On the Flip Side

Dear Diary:
I'd write, but I'm trying to pass a couple of exams and generally not flunk out of school.

Sincerely,

Studying Stanley

PS. Lenny Charles is a baby chicken killer.

Help Is On The Way

I used to complain about stumping the IT help desk. Now, I realize, that's not so bad as compared to teaching the help desk.

Moi: ... you see, the problem is that even with that, it still says that my inbox is over limit.

IT: How are you seeing this?

Moi: If you go to Mailbox- no, not there - OK, no, don't click... yes, right click--

House of the Holy

This is why I have way more kingdom points than Zvi.

Zvi: Way to answer my calls.

Moi: I'm sorry, I was in church.

Zvi: Psh, you can text in church. People sleep in church all the time.

Coquettish Clumps

Soup season is over, homes.

Landlady Chang: What're you making?

Moi: Tuna croquettes.

Landlady Chang: For yourself?

Moi: Yup.

Landlady Chang: You're crazy.

I'm not crazy. I'm evasive. And my responsibilities are many. Croquettes aren't traditionally Taiwanese, but the Japanese seem to love them (though not so much in American Japanese restaurants) and Japanese and Taiwanese cuisine have a symbiotic relationship, much like Tex-Mex in the States. But with less bastardization. Of course, croquettes are everywhere, and in Lisboa, I had a field day pointing to and trying out random croquettes. With all this in mind, and a little inspiration from Alton, I set forth to make my own for lunch. If I flunk out of school, I just may have found my calling.

Le Diner de Cons

(scheduling a meet up...)

Moi: [I'm going to a] dinner party on Saturday-- because I'm whiter than you are.

Zvi: You are way whiter than I am.

Moi: Which is so unfair.

Zvi: I bet your kids are going to be gifted.

Spartacus

The Registrar's Office is undergoing renovations this week. And I'm loving the signs they've plastered over the door: WE ARE OPENED.

Oh, yes you are.

Fancy Feast

Just saw a commercial for cat food, whilst making Vita-K and my version of "cat food," and realized that cats eat sea bass and shrimp in "delicate broth" as "appetizer." And me? I was eating canned tuna with rice at 9:43PM. I'm a dog person.

Tomorrow is my first grad exam, which made tonight the perfect time to make "cat food." It was a favorite Bo' recipe, shared over late night problem sets, and was even the first meal we made in the flat in Eddie Bert- before we figured out where the grocery store was and could only buy essentials at the convenience store down the street.

Now, this is the part where I lose people. The components of cat food sound disgusting (especially compared to real cat food), but this is a recipe refined by many years of practice by Vita-K and myself. (Pretty sure it was her invention) We swear by its taste and have won many a skeptical converts (OK, I only remember Hilary, but I swear there're more). Tuna. Rice. Mayonnaise. And soy sauce paste (Vita-K liked regular soy sauce). Sometimes a little sugar. Tonight, a little chipotle heat. Seriously. This is what I would swear by if I ever had the munchies, or found myself drunk and hungry, or finally dragged myself home at 4am but was too hyper to go to bed... but mostly, this is what I swear by on nights like this, studying, studying, (procrastinating) studying.

Bedside Manners

All day long I collect anecdotes that I could share with you. Then I go home. I forget everything that has happened to me during the day. And every morning, I drag myself out of bed, sore, tired, mouth dry. And I think, "If I was hungover right now, this is what it'd feel like." But instead of a night of boozing and carousing, there was generally just me, with not quite a handle of problem sets. (well, and a bit of procrastination sprinkled here and there, sure...)

I don't like homework.

Crackle and Pop

There's a leftover box of Greek delights in the office kitchenette (think Turkish delights but less conservative). The delights, being what they are, are coated with a very generous amount of powdered sugar which has, despite everyone's best efforts, gotten all over the counter top-- thus prompting every single person to walk by -- from division chief to senior biostatistician-- to make some sort of cocaine joke. Come on, people. Doesn't anyone use heroin anymore?

