I heard a sweet little story tonight from my mom about how an old lady at her church became a Christian. People who aren't cool with Jesus, you don't have to read this story, but I don't really see why not. I'm not proselytizing, I just think it's a neat story.
Most old Chinese Christians at our church are recent converts who started coming to church because of their grown sons and daughters, who became Christians when they came abroad for graduate school. Communist China isn't the most conducive place to adopt a religion. This old lady, however, has been a Christian for decades, which I find fascinating. How did she hear about Christianity? How did she live through all these years?
When she was younger, she was a member of the communist party. Now, people, I don't know how well you understand these things, so I'm sorry if you already know this, but not everyone in China is a party member. In fact, not everyone can become a member. You have to be really hardcore and accomplished. People from problematic class backgrounds, for example, could not join the party. This lady joined the Communist Party at a young age, right when the People's Republic was developing and the Communist Party was beginning its work of shaping China. She really believed in the Party and was proud of her membership.
At the same time, there was a Christian man in her work unit and she noticed that he was a good man. He never took advantage of people and always worked very hard. This man, she thought, was so good that he deserved to be a communist. So she tried to get him to join the party and spent a lot of time trying to get to know him. And the more she learned about him, the more impressed she became. He was even better than a communist, she thought, because even they slacked off once in awhile and used their positions for their own good. But he never did. In fact, she thought the man was so good and upstanding that she stopped trying to convert him. He didn't need the party to keep him in line, she thought, he already had something. So instead, she tried to be like him. And that's how she converted. Later, they got married. Then the Communists started cracking down and started their different movements. And they both took a lot of crap for being Christians, especially during the Cultural Revolution. But they were also lucky because people trusted their goodness and they lived through the ordeals and persecutions. How strange and awesome a story is that?
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
I Know You Are, But What Am I?
White people: If one more person tells me about stuffwhitepeoplelike.com, heads are going to roll. And those heads aren't going to look like mine.
On a perhaps unrelated note: Does anyone know why I'm getting American Baby sent to me? I don't want to know what a fertility diet is.
On a perhaps unrelated note: Does anyone know why I'm getting American Baby sent to me? I don't want to know what a fertility diet is.
Cryin's Not For Me
I just keep learning about umbrellas. The New England spring brought forth sleet today
and on our walk to lunch, I noticed that both Zvi and I were both reluctantly umbrella-less. And that was when he shared his umbrella story.
Zvi: I had an umbrella this morning but it wouldn't open.
Moi: What do you mean? Don't you just... open it?
Zvi: I know! It's an expensive one, too. But it won't open. I even used a screw driver.
Moi: Can't you just push the clicky thing on the rod then and pull it open?
Zvi: There's nothing there. It's just one button.
Moi: That is fancy.
Zvi: I told you, it's an upscale umbrella. It cost me $13.
and on our walk to lunch, I noticed that both Zvi and I were both reluctantly umbrella-less. And that was when he shared his umbrella story.
Zvi: I had an umbrella this morning but it wouldn't open.
Moi: What do you mean? Don't you just... open it?
Zvi: I know! It's an expensive one, too. But it won't open. I even used a screw driver.
Moi: Can't you just push the clicky thing on the rod then and pull it open?
Zvi: There's nothing there. It's just one button.
Moi: That is fancy.
Zvi: I told you, it's an upscale umbrella. It cost me $13.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Darling Idiots
Yet another round of "Dear Applicant" letters...
Dear Dressy:
"Front of the House Specialist?" I think you mean hostess. That's the word, hostess. And what the hell is a Graduation Leader? Do you mean a class marshal? Why do you avoid calling things as they are, Applicant? And when you say you were "responsible for measuring and installing cable as well as being capable of going into ceilings, basements, closets, and underground areas." I just don't know what to make of it. Does that just mean you're bendy? Jen doesn't want to make fun of you. She thinks it shows courage. I think that sounds almost as absurd as you.
Dear Ambitious:
"My ideal position would be one that allows for continual learning while fusing business, drug development, and people." I don't know if you can do that. That's a lot of fusing.
Dear Upper Middle Class White Boy:
Yes, you "have had the opportunity to interact and connect with people from various ethnic, cultural, and financial backgrounds." You have also made me gag.
Finally, a list of things that are not activities:
Psychology. Reading the newspaper. And "Hispanic culture enthusiast." I don't even know what that last one is, but it sounds vaguely fetishist.
Dear Dressy:
"Front of the House Specialist?" I think you mean hostess. That's the word, hostess. And what the hell is a Graduation Leader? Do you mean a class marshal? Why do you avoid calling things as they are, Applicant? And when you say you were "responsible for measuring and installing cable as well as being capable of going into ceilings, basements, closets, and underground areas." I just don't know what to make of it. Does that just mean you're bendy? Jen doesn't want to make fun of you. She thinks it shows courage. I think that sounds almost as absurd as you.
Dear Ambitious:
"My ideal position would be one that allows for continual learning while fusing business, drug development, and people." I don't know if you can do that. That's a lot of fusing.
Dear Upper Middle Class White Boy:
Yes, you "have had the opportunity to interact and connect with people from various ethnic, cultural, and financial backgrounds." You have also made me gag.
