These Words Are Not Mine

Totally slipped today and yo'd Whitecastle, as in, "Have a goodnight, yo." I caught myself half way and sort of mumbled the end, so it sounded more like "Have a goodnight, you." I believe that makes it more awkward, not less. If only I could translate my awkwardity into a marketable skill. I'd swim in coins a la McDuck.

And that wasn't even the dumbest thing that I committed today. I was in the medical library today when all the sudden, two clicks came over the PA system-- the PA system that no one even knew the library had-- so everyone knew it had to be important. "Attention library patrons," and imagine my surprise when they announced my name. Well, almost my name. There was a "Doctor" before it (I must admit, it sounded very nice). They uttered the page twice. First, I thought it was a funny coincidence. Then I realized that they wanted me and started freaking out. What could be so important that I'd need to be paged to the front desk? Not email. Not cellphone. They had somehow tracked me down into the library? Then the librarian announced that my ID was at the Circulation Desk. All fears fled at that moment and mortification set in as I made the walk of shame down and everyone that saw me along the way smirked, knowing exactly who I was. Well, almost exactly. They think I'm a doctor. (It's because of my hospital badge, though anyone who actually works there would know with one glance that I'm staff, not doctor)

Magical Flute

Oh, Leon Leonwood. Your clothes are not cheap. And quite often, they're not very pretty. But they sure are sturdy (and they keep you warm in Maine, a magical land where there's no stigma attached to wearing winter coats). Whne they're not sturdy, L.L. Bean has just about the greatest customer service in the world. They'll mend, replace, or exchange items for you simply because they care. A couple of weeks ago, I had a raincoat that I love, one of those few things from the Bean that actually looks good, that needed some fixing. The waterproof material was stripping away on the hood, so I asked the good folks in Freeport to take a look. Sadly, they could not fix it, but offered me store credit to replace it. Actually, the guy offered me more than credit. I had bought the raincoat on sale at an outlet store, but he knowingly offered me full price so I could have an easier time finding a comparable coat. My knees buckled a little when he did that. In a world where I'm constantly put on hold trying to talk to a live person, it's refreshing that Leon and his descendants are so decent.

Taxi Driver

It happened again. I was walking out of the T station, at least three other East Asians in front of me, when I was pulled over by a lost old man. Do you speak Chinese, he asked. And well, I do. At least three others in front of me.

I later relayed this story to coworker Joyce (at a not-at-all-awkward work function), who sometimes receives my emails and vice versa, and she told me that she's never been asked that question, ever, in all her commuting days. Joyce is at least 10 years more Taiwanese than I am. People apparently think she's Japanese. Sensing my exasperation, Joyce tried to comfort me by saying that perhaps it's my friendly face that makes people ask me. And that she thinks I look more like an ABC. Neither of those tidbits were actually comforting.

Now for the last time, white people, I am proud of my heritage and happy with my looks. I am just puzzled as to why I look more Chinese than anyone I know. And extremely annoyed that my face seems to say "A Hearty Welcome to You and Your Family from Your Local Chinese Reception Committee Representative. "

One Day at a Time

Lately, I feel like I've been exclaiming "what the hell?" and "what is wrong with you?" a lot.  Neither are very original and I'm trying to cut the habit.  Last week, I only got to Monday without asking either of those two questions (Mack truck hitting your car does that to you).  And this week, with the long weekend, I managed to get to Tuesday before I asked those 2 questions many, many times.  Here's looking at a new week. 

Also, I'm driving and walking around fine, but cars freak me out a little now.  Funny how accidents do that to you.

Class Act

The BP staff has a bad habit of looking like college catalogs whenever they/we hang out. We didn't even do this on purpose. This post actually isn't about these folks, 3 of whom I'd met for the first time on Saturday night. This is about the before. When D-Bomb, Kat, and I attended to a wedding of another BP vet. We were dressed much classier than these folks and had an awesome time laughing at the wedding. Then came the reception and little plates of salad. Everyone around us, it seemed, ate theirs with ease. But we couldn't figure out how to eat the little cherry tomatoes. Well, we saw that Amy ate hers with her fingers. And her boyfriend Phillip, who we'd just met, awesomely reached over Amy to eat cucumbers off of D-bomb's plate. It was the funniest and most impudent moves I'd seen in a long time. Without a word to anyone, he just reached over while D-Bomb and Amy were talking and started eating cucumbers.

Moi: How did they all eat the tomatoes? She even cut hers.

D-Bomb: I think you scoop it? Or maybe stab it with a fork.

Moi: I tried to stab it, but it ended up shooting a cucumber off of my plate. It may have fallen into Kat's purse, 'cause I don't see it on the floor. But I don't see it there, either. I think it just disappeared.

(hours later)

Kat: Why is there a cucumber in my purse?

------
(A man after my own heart...)

Nithin: I grew up in the suburbs. I am token.

Moi: Me too! And I went to school in Maine.

Nithin: I went to Montana.

Moi: Then I studied abroad in Scotland.

Nithin: I went to northern Ireland.

