No More Bugs Beneath Your Skin

Dear Little Diary:

  It appears that lately, my entries here have become more sporadic.  Let me assure you that I have not forgotten you.  I have merely become too good and busy for you, and have definitely not been spending my Saturday nights watching West Wing DVDs... nor my Sunday nights playing Desktop Tower Defense... no, never.  Plus, Gossip Girl is back on.  I meant, erm, I am entering a phase in my life I call "Get Life Together Act" and will try my best to spend time seeing more of my friends, applying to grad school, and magically saving money while pursuing these two feats.  We'll see how all that works.  I already forsee many humiliating stories on these fronts.  Stories I'll be sure to share with you.

 

peace, and

 

Big Shot

 

(To close today, another delightful encounter with Whitecastle.  I like to imagine that he has verbal opposite syndrome and everything accusation he says is actually a compliment:

 

Whitecastle: You know, it's not a good idea to steal books from the library.  You parents should have taught you better.)

Points of Reference

Went back up to the Alma Mater yesterday to see the opening of the McKeen Center for the Common Good (google hits? welcome). It was incredible. First of all, free gelato. And not your ordinary cheese and crackers, but fancy cheeses and fancy breads. And kielbasa with three types of mustard. Kielbasa! Three. Types. Of. Mustard! Not enough social gatherings serve sausage.

Walking with fellow former service brats Lisa and Brandon, we were nostalgic, we were humbled, and we were glad to be there. But the Opening was only one of three reasons I was up on campus. Another was to catch up with professors and secure a couple of recommendations for the upcoming application season. Needless to say, Riles was awesome and gracious. She was full of valid explanations for her phobias and even agreed to eat brunch at the soon-to-be-gone Grand City, where she withheld judgment as I ate my eggs and hash even though she found the food revolting (it is, but I heart that place).

Then there was the Band Man--

Moi: My brother used to push on my soft spot when I was a baby.

Band Man: That explains a lot.

Moi: I just got here a minute ago. No hello, how are you, what've you been up to?

Band Man: I was getting there.

(after asking for the letter)

Band Man: Are you trying to get a good recommendation? I could write a mediocre one.

Moi: How about a B+? That's all I'm asking for.

Band Man: So, "she didn't suck as much of as some of the other kids?" I can do that.

I am so getting into grad school.

Points of Debate

Reason #3 I was back up North, I was craving a greasy clam cake sandwich with tomato and mayo for under two dollars:

Fat Boy. It's a shame there is only one of you. It's also a shame that an hour after this picture was taken, I was sick to my stomach in the restroom, though I maintain that it was due to a stomach virus earlier in the day. It's just too bad that such an experience had to share the same day as that greasily crunchy sandwich.

Some people spend their Friday nights partying with friends. Lisa likes a quiet evening with Jim Lehrer.

It's not really her fault. Sesame was jumping for us to go to Joshua's, but we were tired and lame and I was near hypothermic because my socks were wet. So instead, we stayed in for a nerd party and watched the debate together, like the cultured and educated alums that we are. It may have been geeky, but I love hanging out with these people. Especially post-graduation Sesame, who's all about pressuring people to liquor up.

Textbook Wonder

Sometimes, I wonder if Mother is a secret comic virtuoso and living with her is just part of a giant farce she's putting on.  One of these days, I'm going to wake up and discover that I've been played a fool of a foil my whole life, that her earnestness and bizarre logic are all part of her straight-faced, deadpan delivery genius.

(on text messaging plans)

Mother: Is the $5 for 200 messages enough for you?

Moi: Yeah, that's fine.

Mother: You have to be really careful with it.

Moi:  I will be, don't worry.

Mother: But you already received 8 this month.  It can very easily jump to 200. 

Veg In, Veg Out

I had two potatoes for dinner tonight. That, and nothing else. Eating an entire bowl of mashed potatoes out of a blue plastic bowl... I'm not proud of it, but it got the job done. I'm taking a class this semester at the Extension School and since it meets at night, I foresee lots of weird dinners due to poor foresight. The class is Epidemiology 101 and while it's interesting, it's also helping me to remember all the unpleasant things I used to dislike about class- like the annoying girl who's confusing the lecture for a seminar and raises her hand every three minutes to voice a new soliloquy. Or the elderly audit lady who slows the class down because she's too confused by everything that's going on. Or, I don't know, walking into a lecture hall before the previous class has let out and not realizing it until you've sat down and made eye contact with too many people, then having to very suavely get up and leave again without flushing. You know, your typical school annoyances.