Finally, a list of things that are not activities:
Psychology. Reading the newspaper. And "Hispanic culture enthusiast." I don't even know what that last one is, but it sounds vaguely fetishist.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Tax R Us Kid
Had a dream last night that my taxes were done. I considered it a pretty nice dream until I wondered, is this what adult life holds? Dreams about taxes? But of course not, silly child. Grown ups don't dream.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Fuzzy White Lies
It's been awhile, blog. Almost two whole days. I don't remember what's been happening, but I had such a great time with the youth group Sunday school yesterday, I thought I'd share with you.
We played Easter bunny balderdash yesterday and I had the kids write explanations of where the Easter egg came from, here's the cream of the crop:
A slightly happier version:
And, my personal favorite:
We played Easter bunny balderdash yesterday and I had the kids write explanations of where the Easter egg came from, here's the cream of the crop:
There was a man on death row called Max Hurley. He was sentenced to death by gassing but as he was being gassed, a bunny was walking by the gassing machine and was sucked in. The bunny evaporated into gas and fused into Max Huxley to form Bunny Man. The bunny went from house to house on a bloodthirsty rampage until one day, God said to him, "Use your powers for good." Bunny Man saw his errors so he decided that he would help little children by hiding eggs... from that day forward, he was known as The Easter Bunny.
A slightly happier version:
... When Jesus was just a little boy, he loved eggs. He loved eating eggs, looking at eggs, and even talking to eggs. Sometimes he would actually preach to the eggs so they would go to heaven with him....
And, my personal favorite:
The Easter egg is actually a dragon, but implanted in a platypus, a surrogate mother to avoid suspicion. Each year, children eat these eggs. That's why dragons don't exist.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Lordy, Lordy Amherst
Lately, I don't quite have to wait one month for un-PC remarks from my co-workers. They've been coming at the rate of at least one a week.
(Talking about smallpox...)
Co-worker: Then why did they give the blankets to the Indians?
Moi: Erm, they weren't Indians.
Co-worker: Whatever. I'm just so used to using that term.
As we all know, boys and girls, it's OK to use improper terms if you're used to them.
(Talking about smallpox...)
Co-worker: Then why did they give the blankets to the Indians?
Moi: Erm, they weren't Indians.
Co-worker: Whatever. I'm just so used to using that term.
As we all know, boys and girls, it's OK to use improper terms if you're used to them.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
El Duque
Some guy named 'duke' commented regarding Tommy Severo. Apparently, he went to WA, too. Good for you, duke? Thanks for that extra tidbit? I also went to high school with him (and thought I made that clear) and also think he acts the same?
Moving on, some more Dear Applicant letters...
Dear Whiz Applicant,
I was impressed by your "familiarity with fax and copy machines." However, you failed to say anything about the microwave-- is that within your capabilities?
Dear Monolingual Applicant,
For the last time, neither Advance French nor Fluent Russian are languages. And telling me that you have experience communicating (in English) with people who don't speak English does not impress me. It just makes me angry.
Dear Applicant Who Worked For a PBS Cooking Show and Had a Short Rib Recipe Published in a Magazine and Likes Board Games and Knows Her Wine,
I can't give you a job but can you be my best friend? Please?
Sincerely,
Your Rocking Recruiter
Moving on, some more Dear Applicant letters...
Dear Whiz Applicant,
I was impressed by your "familiarity with fax and copy machines." However, you failed to say anything about the microwave-- is that within your capabilities?
Dear Monolingual Applicant,
For the last time, neither Advance French nor Fluent Russian are languages. And telling me that you have experience communicating (in English) with people who don't speak English does not impress me. It just makes me angry.
Dear Applicant Who Worked For a PBS Cooking Show and Had a Short Rib Recipe Published in a Magazine and Likes Board Games and Knows Her Wine,
I can't give you a job but can you be my best friend? Please?
Sincerely,
Your Rocking Recruiter
Monday, March 17, 2008
Numbers Game
From the Annals of Applicants Who Cannot Write...
"I have been thoroughly educated with a diverse number of studies..."
I love diverse numbers. Like 63 and 8 and 17. So much hotter than regular numbers.
"I have been thoroughly educated with a diverse number of studies..."
I love diverse numbers. Like 63 and 8 and 17. So much hotter than regular numbers.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Crunchy Without the Bite
Got an email a couple of nights ago, from (Former) Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) inviting me to a party at an independent bookstore with promises of "leftist party games" and "great dumpster dive food from Trader Joe's!" No one I talked to had ever heard of the place. In fact, the only one that knew anything was a friend of Amy's. And she had only met the person who invited her once the week before. Shady? Just a bit.
Yet, though the whole setup sounded deliciously sketch, like a potential hilarity goldmine, in actuality, the party was incredibly tame. Almost disappointingly so. The bookstore was well-lit. The food (mostly fruit, crackers, and cheese... these are upscale dumpster divers) did not smell of trash. And the leftist party games? Equally as lame as usual party games. Instead of "psychiatrist," they played "activist," in which the It had to guess what social issue he/she was advocating. The anarchists were all very sweet and earnest about how right they were and how evil capitalism was it was almost of cute. I sure won't be bff'ing any of them anytime soon or attending any more parties, but I had a nice time. Those folks last night reminded me of Eddie Bert and some of the kids I met there. They had that same innocent earnest and unwillingness to fit in.
