Bloody Friday

Back when I worked at the CSRC, we liked to make office trips out of getting coffee, going to 'the Magee,' or helping out with some society-changing-do-gooder event. At DOPE, however, office trips are apparently made of blood donating runs. Yesterday, the office coordinator rounded up a few of the research assistants and coordinators to give the gift of life as a group. There was going to be a trip to the ice cream parlor for those that gave blood. While I love my Larochelle twins and believe that donating blood is very important (always loved it when my dad gave blood 'cause the Taiwanese Red Cross gave out these delicious crackers just the right balance between sweet and salty), I've never given blood myself. I used to dodge behind the weight limit and when that went bust, decided to volunteer at drives instead of give blood. Now for two more months, I have a convenient malaria advisory travelling restriction preventing me from being a great person. While I was happy not to feel woozy and pricked, another research assistant in the office, Lil', was upset to find that she was restricted from giving blood. Some people apparently want to help people and do not hide behind excuses. I tried to empathize with her indignations but found it really difficult. So we had our own ice cream run instead. Hers slightly bitter, mine wonderfully sweet and painless.

Like Harrison Ford

Moi: Because of [these boxes at the entry way of my cubicle], every time I turn around, I think there's something standing behind me.

Supervisor: So what you're saying is that you're paranoid?

... I guess so? I don't think my supervisor is reading me right. She also called me a 'hip hop goddess' 'cause I used the word "word" in an email. I don't think the words 'hip hop' or 'goddess' have ever been used to describe any part of me before.

The RMV sort of hates me. The way Jon's stomach hates lactose ("it sprays, like a gas gun"). The way Carol, Jon, and my skin hates alcohol. The way we hate Nate for not getting the Asian curse. But the post office loves me. As does Riles. And mosquitoes. I would tell you about all these stories, but not now, not with this attention span. Perhaps tomorrow, when I'm no longer working late to make up for the hours I missed this morning getting yelled at by the RMV ladies.

OK Girl

At my mother's naturalization exam today, the adjudicator dictated sentence for her to write. Her sentence, he said, was "I have two wonderful children," to which she replied, "they're just ok."

I love you too, mom.

That's one more American citizens in our household now (pending ceremony in August). Three down, one more to go. Count it again and we're all 100% Taiwanese, which is pretty awesome.


Is it wrong to still be amused by words like annal, which isn't even pronounced anything like an anatomical term? Because every time I pass the magazine racks at work and see the Annals of Epidemiology and Annals of Medicine, I can't help but giggle. Also couldn't stop smiling at the sight of a doctor's neon green, fitted, short sleeved shirt today. It looked like a cross between a bike jersey and something he'd wear to a sleazy club, though I don't think either one was the look he was going for. It looked so inappropriate and silly on him that it completely made my day. I cracked a smile every time I passed his office.

And Three for Tea

Suddenly crave three very specific and very British items:

1. Treacle pudding.

2. McVitie's digestives (plain and/or plain chocolate).

3. A plate of Mosque lamb curry, spinach curry, plus nan.

+ +

On the Railroads

What do I do for a living? I wish I knew. It still hasn't sunken in yet, after a week, that I have a job. I've had jobs before, but not like this, not for the long run. It still hasn't sunken in yet that a month ago, I was interviewing with these people and then I left, they conferred, and asked for me back. Now I work in their midst. I am still just counting down the days to the three month mark, after which they could still fire me at any point they wanted, but with slightly more difficulty than right now. Probation/trial periods make me tense.

What I could tell you then, Monica Yellow (congratulations, btw, on being a teacher for a whole year! everyone should give Mon their store of gold stars for the semester- I've saved up 8) and anyone else that is interested, is where I work and what my title is. I am a research assistant. I don't work in a lab. I work in an office. I don't pipette. I stuff envelopes, make graphs, and compile databases. We are a small but growing division of a major Boston hospital. It's quite a strange relief to be associated with a prestigious hospital after all these years of 'And where'd you go to school?' and 'What was your major again?' It's as if I am somehow legit now because I have a job at a hospital, which is absolutely absurd. Family friends and strangers alike would always frown when I explained where I went to school and what I studied- two things I'm quite proud of- but once I mention my job now, they'd let out an 'ah' and smile, as if to say, "You turned out ok after all." But I'm not a doctor. Nor a nurse. Nor some brilliant researcher. I'm as illegit today as I was last week. I just happen to address envelopes for really smart people.