Portrait of an Assistant

Ever feel like you're not someone who you wanted to be? In this year-plus I have been in the working world, I have cultivated many myths of me around the office. They seem to be believe that I am a lush. A great events organizer. Stalker. And computer whiz. None of these things are true and I'm not sure how they came to be either. Then there is Whitecastle, the more he describes me, the more I wonder and worry what he thinks of me.

Whitecastle, commenting on a web short making fun of Palin: It's that same cynical world view, and you can't tell if they're joking or not sense of humor that you have.

A cynic with an obscure sense of humor. And oh, it gets better. Earlier today:

Moi: I'm looking for someone who can help me find the contact information for the nursing program [from the University of Puerto Rico website]. Can you read Spanish?

Whitecastle: This should be a hint that you shouldn't be looking for schools in Puerto Rico.

Moi: Why would I look these up for funsies? I have to compile a list.

Whitecastle: I don't know, you like weird things. Anyway, Spanish is a lot like English, I could probably figure it out. Like this [points to Programas Internacionales]-

Moi: Thank you, I figured that that said international program, too... yes, I tried clicking that, too, that doesn't work.

Whitecastle: Well. That's why you're a research assistant. You figure this out.

I like weird things. I may or may not be intuitive enough to figure out obvious cognates. And it's my job to spend lots of time figuring out things people don't have time for. Awesome.

(Was this entry a little too bitter? I don't mean for it to be. I got my first paper accepted, free chips and a burrito, all because of Whitecastle this week.)

Father in Secret

Last Sunday, Pastor Paul and my dad decided to engage in a Trading Spaces: Pulpit Edition and preach at each other's church- one speaking in English, the other Chinese, and each with an interpreter.
The trade, however, was not altogether even. Here's Father, explaining how the trade came to be:

At first [Pastor Paul] said he'd cover for me if I ever needed to be away. Then when we started scheduling a date, he said that I'd preach at his church when he was at ours. Then later, I find out that I have to do both of his services (Dad's church only has one service, Pastor Paul's has two) even though he's only doing one.

Being busy folks, Pastor Paul had to leave Dad's service early to rush back to his church and similarly, after his second sermon, Father had to rush off. Which would have been fine had we not a. sat in the front row, b. been recognizable to the entire congregation, and c. decided to leave as a baby dedication was starting. We scurried off behind the stage and had a little conversation like this:

Moi: Is there an exit here?

Father: I don't know. I think I've tried it once.

Too bad he tried the door on the opposite side. We went through a dark passage way that led to three doors. Two of them said "Not an Exit" and the only one marked Exit had a door that was blocked and could not be opened. I would have been happy just waiting it out in the dark until service ended, but Father had places to be and Father doesn't avoid confrontations and awkward situations like a plague. Which meant that we had no choice but to walk back to the very front of the sanctuary as service was still going on. The entire congregation was in prayer when we stepped back in and the fearless Jill had to escort us as we walked down the center aisle, from the very front to the very back, for the entire church to see. Moral of the story, kids: Don't ever skip out of church early. It can only end badly.

Curiosity for Sociology

I am so excited that my library book on the Asian diaspora has finally arrived. My nerd senses tingle as I see terms like coercive discourse, displacement framework, and diasporic imagination. It's like coming home again.

*Ten billion bonus friendship tokens for naming the title reference

Uncommon Cold

For the past week, I've been suffering a symptom-a-day cold.  I'm pretty sure it's not a real thing but each morning I'd wake up, feel achey and weak as if I have a cold, and as the day progressed, I'd feel better except for but one symptom.  One day it was a scratchy throat.  The other a stuffed nose.  Then extreme fatigue.  And a phlegmy cough another.  Today we reach Week Two.  I thought I felt fine this morning, but both my ears are blocked and they will not pop.  If I yawn one more time my jaw may never close.  I'm now afraid for the days to pass because the symptoms are getting weirder.  What's after blocked ears?  (Brother's favorite) Vertigo?  The shakes?  Lord, can't I just lie in bed for a few days like a normal person?