Walk the Talk

I live on the second floor. But oftentimes, lately, I've been taking the elevator. There's always a good excuse ("it's been a long day," "I'm already here," "I need to go pee") for it and I can live with perfect conscience whether I take the stairs or elevator. But I always feel bad if I bump into people in the elevator, especially people riding up to the 5th floor. They make me feel compelled to limp as I exit.

Condensed Soup

Last week's cauliflower soup was all about simplicity, tasting the tomatoes and the cauliflower, with a little bit of curry and nutmeg. This week, in contrast, was about bold tastes. Garlic and chipotle, tossed into the mix. With a bit of cheddar, too. Stronger and thicker than before. And so good I'm content to not move. Ever. Again.

Decline and Fall

Nothing good comes of exercising. Earlier today, I was peer pressured into taking the stairs up to class instead of the elevator. And, feeling pious, decided to repeat the act on my way down as well, despite the fact that everyone else was taking the elevator. (They were heading straight for ground floor, I stopped at the third, and then went for the ground.) What I did not anticipate, however, was that my school was actually a creepy crypt and/or the set of a horror film. As I descended deeper, the lights grew dimmer, until I passed the second floor door and came across a barrier. To the right of the barrier was a door that said EXIT. Funny, I thought, this doesn't look like the other exit doors, perhaps I'll just go down to L1. So I did. Passing, on my way, a literal hole in the wall where a window should be that revealed a room full of tanks and pipes. But, I pressed on to the bottom floor. Only to discover that there were no doors. So up I went again to the mysterious EXIT sign where the ground floor should be. The door was unlocked, thankfully, but instead of leading to the cafeteria, led to a barren concrete room. One of those rooms that you only see people enter and not exit. Thus, I had no choice but to exercise even more than I had planned, hiking back past the barrier and onto the second floor, where the door led me back to the bustle and normalcy of school. And I found myself the big, well-lit central stairs that lead to the cafe, where everyone acted cheerful and generally pretended there was no hidden darkness right beneath us all. In fact, I'm not even sure what I saw today. It was all so surreal. I may have made the whole thing up.

Lactose Galactica

Whenever I have frozen yogurt (of the Asian, berry chains, persuasion), I say, "This is ridiculous for $4. I don't get what the big deal is." Then I end up craving its tangy sweet and coolness for a week thereafter.

Cream of the Fight

I don't like breakfast food. Not cereal or oatmeal or bagels, at least. I like the savories and would love nothing more than leftovers for breakfast every day. Mexican night leftovers got me through a summer at BP. But of course, I don't eat leftovers every day. And there's no vendor selling scallion pancakes with eggs and breakfast dumplings outside my building. So I mostly manage with cereal and PB sandwiches with bananas.

This morning, though, was a treat. Warm, soupy rice, a little spicy, a little stew-y. A lot of stick-to-my-fleshy-ribs goodness.

Captain Smorgban

(on Saturday night, Friso was trying to explain how his day job brought him here from the Netherlands...)

Friso: I work in shipping. Freights, cargo, setting the prices.

Moi: Have you seen The Wire? They were looking at some drug smuggling and dead bodies being found in those containers in season 2. Do you smuggle people and/or drugs?

Friso: No, we deal in piracy. The profits are much higher.

Slim Shady

Sometimes, I can see my life in two parallel worlds. The world where people's words mean what I think them to mean and where my words are understood to be exactly what I meant them to be. Then there is the real world. Where terrible things happen when people don't behave per my expectations.

This afternoon, I pop into Doc Query's office to offer a cookie (wanted to buy 6 thank-you cookies for Josh and ended up buying 24, because it doesn't make economic sense to buy the smaller package when the tub is only 50 cents more).

Doc Query: No, thanks, I'm on a diet.

(I assume he is joking)

Moi: Oh, yeah, you look great. It's totally working out for you.

Doc Query: Yeah? Thanks.

Moi: So, do you want a cookie?

