Taking One for the Team

MC TChu and I are nothing if not consummate team players in the game of Gastronomy.

(Wow, that sentence holds way more promise than this entry actually entails.)

A couple of months ago, TChu and I talked about not having yum cha'ed for a very long time. Then I had some dim sum. He had some dim sum. We had some weeknight dim sum. I had dim sum three times in a span of a month. Even for me, that was extreme. I announced to all my friends that (sorry, VDu) I was out of commision for at least another month. The pai gwat would just have to wait.

But the pai gwat is a persistent cut of meat and my resolve against it useless. Last week, Ellie and TChu tossed out the idea of Sunday dim sum. I had no choice but to consent. And then Alex called up and asked if I would dim sum on Saturday. Here's the thing. If I was weak against pai gwat, I'm a mere puddle against Alex. It's impossible to say 'no' to the lady. But I thought, if I'm going down, TChu is coming with me. So there we were at Hei La Moon yesterday, having been dim sum'med out weeks earlier, sipping tea, hailing carts, eating, and laughing, knowing full well that we had another long day of this ahead of us. Not much ties us in common (Jesus, Bo', disdain for hippies), but give us a kid from BCF, a chance for food and fellowship, and that's an offer we can't say no to, no matter how many spareribs we have to chew through.

PS. I could really use some salt and pepper shrimp in my system. Anyone?

Emory and Ivory

Personal phone call. Giant leather folder. And some sort of CD. OK, Rollins School of Public Health. You have my attention.

Beside Myself

Earlier today, I had a conversation with our Decision Scientist (coolest title ever) about the article we had both read in the Times about how President Obama likes Honest Tea, the same brand of bottled organic tea that we like.  When I got back to my desk and realized how ridiculous that all sounded- the liberal media, the organic tea I learned to love at the Bo', and the golden boy new president, I cursed myself a little.  Then I went to lunch at O'Natural (tastes like it sounds), where I bumped into Zvi and we talked graduate schools.  Now I just want to throw up.

The only thought keeping it all down is that of Young Bo' bladder.  I think she's just saying ridiculous things today to make me quote her:

Young Bo':  My kiwi bladder is so unhappy today.

Young Bo': I think my left wrist is anorexic.

Young Bo': Now, we use nice words about Big People.  NiceDoc is a big person.

(The last one is a response to what I said to Zvi when I bumped into him at O'Naturals with NiceDoc in tow.  Zvi greeted me with a customarily warm "Hey, loser."  To which I instinctively replied, "Hey, wuss."  Then I realized that I was there with NiceDoc, who was unaccustomed to such coarse language.  And then I spent 30 seconds debating whether I should introduce him as Doctor Nice or just Nice.  Thus completely ruining the nice lunch and goodwill with my awkwardity and insult.  Good going, Me.)

Nugget of Wisdom du Jour

Bean curd ("dried tofu"- the uncultured should google image it yourself) looks like bean turd.

Click Away

I have these noble small group friends. My new Jesus friends in Boston. Some of these people (or just one? I don't know) started an organization called One Home Many Hopes, which provides a home to orphaned girls of Kenya. I know. Amazing. Boring. What does it have to do with me?

Well, a mass email went out today for folks to help One Home Many Hopes win some money from Virgin America, which is giving away $25,000 to the two most popular Boston charities. All I had to do was register and vote. I usually hate this kind of stuff but after messing up at work today, I thought I needed to do some good. So I voted.

Then I voted again.

That was where things went wrong. Terribly wrong. Not only is voting twice dishonest, it also takes votes away. (Shhh... NOBODY tell my new small group this, please. They think I'm holy. Probably because I always make everything into a competition and then beat them out for kingdom points.) I took votes and money away from orphaned Kenyans.

And then I clicked again just to make sure that the votes really did go down... it did.

On my end, I've asked Lenny to make up for my bad, but if you so feel compelled, please vote on behalf of One Home Many Hopes. They really are great. And I really need you to cover for me.

Caveat: You need a Boston address, so please make one up. I like the zip code 02120 because it's palindromic. Just enter your info and click on the airplane on the left. Lenny said that they chop off a finger for every fraudulent vote. Gak was more pragmatic:

Gak: You should only feel guilty if they lose by one vote... but you don't really need to feel guilty since another worthy cause will have won. See, you can have your whiskey and drink it too.

