Waiting Room

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

Meat Cute

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

Moi: Would you be able to choose then?

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

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

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

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

A Lot Like Home

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

Title Nine

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

Sterner Stuff

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

The Stranger in Me

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

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

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

FlashBack

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

Away Message

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

Misers and Chang

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

Vested Interest

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

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

Doc Query: But they probably wear more sweater vests.

(uproarious and smug laughter abound)

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

Risky Business

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

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

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

No Shoes No Shirt

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

Lines from My Notebook

when I spot cardboard boxes,        

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

so I do

to know that there are things bigger than my head 

                      and to feel like an alien robot 

to boot                        

Strength in Numbers

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

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

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

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

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

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

Banned Balls

Chicago: No Giant Balls Allowed

Funny Bean

Chicago: Good For Your Heart

Thank My Lucky Stars

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

Rats

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

On her spreading discovery-

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

On being jittery-

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

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

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

Cold Fronts

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

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

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

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

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

Native Son

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

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

Old Timers

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

After the Sunrise

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

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

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

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

Scenes from Grant Park

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

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

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

Expectantly waiting for the results.

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

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

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

Yes I Did

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

If I Miss My Flight...

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

Boom Chica-Go

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

Wish List

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

Sincerely,

Old Faithful

Alternative Medicine

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