(discussing the party beforehand)
Moi: I don't know what to bring for this potluck. I don't have any vegan food. I just have non-organic things I bought by participating in this capitalistic economy.
Amy: Well, the Band Man is a radical activist and he's not sketchy. He eats meat. Maybe they'll be like that.
Moi: Maybe he'll be at the party!
(He wasn't. Though we rated everything on a Band Man scale last night- are these kids nerdier than the Band Man? More awkward? More militant? Have the ladies that worked with the Mexico Solidarity Network heard of our great radical leader? ...He really should have shown up at the party.)
(discussing the party afterward)
Amy: See, they weren't so bad. Nobody was pretentious or obnoxious. In fact, they were all sort of nerdy...
Moi: Yeah, I definitely felt like I was cooler than most of them.
Yet, though the whole setup sounded deliciously sketch, like a potential hilarity goldmine, in actuality, the party was incredibly tame. Almost disappointingly so. The bookstore was well-lit. The food (mostly fruit, crackers, and cheese... these are upscale dumpster divers) did not smell of trash. And the leftist party games? Equally as lame as usual party games. Instead of "psychiatrist," they played "activist," in which the It had to guess what social issue he/she was advocating. The anarchists were all very sweet and earnest about how right they were and how evil capitalism was it was almost of cute. I sure won't be bff'ing any of them anytime soon or attending any more parties, but I had a nice time. Those folks last night reminded me of Eddie Bert and some of the kids I met there. They had that same innocent earnest and unwillingness to fit in.
(discussing the party beforehand)
Moi: I don't know what to bring for this potluck. I don't have any vegan food. I just have non-organic things I bought by participating in this capitalistic economy.
Amy: Well, the Band Man is a radical activist and he's not sketchy. He eats meat. Maybe they'll be like that.
Moi: Maybe he'll be at the party!
(He wasn't. Though we rated everything on a Band Man scale last night- are these kids nerdier than the Band Man? More awkward? More militant? Have the ladies that worked with the Mexico Solidarity Network heard of our great radical leader? ...He really should have shown up at the party.)
(discussing the party afterward)
Amy: See, they weren't so bad. Nobody was pretentious or obnoxious. In fact, they were all sort of nerdy...
Moi: Yeah, I definitely felt like I was cooler than most of them.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Wax Politic
It's time to get political. I usually regret political entries, so this might be gone in a few days. We'll see.
Don't know how much you've been reading, but this week marked the 49th anniversary of a Tibetan uprising against China and in honor of the event, monks had been pouring into the streets in protest. Which led Chinese officials to contain them. By way of killing. Official reports say that 10 are dead. Hundreds arrested. Some put the figure higher, at 32. And every time news like this hits, I shake at my head at China. And think about my own country. Because the international treatment of Tibet and Taiwan are so drastically different.
I'm not saying we shouldn't sympathize with Tibet. I do. It sucks that China is still a country where protests lead to officially sanctioned death. It really does. But every time Taiwan tries to move toward independence, instead of international sympathy, it gets slaps on the hand. "Nevertheless," a recent NYT article on the upcoming Taiwanese elections read, "American officials continue to warn Taiwan not to provoke China." Provoke- as in try to join the UN. As in think about independence. As in mess up a good thing for the US because she doesn't want to get between Taiwan and China. It boggles my mind how the US is cool that Kosovo is now a country despite being heavily dependent on foreign aid and foreign military support and not really independent. But when Taiwan- with its own currency, demo-freaking-cratic government, constitution, military, and stable economy- tries to claim international recognition, it is immediately chastised by the country that dropped it as an ally to make ties with communist China.
The issues surrounding Kosovo, Tibet, and Taiwan are all unique. And Taiwanese independence is a thorny issue that not everyone in Taiwan agrees with. And that's all OK. What's not OK is the hypocrisy to which Taiwan seems to be subject to from the international community. It's a small, stable, democratic country with an open, liberal economy. And yet whenever it tries to promote itself, it is scolded by the US who instead favors China- a country where even in 2008, monks are being shot to death for protesting oppression.
Don't know how much you've been reading, but this week marked the 49th anniversary of a Tibetan uprising against China and in honor of the event, monks had been pouring into the streets in protest. Which led Chinese officials to contain them. By way of killing. Official reports say that 10 are dead. Hundreds arrested. Some put the figure higher, at 32. And every time news like this hits, I shake at my head at China. And think about my own country. Because the international treatment of Tibet and Taiwan are so drastically different.
I'm not saying we shouldn't sympathize with Tibet. I do. It sucks that China is still a country where protests lead to officially sanctioned death. It really does. But every time Taiwan tries to move toward independence, instead of international sympathy, it gets slaps on the hand. "Nevertheless," a recent NYT article on the upcoming Taiwanese elections read, "American officials continue to warn Taiwan not to provoke China." Provoke- as in try to join the UN. As in think about independence. As in mess up a good thing for the US because she doesn't want to get between Taiwan and China. It boggles my mind how the US is cool that Kosovo is now a country despite being heavily dependent on foreign aid and foreign military support and not really independent. But when Taiwan- with its own currency, demo-freaking-cratic government, constitution, military, and stable economy- tries to claim international recognition, it is immediately chastised by the country that dropped it as an ally to make ties with communist China.