The Envelope, Please

Dear Diary,
Yesterday was a rather fun and interesting day at work. I edited some graphs, addressed some envelopes, worked on an online course, entered some handprint data, had some ice cream, and met with a doctor to discuss a new project. Today, I finished the course and did some research, which took about an hour and a half, then spent the rest of the day stamping and addressing envelopes. I did about 509 in all, which isn't even that impressive. But each envelope was so time consuming, required so many different things to be stuck on it and that's what I did for an entire day. Tomorrow, I stuff the envelopes. And next week, they say, the packets get bigger. I love work!

PS: Number of people who know my name (first and last): Everyone- because there's only one new kid, because they have better memories than I do, and because it's written on my cubicle. Number of people whose full names I know? Three.

IV Is No JT

Yesterday, at the division-wide presentations (with excellent free lunch! I suddenly love talks that completely go over my head)...

Intelligent Stat Docotor Man: In case any of you had doubts whether IV (instrumental variable) is sexy, this study on the relationship between school preference and rivers [being used as an example] was on the front page of the Wall Street Journal a few weeks ago.

Boss of Bosses: Yeah because even in grad school, the Wall Street Journal is considered sexy.

Intelligent Stat Doctor Man: Touche.



Cati, upon discovering that I work for DOPE (division acronym): You have a job! Woohoo! ... But it concerns me that they are paying you with drugs...

The Daily Grind

First official day of work today, felt very official and legit with own mug and desk and computer and everything. My favorite part of the day was when we made a caravan of four chairs on wheels to transport huge boxes of mailings. Everyone in the office had a good laugh at us as we slowly paraded past them. Being the first day, everything went by pretty fast and a lot went over my head. Shook a lot of hands, including one very special one belonging to the head of the division, namely, the boss of my supervisor and pretty much everyone else in the division. He seems like super guy.

Moi: (after mumbling something about it's nice meeting him)... I saw you on the Daily Show!

Boss Man: (chuckles modestly) Ah yes, my one claim to fame (this from a man with his own wikipedia page). That was the pinnacle of my career.

Moi: Everything was just downhill from there?

Boss Man: Nothing in my life before it or since then compares.

(It comes out in conversation that he was just on World News Tonight last week and the week before... a fact I was previously unaware of)

Boss Man: Yeah, that was fun but Peter Jennings... no wait, what's his name, Charles Gibson, just isn't the same as Jon Stewart.

Whose Woods These Are

I went outside to turn off the sprinklers and found this picture, which I found interesting. The mosquitoes outside, however, found me very interesting, poked through my sweatshirt and pajama pants, and stung me four times in as many minutes.

So I'm sitting here, checking my baseball scores and minding my own business when I hear this persistent whirring coming from the direction of my parents' room, like a weak vacuum cleaner. I go investigate and find my father, 9:30 at night, kneeling and hunched over, gently feeding paper into his shredder.

Moi: Bah, what are you doing? Are you evading taxes?

Father (unconvincingly): No... you are.

Three Winning Aspects of Employee Orientation

1. The pop quizzes on health and safety (including questions like "True or false, do you know where the MSDS sheets are located in your department? Questions whose answers we were told were true).

2. The thrilling video on infection risks.

3. The realization that pigeons smell like dog poop.

Runners up:

The good five minutes the security officer spent discussing code pink, including the line, "We all know what an infant looks like, it's not like a ten year old boy at all."

The orientation facilitator, on chain letters: "I did it once and nothing happened... (someone in the audience speaks up)... well, yes, I got pregnant, that I did."

Thing that Puzzles Me About My House/Family #447

Discovered today that there is a paper shredder in the master bathroom. Why, parents, why?

