minutes and a lunch with Lisa to boot.  And whilst I was just riding up in the elevator, pondering these things, a gentleman noticed my fleece and asked if I went to the Bo'.  He was interested because, you see, he had grown up in Brunswick.  I don't think what remains of this hour can get any more Bo'-intense, though I'm half expecting a polar bear to come charging into my cubicle, just to join in the fun.

In His Court

Every time Pastor Paul speaks, I like going to this new church a little more. The past Sunday, he talked about how people ask him if it's fair to pray over sports outcomes. And how he prays for the players more so than the team, mentioning supporting JD Drew when he was having a hard time earlier in the season. Pastor Paul wants to win spiritual battles and he's concerned that players grow closer to God than anything else. "But just in case," he said at the end, "just in case it matters- keep the Red Sox in your prayers."

Otherwise I'm Fine, What About You?

Why did everyone choose to go crazy today?

Lay of the Land

Note to self: If one does not cook and pack a good lunch the night before, one will not eat a good lunch at noon.  Similarly, if one slacks off and half-asses making a lunch, someone will notice the shift in quality the next day, and that someone is you, you moron.

 

Lunches have stopped appearing magically before my eyes.  Dinners, too.  I miss my wealth of polar points.

Great Expectations

Over the past two weeks, I thought a great deal about things. I pondered death and aging, race relations, the meaning of homeland, Joe Torre's legacy, and other weighty matters I was going to share with you. But my internet was conveniently down during most of that time. And while I could still tell you my views on all these things, the momentum has sort of passed. And new things are coming to my attention. Like all the pregnancy speculations surrounding Jennifer Lopez.

I really hope J. Lo is pregnant. Because it'd really suck if she wasn't and everyone just assumed that she was.

Elephant in the Yard

Went for an afternoon stroll in Hukou's "old town" with my parents last week. We ventured into the courtyard of a Catholic church and made our way up a small hill. This was our first view of the top. For some reason, Mother thought the most interesting things on the hill were the green apples on the tree. Nothing else seemed out of place to her.

Closet Comforts

I hate phone calls.  And having the grunt job of doing nothing all week but calling dozens of pharma companies does not make me like phone calls any better.  In fact, surprisingly, it makes me resent making calls all the more.  There is one perk to making calls all day though- at least for today.  I get to use a closet office of one of our part-time programmers.  The office has no windows and the door locks behind it.  It's not even within our division suite but accessed through the main hallway, right next to the copy room.  Do you see how beautiful this is?  There is no one watching over my shoulders as I type.  There is no one watching over my shoulders as I do anything.  No one is here but me.  When I grow up, I want to have a closet office all to myself.  Until then, I've got two more hours of this to enjoy.  Then for the rest of the week, I'm doing calls in an open space where people can see and hear.  And where I cannot watch videos during my down time, as I can here.  I should strive to be a programmer.  And program things.

Sidelined

Almost back. The internet at home has been down since I've been home and now it's finally back up. I know, whose internet is ever down anymore? It all seems very 90's. And even though I'm late for work, I can't resist checking to see if every site I ever needed was still there. There are videos to be watched, people to gripe about, and pictures to post. Fingers crossed that the good fate continues tonight, when I get home.

Jesus Loves Me This I Know

There are a lot of bad drivers in Taiwan.  Or perhaps they're all really good drivers.  Everyone's is aggressive, no one uses turn signals, and there's a lot of passing in narrow lanes with incoming traffic.  Taiwanese drivers make Boston drivers look like Hello Kitty.  Whenever Father and Mother see an especially atrocious and rude driver, being the sociologically insensitive generalizers that they are, they like to accuse the other sex of the offense.  So riding in the car is a lot of "psh, women drivers."  "I bet that was a guy.  Only a man would drive like that."  "All bad drivers are women."  "No, they're men.  Look at that one."  "Women."  "Men."  "Women."  "Men."  Really, I can't believe I'm leaving all this fun tomorrow to go home to ride in the sanctuary of my own car to my own music.

 

 

(As father tries to pull out of a tight parking space in a tiny garage today...)

 

Moi: Why don't you just hit the car [badly parked in front of us]?  No one will see but us and Jesus and I'm sure Jesus will forgive you.

 

Father: That's great about Jesus, but if I scratch his car, I also scratch my car.  I don't want the car to get scratched.

 

Sometimes, Jesus' grace just doesn't quite cut it.