The issues surrounding Kosovo, Tibet, and Taiwan are all unique. And Taiwanese independence is a thorny issue that not everyone in Taiwan agrees with. And that's all OK. What's not OK is the hypocrisy to which Taiwan seems to be subject to from the international community. It's a small, stable, democratic country with an open, liberal economy. And yet whenever it tries to promote itself, it is scolded by the US who instead favors China- a country where even in 2008, monks are being shot to death for protesting oppression.
Friday, March 14, 2008
The Chosen
I never noticed that Facebook ads were targeted until recently. I used to think they were just stupid, randomly selling t-shirts and rings and such. And then I started playing scrabulous with Zvi. And Jewish dating sites kept popping up. It's weird that not all the Hebrews I've played had such precise targeting. I guess Zvi is just extra-chosen.
Somebody get Gak, quick- I think his idol has been leaving comments on my blog.
Somebody get Susie, quick- I think her VISTA (there's a * somewhere, I always forget where) is delusional and believes himself to be Brian Williams.
Another month, another ignorant co-worker story, this one more egregious than all the others. I'd like to get through just one month during which someone in the division does not make a well-meaning but ultimately offensively ignorant comment about race, class, and/or ethnicity. But Santa probably isn't listening. It's far from Christmas. Plus, Santa only answers the wishes of good Christian children. And I can't possibly be one- just look at me. If I see you, I'll probably tell you the story.
Somebody get Gak, quick- I think his idol has been leaving comments on my blog.
Somebody get Susie, quick- I think her VISTA (there's a * somewhere, I always forget where) is delusional and believes himself to be Brian Williams.
Another month, another ignorant co-worker story, this one more egregious than all the others. I'd like to get through just one month during which someone in the division does not make a well-meaning but ultimately offensively ignorant comment about race, class, and/or ethnicity. But Santa probably isn't listening. It's far from Christmas. Plus, Santa only answers the wishes of good Christian children. And I can't possibly be one- just look at me. If I see you, I'll probably tell you the story.
Can of Worms
My life is now ridiculous to a point that I go to bed after my parents, which wouldn't sting so bad if I didn't live with them. But I do. And it all feels like middle school again, when they got to stay up to watch the shows and I had to go to bed early for school, right down to the part where my family has no respect for the sanctity of sleep and I'm awakened every five minutes once I go to bed. All night long, I serve as the good daughter and talk with them and nothing ever comes up. But once I bid everyone goodnight and get into bed...
(Last night, 1 hour into sleep)
Mother: (this time she even knocked) There's a letter for you from the IRS.
Moi: I know. Can I go back to bed?
Mother: You didn't open it. It says it's very urgent.
Moi: I think it can wait until tomorrow. I was sleeping.
Mother: It's about the economic stimulus plan. Do you want me to open it?
(Last night, 1 hour into sleep)
Mother: (this time she even knocked) There's a letter for you from the IRS.
Moi: I know. Can I go back to bed?
Mother: You didn't open it. It says it's very urgent.
Moi: I think it can wait until tomorrow. I was sleeping.
Mother: It's about the economic stimulus plan. Do you want me to open it?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Je ne said quoi
Dear Applicant:
Advanced French is not a language.
Sincerely,
Advanced Intellect
---
Tonight at dinner, Father used American Idol in an analogy. I was talked about the unimpressive applications we were getting, and he said, "It's just like on American Idol last night, you can't just be good, because everyone is good. You have to be different to impress." Eat, drink, and be merry, folks. Father is citing American Idol. The world is coming to an end.
Advanced French is not a language.
Sincerely,
Advanced Intellect
---
Tonight at dinner, Father used American Idol in an analogy. I was talked about the unimpressive applications we were getting, and he said, "It's just like on American Idol last night, you can't just be good, because everyone is good. You have to be different to impress." Eat, drink, and be merry, folks. Father is citing American Idol. The world is coming to an end.
Trust the Man
This morning, the water in the rest room sinks was suddenly very cold.
Sister Claire Francis: They think that just because the calendar says it's spring, they think they can turn off the heat.
Moi: That's crazy because this is New England. The calendar can be very deceptive.
Sister Claire Francis: That's why I don't trust calendars. I still think it's February.
... and that's why Claire's my favorite programmer ever.
---
Today Whitecastle received his MacBook Air. It truly is a sexy beast- which is why he pulled it out to show pretty much anyone that passed by. He grinned proudly when I exclaimed that it was "sick." I love working in an academic research office- no matter how lame I am, I'm always the coolest kid in the division. They think I talk "hip." They make me sad.
Whitecastle told me that if I work hard and stay in school, I too, can get fancy computers when I grow up. (Something to do with doing research and getting grants... I didn't pay attention to the details.) He was also kind enough to say, "I'll let you play with it later," but we all know that that's not going to happen. Especially after this encounter:
Edith: Even the box is pretty. Look at how nice the box is-
Whitecastle: You can't have it.