(He was not joking)

Doc Query: No, thanks. I'm on a diet.

Moi: Oh...

Luckily, not everyone in the office was on a diet (though more of us, that is, I, probably should be). By the time I get to Whitecastle's office, the box was more than half gone and only 8 were left. He, as you might remember, does not do well with not placing first. Practically a poster child for birth-order theorists.

Moi: Want a cookie?

Whitecastle: It doesn't look like there's any left. I told you to come to me first.

Moi: Oh. Yeah... um, it was a box of 8. You're the first one...

The Backup

Moi: It's weird, I have to take classes that have nothing to do with my interest, like accounting.

Father: That's good- accounting is a good skill to have if this doesn't work out for you.

Moi: Well, no, because I won't be qualified to be an accountant. I'll just know some basics.

Father: I meant if you didn't have a job, you could always come back and manage finances at home.

Thanks for keeping faith, Father. You always knew best.

The Soup

Perhaps because of its huge endowment losses this fiscal year, the School was incredibly cold yesterday. After classes, we all wanted a nice cup of soup. Most people settled for beer. I -- wallet-less and abstaining at the moment (yeah, sounded like a real alcoholic when I broke that to my new classmates. note to self: need new way of explaining that I'm not drinking anymore), settled for water. It was awesome after 2 weeks to sit with people as broke as I am and talk about all those doctors in our program. But I digress.

This morning, the rain canceled Common Good Day and afforded me 1.5 extra hours of sleep, extra time for an epi problem set, and a chance to make soup- cauliflower soup. Nothing more than cauliflower and hot water, really, plus some seasoning. I remembered that I still had some tomatoes and threw those in the blender at the last minute. Brilliant choice on my part. The croutons ruined my picture above but not my palate. Crunchy, buttery, salty goodness. Easiest soup and quickest clean up ever. I wish every Saturday was soup day.

Eureka

Tomorrow concludes my second week of classes (but not really, since this was a short week again). It's taking awhile. I definitely had to ask for directions this afternoon ("Stupid question, but just to double check- we're in Kresge?" "The building we're sitting in? [where all of our classes are was implied] Yes.") But I'm starting to get a hold of my schedule and figure out how to survive: I just need to stay on top of my readings, work on my problem sets every night, and never go out at night. Ever. Totally workable plan for the next two years.

Different School, Same Story

Had to chase after the bus again this morning. With arms flailing as I ran with my messenger bag, too. Coolest kid ever.

Whilst getting semi-lost in the basement computer labs yesterday (it's like a dungeon down here, except we pay them to treat us like this), I stumbled upon a room that looked different from all the rest. There were tool benches and little boxes and drills and presses, plus a gated door. Then I spotted the sign to the room. Locksmith. Ah, of course, the school would have its own locksmith. I want my money back, school.

How do I begin describing my new professors? I don't even know. They seem a lot more google-able than before, which makes it hard to say anything about them. I will just let this one speak for himself.

Prof Rafa: If you see me up there [in the back of the lecture hall] at the beginning of class, make way. It will be easier for us to start class on time if everyone made way for me.

Girl in the Back: Can you turn up the mic?

Prof Rafa: Did you get the part about making way? That was very important.

(Later, trying to discourage people from taking the bursting-at-the-seams class)

Prof Rafa: You probably didn't read the evaluations from last year. It was very bad. Don't do this to yourselves if you don't have to take this course.

PS. Inane blogs are pretty 2005, but clicked on Average Cats today and it just made me laugh and laugh in the computer lab.

Epidermis Showing

It's that time of the year again.  Time once again for the "what is it about me that looks so Chinese/Taiwanese?"  In today's story, I exchange emails with this girl regarding buying her textbook.  Before we're supposed to meet, we exchange 20 words on the phone.  Twenty words that go something like this, "Hi, I'd like to buy your textbook.  Where are you?"  "I'm sitting by the wall."  "Oh, there you are."  "Yes, I see you."  Yet somehow, seconds later when we meet, the first thing she asks is, "Are you Taiwanese?"  Damn it.  I don't know how people do it, but my skin done gave me away.

