Board at Work

Name that show: That imagination of yours is an absolute curse.

Sometimes I wonder how much good I would be able to do for the world if I harnessed my creative energies toward work, or even poetry. For today's RA white board, Young Bo' decided on the theme (name that movie) and film and I set about creating the three clues:

1. It was released before any of the RAs were born (Jen squeaked under by just a month)
2. It features the holder of the NBA's most points scored title
3. Don't call me Shirley.

The third one gives it away, I know, but we were all wicked impressed when DocNice walked by, admitted that he was bored, took one look at our board, and said, "Huh. Kareem Abdul Jabbar was in Airplane!? I didn't know that." The ease with which he got all aspects of our riddle got me thinking. And no longer was I satisfied with having a board to amuse me at work. I wanted to go farther.

And that was how Young Bo' and I found ourselves systematically going through a list of everyone in the division. We placed bets on who would and would not be able to name the movie. It's a game of both luck (not everyone stops by the board, not everyone ventures guesses, not everyone is in the office), and strategy (who in the office fits this special blend of generation timing, nerdiness, and pop culture knowledge?). The loser has to make a pair of paper-cup-floss-telephones for the winner. And work just got slightly more exciting. Slightly more bearable.

KendleLand

Perhaps the title is a stretch.

I'm not one to pick favorites, but if you held a gun to my head, or even a plate of salt and pepper ribs in front of me, and made me choose a favorite kid at my dad's church, I would have to say that the current honors go to the Lam brothers. Jeffrey is in first grade and Kendle is about three and a half. Except when they are both hyper and goofy together, the two are near opposites in character. Jeffrey is quiet and detail oriented; he likes patterns, numbers, and often brings home test scores over 100. I used to love playing with him just because he was so shy. For better or worse, he's not shy around church anymore. Kendle was never quiet. Being short, he looks younger than you might expect and as a result, gets away with that much more. He's a natural charmer, a favorite among the youth group girls, and knows how to employ it to his advantage. Not so academically inclined as his brother (and perhaps not at all), Kendle is instead a natural story teller. He told me this morning about the sled he got for Christmas that flew into the air and how he had to cut a hole in the sky to get back down and how he also got an edible lamp as bright as the sun and a super monkey that speaks English (but not Chinese). Not only Kendle a story teller, he also has a very smart mouth for a three and a half year old and a mind that has become very difficult to trick.

Earlier this week, his grandmother told him she was going back to China...

Kendle: Good. Now I can eat all the candies I want and no one will stop me.

Grandmother: No, you can't. The police will come get you.

Kendle: No. They won't know when I'm eating candies secretly.

Status Update Update

Oh, Charlie. I don't doubt that we would have a close match in Boggle. BriWi on the other hand, he stands no chance.

Cowabunga

Ignore most of this video and scroll straight to 2:01-- 2:44. This clip is a few months old, but it's new and thrilling to me. This girl made my day. From this day forth, I am celebrating every victory with a "I get a cow" song and strut.

Boxing Day Bumbles

My mother has disappeared from the house. A couple of hours earlier, she came in to ask me to bring a kid to the mall. I told her I'd think about it. Hopped in the shower. Came out, and was told that her car is gone. Kid still in the house. Don't know what just happened. Six people in the house, nobody has any news. In broad daylight, too. Perhaps some kangaroo boxers will straighten it out for us.

Status Update

My throat hurts and seems intent on hurting for awhile. Can't seem to stop watching cruel and ridiculous Japanese reality shows on Hulu, though they never seem to show a concluding episode. Played Boggle, UNO, Mousie Mouse, Connect 5, and Set today, and could not help but want to win every single one (I did quite well, thank you). Mother stood up to sing 'happy birthday' to me in a restaurant and we just had a conversation about Evita. Merry Christmas.

Tomorrow, I cook, I work, I exercise, I act like a normal person.

Jolly Old Time

Mother and I arrived half an hour early for the Christmas eve service last night-- unfortunate, because we were due to arrive a whole hour early. You'd think we would get Christmas down by now, but no. Mother was still wrapping presents up until we had to leave. When we arrived at the church, we found the power out on the first two floors of the building (the church is on the third). The poor usher spent his evening shining a flashlight up the stairs. (Had we been on time, we would have found ourselves locked out because of the outage. Turns out building management is hard to track down on Christmas eve) This new sanctuary where my dad's church is temporarily holding service has terrible acoustics, so even as we were climbing the stairs up, we could hear the roar of the congregation, the chatter, the frantic setting up, the screaming children. You'd think Christmas eve services would get old, that the setting up would run smoothly, but no. It's the same play, same songs, same service each year, yet always slightly different. The wisecracking wise men, the awkward transitions and stumbles, hilarious kids as sheep, the mumbling unenthusiastic youths, and the grand candle lighting finale at the end when everyone lights a candle and sings to Silent Night-- no, it doesn't get old. My Jesus doesn't get old. So if it takes all this bustle, chaos, and ritual to make us remember, then that's our shame, but I'm glad when we do remember. Jesus, Man, God, coming down then, coming again, that doesn't get old. That's a part of my every day.

Spirit of the Swap

$5 limit.  An invitation with a Bible verse guilting people into sharing.  "Creativity encouraged."  And the hottest gift last year were greeting cards from the Holocaust Museum.  Sounds like a goofy sacrilegious gift swap (my favorite kind), no?  No.  Which made my presents look awesome at the Christmas party with my new small group.  Turned out, everyone not only went over the $5 limit, but wrapped their totally legit presents beautifully.  And then there was me.  With my adorable "I believe" set with a wind-up Santa toy, the cheesiest Obama pin I could locate, and sparklers.  Who doesn't love sparklers (and Obama and Santa)?  Perhaps the Republican who received it. Who even knew there were Republicans in Massachusetts?  From Michigan/California at that! 

Not only did I get shown up on the swapping front, but Erik the Blonde whupped everyone on the treats to eat front.  I brought homemade bean dip and eggnog.  Respectable, yes.  But Erik brought good wine (because he says he knows the difference, the rest of us just nod along), smoked turkey, sliced red peppers, sun dried tomato cheese spread, sliced apples, and Triscuits (I'm forgetting an item here).  AND homemade sugar cookies, frosting, and 4 different kinds of sprinkles.  How am I supposed to earn kingdom points and win with him as my competition?  (At least there were no butterfly finger sandwiches a la Longmuir.  I'll be ready next time, Blonde)  And how are we supposed to enjoy Christmas without atrocious holiday sweaters, inappropriate chocolates, or ironic (but not that ironic) Obama pins?  I tried, folk(s), but I'm afraid the Christmas spirit is just being lost on my new small group. 

Medicaid. Medicant.

Looking for cold medicine last night, Mother first tried to get my to take Nyquil. ("I can't, I need to wake up before 6" "It's OK, I'll wake you") Then take some pills from China that "really works." I know deep in my heart that she is not trying to kill me. But knowing won't mean much when my heart stops beating.

Christmas Hit List

Hello (non-Jewish) Jason. I've been waiting for you.

(That worked on two levels for me, but probably just one for everyone else. Or less.)

Today on the RA white board, we put down our Christmas wish list (presented here in its entirety):

• Good will toward me
• Barbie and the Diamond Castle Princess Liana Doll (Doc Fischer of Men: "If you want Barbie DVDs, I have more than I would care for." "What's on Barbie DVDs?" "Trust me, you don't want to know")
  
• The candy dispenser always has Sour Patch Kids, never Mike & Ikes
• Cure for rabies
• Not get lost during a journal club
• Not be scared of Doc Whitecastle

Quite mysteriously, the RAs came back from our lunch break and discovered the board changed. We were no longer scared of Whitecastle but wished to "Not be scared of the dark." Interestingly enough, too, it was all in Whitecastle's handwriting- how all this was changed by itself... sounds like a Christmas miracle to me.

