Youths of Summer

This picture did not turn out as well as I'd expected. But when Victoria was taking it, I felt like it was going to be my new favorite picture because the moment seemed so perfect. I was with my youth group, during a night off at the Boston Project, and we were heading for dinner when along the way, we spotted fountains and little kids running through them. Naturally, we took of our shoes and followed suit. Here we are, just lying around, waiting for the sun to dry us off before walking to dinner. If I ever tell you I can't hang out with you during the weekend, it's because I'm with my youth group.

Little Victories

Dear Lady Trying to Buy An Entire House Through the 12 Items or Less Line at Stop & Shop:
  No.  No.  No.  Bad lady, bad. 

Sincerely,

Just My Soup and Me



Whitecastle is a bad Canadian.  He doesn't know that there are grades to maple syrup.  I am not a bad Canadian.  I vaguely know about grades and color.  I remembered my New England field trip to the sugar tapping place much better than he did his Canadian one.  It's too bad, however, that I did not yet comprehend English on my 4th grade field trip.  The entire experience was lost on me.  I remember big troughs of syrup.  I remember drinking syrup.  I remember later that day, trying to explain to my parents what I saw ("something apple-y" was the best I could come up with), them consulting with each other, and then explaining to me that what I saw had nothing to do with apples-- the word was "maple" syrup.  I had forgotten that story and never told it until today.  Now that I think about it, it's pretty amusing.  Most of fourth grade went by in that same blur.  I was taken to places I did not know and told things I could not repeat.  Even going on each field trip was a genuine surprise because I had no idea what anyone around me was saying, and no one ever broke things down enough for me.  And nothing my parents said ahead of time ever prepared me for the experiences-- Plymouth Plantation, Wolf Hollow, maple tapping-- even if they did tell me ahead of time (I seriously don't think they told me about most field trips), my little life in Taipei held no reference points to those things. 

The Short List

Three things I hate the most right now.

1. Reading comp.

2. Pressing 1 to speak with a customer service representative.

3.

I can't actually muster enough hate to list a third item. All my contempt is being directed at the first two. I get speechless trying to describe how much I hate them because my rage occludes all rational thought and I just want to punch things instead of verbalize my feelings. But for continuity's sake, I will list a third but far more distant hate. It's more an annoyance than anything:


1. Reading comp.

2. Pressing 1 to speak with a customer service representative.

3. Knowing I can do a better job than someone else but not having the chance to prove it.

Crazy/Beautiful

The weather here has been hella wild lately. Earlier this week, it was hailing (above) and now it's thundering like mad. As for the picture below- I found this little severed head on my desk this morning. (Note the red along the neck, what details!) I can't remember any of the why/what/how behind this, or if there was a body that went along with it. But it does look like something I might have done in my younger days...

The Call

Beware of not having plans for Saturday evenings. Beware also of picking up the phone before you're quite awake on Saturday morning. Then telling people about your lack of plans. You may find yourself agreeing to speak at your old church later in the evening. As I may have done today... it was weird being back in the youth room. All the youths- who I used to babysit, kids I literally watched growing up, those I knew as toddlers and elementary school kids, were now stretched out- their faces and bodies odd distortions of their former little selves. I sought refuge and chatted with the eldest amongst them, who I also babysat, and who were all the youngest siblings of my friends. At least I could name those kids. Some of the younger ones didn't even know who I am. I guess this is what it feels like to be old.

No Spring Chicken

Spent a few days this week with the Boston Project and my youths. As usual, it was great to be back in Dorchester. It was hard, it was familiar, and it was very rewarding. It also made me feel incredibly old. I was older than many staff members (now "instructors") and that's just not right. We were grouped with a church from North Carolina. One kid in the group divided whoever he could get into 2 rival "gangs" and tagged the unfortunates with magic marker- AquaMice and Pollo Verde (quite ironically, I had forbidden my youths from using the word gangster for the week...). I accidentally joined Pollo Verde when I stuck out my arm because I thought we were all playing a game. Turns out the guys were showing their "tattoos." And I got inked. Which wouldn't have been so bad had I not had to go back to work the next day. Let me tell you, buyers of permanent marker, you get your money's worth because that stuff is hard to get off. The faded chicken on my arm plus my paint-stained finger nails all looked great for our epi meeting.

Water into Whine

Yesterday, I was trying to make Liz see that between of the two of us, I was clearly the better youth leader of the duo. Unfortunately, the youths were not participating...

Moi: Check this out- what book of the Bible have we been studying all summer?

The Girls: (in unison, too) John.

And that's where I should have stopped. But I was trying to make a point to Liz.

Moi: And what lessons have we been learning?

(pause)

Girl: ... that Jesus is awesome?