TB or Not TB

Went for my pre-employment tuberculosis (consumption, for those of us who have trouble pronouncing the word) screening today.  Like most good immigrant to this country, my left arm bears the mark of a previous tuberculosis vaccination, which means that every TB skin test I take is automatically positive.  After being stuck once in seventh grade, most doctors now send me straight to the X-ray round (though I had to have quite a lengthy argument with the now-dismissed Dr. Jeff because of it).  This morning, as usual, I informed the nurse practitioner that I have had the BCG vaccine, thinking that she'd send me to X-ray.  But she looked at my chart and noticed that I'd been in two summers ago.  "Now, normally we require a clear X-ray from within a year but yours is from two years ago," she remarked.  "What have you been doing in your year in between?"  "Um, going to school?"  "And where is this school?"  "Up in Maine."  "All right, then.  You probably didn't come in contact with TB.  I'm going to say that you don't have to get the X-ray."  And thus, I was cleared of tuberculosis and declared fit for employment.  I'm not sure if that was the most ethical thing to do, but it sure made my life easier.  I probably even saved the hospital some money on useless X-rays, so thank you, hassle-free Nurse Practitioner.  I won't let you down and contract the disease.

 

Mother: You did tell her that you went to China, right?

 

Moi: No... but I don't have TB, so it's ok.  Really, I swear I don't have it. 

Dying Lesson, Cont'd

No, I was aware of the pretend dye job. But that means that they still look exactly the same. Isn't that still problematic? Also, wouldn't it be more impressive if they made them think that they dyed their hair then actually dyed their hair some other color? Perhaps a haircut, too? Even a cap would be nice. All very Hiding from Authorities 101 stuff.

PS. Do you actually watch that show, Gak? Anyone else? You can tell me all about it. Family and I have been bonding over So You Think You Can Dance.

A Lesson on Dying

I don't know if you've been aware, but there's this new show out called Will Traveller or Who is Will Traveller or something. It was heavily advertised during Grey's (RIP Dr. Burke). Except for catching a few minutes last week, I haven't really watched the show because there is something fundamental about the characters that bothers me. The whole premise is that there are two guys who are framed by their friend and they are on the run from the law and have lots of exciting chase sequences every week. But I can't get over how they always look the same. If you are trying to evade authorities at every turn, and your picture is widely advertised to the public, wouldn't you want to dye your hair? Get a hair cut? Dress differently, too? Have you not seen any action movies at all? I mean, Dr. Kimble did it best, but you don't have to be smart like him to figure out that disguising yourself is a key part of not getting caught.

A Life Ordinary

I had a wonderfully pleasant evening last night, hanging out with Emily, who is quite possibly my oldest friend from home. When I first moved to this town in the sixth grade, she was assigned to be my friend by Ms. Brady. We both resented each other for the assignment at first, but then grew to be good friends. Last night, we went out to see The Waitress, a most enjoyable chick flick, and afterwards, were hungry for pie. Unfortunately, we live in the type of town where the Starbucks is closed by 9:30pm, along with anywhere else that might serve pie or tea. So we went over her house, had tea, and sat around the dining room table talking with the family, trying to catch up about our friends but realizing that we both suck at keeping in touch, and admiring her dad's origami pieces. It was a different type of hanging out and going out than what we had both pictured, but the mango black tea was lovely, the conversations great, and her father does magic with origami. I hope you have evenings like that, too.

Lost in Translation

Dear Sneezing People in the Buffet Line:

I cannot believe that I actually have to address not just one person, but people. Have you no decency? No, you do not chuckle about it, no you do not pretend that nothing happened, and no you do not keep scooping that tofu dessert I was eyeing. Step away from the food, cover your mouths, and say 'excuse me!'

No Blessings from,

Outraged but Conflicted about My Love for Buffet Line Tofu Dessert

Thinking Inside

Who of us, upon seeing an empty crate, has not had the urge to put it over our heads and pretend to be an alien robot?

M-m-me So Holy

Props again to anyone to know the title reference.

Moi: What silly person left a hymnal in the bathroom?

Mother: Aren't I so holy?

What's in your bathroom?

Buyer's Remorse

One can do a lot of things with $170,000. An open lot in Canada, a John Deere 9660, or a 2004 Fleetwood Revolution RV, among other things. Or a full-priced Bo' education.

Father didn't pay full price for the Bo' education, but he has paid enough and four years later, he's showing a bit of buyer's remorse. Well, first, he tricked me into installing a printer for him. He started by saying that "we" should put the printer together. Then asked if I needed his help. Then reasoned that since I would be using the printer a lot more than he would (because of all the papers I write at home? what?), I should install it without grumbling.