Also miraculous: the amount of sweets I had today. Dark chocolate. Fudge. Peanut butter fudge. Sour worm gummies. Donut. Cheesecake. Underservedly-fancy-gum-drop. Blueberry mini muffin. Chinese egg custard. But it's OK, folks. I had a banana for breakfast.

Chef's Notes

Salting an eggplant (known as degorging) draws out the vegetable's moisture and can remove much of its bitterness as well as lend a smoother texture.  Salting an eggplant can also make it very salty.  Thus rinsing carefully after salting is crucial to the whole process.  Just putting that out there.  Sometimes they don't emphasize the rinsing enough. 

Also, anyone else think the letter K should go before the J?  I am having trouble alphabetizing today.

Strange Kindness

Blogger deleted one of my entries. It was probably the best one of the year, too. I wrote it in iambic pentameter and the ending would have brought tears to anyone's eyes. But mostly it was about the awesome Christmas present Young Bo' and I made for Nice Doc and Whitecastle- their own two-cups-and-floss telephone set decorated with Calvin, Hobbes, and snowflakes (or as Whitecastle called them, "the tiger and the boy"). Too bad Blogger hates you.

Depending on the time of day, there are many things that I hate. Chief among them: waiting for the bus and running after the bus, both of which I end up doing at least once a week. Last night, with the snow and ice on the ground and the bus still half a block away, I started slowly running, but it was more of a token gesture to tell myself I tried, I didn't actually think I had a chance of making it. But this man standing between myself and the bus saw me, "Are you after the bus?" he asked. Out of breath and flustered, I don't remember responding, just grunting and shooting out my hand, as if flagging down a cab. "Hold up!" he yelled back to the bus driver, "someone's coming." When I ran past the man with a hoarse, "thank you," he just said "don't worry, it'll wait for you, don't worry." And in moments like that (and mercifully, there were actually a lot of moments like that this weekend), there is no animus toward the MBTA, just a swelling of appreciation for a stranger. Best stranger of the year.

... of a white Christmas

From today's Times Magazine, on Mexico's groundbreaking anti-poverty program:

...the [Oportunidades] payments, helpful as they are, are still heartbreakingly small. Emma Pasarán in the town of Venustiano Carranza in Puebla, told me that one of the benefits of the program is that “I am never without money. If my daughter says, ‘Mom, I need a pencil,’ I can say to her, ‘Here’s the money.’ ” She mimes taking a coin out of her purse, a proud smile on her face. In the same town, I talked to Elia Valderrama Vargas, a mother of three, in her dirt-floor house, about the jobs that will be open to her soon-to-be-educated children. “My husband cuts weeds with a machete,” she told me. “My children will be able to work in a tortilla factory because they’ll know how to cobrar” — how to add purchases and give change. For Pasarán, buying a pencil on a whim was the fulfillment of a dream; for Valderrama, it was seeing her children in indoor work.

Happy Hump Day

Eating surprisingly good chili cheese fries in the food court before the office party tonight. Hands down the highlight of the week. Sitting there with Young Bo', digging in to the hot gooey mess, talking about how much we both sucked at physics in retrospect, and doing all of this with the uncertainty of the party ahead of us- it was a gift of a moment.

The actual party was pretty nice, though once again, everyone was disappointingly well behaved. I may have said some stupid things. But all the docs kids were adorable. Everyone was under three in age and height. Doctor Greene's girl loved my dress. Doc Query's son knew his animals (and they weren't just your barn yard variety), but not to be outdone, Doc Nice's girl? Knew where her elbows and wrists are. None of them compared, of course, to how happy little Julian was. He just kept laughing about everything. And whenever we asked about what he was doing, he would explain that he was just pretending. I hope everyone gets to a chance to be as happy as he was tonight.

Runner up awesome moment: When one of the spouses pulled out a little flute and started performing. The look on everyone's faces? Priceless.

Opened the Window

Yesterday, we put up on the RA white board a map of the office and red circles around who was sick as a sort of Division travel advisory, so people would know who to avoid. This did not sit well with Whitecastle, who found himself on the red list.

Whitecastle: This is offensive.

Moi: It's a public health measure.

Whitecastle: I'm not coughing on anyone. This isn't how the flu spreads. It's about droplet transmission. I should make you read about flu transmission.

Moi: It's for the good of the group.

Whitecastle: [Young Bo'], you're here, too. You should be upset.

Moi: Whose handwriting do you think that is?

With that, Whitecastle took the marker and proclaimed himself free of the flu. "Allergies" he explained, though no one is buying it. Office Christmas party tomorrow. Can't wait to pull out my sitar.

Lend Thy Light

Sister Claire, questioning my (excessive) commitment to the RA white board (featuring new posts at least 3 times a week):  The time you spend on these things… are you covered by a grant to do this?

It's only the one part of my day during which I can shine, Claire. 

Speaking of shining bright and starry nights, MC TChu pulled out his fancy phone the other night to reveal a picture of a decked out Christmas tree in his living room…

Moi: Are there presents under the tree?

TChu: No.

Moi: Are you [and the housemates] even going to be here for Christmas?

TChu: No.

Moi: Yet you have a giant Christmas tree-

TChu: -because we have a twelve foot ceiling.

Incredible Edible Me

Tonight, as it often happens, I ran after the T with a big backpack jostling down my back. I had to run about a block on the rough Brookline terrain, and- because I run faster than the speed of light/trolley train- just managed to catch it in time. Only to remember that I had just gone grocery shopping. I had two packages of frozen edamames and 1 bag of frozen spinach in my backpack. And a carton of eggs. All that pounding against the pavement and banging against the frozen vegetables did a number on my joints. I couldn't imagine what happened to the eggs inside my bag. But- sit down for this one folks, grab your handkerchief and brace yourselves for an early Christmas miracle- not a single egg was harmed in the making of this story. Not even the slightest crack. Those little eggs are cool, collected, and sitting pretty in my fridge, each with smooth little cheeks. I am writing congratulatory letters to my congresschickens as we speak.

Public Hygiene

My new, supposedly orange zest scented, body wash smells like bleu cheese.

We've all had stories of not being a morning person, of putting on the wrong sock or forgetting the keys. None of these stories, I learned last night, can compare to that of Anthony's. You see, friend[s], a few weeks ago, whilst passing a store front window on the way to work, Anthony saw that there was shampoo in his hair. "By then," he said, "I had already driven to work and stopped to get coffee at Dunkin' Donuts. No one said anything." Perhaps they were afraid that they wake him from this nightmare. And somehow this man in allowed to operate vehicles at 60 mph in such a state. There ought to be laws against these things.

I feel as if I'm writing too many words so let me just pause a second for you to let this sink in.

Anthony spent a good hour going to the coffee shop and then driving to work all the whilst not realizing that he still had shampoo in his hair.

The boy takes four showers a day. You would think he would have learned by now. In the end, Anthony bought a few bottles of water from Stop & Shop and had to rinse off in the parking garage, clearing his head and landing himself on my short list of favorite anecdotes.

Reasong #6.8 Why I Love Being Out of School

Because having a B.A. is glorious.

Nah. Weekends. That's why. In my senior year, that stretch of time between Thursday evening and Monday were consumed by readings and my honors project. I didn’t even have classes on Fridays or Monday mornings, it was just filled with work study and school work, a dark, long stretch with the occasional episode of Grey’s, brunch, or a quick drink somewhere. I love how things have changed, how it’s 12:10AM on Sunday and I’ve hardly spent any time in my apartment this weekend, how I got to volunteer, doze off during a movie, take a nap, meet up with friends for dinner, then head across town for a farewell party without feeling guilty. I love being out of school so that when I bump into old friends from the Bo', I appreciate it. I love staying up late on Saturday and thinking, “oh, it’s OK, I still have Sunday tomorrow.” It’s a feeling I’ve never had before. Granted, I still have to do schoolwork tomorrow, but only a couple hours’ worth. No more GREs, apps, or school for awhile… I’m optimistic for my social life. Perhaps the mid-20s is when I bloom and finally become cool.

