Booster Shot

This is just like last year, when Riles told me I'd get into all my schools easily and Doc Whitecastle said I'd have "a good chance of getting into at least another top tier school."  There's something about these docs (or something I've done) that makes them not put any confidence in me. 

Talking to Doc Gollum about my upcoming finals:

Moi: School is about to get scary.

Doc Gollum: You need to go into this with confidence.

Moi: All right.  I'm going to ace all my finals.

Doc Gollum: Well… not necessarily ace.  Let's just say you'll do well.

No Such Thing

Just walked out of the computer lab and spotted 1.5 muffins on the table with a handwritten sign by it that said "FREE "  Naturally, I took a piece without question.

If anyone wants to remove a generation of the country's best and the brightest (because surely that's what I am), there's no easier way than to spike a tray of food and drop it off anywhere on campus (random hallway, classroom, lab-- we'll find it) and put a "FREE" sign on it.  If you build it, they'll come.

The Incident

Troubled by the loud (what I'd assumed to be) construction noises outside, I moved to pull my window close and ended up making direct eye contact with a fireman positioning a ladder traveling up my building.

"OK. Interesting." And so I moved to the living room, where, from a side vantage point, I could spy on the fireman instead of staring face-on. That was how I spotted the 3 fire trucks, one police car, and one emergency rescue vehicle all parked outside my building. And a nice crowd of spectators, too, dutifully holding up their cameras and phones toward me.

But why? It didn't make sense that they'd be rescuing a stray cat. We have elevators for that. And as far as I could tell, I wasn't being engulfed in flames. So I headed downstairs to investigate.

At the stairwell, I bumped into an archetypal blond, handsome, fireman, "We had reports of smoke from the garage," he said, "But it was nothing." And just like that, by the time I got back upstairs, the ladder was coming down and the trucks soon fanned out. Almost as if the whole thing never happened. Or if I'd only seen flashes of the event in my mind.

And now, mysteries remain, like why the firemen looked so grimy if there was no fire, why they were headed up the ladder when the garage is in the basement, and oh yeah, why they'd send three trucks to investigate smoke reports before evacuating the building? Is my building harboring the smoke monster/Christian Shepherd/John Locke?

In the future, Building, if there's mysterious garage smoke serious enough to alarm three fire trucks, or if my balcony is going to be used as an alien helipad, a little notice might be nice.

Tiger Balm

I was a terribly truant and sickly student from preschool through kindergarten. In those 3 years, I probably only went to school a maximum of 200 days, spending the bulk of the time at home with my mom. And working in textiles. Consequently, I'm terrible with nursery rhymes, the Mandarin alphabet (Taiwan), and fairy tales. It didn't help that my mom liked to be 'creative.' Even now, I'm not sure if half the stories she told me were made up or part of a greater folk lore.

I do remember one song we sang in school, Tiger Witch (or Tiger Grandma, which sounds even stranger). And woke up thinking of it this morning. It's a kindergarten classic. Perfect for talent shows because of its vivid lyrics. (And as these songs are apt to, full of alarming lyrics for toddlers to belt out and act out.)

The Tiger Witch

Mama once told me a far, faraway tale,
in the darkest of dark nights,
there comes the Tiger Witch.

Don't cry, crybabies, or she will eat your little ears
Go to sleep, if you're still up, or she will eat your little fingers,

I still remember closing my eyes to say,
Don't bite me, Tiger Witch,
This sweet child is going to bed.

Youtube is full of clips of children screaming the song out in preschools, homes, and dance classes*, all over Taiwan. I feel like a stalker sharing them, but it's all in the interest of helping you understand, so please, don't be creepy.


*Clip not from dance class. Dance class ones were all duds. It's a kindergarten "graduation" performance. Extra kicks because they're all wearing weird costumes.

Digging to China

I displeased Whitecastle today. Why don't I tell you something you don't know. Like how you shouldn't kiss a baby on the lips (or pass anything from your mouth to a baby's) until it's about 2 years old. It's the same reason why you have to tell them bedtime tales of a cloud-riding monkey and how Medicare will take care of them in old age. There're some truths that they just can't handle. And your mouth germ is one of them. But I digress.

Earlier, I referred to some people who are writing recs for me as 'delinquents' in an email. Whitecastle wanted me to know that he was not a delinquent.

Whitecastle: For someone who's a good writer, you should be more careful about how you address people when your career is on the line.

Moi: But your shirt looks nice today?

Whitecastle: Thank you. Not helping.