Total Recall

Here's Hoping

After a moderate day of work, ever get the urge to just stand up in your cubicle and dance?  Having a hard time containing myself from doing an all-out-crazy-funk-lap-around-the-cube-victory dance right now.  Nothing to celebrate, except that the work day is almost done.

There Will Be Rain

For the past four days, the weather sites have been telling me that there is a chance of rain. Thus for the past four days, I have been wearing my new raincoat everywhere, including the wreckage of a car and the emergency room. So far, nothing. Rain is again expected for tomorrow so I shall don my raincoat again. But I'm really tired of being looked at as the crazy child with the rain gear when everyone else is out in t-shirts.

Proof of Life

I keep promising you posts but life keeps getting ahead of me. Exercise, insurance forms, relationships, GRE drills, oh crap, Friday night lessons... there are a lot of things I have to deal with right now. So all I can share with you was the warm welcome I got today, returning to work after my accident yesterday:

Nice Doc: Limbs all there. She looks fine to me.

Whitecastle: I know. Dump truck my ass.

Do Not Try This At Home

Earlier today, my car got hit by a truck and tonight, I helped my parents move their bed. They got a new one, so the old one went to the guest room and the guest room bed went downstairs to be given away. (I just squished a bug with my fingers, but when I went to flick it off of my fingers, I couldn't find it. Where did you go, bug?) All very complicated. In the midst of it though, my parents' old mattress was stripped and laid on the floor for about half an hour- perfect time for me to hop on and jump. Jump. Then jump some more. Until bursts of pain shot through my neck. Turns out, mattress jumping exacerbates neck sprain. Now we know.

Objects in Mirror

I don't know why this picture is fuzzy. This is not my picture. But this is very similar to the truck that hit me this morning.

Crushed

My car was hit by a truck this morning. And after everything was taken care of and we went out for brunch, they ran out of corned beef hash. Not sure what crushed me more. OK, fine, corned beef hash. Will tell you more about everything soon. In the meantime, I'm OK.

Drinking Time Together

Went up to Bo'. Came down. And I'll tell you all about it in the morning, but right now, I think spending the weekend there may have worsened my attitude toward work and nostalgia for Maine-- a nostalgia for careless sunny afternoons on the quad and all sorts of other things that don't happen on typical Bo' days, but whatever, memories are selective and stubborn. Bed, I'm ready for you.

That is the Question

Discussing who to eat dinner with…

Moi: What about Amos?

TC: Um, he has TB.

Moi: Wait, why is he still on campus?

TC: The question is, why is he still working at the café?

Moi: Don't all FOBs have that TB shot? (I have it!)  I thought he'd still be allowed to hang out.  Aye still saw people when he had TB.

TC: Yeah, he doesn't seem to know what he has or its implications, so we don't really know…

Oh, Amos.  It's been too long since we've had lunch.  Can't wait to go up.

Port is Near

Commencement is next week. Everyone who is anyone is going to be there, especially a sizable chunk of my class. Which is why I'm going up to the Bo' this weekend. Hooray for my inflexible schedule. The same flawless logic also led me to miss homecoming but hey, some Bo' is better than no Bo' at all. And next weekend will be so commencement-centric that I won't get to enjoy B-wick as much as I would this weekend (so I tell myself). Enjoying brunch after breakfast, relying on my friends to drive me around, being at a place I know inside out- where people say hi to you by name- it'll just be like the old times.

In other news, Dr. Bob shares an office with Dr. Tall. At least he did until today. When he decided to take up the empty cubicle next to me. Many people passed him in the hall today and said, oh why, Dr. Bob? Why are you out here with the plebeians? And Dr. Bob explained that he had a very nasty cold and did not want to get Dr. Tall sick. Which is why he chose instead of park his stuff next to my cubicle. Where there are no doors to keep away the germs. Thanks, Dr. Bob. You are a considerate soul.

Day by Day

Today, I spotted a little snake, was whacked on the head by a stranger, alienated half of the library with my squeaky sneakers, and killed a lot of trees. What did you do with your day, hotshot?

Enabler II

I just brushed my teeth and was about to go upstairs and prepare for bed when my dad came by and handed me a plate of sliced guava. And there's no way you can say no to that. Not those little pink things, either. I'm talking a real guava, almost like ones we have in Taiwan, big, white, and firm. $4.90/lb. Really no freaking way to say no.

PS. I love friends who IM facebook links so the two of us can make fun of a profile together. Thank God for this newfangled technology that brings people together.

5 W's and an H

From the Annals of WTF, Mate? A couple of stories that beg questions...

1. The express train I was riding on tonight did not feel very express. In fact, it was very, very slow because earlier this afternoon, some vandals had decided to steal some signaling wire.

2. Yesterday, we took mother out for a mother's day lunch. We were seated. Settled in. Said grace. Then went up to serve ourselves at the buffet. When we came back, we were very surprised to see people who were not us sitting at our table. The mistake would have been vaguely understandable had the hostess not seated us just 3 minutes earlier, and had my fleece not been on the back of my former chair. It astounds me how both hostess and patrons just accepted the presence of my jacket and sat down.