But in October, Jodi’s mother lost her job managing a huge dental practice in the Bronx, then landed one closer to home that requires more hours for less money. Pilates was dropped, along with takeout sushi dinners, and Jodi’s allowance, which covers lunch during the week, slipped to $60. Instead of having a tutor, Jodi has become a tutor, earning $150 a week through that and baby-sitting.

NYTimes, if you write one more story about poor rich people this holiday season, I'm going to give you something to write about. I know I choose to read the paper and its snottiness is part of the charm. But the stories of housekeepers and nannies being let go and $100 allowances slashed to $60 have got to stop.

Of Thieves and Lions

Earlier tonight, we had a Bo' round table at Grendel's (a table we worked hard and bargained for) with a bunch of random kids that some knew better than others (me being the common thread), just the way I like things. And because Young Bo' lives a life of lies, she held up her friends' dinner just to meet up with us, then ditched us after just one drink. Tim also left early, under mysterious circumstances, throwing money on the table and abruptly running out. Maybe it's something with '08ers. But we forgave them, especially Young Bo', because she's awesome. And we're afraid of her menopausal mood swings.

Colin the Cynic...

Moi: My commute to the T is even shorter if I cut through the housing project.

Colin: 'Cause you're running the whole way?

(on the CandyLand competition tomorrow)

Moi: I don't want to spend $10 to play CandyLand.

Amy: $10 is only for families. It's $5 and you get to beat little kids.

Zvi: Can we be a family?

Colin: Yeah, the Manson family.

All in all, it was $15 for one drink, a split dinner, nachos, and Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Just the type of low key evening I was looking for after so many crazy nights. Sure, everyone else split for parties and bars, but I'm secure enough in my social life to be pleased with a quiet Friday evening. But please stay friends with me. Pretty please.

Fit to Print

Yesterday, Doc Query surprised me at my desk and demanded that I go to the Times' page. I had to pretend that I wasn't already browsing and set papers down to make it look like I was working.

Doc Query: Check out the front page, right there-

Moi: Hey! That's the article. Hey! They don't mention your name.

Doc Query: Yeah. They don't mention yours either. None of them did. What's up with that?

I don't know why I don't get personal shout outs in medical journals or the lay press. But it was very nice of Doc Query to mention that as I was trying to pretend to be happy for him. One silver lining though: If you squint real close at 0:24 of this clip, you just might be able to see my name. You might need to freeze frame the thing and blow it up. And even then I'm not sure what article the guy is really holding up, but look, ma, I'm big in Japan!

Demand of the Times

From today's Times.

The case did not produce a court ruling offering guidelines for honoring donors’ intent. But it did highlight how difficult and costly it can be to challenge wealthy universities. Even without going to trial, each side had spent more than $40 million on the case.

Ah, thank you donors. Thank you, college. I could have gone to school for a very long time on $40 million.

Time are a Changing

Yesterday, Young' Bo' and I defined the word ballin' for the office on our PSA white board.  And when we had done so, we were shocked to find out from those of a certain age that they, too, had heard of ballin' but that it had a very different meaning.  (in stage whisper)  It means to have sex.  Seriously.  Ballin'.  Who knew? 

Someone in the office has the ice cream truck tune as a ring tone.  That person has not been at their desk for the past hour.  Yet someone keeps trying to reach that person.  And I am slowly going insane.

Regrets

I had planned to update you on my life. I had jotted notes down in my Moleskine. I had planned on staying in tonight, preparing my long-shot program application, maybe watching some TV, and going to bed early. Then suddenly, it’s 11pm and I’m at Lindsey Lohan’s myspace blog. I don’t know how these things happen. And 400 word essays take a lot longer to write than I remembered. My computer flipped out on me. My application unsaved. And I just bought myself another quiet night in by the computer. Goodbye, Thursday night plans.

ILOVERMONT

In my years in New England, this is what I've learned of what people do in Vermont:
look at leaves
be cold
be rustic
have barn parties
farm and raise a family
hike
talk about Ben & Jerry

I have never known a trip to Vermont to be otherwise. This weekend was no different. Went up to a town whose locales were never made clear to me with my new small group. We hiked, we had a fire, we ate bacon and eggs, and we were very cold. Of course we played games (though not many) and of course I won them. And then I was schooled by a 1980's piece of technology: the Super NES Super Mario. That game is so freaking hard. Mostly, however, we hung out and just talked. Just one group coming together.

Odds and Ends

Wanted to get out a compilation from the work week before I left for the weekend:

It's Good to be Wanted

Earlier this week, Sister Claire noticed that the dark vs. white Thanksgiving poll was still up.  It did not please her. 

Sister Claire: Now that you're a published author, you're too busy to change the board?  (Her success rate is so high that, sometimes, I feel like Sister Claire stops by just to make it into these entries, and oh, now that Thanksgiving is over, the fugitive wild turkeys in her neighborhood have returned)


It's Good to Pay Attention in Sunday School

Remember the Great Zacchaeus Debate of '06?  An update: according to Thomas the Irishman, Zacchaeus was a "very little man."  And Jesus did go over his house for tea.  Why are the Brits and Irish so strange?  And why can't they accept him as a wee one?

It's Good to Be Young

Yesterday, Young Bo' and I put up a picture of Zac Efron under a new feature of the white board, "What the Kids Are Into."  But the young heart throb was not well received as apparently no one in the Division, even those with kids, had ever heard of him.  So today, we replaced Zac with a poll on favorite Ma Query desserts (Doc Query brought in a trio this week), but Jen was not pleased with the shift.  (By the by, let me just say that I'm glad I've never met Ma Query because if I ever do, I just might be compelled to kiss her for her magical baking) 

Jen P: But I want to know what the kids are into.

Moi: You'll have to wait for part 2 of the series to come out then.

Jen P: Josh and I find this very helpful.  We feel we're out of touch.


And It Feels Good to be a Reader of the Times

(the Bo' alums, we took some time out of our stories and mockery lunch today and talked books)

Moi: I was re-reading Salinger's Franny and Zooey just a few days ago.  Reading that liberal, Northeast elitism, it just felt so-

Laura: Comfortable?

Moi: Yeah!  I loved it.

Ah, the Bo'.  I'm so glad that you fashioned dozens of kids who are just like me.

Dim the Nights Go

Weeknight dim sum. Sounds terrible, I know. No carts. No crowds. And on a weeknight, too. But it was glorious tonight, finishing a table of food, then heading over for bubble tea and some more talking. Sometimes I forget how much I like my friends.

I would savor in all this more and tell you some amusing work stories, but I've got a retreat to pack for, birthday present to buy, study to read, critique to write, and a summer program to apply to. It's a crazy Thursday night and I only have an hour left. Wish me luck!

JAM-On It

My name and credentials are on a page of a big medical journal. It's no NEJM, BMJ, or Annals. But take one more guess and you'd be right on. I have an issue on hand with tomorrow's date and my name on it, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible at work (while ringing up my parents-- thank God we don't speak English with each other) but my heart is beating fast. No one likes a gloat and other than the RAs here, everyone else is used to seeing their name in things. And since my mom hung up on me ("That's good, I have a call waiting, bye!"), I'm sharing my excitement with you. I hope I get to get used to this like the other docs, but that may never happen. For now, I'm psyched. I can't wait to go home and do a victory dance. In fact, I might just go into a quiet stairwell to dance crazy for a minute. This is going on my Big Moments of 2008 list. In fact, let's put this a place behind "Winning the Thesis Award" on the All Time Great list.

PS. Less than an hour since I've gotten my copy and it's already got a rip. Thanks, Young Bo'.

All Your Bases

I had quite the baking weekend the last few days. I didn't get around to the cracked pepper crackers I wanted to make, but I did make cranberry rolls, 2 batches of banana bread, and some cookies. All this meant that I got to bring leftover cookies into work, and cookies translate into brownie points. I called them by "Covering My Bases" cookies, because Lord knows that I need to shore up on good will when I have the opportunity. Big Chief assured me that the cookies were worth "a good four mistakes." Which means that should last me until Wednesday.