(Obviously never won any kingdom points in Sunday School)
Sister Claire Francis: They think that just because the calendar says it's spring, they think they can turn off the heat.
Moi: That's crazy because this is New England. The calendar can be very deceptive.
Sister Claire Francis: That's why I don't trust calendars. I still think it's February.
... and that's why Claire's my favorite programmer ever.
---
Today Whitecastle received his MacBook Air. It truly is a sexy beast- which is why he pulled it out to show pretty much anyone that passed by. He grinned proudly when I exclaimed that it was "sick." I love working in an academic research office- no matter how lame I am, I'm always the coolest kid in the division. They think I talk "hip." They make me sad.
Whitecastle told me that if I work hard and stay in school, I too, can get fancy computers when I grow up. (Something to do with doing research and getting grants... I didn't pay attention to the details.) He was also kind enough to say, "I'll let you play with it later," but we all know that that's not going to happen. Especially after this encounter:
Edith: Even the box is pretty. Look at how nice the box is-
Whitecastle: You can't have it.
(Obviously never won any kingdom points in Sunday School)
Bonjour
To everyone I spoke to about Beauty and the Geek last night:
I was right! I was on the train while the episode air but according to Vannie, the Beauties were immediately suspicious of Tom Severo's lack of social awkwardness and he almost got eliminated. That's probably because, sweater vests aside, I can think of many more geeks than Tom. (I think he was on student council? Geeks do not run track and join student council in high school. Then again, geeks also do not ski and get elected as class president... so maybe WA was some sort of bizarro school where geek dreams come true). Props to him then for playing with the show. I hope he does well. If all the challenges are about pop culture, social situations, and physical tests as they used to be, then I don't see any reason why he wouldn't do well. Unless there are other faux-geeks in the midst, of course.
I was right! I was on the train while the episode air but according to Vannie, the Beauties were immediately suspicious of Tom Severo's lack of social awkwardness and he almost got eliminated. That's probably because, sweater vests aside, I can think of many more geeks than Tom. (I think he was on student council? Geeks do not run track and join student council in high school. Then again, geeks also do not ski and get elected as class president... so maybe WA was some sort of bizarro school where geek dreams come true). Props to him then for playing with the show. I hope he does well. If all the challenges are about pop culture, social situations, and physical tests as they used to be, then I don't see any reason why he wouldn't do well. Unless there are other faux-geeks in the midst, of course.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Shakers and Movers
Dear Whole Wheat Bagels:
Stop moving my bowels. They're fine as they are.
Cheers,
More than Regular
(Are toilet anecdotes one of those things I have to give up for growing up? Should I be concerned that employers could see this?)
BTW, supposed to give a shout out to the beautiful Priscilla. Hi, Priscilla.
Stop moving my bowels. They're fine as they are.
Cheers,
More than Regular
(Are toilet anecdotes one of those things I have to give up for growing up? Should I be concerned that employers could see this?)
BTW, supposed to give a shout out to the beautiful Priscilla. Hi, Priscilla.
Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies
Master Dustin finally showed his face tonight. And it was good to see him. Almost as good as seeing the sun at 6PM. Almost as good as seeing curry fries. Though the Irish waitress at Emmet's was not impressed by my order for chips, instead she asked, "you mean, fries?"
At Emmet's, I also bumped into a high school friend who informed me that fellow alum Tommy Severo (maybe I'll get some google hits) is now on the CW's Beauty and the Geek. Naturally, with an hour to kill before the train, I went over to Mac's to watch the show. Mac, being a real living geek, was watching Jeopardy when I arrived... one of the clues involved Michael Crichton.
Moi: Oh, I read The Sphere when I was in middle school. I was going through my nerd phase.
(Much laughter from Vannie and Mac)
Mac: What phase? You're still going through it.
Vannie: And there's no exit sign in sight.
(To the two of them I say, Pot, Kettle, examine thy selves.)
At Emmet's, I also bumped into a high school friend who informed me that fellow alum Tommy Severo (maybe I'll get some google hits) is now on the CW's Beauty and the Geek. Naturally, with an hour to kill before the train, I went over to Mac's to watch the show. Mac, being a real living geek, was watching Jeopardy when I arrived... one of the clues involved Michael Crichton.
Moi: Oh, I read The Sphere when I was in middle school. I was going through my nerd phase.
(Much laughter from Vannie and Mac)
Mac: What phase? You're still going through it.
Vannie: And there's no exit sign in sight.
(To the two of them I say, Pot, Kettle, examine thy selves.)
Monday, March 10, 2008
Bumbershoot
I lost an umbrella on the train yesterday (shh... don't tell my mom, I'm hoping she never finds out) so today, I went to the lost and found in search of it.
Moi: I lost a black umbrella.
Lost and Found Man: What did it look like?
Moi: It's um, black... it's a black umbrella.
Lost and Found Man: Ma'am, I get lots of umbrellas (complete lie, he later pulls out exactly 1 umbrella that fit my description). Can you tell me anything else?