Shame. Shame. For those keeping score, that's Liz: 1, Moi: 0, and My Youths: -4966

Bashful Birthdays

Woke up this morning and felt like watching the excesses of Super Sweet Sixteen. To my great disappointment, the show just doesn't feel like what it used to be. I sped through half a dozen episodes and there were no tantrums. Friends, parents, events coordinators, and birthday child all got along swimmingly. What happened, MTV? Who wants to watch ridiculous and grateful children? I want to see the ridiculous and hateful.

My disappointments with rich 16 year olds across the country made me want to make some banana popsicles. So I did (above). What's that? They're the most amazing banana popsicles you have ever seen? I know. I have magical fingers. If I didn't want to change the world and save lives, I'd probably be happy as a caterer. I love serving people and delegating. Speaking of birthdays, my mom had one this week and this is what I got her:

You can send that "Best Daughter of the Year" award right on over.

Three Idling Thoughts

Dear Cyclists:
I don't want to hit you. Don't make it so hard for me not to.


Dear Aggressive Driver:
I don't mind that you go ahead of me. I do mind that you nearly kill me in the process. I don't know if anyone has told you lately, but I have a lot to live for.


Dear Radio:
For the love of God, no sudden noises. Especially car honking. It freaks the bejeebus out of me.



Sincerely,
I'd-Rather-Ride-A-Bike-But-I-Have-A-Feeling-I'd-Die-Even-Sooner-That-Way

Pooped Scooper

Last autumn, I was fit for about three glorious months. I exercised regularly and slept well. It was probably the three best months my body had had for years. That all went downhill when I visited Taiwan and was greeted by a stupendous wealth of culinary delights and lost all motivations for good health. Ever since then, I have just been spiraling out of shape. And we arrive at today. When my hands are sore from scooping ice cream. Moments like this make me wonder if I will ever be healthy again.

In other news, Punty's little sister's dance extravaganza was fabulous. And scandalous, too, because hair and makeup never showed up. Hair and makeup not showing up for a dance recital with half a dozen costume changes.... that's akin to the caterer not showing up for a wedding. Or perhaps the bride. Props to Punty's whole family for their forced smiles and composure and not letting on that they are going to seek vengeance and retributions from the makeup lady to the 6th generation.

What does it say about the Monday I've had if I looked to golf scores online to get me through the day?

Power of One

Tonight is Punty's little sister's huge recital extravaganza. And though I have no words of wisdom to offer this young graduate, I am attending because I do love me some dance, free food, and hanging out with Punty. Earlier today, I went to the bookstore so to pick up a gift (so it wouldn't be so transparent that I don't actually know Kitty and really went to gawk and eat). She loves history and fantasy. And she's a second generation immigrant. What better book then, than Maxine Hong Kingston's Woman Warrior? At the big chain bookstore, I ask the lady where I would find Woman Warrior and Oliver Sacks' books- to my surprise, the lady didn't recognize either and had to search through the computer. After making sure that the book was in store, we set off on our search. And landed in the Asian History section. Close, but not quite. She radioed someone on her walkie talkie for help.

"We're in Asian History, where is Asian American studies?" A long pause. Static cackles.

And then we hear, "Asian American studies?"

"Yes." Another pause.

"That's like one book!" Ah, thank you helpful bookstore employee. Later, we were told by yet another clerk that the Asian American section was somewhere between the African American studies and Latino studies shelves ("sometimes, they're just stuck randomly in there"). Of course, it is.

Bad and Ugly Need Not Apply

Sometimes, Father likes to evoke more gravitas than the situation warrants. Last night, I watched the 1st half of the game with him, yelling and cheering, but mostly wincing, and upset at the Celtics for the way they played. But being lame, I had to go to bed early while he watched the rest of the game. This morning, I found a note from him lying atop my computer:

Good Returned, Good Won.

Dramatic much, Father? But also one of the best news to wake up to on a a Friday morning.

Yet the Sides Are Two

Doors are not complicated constructions. They either open or close. I have witnessed the ancient structures of Asia and Europe, some thousands of years old, and many of them had doors. So I don't understand why the MBTA can't seem to figure doors out. Sometimes, they're jammed against the platform (and we all have to shift to the left side of the train to offset the weight), sometimes the back ones fail to open, and a few times this week, doors couldn't close. On Tuesday, I was late to work when I thought I'd be early because for thirty minutes, we stood there as the technicians did everything they could to close the door. There was shutting the train on and off, and a lot of tugging, but the doors wouldn't budge. And finally we couldn't wait anymore and had to take a different line. At least the MBTA wheels are still round and rolling.