In other news, Carol's experiences this week are shedding light on the fact that they do call the birthing process "labor" for a very good reason as it is apparently quite labor intensive. Who would've thunk? Whenever, however, and whatever happens, in this season of advent, we eagerly await the arrival of Jeremy-Joy, who's sure to be the best loved baby boy in the tri-state area.

Waiting Room

This morning, my mother hid behind jet lag as an excuse not to get up to cook. So I conquered the turkey on my own. And let me say, it was the most tender, fall-off-the-bone turkey I've ever seen. (Thank you, Mark Bittman.) Now I'm just waiting to get hungry again so that I may recommence the eating. It's already 4 o'clock. I hope I get hungry soon.

Meat Cute

It's been a week since Young Bo' and I first received our little white board and I'm happy to report that the novelty hasn't worn off. Having a board is fun. Our latest entry is an office-wide poll on Dark Meat versus White Meat. (Doc Query asked us to specify that it was turkey meat, lest people get confused and offended. We think he was joking. But we're not sure.) Unfortunately, Doc Sleep with the Fischer is the only one with good taste in the office (other than myself) and White Meat is winning handsomely. Sister Claire proposed that we focus on the chocolates instead.

Moi: Would you be able to choose then?

Sister Claire: If I had a choice, I would- oh, I'd take one of each for sure.

(I give her a piece from my secret stash- Hershey's white chocolate with holiday sprinkles)

Sister Claire: Oh, I love white chocolate. But the sprinkles are a little weird.

Moi: Yeah, those freak me out. That's why I'm not eating that.

A Lot Like Home

I feel as if December is just a routine we go through every year. We know what we have to see, who we have to see, and what we have to buy. There isn't actually anything momentous, but we remember to remember and feel special just because it's the season. Well, that time is approaching again and for now, I'm liking the familiarity. It's been a crazy season for me, I feel like there aren't enough days for me to see everyone I want to (yet still spend a surprising number of nights in front of the TV alone...), do all the work I'm supposed to, and even work work is hectic. So getting to eat and laugh with high school friends last night, then arriving home today, going grocery shopping in the pre-Thanksgiving madness, changing into my slippers and sweats, it's all feeling very good right now.

Title Nine

My first reunion is coming up this weekend, so I'm trying on new labels that describe what I do.  "Making graphs pretty for doctors" just ain't gonna cut it.  The top contender is "I'm a researcher at Harvard Medical School."  (said all casual and modestly, of course)  But does it sound as impressive as I am intending it to be or just nerdy and esoteric?  I want to see eyes widening in awe and not glazing over in boredom.  If all else fails, there is always "I save lives."

Sterner Stuff

Two birthday celebrations, one re-wedding, and one Thanksgiving feast this weekend and I am pooped. I have cooked, I have presented, I have drank, and I have had a paper rejected. I have traveled five colors of the T lines and dozed off on three. And mostly, I have neglected trying to get into graduate school. (while at the same time, Jared just got accepted into law school and promoted at work) My body feels beat and my only hope as I collapse into bed in a few minutes is that I don't dream, because I spent late last night revising my personal statement and throwing stuff into the laundry. Then had a dream that my laundry was done and I had gotten into Harvard. This is why I hate dreams (and yes, Liz Marie, hate is a strong word). But I've had a long weekend, my heart can't take any dreams at the moment.

The Stranger in Me

"South Boston, huh? You ever see Whitey?"
"Ha, no, never."
"You know who I'm talking about, right?"
"Of course, I do. Whitey Bulger. I'd be set if I saw him."
"You and me both."

This is a weird phenomenon, even for myself, but get me talking to some hardened Lowell cabbie and suddenly, I've got this accent from I don't know where and we're musing about Whitey. I don't even put on a Boston accent, 'cause that's not where I'm from, but I say Chelmsfuhd instead of Chelmsford, and talk about unions, laugh about turkeys, and remark on how the neighborhoods have changed.

In Scotland, it only took me two weeks to adopt and then drop the local intonations. In Taiwan, in Boston, I don't try to talk in a way that fits in, I don't shirk from using the vocabulary and sarcasm that defines me, I stand by and stand out by my words. But get me close to home and talking with locals who've been there all their lives and I start talking like someone I'm not, but a character I've studied for fifteen years. I don't know why, maybe I'm being patronizing and think he'd find Regular Me too removed from his world, maybe I'm compensating because I know how xenophobic old timers are, or maybe, it's just fun to feel like a native sometime.

FlashBack

Woke up this morning. Stumbled out of bed. And decided that I'd take the early train home. Didn't have time to shower, think, or pack much, but just threw lots of random layers into a big duffel and headed home. Edited my recommendation letter of myself, ran a few errands (which involved driving in the suburbs and plentiful parking spaces, both of which I have greatly missed), rushed home to shower, make myself presentable, and it was out the door again, to a re-wedding reception. Being at the Lowell church always stirs up strong memories but it was even stranger today because the special occasion brought out all sorts of people who I haven't seen since my childhood. I was at the reception to represent the family since no one else was around, and it really felt like that, that I was representing my family, saying hello, calling out uncles and aunties, asking after kids, I felt at the same time grown up and as if I was back in fourth grade. Then, after a few hours and some adventure in the dark streets of south Boston, here I am, back in the apartment again. My brain hasn't processed much of the day yet, but I do know that seeing Carol was the highlight, followed by, in no particular order, snide remarks with Jon Pan, seeing my youth group kids together, the heat and shampoo at home, and Mrs. Pan's food.

Away Message

Dear Blog-
I know I've been slacking lately, but I haven't forgotten you. It's just that I'm really cold right now and my fingers hurt to type. And we got a new whiteboard at work to share between the RAs, so Young Bo' and I have been pretty busy trying to think up new riddles and daily jumbles for the board and learning how to practicing our dry erase penmanship. It's not easy, but someone has to do it. I'll be back before you can miss me.

Misers and Chang

Tonight, we resumed the tradition of Bo' Thanksgiving dinners with friends and gathered up in the South End. The restaurant was great, but the portions woefully controlled. I could have eaten every item on the menu and still felt peckish. What is it about tapas and small plates, people? If we want to do dim sum for reals, we'd head to Chinatown and eat the same amount of food for a third of the cost. Still, the company was great. I'm getting better about my Bo' nostalgia lately, especially since life in Boston has been going swimmingly, but those Thanksgiving dinners at the Bo' are cherished memories and sitting around with 5 old friends was just the thing I needed on such a cold night. (The whipping winds are an absolute outrage. I get mad just walking in the cold and letting my face take a beating from the wind.) The highlight of the meal had to be the Stop & Shop pumpkin pie Regis brought along because of course one would bring pie to dinner. Then just to show off his anatomy knife skills, he divided one slice into 6 more pieces (1/42th) and we each took a "pumpkin shot." Just the homey note we needed to end on at the contemporary Asian restaurant.

Vested Interest

I love it when researchers think they're cooler than other researchers. It's a ridiculousness beyond pot, kettle, and glass houses. Today, Doc #2 (it's hard coming up with all these pseudonyms) was late to our division meeting because he was coming back from a faculty meeting in a different department at Harvard. Doc 2 was wearing a sweater vest.

Doc 2: ... and the projects they were talking about aren't as exciting as the work we do here-

Doc Query: But they probably wear more sweater vests.

(uproarious and smug laughter abound)

I know, you're sitting there thinking, "what?" But that was all it took for the entire division to shake in self confident howls. It was pretty awesome.

Risky Business

At this point in my life, I don't have many people I need to impress. I'm not in school yet so there are no teachers to suck up to and most of the docs I work for have a good sense of how smart/dumb I am. That is, except for the occasional important people in the division who I don't interact with much, but whose approval I need to make or break their recommendations for me. Like our Big Vice Chief.