Moi: It might have a brown handle. It's compact- a very normal looking umbrella?
Nosy Lady: You don't know the name of it?
Moi: No.
"The name of it?" Umbrellas have names? Aren't they all the same? (When I asked the lady that, she just stared at me, then shook her head in disgust.) Am I really the idiot they're making me out to be? Because no one ever told me about umbrella classification. But if I were to name mine, I'd call it Dexter.
Moi: I lost a black umbrella.
Lost and Found Man: What did it look like?
Moi: It's um, black... it's a black umbrella.
Lost and Found Man: Ma'am, I get lots of umbrellas (complete lie, he later pulls out exactly 1 umbrella that fit my description). Can you tell me anything else?
Moi: It might have a brown handle. It's compact- a very normal looking umbrella?
Nosy Lady: You don't know the name of it?
Moi: No.
"The name of it?" Umbrellas have names? Aren't they all the same? (When I asked the lady that, she just stared at me, then shook her head in disgust.) Am I really the idiot they're making me out to be? Because no one ever told me about umbrella classification. But if I were to name mine, I'd call it Dexter.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
On the Dot
Dusty came to town this weekend. Dwight and I had long been ready because Dusty told us to get ready a good month ahead of his arrival. There was a flurry of emails and calls ahead of his arrival. Then he arrived. And I saw him for fifteen seconds on Friday (hi, Dusty).
And then Dusty shunned us for his "interviews" and "BSU friends," forcing Dwight and I to hang out by ourselves. Which is always awkward. So we invited ourselves over Katie and Jackie's. They made things less awkward. They even cooked for us. And let me sleep over. (Dwight likes to hang around the BP house despite no longer being employed by BP- he likes receiving the glory and attention without any of the work) It was a mighty fine night with mighty fine chicken piccata. And some Jordanian jokes that were mighty difficult to follow. Followed by a leisurely Sunday morning with church, Midwesterners (sturdy folks), and a long, BP-gossip-and-carb-filled lunch. Really can't ask for anything more. Except Dusty, I guess.
I have more stories to tell you. But I keep putting them off in favor of things like going out and sleeping. My 4-month-old bruise has started hurting again tonight. I hope I don't lose a leg.
And then Dusty shunned us for his "interviews" and "BSU friends," forcing Dwight and I to hang out by ourselves. Which is always awkward. So we invited ourselves over Katie and Jackie's. They made things less awkward. They even cooked for us. And let me sleep over. (Dwight likes to hang around the BP house despite no longer being employed by BP- he likes receiving the glory and attention without any of the work) It was a mighty fine night with mighty fine chicken piccata. And some Jordanian jokes that were mighty difficult to follow. Followed by a leisurely Sunday morning with church, Midwesterners (sturdy folks), and a long, BP-gossip-and-carb-filled lunch. Really can't ask for anything more. Except Dusty, I guess.
I have more stories to tell you. But I keep putting them off in favor of things like going out and sleeping. My 4-month-old bruise has started hurting again tonight. I hope I don't lose a leg.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Thursday, March 06, 2008
The Streets Are About Love
So many things to talk about. So many people to catch up with. So much going on at work. But I just got home from seeing Step Up II and I don't want to do anything now except watch people dance crazy all day long. Some of the most atrocious acting I have seen (and I have seen a lot, including other bad dance movies) but whatever, the dancing was nasty.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Gak Would Smack You
Attention All Applicants:
The smart ones of you who worked in labs and earned prestigious internships at every opportunity should take a cue from the lazy ones and learn how to write a proper cover letter. The lazy ones of you who wrote convincing letters should have spent your summers doing research instead of waiting tables by the seaside. If you two could just learn from each other and either learn to write a letter or smarten up and get some credentials, that'd just rock my world. Thanks.
Sincerely Unimpressed.
Attention One Particular Applicant:
Dear Big Red Dumbass-
(I don't use the term lightly, you know how I feel about swears and pseudo-swears)
If you are going to congratulate yourself on your "meticulous editorial skills" and "superior writing" and act like the pompous Ivy Leaguer that you are, it might help if you didn't have three misspelled words in your résumés. It'd also help if you didn't use words out of context. Go read a dictionary, English Major. No wonder you had to be an editor of a magazine you made up. I wouldn't have let you edit anything either. You should thank me for being merciful and not letting Gak see your stuff. Gak does not make enough money to cover your hospital fees.
Sincerely Insulted
(So I'm printing a few résumés I've received, and Claire the Programmer AKA Sister Claire Francis, AKA Claire the Awesome, spots the materials)
Claire: Are you looking for jobs under a different name? That is so weird.
The smart ones of you who worked in labs and earned prestigious internships at every opportunity should take a cue from the lazy ones and learn how to write a proper cover letter. The lazy ones of you who wrote convincing letters should have spent your summers doing research instead of waiting tables by the seaside. If you two could just learn from each other and either learn to write a letter or smarten up and get some credentials, that'd just rock my world. Thanks.
Sincerely Unimpressed.