Runner Up Quotes Du Jour:

1. Young Bo': I have a bladder the size of a kiwi.

2. Zvi: I also hate the Chinese.

Laura: (appalled and gasping)

Moi: Racist!

(Context: at lunch, I had rattled off things that I hated- carrots, ginger, cilantro, and added Chinese people for kicks. Unfortunately for Zvi, no one had heard that line except for him. And I didn't explain that to anyone when he uttered his joke. Consequently, Laura is now afraid of Zvi.)

God, Country, and Jabbar

There it goes ago.  Someone else spotted him without even blinking.  It's second nature to these people.  Ingrained in their subconscious.  Everyone above the age of 35 in the office knows that the holder of the NBA's record for most points scored is Kareem Abdul Jabbar.  How or why, I do not know.  Maybe their wheaties had different ingredients than our wheaties.  But they sure love the man.

SuperFan

I was about to start the entry with the question "Is it really only Tuesday?" Then I checked my watch and it said "WE" for "Wednesday. Thank God.

This week has been moving at an infuriating slow pace. Work has been incredibly busy. But on a much graver note, my social life has taken quite the blow. Just last week, I was out every night and wishing I had more time to see my children, and this week? Monday night free screening was "sold out." And tonight? I was triple booked but thanks to inclement weather, every single plan fell through. Ellie's family obligation just cleared my Saturday. Em still hasn't called about Friday. And I found out this afternoon that Superbowl Sunday is fast approaching and I have no plans. No plans on Superbowl Sunday. I might as well unfriend everyone on Facebook. Young Bo' put it best when she said, "In one week you went from being social to little miss nothing." It is exactly like that.

But alas, good must triumph over evil. I cannot accept defeat. Young Bo' and I have made Superbowl throwdowns to see who would have a better Sunday. She's threatening snowboarding plus a party, which means that the only way to beat her is by going to more parties. Preferably three. So, Internet Friend, I implore you. Look deep into your heart and find a place to take me in on Superbowl Sunday. I must not lose another challenge to Young Bo'. The year is just beginning and I need something to live for.

Water World

Dear L.L.Bean-
If your name wasn't Leon Leonwood Bean, I would probably name a child after you. But unfortunately, it is, so I'll probably name my son something conventional, like Ethan. Still, I do want to thank you for keeping me dry today as I walked half a mile in near flood conditions. Sure, your clothes are never chic or flattering, but dressed hood to toe in Bean today (winter parka, plain sweater, hiking socks, hiking boots) and looking ridiculous among the business casual Boston crowd, I had never been so wet and so dry. There were skeptics as I waded through six inches of water all around me, but I knew deep down, that if you could get me through four years in Maine, you could surely get me through my icy trek home. My coat, my pants, my bag, were all drenched, and yet my body was dry and my toes refreshingly comfortable, blissfully ignorant of the hazardous conditions outside. Outstanding work, gentleman. Outstanding.

Sincerely,

Dry and Humored

Miles from Riles

It just slipped out of me. I hadn't said those words for so long that even I was surprised. One minute, I was discussing a documentary with my roommate and her friends and the next, I heard a voice saying, "... those children were performing to societal expectations. In China, there has become this disconnect between ritual and meaning, where traditions are still valued but they have become empty symbols..." by the time I realized that the voice was mine, it was too late. I had already lost them and could only make eye contact with Lenny, the anthro major (and who I correctly introduced as Elise tonight, on my second try).

Soc has tainted the way I see the world. And I like it.

Rhyme Time

Apologies for not coming up with a better title. I think I've found my new church and I think I love the pastor. Or I hate him. I don't know. I have a complex relationship with puns, word plays, and funny/offensive oversimplifications of ethnic groups. At today's service, the pastor ended with Joseph Lowery's now famous benediction-

Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around ... when yellow will be mellow ... when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right-

Then added a few lines of his own-

- when Hamas will say no mas, when Israel will be real, when the US will use less, and every tongue confess, every knee bow down... (I forget the rest; I was trying not to snicker)

that all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen.