Yesterday, the RAs were lucky enough to have him walk through the methodology of one of his papers with us. It saddens me to say that it was actually near thrilling talking about how to evaluate policies and trying to keep up with his rapid questions, albeit incredibly nerve wracking. But not as nerve wracking as his opening. He heard a couple of us were taking classes and asked who it was. Jen and I hesitantly raised our hands. "So what is the differences between a risk and rate ratio?"

Even as we were hemming and hawing (especially embarrasing as we'd just given a presentation on it to the rest of the RAs yesterday), he started writing on the board, "well?" "One is unit-less? (muttering: this is so not cool)" "That's technically right, but what are their denominators?" Teacher Mode Vice Chief was not what I was expecting first thing Friday morning, before I'd had time to study for my midterm and when we all thought we were going to discuss his paper, but the questions came flying out of him along with lots of equations and explanations. Teacher Mode Vice Chief didn't have time for vague answers and backtracking. He said, "No," instead of "You're close." And he conducted his pop-quiz review session in front of all the other RAs and our two supervisors. People like that make me afraid to ever say that I know something without fully knowing it. Make me want to be good enough for their questions. And make me want to work hard to do well enough to impress them.

No Shoes No Shirt

Toward the end of our trip in Chicago, finding a place to eat became an increasingly difficult task. One breakfast place was only open on the weekend. The Art Institute's culinary school only served lunch. And we always discovered these things after we arrived at the doors hungry. The same happened again on our last morning. We must have passed by Wow Bao, a place whose name we loved to repeat, at least a dozen times all week, and it was always open until we decided to eat there. So we headed instead, frozen and malnourished, into a cafe that advertised brioche in its windows. I love me a loaf of brioche. Except that they had no brioche, just bad French toast and fun crayons. I don't know why they insisted on lying to us over and over again, but they did. You'll note in the picture that a very starved Schlotty is standing next to a (irony lost at the moment) "now open for breakfast" sign. Chicago may be a friendly city, but it's full of deceit. No wonder they call it the Windy City.

Lines from My Notebook

when I spot cardboard boxes,        

            I get an irrepressible inexpressible urge to put one over my head,                             

so I do

to know that there are things bigger than my head 

                      and to feel like an alien robot 

to boot                        

Strength in Numbers

I have my very first/second publication coming out in less than a month (technically the second one, but the first is still 'in press') and yesterday, Doc Query gave me a copy from the journal to proofread. It may have been the highlight of my day (Young Bo's present of origami cut people is tied as a co-highlight).

Doc Query: Did you check if these references are right?

Moi: Yeah, I checked that the numbers match up with the bibliography and the tables.

Doc Query: But did you go back to each article (there about 60) and check if this study really had 39 patients?

Moi: Psh. It wasn't my job to read the studies.

Doc Query: Well, you're going to jail with the rest of us.

Banned Balls

Chicago: No Giant Balls Allowed

Funny Bean

Chicago: Good For Your Heart

Thank My Lucky Stars

The former President of Taiwan, Chen Shui-bian, who has been mired in embezzling scandals for over a year now, was just arrested.  Not the proudest moment to be a Taiwanese, but whenever crap like this comes up, I think, hey, at least crap like this is allowed to come up.  Our congress people get into fist fights during debates.  Our former president and his whole family is dirty (and they're not the only ones).  The economy is a mess and there are protesters outside the presidential compounds all the time (for good reason, too).  But is anyone shooting down protesters?  Are the president and state made to be worshiped?  Are stories of any of these things suppressed?  No.  Not to say that the government is transparent (far, far from it), but at least it's open enough that the Taiwanese people and the world can look to the island's affairs and laugh.  That's a lot more than can be said of a lot of our neighbors. 

Rats

I leave work for four days and rats invade the office. This is why I have so many vacation hours, because things happen when I leave. Lucky for everyone involved (except her), it was Sister Claire who discovered the offending rodent, which was traumatizing for her, but guaranteed a funny story for the rest of us.

On her spreading discovery-

I screamed but no one came to help me. I realized that it's because doctors don't respond to screams. Screaming is normal; screaming just means that they're doing something. Next time, I should just fall on the floor. That'll get their attention.

On being jittery-

Sister: Then Mike knocked on my door and I screamed again, I thought-

Moi: You thought that the rats had learned to knock?

Sister: Yeah, I was surprised that it was such a strong, steady knock. And how polite it was of the rat, too.

Cold Fronts

Just had an excruciatingly awkward five minutes. You'd think I would be used to all the awkward by now, but no, it never gets easier.

On Monday nights, I have to wait for the bus to get home after my class. Because I have nothing better to do while waiting, there's a park right next to me, and I don't move around enough during the day, I like to pace as I wait so I'm at least doing something. Usually, there are lots of people walking by and it doesn't matter because no one notices. But the longer the bus takes, the more I pace. The more I pace, the more attention I receive. Which was exactly what happened tonight, and let a very nice young man to talk to me. "Um, miss?" he said as I stopped for a few moments to check if a bus was approaching, "a friend of mine told me that if you keep moving your shoulders like this, you can stay warm."

"Uh... thank you? But I'm not cold." "Oh, I just thought you were walking like that to keep your heart rate up and stay warm." "No, I was just bored. Thanks, though. It's a very helpful tip." [both look away and wish the bus to arrive faster, not sure who should be more embarrassed]

No, things did not end there. Getting on the bus, I cut in front of a woman who was putting money into the machine and tapped my card, because I'd seen the woman in front of me do so. But that messed up her transaction and caused the bus driver to have to cancel it and start over. Which wouldn't have been too bad if they accepted my three apologies, but the woman and bus driver then started talking about me, how ridiculous the whole thing was, and muttering "Jesus, right?" while I was standing right there. Never been more grateful to walk to the end of the bus than tonight.

Man. And it's work happy hour tomorrow. The awkward week is just getting started.

Native Son

I don't care who you rooted for, this is about Chicago's embrace of the president elect and not what I think. At Grant Park on Tuesday night, I was surprised by how many families were there with little kids way past their bedtime. But those parents wanted to make sure that those children never forgot that night.

And the next morning, the sun and the realities of the work day could not wipe the euphoria and pride away from the city. The banners (above) were all up by the morning. Newsstands all over the city found themselves selling out as people lined up to buy a copy of the historic paper. We walked by a guy being interviewed and he said that on a normal day, he might sell 60 papers (heartbreaking, considering how cheap papers are and how rough selling them is), but on Wednesday, he had sold about 2,000 and it was only 3PM. One woman in line had returned to buy ten more to send to her relatives all over the country. And when Gak and I traveled away from downtown, through a predominantly black neighborhood and down a strip filled with stores selling dapper suits and snappy shoes, we bumped into a man coming out of a store. He started talking to us about voting and when we answered who we had voted for. When we told him, he shook our hands and genuinely thanked us for doing so.

Old Timers

I use Pandora all the time. I rely on it to expand my pathetic music collection. One of the stations I have is Pandora's own "genre" station. Unfortunately, we have very different definitions of what "underground hip hop" means. I thought underground meant new and undiscovered. Pandora meant artists nearing the age of death. I expected artists that aren't all over the airwaves; Pandora (well, it's half right on this point) plays me Run DMC and the Beastie Boys.

After the Sunrise

Not serious about the title. Stop making me explain that I'm joking.

After the acceptance speech, the crowds moved away from the park and spread out into the streets. There were nearly no cars, just endless waves of people pouring down Michigan Avenue. Collected, calm, and ecstatic- the unceasing stream emerged from the park, from bars, side streets, everywhere. Cheering. Chanting. Clapping.

It's a few days out and already, my cynicism has me bracing for disappointments with the administration. But I shan't forget that night. It was Big, Exhilarating and Surreal. My words do not capture the moment and neither does my video, but they're small tastes of what it was all like. You'll have to trust me on this.