The Big Middle Ground

This has been a very sino-centric day. First, I spent a couple of hours as an interpreter this morning, and then there were these two exchanges:

(Discussing The Painted Veil, aka reason #943 why living with Landlady Chang was a great idea:)

Moi: Do you want to watch it? It's about white people in China.

Lady Chang: Oh boo.

Moi: But it's not really about China.

Lady Chang: Just about white people?

Moi: I think so.

Lady Chang: That's OK then.


(talking on the phone with Mother)

Moi: Anything else you want to say?

Mother: No. Wait, what do you mean? Like, "I miss you, daughter?"

Moi: Or "you are the greatest; I love you," whatever.

Mother: Strive for peace, save China,* goodbye.

*The last words of Dr. Sun Yat Sen. Don't make me explain who he is.

Shining, Shimmering, Splendid

A couple of pictures from my new commute- a 11-minute walk + 13 minute shuttle ride- not too shabby at all:

The mix of buildings in this gentrifying zone is amazing yet typical. These two buildings are directly across from each other- abandoned store front on one side and fancy hospital building on the opposite. On my part of the street, it's tapas bar versus housing project. This is going to be a year of stories, pictures, and conflicted feelings.

Don't Like To

Today was moving day at the office. It an operation that involved DocQuery, Whitecastle, Doc Gollum, DocNice, and five other fortunate souls. Apparently, though, no programmers were involved in the process as they emerged out of their offices around 3PM, after much of the dust had already settled (and they had eaten the "moving day pizza"), and exclaimed, "What's going on here? Is someone moving?"

Most of those getting office upgrades were pretty self-sufficient but there were those that needed some help along the way, help that the research assistants were summoned to provide. (Though we were told not to carry heavy boxes for liability reasons) Doc Gollum, for example, left a bunch of X-ray films behind. And Whitecastle needed not one but two Bo' alums to help him unpack, decorate (he seriously showed me two different room arrangements and had us choose), and introduce him to the world of Pandora.

(regarding our play list of good looking guys with guitars who sing about love...)

Whitecastle: So this is Bo' music?

Young Bo' and Moi: I guess it's pretty typical, liberal artsy, girly...

Whitecastle: This is the hippie music you listen to when you smoke pot?

Pleasantry Exchange

I knew today wouldn't be too shabby because though the work day outlook looked grim with a chance of sticky emails to craft and articles to slog through, I was going to have my awesome chicken stew pasta for lunch. No day can go wrong with chunky chicken chickpea chtew. But I never expected so many other gems to pop up. I believe that blessings should be recognized, so are my top three moments of the day, in no particular order:

Eating a long lunch on the hill, under the sun, with no one else but co-workers. And not having to whisper as we vented and laughed about our other co-workers.

Meatballs a la Wendy, al fresco, with J Wo. And talking and talking and talking.

Discovering that when I take the right stop, my walk home from the T is much shorter than previously realized.

Honorable mention: Getting Gak to say "Gurl." It kills me a little every time.

Faithful with a Few Things

Whenever I use something with a faraway sell-by date, like the peanut butter this morning that could stay on the shelves until July 2009, I feel like writing up the manufacturer and telling them that they can relax now. "Your peanut butter is with me, way ahead of the deadline. Go see your family and kiss your children; your job is done."

A Horse is a Horse

Just saw a girl on the street with a canvas tote bag in one hand and a scooter she hasn't quite mastered in the other. She looked lost and very "I'm a first year art student." (I've never had a scooter but was always under the impression that they're pretty user friendly. You just stand and kick, no?) This girl was also carrying a big tube, much too big for her tote bag. So naturally, she made a belt out of packing tape and stuck the tube on her back. There are easier things in life, crazy girl.

Though buses may appear bulky, jerky, and often stuck in traffic from the distance, they are in actuality quite fast and stealthy beings. I ride the hospital shuttle now and am daily amazed and the spaces we fit through as a bus and how we have yet to hit anyone. I've also learned the lesson of a bus's true speed seeing a bus approach and running ahead of it, beside it, then finally and humiliatingly, running breathlessly behind it.