Oldie, and Maybe a Goodie

Haven't done an audio post in forever, felt restless this morning, and thought I'd share an old poem with you.

PS. I meant to say that this was my first spoken word attempt instead of 'is.'

Gabcast! Popepotsie #4

Eye of the Beholder

Three references, three differences of opinion:

Riles (God, I miss Riles): All of these schools have to take you. They have to.

Whitecastle: I suspect you'll get into at least one [of the biggies].

Band Man: I don't know what they were thinking.

Thanks, everyone. I hope some of you are more right than others.

Fort Awesome

Doc to Be, or Binks from now on, had several big shipments in the office on Friday. These big shipments came in exciting big, sturdy, boxes that now take up much of the hallway outside his office as well as the space inside his office. You know how I feel about big boxes.

Moi: Do you have plans for these boxes? Have people been asking you this all day long?

Binks: (breaks out laughing) No one has asked me that. I'll probably send them off to a summer camp for disadvantaged boxes. They can no longer serve their life purpose. Why, do you have a plan for them?

Moi: No, it's just that they'd make such good forts.

Binks: Were you thinking of having a division fort? 5:30 after work sometime, a little division fort party?

Moi: Don't tempt me, Binks. Don't tempt me.

Little Girl I Carried

The trouble with Lenny is that even though at any given moment, I can think up half a dozen things to mock her merciless for, she can do the same of me. Today I mentioned that we'd known each other for ten years...

Moi: I don't know if it's ten. It just seemed like a convenient number.

Lenny: Actually, it's eleven. We met in 1998.

Moi: What, is that exact date tattooed somewhere? Why do you know this so readily?

Lenny: Well, we met in math league.

Moi: I thought we agreed to never mention that in public.

Hear My Plea

I'd be impressed if someone got the title reference. It's not erudite. But I would be surprised.

Last week, Sarah asked me about Chinese New Year celebrations in Boston. The question led me to march down the stairs and ask my parents if they knew Chinese New Year would be next week. They did. Sarah then decided not to wait for my answer and phoned up brother, who can still out Chinese me in the goings of Boston from a thousand miles away (or wherever the West coast is, I am not clear on such matters). Then today, Former Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) said that she couldn't make it to dinner next Monday...

Moi: Turns out, she has to eat dinner with her family to celebrate Chinese New Year. Who knew?

Lenny: You're not so good at being Chinese, are you?

I speak the language. I eat the foods. And I don't understand why these people are all trying to show me up. Don't make me pull out my membership card now.

Heal Thyself

The docs that I work with are educated and mature, yes, but not always above making fun of collaborators with unfortunate names during meetings.  Take Choo Choo (rearranged to protect my privacy), for example, it's a Nigerian name.

DocQuery: Choo Choo?

Doc Whitecastle: Don't make any culturally insensitive comments.  We have a Kenyan president now.

Chief: Say, Query, why was Choo Choo in Boston for last month?

DocQuery: Training. 


If I was ever given the resources and authorities to designate Christmas presents to those in my office, I would simply separate the office into good and bad.  Those who use EndNote to make theirs and my life easier will be on the good list.  Those who don't go on the bad.  Goods get goods.  Bads get energy-inefficient coal.  Today, I'm working on a grant application written by both those who fall in both sides of the camp.  One doc has everything cited nicely in EndNote and included a library attachment.  The other doc used footnotes with citations like: "XX's book."  "YY Report."  And my favorite:  "The Dutch Guys."  It's going to be a cold, long winter for some of us.

On My Knees

Perhaps the reason that God gave us two knees is that we only need one and the other merely acts as a spare. I'm really hoping that's the case because my right one won't be with me much longer. Two weeks ago, I slipped on the ice and landed right on the knee, bruising it badly. Since I still have a bruise on my shin from 2007, I was at first worried that this bruise would also not dissipate, and was heartened to discover yesterday that the knee was slowly returning to normal color. Until this morning: When I once again slipped on the ice and landed on the exact same spot. I'm not even going to ice it this time, I'm just waiting for my titanium replacement.

Frick and Frack

Who needs a sidekick when you can have a Young Bo'?

Moi: Can you still have grace [toward a person] and still slap the person?