(video doesn't seem to be working for now, will work on this)

Scenes from Grant Park

Imagine the biggest crowd you've ever seen in a room, hundreds of people squeezed tight. Imagine the biggest concert you have ever been to, thousands (or tens of thousands) strong, or a Red Sox game at full capacity with 39,000 screaming fans. Now take all that excitement and mass of people and multiply it by a lot, until you reach 240,000. That's how big the crowd was at Grant Park. Gak and I were there, too, among the unticketed masses, waiting, cheering, witnessing history in action.

The unticketed overflow crowd, watching CNN on big screens all over Grant Park.

This design wasn't as simple as it looks, but a coordinated plan of leaving lights on and off.

Expectantly waiting for the results.

There were millions of Obamas, on t-shirts, pins, and posters, all over the park.

People piled onto dumpsters for a view of the big screens.

And even climbed onto the rows of port-a-potty.

Yes I Did

Just returned from Chicago. We were 0 for 2 when it came to the big O sightings- Barack and Oprah- but it was an awesome week nonetheless, with our share of getting lost and tilting our heads back to appreciate the architecture because, hey, we were tourists and that was our job. Photos and stories to come.

If I Miss My Flight...

It's totally because I'm writing this post. Yesterday, Sister Claire stopped by the cubicle, leaned in all mysterious, and asked, "Have you seen any Halloween candy?" And we realized that not a single person brought in their kids' loot to share. We have more kids here than we have fingers, people. Yet somehow, no one thought to prevent their offspring from dental caries by bringing their candies into work. It's an outrage. And exactly why I'm taking the rest of the week off. There'd better be candies when I get back.

Boom Chica-Go

I have stories to tell, of a door with only one doorknob and other life mysteries, but I'm off on a short trip this week. Doubtful there'd be internet access. So hold on tight, buddies. I'll be back soon.

Wish List

Dear Jesus:
I know that usually on birthdays, it's the person whose birth is celebrate who gets the birthday present and not the other way around, but (spoiler alert) since Santa Claus isn't real, I thought I'd send you my Christmas list this year. I'd like a Market Basket either in my neighborhood or at a T-accessible location. You don't even need to throw in the big parking spaces; just its selection of fresh produce at a price that can't be beat. It'd make living in the city 43.8 times more awesome. Thanks!

Sincerely,

Old Faithful

Alternative Medicine

I don't know what's going on at the dialysis center next door, but it smells like pot every time I walk by. So did a man that stood next to me on the bus.

White Meat Flight

This week I hosted my second annual turkey drawing challenge, an event that elicited surprisingly strong responses from Whitecastle and NiceDoc this year and as always, drew even more awesome commentary from Sister Claire- which got us talking about the wild turkeys in her neighborhood who are conspicuously absent this week. My mind immediately suspected foul play on the neighbors' part but Sister Claire was much less sinister, and also showed much greater faith in the turkeys. She believes that they sensed Thanksgiving's arrival and fled north to Canada, where Thanksgiving has already been celebrated (being much closer to Plymouth, Canadian Pilgrims arrived much earlier, hence celebrating Thanksgiving in early October). No wonder the eagle beat out turkey as national bird. An eagle would never flee to Canada.

Smelling Sweet

I'd like to think of myself as something good with words.  Faces, I may not remember, but names, I do.  But perhaps all that is just something I'd like to believe, because I seem to have a tendency of forgetting what I ought not to.  There is, of course, that story from Ms. Cavanagh's history class, when she took attendance and asked if "Jason" was here, and I, for whatever reason, had it stuck in my mind that the Jasons of our grade were Claffey and Cyrene, and turned to Jason Rusman next to me to ask, "Who the heck is Jason?" 

Then there was the time I misspelled Gak's name (and tried to play it off as a typo).  And then there was last night, when I got an e-vite and could not piece together who it was from or how I knew those people.  It took me a good seven minutes, and the thought process went something like this...

"The Fairmont sounds familiar... I wonder why I know this name.  I must have just learned it..." (I was just there on Saturday)
"Dave?  Jeff?  Tim?  Who are these people.  I do not know any of these names."  (I have known Tim for four years)
"I wonder how I even got on this list."  (I just saw Tim- and met Dave- on Saturday.  At the Fairmont.)
"Maybe they sent it to the wrong address... though everything sounds oddly familiar..."

I don't know what's going to leak out of my brain next.  But I'm worried, people.  Very worried.  Perhaps you should all send me some gingko biloba and pin it to my lapel so I don't forget to take it.

Opened the Window

What would possess someone to spell my (first) name wrong?  I don't understand.

Sometimes, I wish I had known or seen certain people as kids on the playground.  Sometimes, I feel like I already have.

Moi: My friend says that all the cool kids in her division pronounce it ark instead of A-H-R-Q [the way we do].

Whitecastle: I bet our division gets more ark money than hers.

Well, then. 

Yesterday was the day of my annual flu shot, what should have easily been one of the happiest days of the year (just behind Thanksgiving, Free Cone Day, and any day at the beach).  There's something about getting a shot for free, having everything be so easy, and all these health professionals warmly greeting me, that makes me feel like I've accomplished something and served the Common Good.  It's as if, by virtue of getting the shot, I'm acing that physical I haven't had in years.  But all this was ruined yesterday by a flustered nurse, who had to confirm three times that I should not get a TB skin test.  (I was also there for a TB screening, but I test positive every time so there's no need for a test.  Let me cough on you sometimes, you'll see.)  Her worst crime, however, was not giving me a band aid.  I know.  A band aid is half the reason why I get a flu shot in the first place.  The second half is the freebies.  The feel good stuff are just traces compared to band aids and chocolates.  Without a band aid, I bled all over my shirt.  Which helped with the street cred, but did not look professional.  ("Is that from food?" "No, Young Bo', I did not rub my mouth on my shoulders.")  Which of course meant that I had to google stain removal tips at work.  Which decreased my productivity.  And probably cost a few thousand lives.  I hope you're happy, Stingy Nurse.

Goings On Around Town

Mended: My Puma backpack.  By my mother.  It's the coolest backpack I will ever own.  Kids on the D.C. subways, passerby on Geneva streets, have all stopped to say so. 

z

Spotted (in a web of her own lies): One Miss Lenny Charles.

Moi: That's ridiculous.  Why'd you say it?

Lenny: I couldn't think of a better excuse.

Moi: Couldn't you just not reply [to the mass email]? 

Lenny: Now, that's a whole new paradigm.

z

 Shamed: Spelling teachers.  Parked next to a (pyramid scheme) Herbal Life van last night who directed people to a  website with "loose weight naturally" as part of the address.

z

Still to Do: Patch jeans.  Call Registrar.  Sort through 60 tiny bottles of shampoo.

Forecast: Getting colder outside, staying sunny inside.  I have fresh laundry, there's nothing stopping me.

Nothing but the Vertitas

Just spent two plus hours updating and reformatting my curriculum vitae. (Apparently, I just needed to space things out enough to outgrow the ol' resume and graduate into CV territory)

It's spanking new, beautiful, and just waiting for someone to hire me and/or accept me into their program.

Saturday Morning Listings

List of Disdain:

Tags on blankets, sheets, and clothes. Wet socks. Cover letters.

Lotion/eye drops. Plain potato chips. Vacuuming.

List of Affections:

Dry socks. Remixed hymns. Having a cup of water on my desk/nightstand.

Good teachers. Funny odd and funny haha. Sriracha + ketchup on anything.


Eating yogurt with granola reminds me of Thorne.

Whirl Wind World

Do you live in Chicago? Do you know anyone there? Have you ever been? Would you like to go?