Moi (holding the heavy printer): Can you help me pull this box off?

Father: Is this how they taught you at college?

(later)

Moi (talking to myself): Now where is that toner?

Father (sigh): You're sure you graduated from college?

Sad thing is, I actually learned quite a bit about printers, toners, and copiers in college. It was my most consistent extra-curricular activity and I pride myself in knowing my way through things with ink cartridges.

Unfinished Business

I discovered a big, lively spider in my room today. I swatted at it but it got away before I could kill it, which means that there's now a live, angry spider roaming around my room as I am about to head to bed. Thirteen years after I first saw the movie at Y camp, my second week in the States, Arachnidphobia continues to freak me out just a little bit.

About a month after the offer was first, well, offered to me, HR finally contacted me. Headed into Boston today to sign some paperwork, thus propelling me one step closer to becoming a DOPE employee. Does your division have such a great acronym? I think not. I was all excited about being in the same building as a Stop & Shop, then I discover today that HR is stored right in the Prudential Mall, across from Aldo shoes. Its close proximity to a wealth of window and actual shopping glories makes it a zillion times better than my division and a zillion times more fun to work there. I like talking about HR and saying HR instead of 'human resources.' It makes me feel grown up and ergo legit.

Had subpar bubble tea today in Chinatown. I needed something cool and refreshing after sitting in a hair salon, waiting for my mother, and listening to catty old ladies chatter for quite a few hours this afternoon. The subpar quality was quite unexpected and rather disappointing. Saradonyx, where's the good bubble tea place you took me to?

PS: While researching (aka googling) whether proper bubble tea should have ice cubes (I don't think so), I came upon this question: "is bubble tea the same thing as a smoothie? I love bubble tea and I just want to know the difference!" When I read that, I died a little inside.

Bonhoeffer to You

The picture has nothing to do with what I am about to tell you. Waiting for my father today, I settled in a soon-to-be-open cafe for about an hour. There, I met the two owners, who kept trying to make small talk as I tried to read. It's been happening to me a lot the past two weeks, the making of small talk with friendly people who mean well, but who I really have nothing to say to because I don't know them. I find the situations incredibly frustrating because I want to reciprocate the niceness but it's always so painful grasping at things to talk about and we end up making stupid comments about the weather.

They were a young couple, the husband originally from Sweden and the wife from the area, though she had spent some time living in China. (I believe the husband's ice breaker was "so which part of China is your family from?" Not a very good start, but he turned out to be genuine and not ignorant.) When I first entered, the wife was sitting at a table with books and papers all about her, looking very studious, as one would when preparing for the LSATs or perhaps an important presentation. Turns out, she was reading The Complete Idiot's Guide to Starting and Running a Coffee Bar, always a good sign a week from opening day. The place did look gorgeous, though, much classier than your usual Starbucks and bigger, too. The couple was wicked friendly. They kept offering me drinks or to get me a cookie even though I had just met them. It was very hard turning them down over and over again. And so Bonhoeffer's Cafe and Espresso, even though I find your title rather redundant, you have my endorsement.

Opening June 18th.

Walden-ford II

More from my walk in the woods:

Who needs Maine when you can get scenery like this at home? Like I've said for years, once you've seen one tree, you've pretty much seen them all.

We saw this geese family cross the street. Our hearts were warmed. (Sneaky subliminal message #1: Gak, it is imperative that you insist that it was I, not Sesame, that got you the Bo' job. Your future wealth rests upon the fact.)

My mother being silly.
Mother: You really get a kick out of unflattering pictures, huh?
Moi: Why yes, yes I do.

(Subliminal message #2: Dusty, I'm quite saddened and nay, disappointed, that job security ranks higher on your priority list than visiting the great northeast. I guess I will see you when I see you.)

Whenever I see this picture, I think this would be an awesome setting for an old frontier movie about cowboys, outlaws, and... water departments in the woods.

Walden-ford

I went to the woods (with Mother) because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

But then we passed a snake, which I would have been fine with, but Mother had to stop and point and yell 'look, look, a snake! a snake!' until finally I had to turn and look at the small slithering creature. And just when I was back to breathing normal and thinking that maybe snakes aren't so scary, Mother reminded me once again that there was a brood of snakes in our own backyard. And suddenly I didn't need to discover nature any more.