The IT Girl

Co-worker Jen and I have the same initials (not middle). In fact, we have the same last name. But Jen went to MIT and I did not. And Jen possesses great computer and web skills that I do not have. This combination led Jen to have the distinction of being the go-to junior IT person in the division. A distinction that I again did not have. Life surprises you with treats like that sometimes. For all her hard work and expertise, Jen constantly had people approaching her with computer problems, most of them stupid, while I blissfully went about my business. Until 2 weeks ago. Something (again, we don't know what) snapped in the Chief and he has changed course in his technology consulting. All the questions now somehow come to me and I have no idea what he bases his claims that I'm a "whiz with computers" on. I mean, I know I created the best PowerPoint presentation of a car crash, ever, but that hardly qualifies me. I was convinced that he meant to ask Jen one time and is just too stubborn to switch back now, but as the days go by and questions mount, I'm starting to doubt that hypothesis. And now I'm fixing upgrade glitches and modifying settings and hooking up email accounts, all the while clueless to what I'm actually doing. I don't know how long I have to keep this charade up. I'm about to crack under pressure.

Maine

The commute going by too fast because you're absorbed in a good book. Eating roast duck breast while catching up with your friend from 6th grade. Then going home, putting on sweats, watching an old DVD, and cuddling under a fleece blanket while it's 90 degrees outside- because the central air is once again working- this is the way life should be.

Tevye Like It Is

Dear God, you made many, many poor people. I realize, of course, that it's no shame to being poor. But it's no great honor, either. What would've been so terrible if- my AC wasn't broken today?

Footballer's Sons

Go Celtics. I don't know how other cities do it, but North Station in Boston is connected to the Garden, which means that on days like these, the place has an interesting mix of weary commuters in our proper jackets and shoes, and rowdy sports fans clapping and whooping through the corridors. Most days, I find them obnoxious, but tonight, I'm just excited for the Celts.

Mini Chief, who's not quite mini, is from Germany. And though he speaks excellent English and has produced 6 American children, he is still thoroughly German, especially when it comes to sports.

Mini Chief, on his growing son: He'll be perfect for football. He's going to be tall, and big, too. It's too bad he can never play American football because I can't explain it to him.

Another Day

I don't know what makes this woman tick.

Mother: You don't need an umbrella?

Moi: No, I'm wearing my raincoat.

Mother: Aren't you afraid the rain will ruin it?

Moi: No... because it's a raincoat. (One from "The the Bean" at that.)

Mother: You should be careful with it. It's new.

Chain Reaction

Frustrated with lots of stuff today, I came up with a brilliant solution for it all: getting a kid so I can have someone to yell at. I'm surprised that I didn't think of this sooner. I realized that the Chain of Screaming ends with me from many different sources and thus to remedy that, I must get a small child that cannot talk back. Yes, I must produce a mute child or at least a very slow learner. It's the only way to vent. Jen suggested being a boot camp instructor but that seems like a path of many resistance. Training myself physically and then quitting my minimum wage job just to take on another one at a boot camp... it all seems like a lot of work when I can just have a kid. The timing is right and everything.

On My Good Side This Week: Pork. The weather. Google.

On My Bad Side: Vowels and other low score letters. Insurance companies. Citations.

Not My Job

Hee. Wienerschnitzle.

Earlier today, I followed a few of our doctors around the division and took pictures as they prepared different poses. They are for an article one of them is writing. Yesterday, I googled people for Doc Query. And tomorrow, I will sit at our chief's desk and figure out Thunderbird for him. Thank the good Lord for my Bo' education, for that honors thesis, and all those years of lab.

(Lest anyone from work ever read this, I should point out that I also got to sit in on an investigators' meeting yesterday and witnessed experts advise on a trial I'm helping with. And today, I sat with 2 doctors as we brainstormed an idea I came up with. Not a bad week.)

My name has 3 letters. But starting a few weeks ago, our chief decided to abbreviate that to just my initials in his emails. And this week, he dropped yet another letter. Now I only have one left. Maybe when he runs out, he'll stop asking me IT questions I can't answer? One can only hope. (Just as I'm the default coolest kid in the office because of the small sample size, I also seem to be the default person to ask when it comes to web/computer things. Both very unfortunate assumptions on the part of the division.)

Until We Meat Again

It's been awhile since I bragged about my culinary prowess, which is unfortunate, because I am quite awesome. Allow me to present my latest conquest: a 9-pound beast of a pork shoulder. Nine pounds. That's bigger than a baby!

Poncho La Vie

This is a story that shall go into the annals of great embarrassments. A story that I feel privileged to have heard, though second hand. Yesterday, Dwight was confused why Jackie had a skirt around her neck (she didn't, it was a scarf; boys are deaf) when Katie shared this delicious anecdote. She had a friend, let's call her Jane, who had a sister who studied abroad. While Jane's sister was abroad, she sent Jane a box of clothes and Jane delighted in wearing said clothes, including in particular, a poncho, which she wore several times in the six months her sister was gone. In fact, she liked it so much that she wore it when her sister visited after returning from abroad. Her sister took one look at her and said, "Jane, why are you wearing my skirt like that?"