Last night, I may have made the best chicken stew I have ever tasted. This morning, I may have eaten Landlady Chang's birthday cupcakes for breakfast. But don't be so quick to say nay, Judgey McJudge, I also had a banana with peanut butter.

Reason #8382 I Need to Go Back to School

I love my division and the work I get to do. There's a lot of day-to-day tedium but real research excites me. And though Whitecastle likes to talk himself up and tell me to take notes when he's speaking because he's teaching me things, I actually enjoy and appreciate learning from him. That is not to say that a research assistant's job is full of glamour and feel-good moments. Most days are filled with "I am sitting right here" indignities, such as today.

(figuring out the costs of hiring a graduate research assistant for a project)

Whitecastle: How much do you make an hour?

Moi: Um... I don't know... [ridiculously low number]?

Whitecastle: OK, and because the grad student has had more education, let's say... $20.

(punches in some numbers)

Whitecastle: Oh, that's nothing! We can definitely do this.

In other news, I've had a bruise since last November. I don't know what your relationship with your supervisors are, but today I showed DocNice my bruise. It stumped him. Though he did say that I'll live. And that I'm not enough of a medical mystery to make it into a journal. I'd still like to think that I'm special.

Where's My Car?

It has been a rough week on the brain and body. I don't seem to have control over either anymore. I keep saying things that lead to glares and threats from Whitecastle. It took me three tries last week just to sign an authorship form. I didn't even write the article, I was just trying to take credit for it and even that was too hard. There are all these boxes you have to check and lies you have to agree to. Like how I contributed to the intellectual content of the paper. Then it took me ten minutes on Friday to figure out which way the Chinese subtitles were going at the old silent film I was watching. Did I ever mention that Chinese is my first language? And today, I dude'd a doctor.

(coming from behind in the hallway)

DocNice: Psst.

Moi: Oh hey, dude!

(pause)

DocNice: Did you just 'dude' me?

Moi: ... Maybe? I'm sorry. It slips out sometimes.

I'm actually not sorry. I'm surprised and proud that I hadn't accidentally dude-d someone sooner. Sure, there was that awkward encounter with Whitecastle when I caught myself halfway and mumbled so it sounded like "Goodnight, you" instead of "Goodnight, dude." But other than that, it's been more than a full year of respectfully addressing people correctly. I don't think I made it through more than a month at the Bo' before accidentally calling Susie 'dude.' Maybe I am growing up after all.

Fight the Power

Walked around the new neighborhood today but didn't take any good pictures. I did notice, however, this sticker about an issue that has been grossly overlooked by both candidates: the fight for communism and against capitalism. Where's the dialogue, everyone?

Rage, Rage, Rage

Woke up this morning and feel sore all over. Yet the only rigorous thing I did yesterday was walk about a mile with a backpack of moderate weight. Maybe this is what dying feels like.

Exiled No More

Dear Everyone Ever:
Let us come together and hang out. The GREs (to be pronounced phonetically, because that's how I feel about it) are over. I have moved. Mostly unpacked. And have a few weeks before I concentrate on getting my life together again. I will see you when I see you.

(on a better-than-expected performance on the test)

Mother: Are you sure you don't want a retake?

Father: Congratulations. You have to treat us to dinner then.

Moi: But I'm still poor...

Unless of course, I have a nickel for every point I scored. And take the nickels in a wayback machine to 1936.

Tis a New Season

Well, folks, it's finally happened. I've moved into Boston. Love the new place. Excited to be out of my picket whites (though I will miss driving the SUV to Market Basket- there's nothing like it here). And I have much more to tell you. But first I have to figure out my internet, unpack, and oh yeah, take the GREs. Let me just leave you with this for the Bo' alum among us- the Ranway pointed out tonight that my building looks like a dorm from the outside but is really nice on the inside. And when I thought about it, why by God, I'm living in Howard. Not too shabby at all.

(OK, to anyone not from the Bo', the pictures probably look nothing alike, but well, that's why you didn't get into the Bo', the most consistently underachieving of the elite colleges. To those from the Bo', I swear, the place feels just like the Ho'. Which means I'm looking forward to an awesome school year, because what we had that year was special.)