At the end of our walk in the woods, Mother also insisted on taking a loop instead of walking home the way we had come from. The loop was much, much longer than we had anticipated.But afforded some great views of rural life tucked into our well manicured suburbia.

Mad Lib

Swung by the local library yesterday and discovered that there's now a little cafe on the lower level. They're selling dollar coffees in the young adult section. Apparently, they're allowing, nay, encouraging drinks in the library. Now, when I was young, people drank coffees in cafes and read books in libraries. I mean, the very cornerstones of the library are no food, no drink, and free books (with no late fees if you can manage. That's very likely the best and only desirable characteristic of this town: no library late fees). What satisfaction am I supposed to derive from sneaking food into the library if they profit from this practice? What's next, charging for books? Outdoor voices? Is nothing sacred!?

Goldilocks

Uncovered my father's outdated laptop whilst cleaning my room the other day. Here it is, a little baby of a computer but remarkably thick, sitting atop my own giant, soon-to-be-outdated but much flatter laptop.

Spare the Rod

I have got to stop telling stories with my mother in it. It is not helping with the post-college cool-twenty-something vibes. Then again, neither is a glamorous life as a research assistant nor a house in the suburbs. Darn you, prime of my life.

But the other day, I was le tired. And this being my last lazy vacation before my foray into the ranks of the employed, I should be able to sleep and wake when and where I want. But no. You see, Mother had a series of Korean soap DVDs that she had to finish by the next day. And because we had guests and her computer was in the guest room, Mother had to find another computer to watch the soaps on. (Using the DVD player would have been too public. She wanted to watch the show, yes, but she didn't want our guests to know.) Somehow, my computer was the logical choice. So late Saturday night, Mother made herself comfortable at my desk. I was banished from my room, barred from going to bed early so I could wake up for church- for visiting the house of the Lord. Instead, I was forced to stay up late and watch TV alone so Mother could finish watching her Korean soap opera. It's only by the grace of God, really, I suppose, that with the type of parenting I received, I still managed to graduate from college.

Working It

My parents just recently returned home from a two-month trip away, so there's a lot of unread mail and unheard messages in the house. Last night, Mother played a message for me from a research division asking me for a second interview.

Moi: Oh, you can delete that, I turned them down last month.

Mother: Are you sure? You don't want to call her back.

Moi: I already told her I wasn't interested.

Mother: Why not? You should still call her back.

Moi: Because I already have a job.

Mother: Right. But are you sure you don't want this one?

Of course, HR has yet to tell me anything about orientation, so I am not 100% confident that I have my job. Everything should be ok. We've talked on the phone (once) and emailed. But I'm not updating any facebook statuses until I sign that shiney* contract.

*I understand that contracts aren't actually shiney. Unless mine's diamond encrusted. That would be dope. But as I understand it, mine will not be so overflowing with benefits and pay that it could be considered shiney and is actually quite lacking in the sheen department. But I like the word, so back off.

Day Job

Today I showered, ate breakfast sausages, took communion, and had four petite lamb chops. I sauteed mushrooms, played with tools to fix and install a DVD player, cut my finger on sheet metal, uploaded and downsized. I offered help, I danced, clasped. I watched: a slideshow on a trip to Kenya, a wicked intense baseball game, and a movie about Chinese chess. I did well in boggle, shivered, and flossed. All in all, a very satisfactory day. What did you do with your Sunday?

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

One of Mother's most frequent criticisms of us is that we are too arrogant. She describes a lot of people as arrogant. This morning, I asked her to name someone that she did not consider arrogant. Here's who made the short list:

1. Me (She was just saying that. She doesn't actually believe this.)
2. Mother

Moi: What about Jesus?

Mother: He is God, not man.

Moi: While on earth he was fully man and fully God. And he was pretty humble.

Mother: Maybe Ginger (my mother's good friend) should go on the list.

Moi: Is that before or after Jesus?

Mother: Doesn't matter, as long as she comes before me.

Mother's Revised List of the Four Most Humble of the Land:

1. Me
2. Ginger
3. Mother
4. Jesus

Beat that, Jesus.