Young Bo': Maybe if you don't lick your hand before you slap.


(working on our board, which features an 'Obama is my homeboy President!' t-shirt design)

Young Bo': I don't like that exclamation point.  Should we leave it there?

Moi: Lady please, let's not carried away.  That would be ridiculous.


(on Obama's inauguration speech)

Sister Claire: I thought he started slow but ended well.

Moi: Well, he had to depress us first because it's easier to build people up if you tear them down first.

Sister Claire: I wouldn't know.  I've never tried.

Moi: See [Young Bo'] here, you can mock her all you want and tomorrow morning, just say 'hi' to her and she'll love you.  See?

Young Bo': Except that I don't love you.

Turtle Turtle

I don't feel constrained by cultural expectations or bound by Confucianism. It feels silly stating that but I'm always surprised by the number of people who think that I feel chained to something. I don't. But place an East Asian elder next to me and I feel inexplicably obligated to bow my head and smile at them. I let them cut me. I want them to think well of me in a way that I do not want anyone of any other generation or race to think of me. I don't know why. Just the other night, I was on the bus when I happened to catch the gaze of an old Chinese lady. Per usual, I nodded my head and smiled at her (to be fair, I nod my head and smile at everyone I make eye contact with) and she said in Cantonese, half to me and half to my companion, "Ho' len ah." Which means "it's so cold" in Cantonese, a dialect that I do not speak. I considered my options: speaking to her in Mandarin (which she'd probably understand) or imitating what she said in my butchered-Cantonese, and after considering the potential awkwardness of both situations, I chose the least awkward route:

I nodded my head and waved goodbye as I hopped off the bus. (Ellie: Did you say 'bye' in Cantonese? Moi: I said 'bye' in English, which is pretty much the same 'bye' as it is in Mandarin and Chinese.)

It's not my fault that I go to such lengths to avoid awkwardity in any form, be it silences or stories that go on too long. Terrible things happen when I don't take precaution and I find myself as I did on Friday night-- at the same meet & greet party with the girl whose apartment I had wanted to live in, but who turned Lenny and me down based on my immaculate facebook profile (seriously- I dare you to pick a character flaw from my profile). And then friended Lenny the day after she turned us down. Not only did we bump into each other, I call her by the wrong name, and had to remind her why we knew each other, but she had to spend five minutes explaining why she didn't pick me. Somebody owes me for those five minutes.

Flashy Photography Please

I was recognized last night. I was cold. I was headache-y. And I was waiting for the T at Harvard when this girl tapped on my shoulder and asked if I had gone to the Bo'. I recognized her face but had forgotten her name (she was a year ahead of me) but she was so sweet and gentle and remembered my name. (fame!) She said, "We've never met but you were famous for your many good deeds." Ridiculous and untrue, but very flattering-- so much so that it almost makes me want to do something great so I could be recognized more often. Though that would seem to require more effort than I care to muster. So I'll just settle for seeing another familiar face on an already Bo'-riffic Saturday.

Spring Awakening

We are well into winter and today, in the midst of the bitter cold, I suddenly started craving baseball. Busy with housing, GREs, and youth group this summer, I hardly kept up with baseball and now, after so much time away, I miss those boys terribly. Saturdays on the couch cannot come fast enough.

Things I'm Excited For

1. Next week, it's going to get up to 38 degrees. I know! I'm not going to wear a hat and it's going to be friggin' awesome.


2. (sitting at my desk on Friday...)

Moi: eIRB. Nice!

Young Bo': Did you just get excited over the IRB?

Moi: No, eIRB. But, yes. I may have.


3. (I have come back from the future to change my past expectations, how trippy is that?) My new watch. After 3 months, no longer will I rely on my cellphone, the Silver Line monitor, or the kindness of strangers. I can look at my wrist and bam, it will tell me the time. It's 9:52 right now in the future.

The Gatekeeper

(shortly after making a cutting joke to follow his manorexia joke... Zvi really is a terrible person)

Moi: You know how you guys were talking about Zadie Smith last time and I didn't know who she was? And how that made me really self conscious and feel inadequate? It just made me feel terrible, I started questioning my worth and the quality of my Bo' education-

Zvi: Yes, go on.