I am apparently heading for the Windy City in a little over a week. All of this was planned in about five hours so any information you could give would be much appreciated. This week has been just a little hectic. I rewrote my personal statement. Filled out some forms. Organized a work happy hour. Went to a church conference. And in the meanwhile, my list of people to ask for references (and consequently, thank you notes to write) doubled. I have chapters of reading I've neglected, a problem set I'm not sure how to solve, and oh, my mom keeps tricking me into going home. All in all, it has not been an easy week. But it sure has been good to the stomach. Between going home frequently and a sudden increase in lunchtime conferences, I've been feasting on leftovers for two weeks now. If Y2K was to happen right now, I'd be stocked and ready to go. Well, almost ready. My pants don't fit anymore.

Money Roars

What does a $48K per year tuition buy? A damn good mascot. One that is, say, big enough to fit your employee, bears enough resemblance to the animal you'd like to represent, and also civilized enough to be clothed. Compare the bears of the Bo' and "Polar Bear Caves" of New Hampshire.

Your Smart Aleck of the Day

(on a collaborator's change from an innocuous name to one not so much so)

Chief: They changed their name to Buccaneers?

Whitecastle: It was either that or Maverick.

Going Home Again

Apologies to one Mr. Yuan. My time up north ran out before I had a time to see you.  They were 24 jampacked hours.

In the few times I've visited the Bo' since graduation, certain routines have become expected:  I will see Riles on Saturday morning, almost always miss the Band Man on Friday, and bump into P Ballin' without meaning to (though I should mean to, because she's certifiably the best dressed prof on campus).  I will have at least one meal with Lisa, Bobby, and Seames, and love it because of them.  And no matter how much time I spend with Megan, it will feel too short.  Such are my post-Bo' rituals.  This weekend was no different, but included a few extra gems:

* The presence of other people my age.  On campus.  As if we belong there.  Walking to Thorne to felt Gak and Vannie brought some strange deja vus, in a very good way.

*Winning at Scattergories-- you know what?  I don't need Boggle to be awesome.  (The sausage pizza preceding Scattergories was also stupendous)

* Laughing at dinner with Chris, who was donning a Barack shirt ironically and doing his best impression of an "intense childhood in Ghana."  We probably haven't eaten dinner together since sophomore year. 

* An excursion to Freeport that yielded new clothes and a better yet, a Bo' student discount. (Gak probably didn't enjoy the trip as much, but whatever, he got to pretend to be a bodyguard)

* A moment alone with Susie.  Still the best facilitator and big-picturer I've ever met.

Of course, the weekend was not without its demerits, like when Lisa and I did a round through Joshua's and realized that we had no one to say hi to.  Or the same thing happening a day later with Jenny in Druck.  Or the realization that Riles continues to not only know better bands than I do, but also more authentic Asian restaurants in the area.  And that random Chinese people abroad also approach her to speak Chinese.  Despite the fact that she's a white professor and in her fifties (?).  She is both out Chinese-ing and out-cooling me on every level.  That's a thought I'll need more than a weekend to decompress.

Losing Face

It happened again. This time, I was walking down my street and minding my own business when the woman in front of me turned around. I smiled at her. She smiled back. And then started speaking to me in Chinese. This time it wasn't even a dialect I understand. Do I look like I have a big red splotch on my face with little yellow stars? (though my flag would be red with a white sun in a blue square) Why do strangers think it's OK to just start speaking to me in Chinese?

I was in KASA for 3 years and only one person ever asked if I was Korean, yet three minutes down my street and old ladies think it's OK to come up and chat with me.

(on hearing upon the phenomenon a few months ago)

Mrs. Cho: Aren't you considered the most white washed in your family?

Moi: Oh, the irony isn't lost on me at all.

Does a Buddy Good

Lenny and I had originally planned a grub crawl to the South End tonight.  Then we considered the walking and price tag that would accomplish such a feat and ended up getting $3 sandwiches in Chinatown (a 50 cent hike- outrageous!). 

For weeks now, moms from everywhere have been telling us to stay away from White Rabbit candies, bubble tea, and anything else that might remotely contain milk in Chinatown.  But I hadn't had good, lukewarm bubble tea with soft, chewy pearls for awhile, so our discussion went something like this:

Moi: How do you feel about melamine in your drink?  They say it might be in bubble tea.

Lenny: But it's so good.

Moi: That's what I figured, too.

So we had some bubble tea that, incidentally, cost as much as the sandwiches. By the by, y'alls all know that Lenny is a girl, right?  She doesn't like it when people think she's a boy.  Or that her name is Lenny.  But  sometimes I forget to introduce her by her real name.  Do you know how many years you must dedicate to calling someone by a nickname you made up that you would forget their real name?  A lot of years.  We've changed a lot in those years, drifted apart in college, become better (me) and worse (her) people.  But all in all, I think Lenny is the one friend that I can be my weirdest, nerdiest, and most gluttonous with, all at the same time, and not feel self-conscious.  I can make snide comments about Lauren Conrad, mime a scene from church camp, and quote lines from Twelfth Night without explanation, and because her brain stores everything but cardinal directions, she'll pick up the references and laugh-- because we were great friends back then in junior high, when we were at our weirdest, nerdiest, and most gluttonous.

Reason #8 Why I Should Not Go to Med School

Moi: … and CAD or whatever that is.

Sister Claire: CAD-- cardiovascular disease.

Moi: No, cardiovascular artery disease?

Sister Claire: Right, artery, that's it.

Moi: Wait, it says here it's coronary artery disease.


(later, discussing the talk "55-Year Old Man with Weakness")

Sister Claire: I'm guessing it's RA (rheumatoid arthritis).

Moi: Really?  I would've gone with lupus (if it's good enough for House…).

Sister Claire: Or maybe he's always been weak and just didn't notice until now.

The world should thank us for not being doctors.

No Greater than the Master

Yet the world does not reward those who are not doctors. 

(Trying to show Doc Query how to convert a file to PDF)

Moi: You don't have Adobe on your computer?

Doc Query: No.  Why doesn't my computer have anything?  Do you make more money than me?

Moi: Yes.  I have more facebook friends, too.  Do you have EndNote Twelve?

Doc Query: Twelve!?  What happened to Eleven?  What do I need Twelve for?

Moi: All the cool kids have it.

Doc Query: Yeah, but I have you [to do that stuff].

Touche, Query, touche.

Frozen Chosen

Gather ye time pieces while ye may,
my hands are a knocking,
this same watch that ticks today,
tomorrow won't be tocking.

Earlier last week I reported that my faithful watch of twelve years had suffered a dead battery and that my world was coming to shreds. Save for the occasional battery replacement, I have woken up to its alarm every day for twelve year. The only relationships that can top the watch in terms of length and consistency are God, parents, brother, and security pillow. This morning, I finally took it to "shop," but was told that no battery could salvage its weary soul. It was hopeless before it even got there, and was pronounced dead on arrival.

Because I have literally been walking around all weekend without any sense of time and date, this afternoon, Mother gave me her watch for the time being. I was in the garage, about to get into my dad's car and head back into Boston. "The light has stopped working," she said off-handedly, "so it might need a battery change soon." "Well, I only need it for a few weeks." Ah, famous last words.

Two minutes later, before Father's car was even out of the driveway, the watch was dead in my hands. I merely pushed a button and it started buzzing, then everything went blank. I wonder if sundials will now crumble at my finger tips.

That's Moi: 2, Father Time: 0

Autumn Chicken

I've known Mac since freshman year. We've spent hundreds of hours in lab, in class, in Thorne, and even more doing problem sets; and though we've discussed the Red Sox through despair, bewilderment, and now downright cockiness, I never expected to some day be eating dim sum with him, even if I've been craving to yum cha for months now. So when he shot me an email this week saying that Vannie wanted to go, I was a little suspicious. Sure this was a great idea, but would we eat real Chinese food? I'd been burned before, even in Chinatown, forced to order noodles and fat dumplings when I wanted fried intestines and bouncy meatballs.