Attention One Particular Applicant:
Dear Big Red Dumbass-
(I don't use the term lightly, you know how I feel about swears and pseudo-swears)
If you are going to congratulate yourself on your "meticulous editorial skills" and "superior writing" and act like the pompous Ivy Leaguer that you are, it might help if you didn't have three misspelled words in your résumés. It'd also help if you didn't use words out of context. Go read a dictionary, English Major. No wonder you had to be an editor of a magazine you made up. I wouldn't have let you edit anything either. You should thank me for being merciful and not letting Gak see your stuff. Gak does not make enough money to cover your hospital fees.
Sincerely Insulted
(So I'm printing a few résumés I've received, and Claire the Programmer AKA Sister Claire Francis, AKA Claire the Awesome, spots the materials)
Claire: Are you looking for jobs under a different name? That is so weird.
Beantown Blessing
I am the friendly face of Boston. I must be. Why else would strangers keep coming up to me tonight asking for directions and taking their tourist pictures? I'm just so darn non-threatening, knowledgeable and of course, adorable.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Bell Tolls
Lisa, Jess, and I are apparently an island onto ourselves. This morning, I received a cover letter with a sentence so badly written I found it hilarious. I believe I compared it to "manna that does not rot the next day." Jess and Lisa agreed. Everyone else in the world, however, failed to see the humor. Lisa even took a poll at work. Nobody else thought the sentence was stupid silly. Everyone else saw it as just a stupid punctuation error. I'll let you decide which camp you fall under (let me know, I may have to reconsider some friendships):
"I also, enjoy working with women and children."
I can't believe I have to interview someone who would write that. But I've been told that I am "too harsh a critic" of the applicants' writing (Gak, it will hurt your eyes to look at them). Nothing the CPC has taught me is holding true in this job search. Maybe the Bo' did turn me into a snob...
"I also, enjoy working with women and children."
I can't believe I have to interview someone who would write that. But I've been told that I am "too harsh a critic" of the applicants' writing (Gak, it will hurt your eyes to look at them). Nothing the CPC has taught me is holding true in this job search. Maybe the Bo' did turn me into a snob...
Monday, March 03, 2008
365 Days Wiser
It's now part of my job to screen applicants for a new research assistant position. Reading through scores of résumés makes me feel elitist. I don't mean to be excessively judgmental, but I really don't know how kids get so dumb. It makes me sad that I did not get this job because I was special, I just got it because I was not the dumbest one. The one extra year I have on most of them must make all the difference. They taught differently when I was in school.
Mother got back on Taiwan and kept talking about eating healthy, what with the white meat and cooking with less grease, but I should've known not to worry. She made meatballs tonight, nicely pan fried in oil.
Mother got back on Taiwan and kept talking about eating healthy, what with the white meat and cooking with less grease, but I should've known not to worry. She made meatballs tonight, nicely pan fried in oil.
Two Letters
Dear Flu Shot:
You are dead to me.
(Though it'll soon be the other way around. My immune system really sucks.)
Sincerely,
Ungrateful Barely Living
Dear Self-Assured Globe Writer:
"There are many things we do well in New England. Clams fried and chowdered, lobsters rolled and boiled, Fenway franks, roast beef sandwiches, the foods of Portugal, Vietnam, Brazil."
Clearly, you are not from Portugal, Vietnam, or Brazil.
Sincerely,
Also Not From Portugal, Vietnam, or Brazil
You are dead to me.
(Though it'll soon be the other way around. My immune system really sucks.)
Sincerely,
Ungrateful Barely Living
Dear Self-Assured Globe Writer:
"There are many things we do well in New England. Clams fried and chowdered, lobsters rolled and boiled, Fenway franks, roast beef sandwiches, the foods of Portugal, Vietnam, Brazil."
Clearly, you are not from Portugal, Vietnam, or Brazil.
Sincerely,
Also Not From Portugal, Vietnam, or Brazil
Sunday, March 02, 2008
The End is Nigh
Room is spinning. World is shattering. Constants fare ailing. And as usual, I'm feeling like a fool.
Does everyone else know that the Mason-Dixon line which demarcates North and South starts all the way up in Pennsylvania? Doesn't that seem a little high up? For years now, seriously, years- I've talked about how I've never crossed the Mason-Dixon line, how I've never been to the South, except for Florida (which doesn't count) and how I'd really like to cross it one day. And tonight I'm planning a road trip to Memphis and see that oh wait, I've already crossed that line forty bazillion times. The South is right there! You could accidentally walk over and not know it. Apparently, our nation's capital is also in the South. Who knew? I realize how ignorant I'm sounding here, but I'm willing to make myself vulnerable to educate others because I don't believe we talk about this line enough. People deserve to know that the South is not all the way down there the way you might think it ought to be, the way its name suggests. It's right up here below Pennsylfreakingvania. And crossing that line isn't exciting at all. There's no confetti. No welcoming party with pecan pie and hush puppies. No, it's pretty much the same highway scenery as the North.
(mock me how you will, but Lenny, who knew about the line, shares in my shock, and she's the smartest young person I know)
Moi: I didn't know the Mason Dixon line was so high up!
Lenny: It's mind blowing
Moi: Are you mocking me with the mind blowing? Because I'm actually surprised I'd crossed it without realizing it.