Mother of Invention

Why is it that other people's moms' irratic ways always seem funnier and less frustrating than mine?  Yesterday, I learned that Jen's mom takes gleans valuable lessons from Lifetime movies and applies them to her daughters' lives.

Jen: After she watched Not Without My Daughter she forbids us to date Iranian men.

Moi: That's hilarious.

Jen: No, it's really not.  It's awful. 

(So mother's day is coming up… any gift ideas that don't include brunch, flowers, or me doing chores that I don't like?)

So I Think I Can Work

Some days, work goes by so slowly and smoothly that there are not enough articles in either the Times or the Globe for me to read. Those days haven't happened in awhile. Some days, like yesterday, are crapfulistic maelstroms. On the best of days, work is challenging and worth it and I learn a lot in the process. Some days, however, are like today, when it just feels like I'm doing homework all day long. There was one tiny break in all of this, and that was when I got up to go to the restroom and saw our research fellow (is that her title? I don't know, she's a doctor of the Ph variety) doing the worm on the floor. It was just a bit puzzling.

A couple of minutes later, I was back, as was the decorum of the work place. Everyone was once again hard at work as if nothing had ever happened. Turns out, NiceDoc was bragging about dancing with his daughter and it came up that our Fellow could do the worm. He didn't believe her, so she proved it. And he got served. A dance challenge drama right in my hallway and I missed most of it! It was practically a dance off (albeit one-sided, but hey, how many dance offs happened at your work this week, huh?) and no one called me in to arbitrate. I'm practicing my moon walk in case NiceDoc ever calls on me for a challenge. Though knowing my streak, I'll probably miss it somehow.

My Bad

I messed up at work today. Badly. Rather, I messed up on March 24th and we didn't catch it until today. The discovery of the mistake definitely resulted in a personal record of faculty swears witnessed per minute (they're no chef or sailor, but I'm always startled to see 'grown ups' swear). It went something like this:

Whitecastle: %*$'in! *&$* hell, #^@* ()$#&! $#*, $#*, $#*! We're *$%#ed.

Moi: (silence)

Whitecastle: (flagging down NiceDoc) Hey, we have a problem [explain mistake]-

NiceDoc: Oh *$#&.

Expletives aside, however, they were very generous in not laying blame even though the mistake was very clearly my fault. They kept reassuring me that it was a fluke and that they responsible. I should not, they emphasized, feel bad about the whole thing.

Moi: So job safe?

Nice Doc: Job is definitely safe.

Whitecastle: Well, you could be fired tomorrow, but it'd be for something else. You're safe today.


Mother's first reaction to the story: Wow, you really messed up.

Mother's second reaction to the story: Canadians curse? Really?

Is it too late to enter her for some Mother of the Year contest?

The Pusher

Mother: Do you want some mochi ice cream?

Moi: No, [it's 10:3o], I'm going to bed.

Mother: Come on, there's only one left.

Moi: I'll have it tomorrow for breakfast.

Mother: You'll forget by then!

(earlier in the night)


Moi: I'm going to play a little ping-pong.

Mother: But dinner is ready. (she made pork chops)

Moi: You're asking me to eat instead of exercise? I'm going to die of heart disease at a young age.

Mother: You've got to die somehow, you know?

XOXO

Yesterday, while flipping through the channels, I came upon a PBS special on the Chinese American immigration experience and found myself unable to turn away. One hour into watching, I finally had to leave the couch to clean my room (it's now the cleanest it's been since 2005), but I went back to it later and must have easily watched 3 hours of the thing. I don't know when else that's going to happen in my life again that I'd spend an afternoon watching public television (who knew I still had the attention span?), but it was fascinating stuff. Y'all should check it out if you can. Sadly, this was one of the highlights of my weekend.

Of course, I had to even out all the culture capital I gained with PBS (can't put all your eggs in one basket) with other forms of entertainment, like Gossip Girl. I love the devious machinations of just about everyone on the show, but my mom had a very difficult time keeping up with the plots and characters...

Mother: Are you sure they're not sisters?

Moi: Um, no, they're best friends.

Mother: How do you know?

Moi: They don't look alike and they have different mothers.

Bloody Pie

My words will only detract from the beauty of this article, so I'll just give you the link straight up.

HeartAche-1

In Taiwanese steakhouses, entrees are always preceded by buttery rolls (literally, soft dinner rolls with melted butter on the inside- I loved those when I was a child because they were so salty, greasy, and limp- to the point that my parents would make it a point to save me theirs whenever they went out for dinners) and a bowl of creamed corn soup.  The soup was milky white, starchy, and did not taste of much except salt, kernels of corn, and cream, with an occasional dash of pepper.  But oh, I just had a sudden hankering for that simple soup.  A taste just came into my mouth to make me think of it and now I want no more of work (work that I actually like doing today), but just a simple ladle of soup, served in a white soup bowl with two handles resting atop a saucer, and perhaps a couple of those sinfully buttery rolls to dip in.  And I sure wouldn't holler if all that was followed by a Taiwanese steak as well (thin, and served on a sizzling platter with a side of pepper sauce).