In other news, I was sooo happy to sit next to a group of doctoral nerds today who were discussing stocking up on favorite pens not available in the US.  I thought I was the only one!

Opposite Day

I came back from the rally this morning and saw Landlady Chang in shorts. I was in jeans with a light jacket in hand, slightly sweaty. I almost always travel with a light jacket in hand.

Moi: This weather is so confusing. Hot or cold, I don't know how to feel.

Landlady: I know. I think I need some socks.

I change out of the semi-sweaty clothes and when I head into the living room ago, I'm in shorts and short-sleeve while Landlady is in socks, long pants, and a sweatshirt.

Moi: Oh. So you were... cold?

Landlady: ... And you were not.
---
---
"But why is Grace playing hard to get?" "That's just how girls are, Joe."

My favorite lines of the day. Joseph is the boy you see on the upper right hand corner. He's almost 5 now and in love with Gracie. Gracie, however, may have had a change in heart. She used to talk about marrying Joseph. Now when her mom asks, she just smiles and walks away. Today, Joseph and Gracie were playing together when Joseph was sent inside for a time-out. He tried to make the best of the situation by pretending that it was his idea to go inside. And recruiting Grace to join him. But he wasn't able to fool anyone, least of all Gracie, who chose to ride the tricycle on the lawn and generally ignore Joseph's pleas. (When she finally did stop from her running and riding to respond, it was to say, "But I don't want to."-- she's a heart breaker) Liz and I explained to Joseph that she was playing hard to get. The concept, however, was lost on poor Joseph. So much to learn, young man, so much to learn.

Glee Club

Over the past few weeks, I have been, like many people, fascinated and perplexed by the debate surrounding health care reform. I understand why people would be passionate over such a personal issue, but the vitriol and ignorance have often been shocking. And not just from the cable news crazies. I've also had decent conversations with a few friends and been surprised at people's reluctance for a public option. So when the opportunity came this week, like the good health policy student that I am, I thought I'd see the action for myself go hear what the politicians and activists are saying as well as try to spot some crazies. I missed a couple of town hall meetings earlier in the week with senators, but managed to join a rally on the Commons this morning.

(for Nicole and Katy)

What I forgot, was that I live in Boston. Look up "Preaching to the Choir" in the dictionary and I'm sure you'll spot one of these pictures. There were no counter rallies. Nobody shouted about America. In the state that brought you MassHealth, there were no reservations about a public option, just frustration that there wouldn't be enough done to insure it (and of course, vague notions of what all this would entail). And while it's nice to find a crowd of people that sort of think like me on a few issues, the lack of crazies (for or against, I wasn't being picky), smooth rhetoric of politicians, and heartwarming tale of a janitor from the union... made the whole rally a dud. Way to be boring, democracy.

Expats on the Back

I don't know what is wrong with me. I can't seem to bring myself to finish my homework assignments and I keep falling in love with unavailable things. First, there was Airwave gum, which I first tasted on a trip back to the Motherland in 2001 and was dismayed to learn, upon my return, that we don't carry them in the States. It's available nearly everywhere else in Europe and Asia. And probably other continents, too (wouldn't bet on Antarctica though). The next time my folks went back to Taiwan, they lugged back a box for me. Ever since then, Airwaves and its supermentholated goodness have been my trick for staying awake in classes. Honestly could not have gotten through the Bo' without Airwaves. And a piece totally came in handy in econ just this Friday afternoon.



Next, Father opened my eyes to Pilot BPS pens late in my high school career and now I don't write with anything else. It's a pen whose virtues I've extolled for years, mostly here- where no one can beat me up. And once again, I discover that they're not sold in the States. Sure, I can order them from the UK at "cultpens.com" for $2.60 apiece (plus $16.40 S&H) but even fanaticism has its limits. I'll just have to wait for Father to buy my next batch from Taiwan again like a normal crazy person.