Farewell My Vacation

Leaving for Boston via Tokyo then San Francisco tomorrow morning, which means that tomorrow, I'll be saying goodbye to my blissful two-weeks off of work.  Don't actually know when I'll have such a carefree stretch of time off again.  Perhaps not for months, or even years.  We'll see. 

 

So I bid adieu tonight to Taiwan.  To street vendor food at every corner (beef balls, salty fried chicken, freshly steamed bread, etc., etc.), 7-11's that can do anything you need it to, from bill paying to DVD pick-ups to child rearing, to grandparents, aunts, family friends, parents, and brother.  Goodbye to mountain climbing, endless shopping and ridiculously cute things, to living among the mentally challenged and smelly dogs who love me.  Goodbye to small cars and reckless driving, to waking up late, and not exercising mind, body, or soul.  To baseball games in the morning, Korean Grey's Anatomy ripoff at 10pm, and snacks all day long.  To people who look like me and also speak Mandarin with a Taiwanese accent.  To being a tourist and discovering rural poverty in my own country, and to so much more I can't remember right now.  I hope I can see all of you again soon.  For the time being, I'm off to the Commonwealth.

Grandfather Clause

Grandfather (dad's side, so not the one I hung out with last summer) seems to be the only person in the world convinced that I can and should become a doctor.  Not that I'm not considering, but he's completely dead set on it.  And have you ever tried to say 'no, let's wait and see how smart I am' to your ninty-year old grandfather?  It's very hard.  You know what else is hard?  Remembering three languages at the age of ninty.  He speaks Taiwanese mostly, Mandarin to me, the youngest grandchild who knows the least Taiwanese, and somewhere in the back of his mind, is Japanese, which he speaks to no one nowadays but still keeps fresh.  I hope I keep my tongues like that when I'm old.  It'd come in especially handy for cross-culture TV watching.

 

I have never seen a Korean soap I haven't shaken my head at (though sometimes I keep watching, and watching) and a Japanese game show I don't enjoy.  I don't like the shows for their zaniness, but there's an earnestness and innocence in the contestants that you don't see in reality TV in the States.  On the game show I watched today, two chefs duked it out over three courses using the finest of ingredients.  In today's case, it was kobe beef against some really, really expensive tuna.  What happens is that the two chefs make their ridiculously luxurious food that normal people could never afford to eat, then a panel of celebrities vote on whose food they'd rather have.  Those that vote for the winning chef get to eat the food and those that vote for the loser don't.  It's very simple yet extremely cruel.  You basically watch two people make equally mouth watering food in front of you, have to somehow choose between the two, and if you make the wrong choice, you end up watching other people eat really good food while you sit there with nothing.  My mom said they once had an episode with kids on the panel.  And a few of the losing kids started crying when the winners started eating.  That ought to teach the kids not to strive for things they may not reach.

Myth of the Model Lush

My extended family does not know me very well.  It has something with my shyness growing up, with the fact that I am the youngest on my dad's side of the family, and that our family never lived close to any other members of the extended family.  They just know me from the occasional visits during the holidays, visits that became more rare as the years went by.  Thus, there are many family myths about me based off of impressions and outdated tidbits and perhaps stories from my parents, because all parents are obligated to share proud stories of their children.  According to family myths, I am good and serious and quiet and above all, an excellent student.  That's pretty much all that they know about me.  Except for one more thing- 

 

there seems to be the mistaken impression that I can handle my alcohol.  It's a myth that both sides of my extended family believe.  I'm not sure how all this happened, but I guess it goes back to my visit before the last (the summer going into my junior year of high school, about six years ago), a visit that has apparently made an impression.  Twice this trip, I've declined offers of beer or drank very little only to have an aunt comment that it was ok and bring up that they remembered I could drink quite a bit.  "No, not really," I replied modestly the first time, but my aunt said, "no, I remember you keeping up with your uncle quite well."  I remember my uncle filling my glass with beer all night to see if I'd loosen up if drunk, and a bit disappointed that nothing much happened.  But it couldn't have been more than two cans of beer.  And some nasty home brewed wine.  I don't know how the myth developed on my mom's side.  I probably drank so much with yet another uncle that I blacked out the whole experience.  Though it's not likely.  Because everyone knows that goody PKs who are short and have an aldehyde dehydrogenase deficiency can down drinks with the best of them. 

 

Go Sox.