Lenny: No, I'm serious. I'm amazed that the south starts so high up.
Does everyone else know that the Mason-Dixon line which demarcates North and South starts all the way up in Pennsylvania? Doesn't that seem a little high up? For years now, seriously, years- I've talked about how I've never crossed the Mason-Dixon line, how I've never been to the South, except for Florida (which doesn't count) and how I'd really like to cross it one day. And tonight I'm planning a road trip to Memphis and see that oh wait, I've already crossed that line forty bazillion times. The South is right there! You could accidentally walk over and not know it. Apparently, our nation's capital is also in the South. Who knew? I realize how ignorant I'm sounding here, but I'm willing to make myself vulnerable to educate others because I don't believe we talk about this line enough. People deserve to know that the South is not all the way down there the way you might think it ought to be, the way its name suggests. It's right up here below Pennsylfreakingvania. And crossing that line isn't exciting at all. There's no confetti. No welcoming party with pecan pie and hush puppies. No, it's pretty much the same highway scenery as the North.
(mock me how you will, but Lenny, who knew about the line, shares in my shock, and she's the smartest young person I know)
Moi: I didn't know the Mason Dixon line was so high up!
Lenny: It's mind blowing
Moi: Are you mocking me with the mind blowing? Because I'm actually surprised I'd crossed it without realizing it.
Lenny: No, I'm serious. I'm amazed that the south starts so high up.
And Eat It, Too
Nothing quite says humble thyself as effectively as little boys. After Sunday service today, I went over to my dad's church to wait for the parents. Since they still had things going on, I sat with some four and five year olds during their Sunday school hour. They were cute little boys I hadn't seen in awhile but who were always adorable and lovely when they were younger. I at first talked with Elise, who warmed up to me after I helped her draw her balloon. Feeling confident, I turned to the boys around us and that was when little David remarked, "You're an old man." Little Jeffrey, who was sweet, quiet, shy little Jeffrey the last time I saw him, also found it hilarious and repeated the claim. And then Timothy joined in, too. But I hung in there and by the end of the hour, I had the boys eating out of my hands. But not literally. Because that's sort of gross.
Humbling pie, of course, can be dealt by grown ups, too. Like Pastor Paul. He decided he wanted to pick on Lenny today (he of the bald head rub, I think), but when he realized that Lenny had not yet come, he had the entire congregation rehearse shouting "Lenny was late" on his command. And when poor Lenny finally arrived, he was dealt two embarrassments, one for tardiness, and one for something about his truck. Pastor Paul's humor scares me.
Humbling pie, of course, can be dealt by grown ups, too. Like Pastor Paul. He decided he wanted to pick on Lenny today (he of the bald head rub, I think), but when he realized that Lenny had not yet come, he had the entire congregation rehearse shouting "Lenny was late" on his command. And when poor Lenny finally arrived, he was dealt two embarrassments, one for tardiness, and one for something about his truck. Pastor Paul's humor scares me.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Labor #11
Add this to my list of tragic hero traits: Extraordinary strength.
(For those keeping tally, that's noble birth, moral character, and destined for greatness... we're ignoring the flaw for now, though awkwardity will probably kill me.)
It never ceases to amaze me how I rise to certain occasions when the alternative seems too much trouble. It snowed again last night, a good four to five inches, and the snow has to be cleared somehow. Father, perhaps sensing the long winter still ahead, hurt his toe to get out of shoveling for the rest of the season. House Guest is conveniently absent. And due to the ridiculous amount of snow we've been having, all the gasoline has been used up, thus putting the snow blower out of commission. Father proposed that I call either House Guest to come pick up containers (I would walk them down to the end of the driveway for her), buy gasoline, drop it back off here where I would use the snow blower, or that I shovel the driveway just enough to get one car out to go buy gasoline for the blower. They both seemed too complicated so I chose the alternative: shovel the entire monster by myself. All five inches of wet snow (fluffy, dry texture my foot, bloody meteorologist) on our long, hilly driveway, and that extra little patch on the side. I can't quite feel my arms anymore, but whatever, it's not like I need them for anything.
(For those keeping tally, that's noble birth, moral character, and destined for greatness... we're ignoring the flaw for now, though awkwardity will probably kill me.)
It never ceases to amaze me how I rise to certain occasions when the alternative seems too much trouble. It snowed again last night, a good four to five inches, and the snow has to be cleared somehow. Father, perhaps sensing the long winter still ahead, hurt his toe to get out of shoveling for the rest of the season. House Guest is conveniently absent. And due to the ridiculous amount of snow we've been having, all the gasoline has been used up, thus putting the snow blower out of commission. Father proposed that I call either House Guest to come pick up containers (I would walk them down to the end of the driveway for her), buy gasoline, drop it back off here where I would use the snow blower, or that I shovel the driveway just enough to get one car out to go buy gasoline for the blower. They both seemed too complicated so I chose the alternative: shovel the entire monster by myself. All five inches of wet snow (fluffy, dry texture my foot, bloody meteorologist) on our long, hilly driveway, and that extra little patch on the side. I can't quite feel my arms anymore, but whatever, it's not like I need them for anything.
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