Moi: I read a piece of hers in the New Yorker about her brother and humor the other day and it made me feel better.

Crisis solved.

When Europe Met Chicago

Look, a collage of my time in Chicago, about two months too late. You'll notice that the tag line "European Jazz Meets Chicago" features prominently here. This may lead you to think that that was a big part of our trip. It was a loud part. There are some things that should not meet and perhaps Europe and Jazz should join that list, along with water and oil fire, and failure and me. We arrived late to the show and only caught the last few songs of an experimental jazz group. There were parts that looked like jazz (the instruments certainly did), was structured like jazz, built off of the same riffs as jazz, and yet it sounded... loud. Very loud. And extreme- it was a hard, metal sounding jazz. Not that there's anything wrong with it. Just not the thrashing good time I expected, that's all.

Tell Me What You Really Think

The picture above is the turkey I braised for Thanksgiving. Because I am awesome. And my Picasa just started working again so I'm posting pictures. The complimentary meal the hospital is offering all its employees, however, will not be half as nice. The hospital made that quite clear, as you can see for yourself on the bottom of our coupon. Spend it wisely, yes, just not on food you would want to eat. But it's OK, hospital, nobly saving lives daily is reward enough for me.

Freezer Burn

Do not ask me to produce the office salad tongs. I can only bring you one tong. But we no longer have tongs. As usual, this incidence was not entirely my fault. They shouldn't have placed the bucket the tongs should be stored in on top of the fridge. And should not have made the fridge and buckets so tall. And cover the fridge on two sides so there was no one to lean in close. And the only way to place the tongs was to attack from the top. Just one look told me that that was impossible. I turned to Young Bo', who gave me another look, one said, "You actually think I can do better?" I didn't think so. And had no choice but to toss the tongs into the bucket. The first one went in nice and cleanly. The second one was where my troubles lay. It skidded around the rim of the bucket, but instead of dropping, slid right past to the edge of the fridge and dropped all the way down toward the bottom, enclosed by 3 walls and the back of the fridge. Young Bo' and I looked at each other, very quickly realized that there was no way we could retrieve the tong, and decided to pretend it never existed. So good sir, do not ask me to produce the office salad tongs. I know not what you speak of.

Go Big

After a day and a half of randomizing and sorting and generally messing with our study data and spending time with my friend Excel (we're not on speaking terms. Excel knows why.), and then doing things wrong and changing minds and restarting, I couldn't imagine hearing any sweeter words than when Whitecastle finally declared, two minutes before five o'clock: All set. You can go now.

Well, Jason's words came close: I love it when you talk apes.

It's been so busy at work that I find myself doing work most of the time. Instead of plotting what to eat for dinner. Or read the Times. Sometimes, being told to go is exactly what I needed to hear. That does not mean, of course, that a great chunk of my day is not still spent displeasing my superiors.

(It's lunch time and DocNice slowly heaps one tablespoon of dressing after another onto his salad until it is a giant red blob)

Moi: Do you have enough salad there in your dressing?

Whitecastle: You know, the next RAs we hire can't be as lippy as the ones we have now. None of them have any respect.

(he then "usurps my position in line" [his words, not mine] while I lean over to grab a sandwich)

Moi: Please, go ahead in front of me, Doctor Whitecastle.

Whitecastle: Exactly.

Inconvenient Weather

Remember how a couple of months ago, it was unseasonably warm and everyone said, "Oh, look at the mess climate change has wrought"? What happened to those good old days, eh? I am so tired of wearing my winter boots.

Alarmed and Fabulous

 

After a long struggle to fall asleep last night, I was awakened by the blare of alarm at 12:30am. Landlady Chang and I both grabbed our keys, hats, and jackets and stumbled down the stairs, only to discover that our neighbors were all either cooler than us and had places to be at 12:30 on Sunday morning (in our defense, it was snowing and we both had very full evenings) or they were sure to be burnt to a crisp in event of a real fire, as there were only a few other people in the lobby. It was there that we also discovered that we didn't have to wait in the snow. Apparently, a drunken man (possibly a tenant, though most likely a homeless man) had pulled the alarm on the first floor because he was suffering chest pains. Once we saw that someone was taking care of him, we headed upstairs, I put on my headphones, and we watched for big trucks from our window. The fire department was the first to arrive, followed closely by the first of two ambulance. The five minute ETA was rather impressive. Until you consider how the hospital, police, and fire department are all on the same street, on the same side of the road, and within a quarter of a mile from the building. Did I mention that there was no traffic? Perhaps they had to finish stitching that last row lest they lose count.