To brace myself, I started out cautious and grilled Vannie and her friend on their eating habits. I had to know what I was getting into. But lunch today was like a little Yom Kippur bonus from God, as if he said, "Now that your sins have been atoned, take the long weekend off, and here, hang out with these folks for a few hours." They had all the right answers. None of us spoke Cantonese but we could order all that we wanted in Cantonese. We were agressive flaggers of waitresses. Knowledgeable of Asian cuisine. And every food we liked was fair game- ha gao, siu mai, pai gwut... even turnip cakes? Yes. ... even... chicken feet?

Uh oh. Mac said that he wouldn't. Vannie was nonjudgmental but noncommittal. But her friend Lena? "I love chicken feet!" "Oh, thank God." "I think I found my soul mate."

And so it was. Though I'm sure I was invited to lunch just so Mac would have someone to talk baseball with while Vannie caught up with Lena, we had an awesome morning of eating and talking about eating. Satisfying our stomachs and nostalgia while the sun beamed outside, then afterwards, going to Footlocker where we ran our covetous little hands through rows of Chucks and Air Jordans we can't afford (while reminiscing the days when we all had funky sneakers paid by parental dollars)-- doing all that made me think that maybe I don't need to run for the West coast just yet. My friends here are all right.

Just a Jump to the Left

Boys and Girls, turn on your TiVos and DVRs (or VCR if you've got them) and tune into the Discovery Channels "Time Warp," which starts next week. And when you see an episode later down the line in which a guy gets shot with blanks or another has a chair break over his back or people fall or something, remember that I made it all possible by giving two guys a couch to crash on for a night (they're friends of my brothers, and one found a bed with someone to sleep on, but that wasn't part of the original plan...). Granted, all I could offer was 1 sleeping bag, 2 thin blankets, a pink Hello Kitty pillow (not mine!), and a section of the couch each, but I'd still like it to be noted that that was my gesture of the kindness for the week. Tomorrow, I can go back to kicking pigeons in the face.

Electric Slide

High fives and using the word 'baby' a lot.  Sometimes doing the two at the same time.  Docs Nice and Query often dance around that fine dot between inappropriate, nerdy, awkward, and a little bit cool albeit showing their age.  And they do the dance as well as, well, two middle aged Jewish doctors who work in research...

Miscellany Thursday

Cows make me smile.  As do homemade meals from Mom, even if it's not my mom.  Landlady Chang's mom visited today and the food was delish.  I always feel like I'm very not myself when I talk to people's parents, especially when our conversations go really well.  But parents always have such good food, so it seems like a worthwhile trade off.  As for my own mother, she called me at work today to tell me about the produce sales at the Vietnamese grocer.  Thanks, Mom!

I love craisins, but hate that little bit that always gets stuck on the roof of my mouth. 

Yesterday, Young Bo' asked me where the city of Gary was and without hesitation, I answered Indiana.  I have no idea why I know this.  It sounds like a well known place.  If anyone could tell me why I would or should know Gary, Indiana, I'd be much obliged.  I don't like it when these tidbits work their way into my mind.  They're the reason why I can't remember which lids go with which tupperware containers, no matter how often my mom explains the Ziploc mneomonic to me.

One Man's Trash

I get that dumpster diving is a ludicrous and even disgusting idea to most of you. It's unnecessary, unsanitary, and just not a good idea. I agree with all of that. But the free food at the independent bookstore always tastes so nice...

I watched a movie called "Made in LA" tonight. It bore surprisingly little resemblance to J.Lo's great "Maid in Manhanttan." Instead, it was about the fight of sweatshop workers in America against Forever 21. The themes and stories--poverty, oppression, immigration-- are nothing new. But perhaps that's what made it so powerful to me, knowing that countless hundreds of thousands and millions of workers are struggling every day. During the screening, I was conflicted between wanting to make everyone I know watch this movie and not wanting to see one more minute of it for fear that I would lose my eyes to bawling too much. And even now, I know that blogging about it will only cause people to roll your eyes or at best, to be mildly curious. It's weird what gets to one person and what gets to another. But weird is easy. What's hard is knowing what to do now that I know better. Damn you conscience and responsibility, why must you make the world such a difficult place to live in?

Victory/Victorynot

Today was a crazy day at work, a day of extreme highs and lows and now, with the work day over, I'm not sure how it all averages out. Just like I'm not sure all my aches and time were really worth it for this beautiful view. (Eh, it probably was)

On the one hand, free lunch today. On the other, free lunch was awful. On my third hand, free lunch was awful but Chief's leftovers from a previous meeting were not and would make a great free lunch tomorrow. There was updating Doc Query on our review and learning that I may be able to participate in a semi-meaningful way. Then the realization that before that happens, I need to set up an invoice account of pain and death. There was killing a bug with a blink. Bland coffee. Massive confusion. Not moving ahead on my projects. And staying late to help Young Bo' with a time-sensitive task-- one that involved the switching of many computers, renaming of files, and that wretched pond scum that is EndNote. I am never naming a child EndNote. But there was also the thrill of finally understanding a research conference. Successful sucking up. And oh, Doc Brown's magical talk to the RAs. It was on the recent history of the pharmaceutical industry and he talked about negotiation of power and social and historical contexts, and oh, it may have caused Young Bo' and I to gush over it afterwards, with such enthusiastic utterances as, "It made me feel like I was in class again!" and "that was the type of stuff I loved about school!" You can take the nerd out of school, but you can't take the... (that phrase worked a lot better in my head)

Barn Animals

This past weekend was the Sheldon's third annual barn party in Vermont. And, as has become tradition, a group of us from the Bo' trekked up from Boston for the affair. Vermont feels like a different country. For one thing, they have barn parties there. For another, Vermont Me participates in all these out-of-character activities, like going hiking for four hours, playing volleyball, and well- that pretty much covers it all.

There are more stories to come, but Massachusetts Me is tired because of all the stupid stunts Vermont Me thought I could pull off, like not sleeping enough and participating in aerobic activities, so I must be off to bed now. Enjoy the self explanatory pictures for now.

Will Not Tell

As I have already mentioned, after too many years of faithful service without a new battery, my watch has completely died on me.  Which wouldn't be so bad if my cellphone battery had not also decided to join the watch in jewelry after life.  I have lost all senses of time and space.  I don't know what day it is or when to wake up.  Pray over me, everyone.  I may not make it back to work again the rest of the week. 

Talk of the Nation

A few weeks ago, it was recommended by Whitecastle that the research assistants (RAs from now on; my fingers have better things to do) attend a talk he's giving today. And because we are not entirely stupid, we picked up the hint and went to his talk today. Although our trek there proved that we're also not entirely smart.

For starters, Young Bo' walked into not one but two doors. One of which was not even glass. Then there was finding the place. Our hospital is made up of many campuses and buildings, some connected, some not, and employs tens of thousands of people, yet somehow we figured that knowing the conference room was on "L1" was good enough and tried to make our way. It went mostly well and after some direction seeking, we finally found an elevator that looked like it was going to lead us to L1. That was when Aussie, who is not an RA, but an impressive and nice guy in our division, grew a little weary of our ignorance and decided to leave us. One second we were all talking and waiting for the elevator and the next second, he had disappeared through the door that led to the stairs. Without saying a word to any of us. After a minute of hesitation and "what just happened? where did he go?" "should we or shouldn't we?," the four of us charged down the stairs after him. After opening a few shady doors in dark stairwells, we finally made it to the room. Only to find that Aussie was nowhere to be found. He walked into the talk much later than we did. We have no idea what happened to him in those nine minutes of time...

But we had bigger things to ponder over. Like finding ourselves in a room with lots of stern Asian men in dark suits. Men who were very trigger happy with their digital cameras but looked very humorless otherwise. We thought we were out of place last time when everyone else was in scrubs and lab coats, but the suits thing was definitely weirder. Apparently, Whitecastle's talk on his study specific to the American healthcare system coincided with a visit from some important Chinese cardiologists. Judging by the number of pictures they took during the talk, either they are going to completely plagiarize the presentation, or Whitecastle is going to be very big in China.