Tonight, tragedy struck again. Avoiding homework, I decided to look for Tangfastics- the Haribo sour gummy pack that was such a positive part of my time in Eddie Bert- and discovered that, horror of horrors, it's an UK-specific Haribo product not available anywhere else. I can't even have Father serve as my contraband mule. Not even weird British specialty places sell it. Though I could have sworn I spotted it at a Dollar Tree in Somerville once. For now, we'll just have to settle for the awesomely named Schneck Leckers (the interweb tells me that that somehow means foam sugar snails).


(photo courtesy of Amazon.com-- it sells dozens of Haribo packs. just not the one that I want. I hate that smug snail and its sneer)

Cinderella Story

When I first settled on my choice of grad school, I joked that it was the ugly stepchild of the Haaahvuhds because it seemed like the right, modest thing to say since I'd never heard anyone either impressed by or bragging about a school of public health education. Apparently, the rest of the University also considers it an ugly step child. Browsing the web for school-insignia presents for my generous and supportive grandfathers this morning (who both have random Bo' plates and mugs on display in their respective living rooms- and are the only people in the family to have them), I clicked on the "Grad Schools" link of the shop run by Haaaaahvuhd students and realized that I don't exist.

Smoke Signals

Tonight, avoiding homework (worked on first problem set of the year until 12:48am last night... wth, grad school? what is this, Physics 104? totally not cool. and no, let's not place the blame on how late I started the problem set...), Landlady Chang and I sat in the dark of the apartment (we pay bills, really) and talked. Just taking turns talking at each other about nothings and complaining about things as they come to our minds, the way that good landlord-tenants do. Landlady Chang is one of the best things about living in this place. Per usual, our conversation ended with something like this...

Landlady: That siren has been going off for awhile. I want to see where it's coming from.

Moi: I think it's from across the street. (open window) Oh. There it is. I smell smoke. And there go the firefighters.

Ready for My Milk and Cookies

*Liz gets an (!) after her name because I gasp and hiccup every time I think of her.

Today was my first day of school. I made one new friend whose name I have already forgotten. I also bought a planner with a medical school seal on it. (I also clipped my toe nails, but that's irrelevant to the story.)

Amy: These calendars have the medical school seal.

Moi: Aren't they all the same?

Amy: No, see, they've got the lion.

Moi: But it says 've ri tas' on it. Don't we have the lion?

Amy: I think ours has a cross on it.

Oh. Apparently, the medical school also gets 50 more buildings than we do. All of my classes meet in the same 2 classrooms. And at the bookstore? All the school of public health books fit on one lonely shelf, whereas the other people get fancy sections like "Fiction by Doctors." Good for you, HMS, freakin' good for you. At least my professors have misguided confidence in me. They keep saying things like "when you sit on the board of directors, you will need to know this." "When you become a health minister in your own country." I'll work on those things when I find a sticker to cover up this lion crest?

Declaration of Indenture

Today is my last day of freedom. I celebrated by going into work and meeting my adviser. And tonight, I will go to church. Alas, there is more. I cooked. Roast eggplant + garlic + salt is a very happy combination. As is crisply roasted chicken skin + salt. And crisp chicken dripping croutons. I picked up a trick from the Times a few months ago (don't I always?) of putting a piece of bread under the roasting chicken, thereby making the bread delicious and the pan wonderfully clean. Of course, I should have remembered this while I was roasting the red pepper-- the pan is still a mess, but at least it's not from the chicken. Oh, that skin was so crisp. I want to bake up a whole tray of nothing but salt and pepper with skin. For the time being though, I'm free, and wonderfully content.

Josh: Did you get a new lunch bag?

Moi: Huh?

Josh: Every year at the start of school, I always got a new lunch bag.

Moi: I'm getting a new backpack.

Josh: I feel like we should send you off at the bus stop tomorrow. And take pictures.

Mandy: And give you apples to bring to school.

Thanks for the ceaseless moral support, Full Time Work. I'm sure going to miss you.