The ever responsive po-pos were the last to arrive, showing up just as the ambulances were leaving (the guy was able to walk to the car himself), and after they had apparently been paged not to arrive. Which was too bad since three squad cars showed up. I did mention that they're just down the block, right? Thanks, Boston's greatest. For all their efforts, however, none of our service people could turn off the alarm. Landlady Chang checked when she yelled out the window. A very empathetic paramedic yelled back that he was sorry but they didn't know who was turning off the alarm. And it was only then, when all the flashing lights pulled away in the snow (final tally: 1 ambulatory patient, 1 fire truck, 2 ambulances, 3 police cars, 30 minutes of traffic standstill) that we realized that our fun was just beginning. Apparently, the fire department does not control the fire alarm. Building management does. And unlike our hospital, police, and fire stations, building management is not down the street, but far, far away. Which led to Landlady and I to walk all over the apartment trying to find the "quietest spot" (definitely not the bedrooms)-- and how we ended up huddled in her closet discussing how fortunate it was that we were not deaf (only one of our alarms have a light, and it was not working very well), how we'd break the windows and jump in case we were ever trapped by a fire directly outside our door (throw a chair at the living room window) and what, if anything we'd bring with us when we jumped (a sleeping bag to cushion the fall). Oh, Skidmore Dying Cow days, how I long for the alarms of yore.

I Want to Live Forever

I like how old I am right now. And how void of responsibilities. Although this means that I am also void of assets and credentials, I am OK for the time being if it means that I can also be the snarky brat at grown-up parties.

Last night, Dorothy from Small Group invited the group and some of her real friends over for a spread of delicious tapas (which she cooked and served in a pretty dress and heels). Erik the Blonde and I were probably the youngest folks there (I know, the term 'young' as applied to me gets more relative each day). Katy and Jason were probably not too far behind. In short, it was Small Group vs. the Adults. And we showed what we thought of the arrangement.

As the party progressed, a couple came in with their dog in a sweater...

Jason: Oh God. First babies now dogs? What do people think this is?

Moi: I know. I was thinking the exact same thing. Except I wasn't joking.

Jason: I'm not joking either. This is ridiculous.

Head Spin

 

This is what I had been wearing in my apartment the past hour (the last half of which spent huddled in Landlady Chang's closet). Headphones. Hat. Winter jacket. Yellow pajama pants (not shown). Quite coincidentally, that was almost exactly how long a fire alarm had been raging in our building.

More details to come, along with a discussion on the merits (potentially and realized) of living between a hospital and the fire department. But for now, I just want to curl up and sleep.

Sign of the Times

Seriously, NY Times, do you want me to hate you? Flying first class instead of private jets, private chefs instead of restaurant events, more reliance on condo concierges... I stay up late just worried sick about these people sometimes.

Straight Faced Sentiment

Ironic Observation of the Week:

Teenage boy, exclaiming to his annoying friends for the whole train to hear: You know who I hate? Obnoxious people. (in a proud tone as if he had just learned the word obnoixious) They're all loud and "look at me, I'm ridiculous!"

My heart nearly stopped laughing. Or perhaps it was clogged. I do eat a lot of fried food. And oh, teenagers should not be allowed on the T in groups of more than 3.

DeMeaning of Work

Sister Claire should have a second career as a motivational speaker. Maybe she already does. Maybe that's why she leaves so early everyday. This afternoon, Young Bo' and I were talking, a bit too lately, about proctor-cests during our days at the Bo' when Sister Claire walked by, exclaimed that she didn't know how we do it, and walked off, leaving us with gaping mouths and a fear that we had done wrong (it's a healthy fear, because-- as Sister Claire, Whitecasle, DocQuery, and anyone else will tell you-- I mess up a lot). Turns out though, she wasn't talking about our wrongs. She didn't know how we could do our jobs of filling in tables and entering data. One afternoon of it and she had apparently had enough.

Claire: I hope [my niece] doesn't grow up to be a research assistant. Or a SAS programmer.

Moi: Well, we get a white board to play with.

Claire: No wonder you guys are always so excited about the board.

No wonder, indeed. And I was just getting used to the idea of doing homework-type work for eight hours a day. That board, and the thought of returning home to eat my made-from-scratch pizza, are the two things that get me out of bed in the morning. That and erm, all the starving children in the world that need my help.

When the Moon

I know I'm sometimes a bit the kid who cried hungry, but I mean it today. My stomach will not be filled. I started the evening with a nice bowl of cereal, ate some rice and stir fry, a couple of slices of homemade pizza (with homemade dough. Because I am unstoppable. I dare you to name something I cannot make), and topped off with more rice. Still, I am hungry. I don't know what else to do. Eating certainly isn't doing anything. Doctor, doctor, pull this tapeworm out of me, please.

Speaking of doctors, I don't know how this has happened either, but people around me have come to believe that puns are socially acceptable and even socially desirable. These new small group folks make puns like it's their way to salvation and at work, too, they just abound. The current RA white board features a "Know Thy Ties" guide and riffs on the three prominent styles in the division (with the bowtie as "choice of the chosen"-- my favorite word play thus far this year, though unfortunately unacknowledged by DocQuery) and this morning, we found that someone had attached a picture on it. Of Thaksin Shinawatra, the former Prime Minister of Thailand, in a necktie. The significance of the picture was lost on us for much of the day. Until, sadly, Jeremy had to explain it to us. The Prime Minister, you see, is Thai. Know. Thy. Thai. Ah heh. We were not impressed with his pun, and he was not impressed with our denseness. A disappointing work day all around.

Two to Five

Dinner Diary:

Crustless cheesecake. Chocolate molten cake. Four bites of leftover rice from lunch. Brown butter cupcake. Sweet mung bean soup.

In the Father, Son, and Awkwardness

I was still shy when I got baptized in the fifth grade. Not as shy as when I was really little, but in front of strangers, and enjoyed neither crowds nor the attention of adults. I remember being in the water tank in the incredibly heavy choir robe and that when the pastor asked me whatever questions, I said yes. And that afterward, there was only stillness. The entire church was looking at me, especially all my peers. But the pastor did not hear me. I wasn't sure if I should repeat myself. I was only 11. And shy. So there I stood. And he stood. And the whole congregation leaned in. Just waiting in silence.

Finally, my brother spoke up. "He asked you a question," he said, which did not particularly help the situation. Unless by 'help,' one meant 'make everyone laugh at me.' "I already answered," I mumbled in annoyance, and quietly, with embarrassment, said yes again. The pastor took another minute. Then in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit, dunked me. And that, was my dramatic confession of faith.

Over Dramatic Little Bastards

Unless a school is ready to make an offer, they should not be allowed to start emails with "Congratulations!"

Just putting that out there.

In other news, I am currently icing my knee with a pack of edamame beans and feeling 79 years old. But also feeling very relieved to be finally icing this knee.

Fugnably Late

I feel threatened by boys (particular straight ones) who are more stylish than I am.  Spotted on the train this morning: a guy solidly in his twenties (grad student?) in skinny jeans, legwarmers, a puffy vinyl jacket (aquamarine), big red scarf, and a highlighted, very jagged and dramatic haircut.  I didn't say he looked good, I just said style-ish, but he's about 137% trendier than I will ever be and 129% trendier than I would ever want to be.

All Through the Town

Spotted on the bus on new year's eve: a young man, in a ski mask, counting a wad of cash. Interesting.

Happy New Year

[My friends] think I'm Christian-ish, but I'm not.  I'm just a bad Christian.  A bad born again Christian and certainly, like the apostle Peter, I am capable of denying it, of presenting myself as a leftist liberation theology enthusiast and maybe sort of vaguely Jesus-y bon vivant.  But it's not true… I just love the guy. I just love Jesus, it's that simple.
-Anne Lamott on This American Life