This should have been the end of the conversation-- a conversation I was tricked into having because Edith said that Whitecastle was looking for me and made me leave my half eaten pizza to check in with him. He was not looking for me. But since I was already sitting there, he had some questions.

Whitecastle: How many people are enrolled in the study right now?

Moi: What? Thousands.

Whitecastle: Useless. Now I'm even more mad.

Moi: I'm in the middle of a pizza.

Whitecastle: Should I write "attention to detail" in your letter? And when's our meeting?

Moi: Mid-May? Mid-May.

Whitecastle: You have no idea, do you? I think it was the 23rd... no, here it is, May 12th.

Moi: Funny. I think that's mid-May.

Missing Link

Today, I picked up a folder of articles I'd been missing for a couple of months from Doc Nice's office. Doc Nice did not steal my articles. Doc Giggles had given the articles to him. She'd found them in her office just recently and had no idea why. I have no idea why either. Or why she gave the articles to Doc Nice after I'd informed her that they might be mine and described the articles I was missing, articles she said that "sounded like what was in the folder." Her reasoning was that Doc Nice had been in her office a few times in the past few months. I hadn't. Ergo, it was more likely that the articles were his. Even though he wasn't missing them. My reasoning was: I don't know how you stole my articles, but I'd like them back.

Among all the unlikely scenarios, the most likely one, we speculate, is that Doc Giggles had a meeting with Doc Gollum in my office and somehow got so carried away that she picked up an extra folder from my desk. Because that's totally logical.

Moi: ... not that I ever lose any articles. And in case Whitecastle ever asks, the lit review is going swimmingly.

Doc Nice: Of course. You were mentally reading them all this time.

---

Today, Prof. Papa spoke on a panel for our student research group. It's a small, obscure group but we had a good turn out. In planning the event, I'd been the point person for Papa, explaining who we were and why we were putting the panel together. I thought we were all on track. I also thought Josh did a great job introducing and moderating the whole event today. Papa did not. After the talk, he came up to Laura and me and asked, "So, what group was this again? Who did I just speak to?"

Et Tu et Tu et Tu

As if I needed to go all the way up to Maine for this.

Band Man: I do have a serious question: do they sew the elbow patches on for you, or do you provide your own?

Moi: They provide the patches, but we sew it on ourselves.

(later, discussing Amy's nebulous admission status)

Riles: UDub, UNC, Hopkins- these are all great schools. Well done.

Amy: I did get one rejection.

Riles: Yeah, but who wants to go to Harvard anyway? Only weird people go there and they've got an awful program.

Moi: Standing right here, people. Right here.

I'd feel worse, but Riles revealed that she's currently reading The Time Traveler's Wife and that makes me feel wonderfully smug. "That's like reading The Notebook," I said to her. "I know, it was a faulty recommendation."

Sunday

This morning, Amy and I checked out of the bed & breakfast, where we were greeted with breakfast. We gamely declined (because we were having breakfast with Riles), but not before picking up some freshly made blueberry cake, still warm from the oven. Bed & breakfast and wealth go amazingly together. I wish I spent more weekends with them.

Leaving the panel, Riles gave each of us a card. This morning, we found out that they were written before the panel, but written as if she had written them after the panel. How do I mean?

"Thank you for coming (and for being funny)."

Moi: How did she know I'd be funny?

Amy: You weren't that funny.

You know what was funny? Amy's card.

"Thank you for speaking about things."

Best. Professor. Ever.

Bonus Section: New epidemiology joke (once again, not very funny, though everyone at breakfast much preferred this to Alan's original).

A woman is walking down the street and meets her neighbor, who asks, "How's your husband?" To which she says, "Compared to what?" The moral of the story is that epidemiologists are always concerned with comparators. It'd be really great if epi jokes had less morals and more humor.

Saturday

The last 24 hours have been surreal. frmAmy (not to be confused with me) and I trekked up to the Bo' to serve on a young alum panel that Riles arranged.

Band Coffee
Before the panel, we'd planned on coffee at the cafe with the Band Man. I'd even started dreaming of those vanilla milkshakes with a shot of espresso that alternately made my senior year and upset my body. But in the end, we had water out of mason jars at the Band House. Amy and I shared our favorite humiliating soc stories that the Band Man had forgotten until now. Or maybe he'd never noticed. We didn't register much in his mind.

Amy: (after a story about how kids in class confused us) So which one of us emailed you?

Band Man: Uh... you. (pointing straight to the space between us)

(debriefing the event)

Amy: That was really nice.

Moi: Almost makes you wish that things had gone... a little more awkward?

Dinner at Thorne

As part of our panel, we had dinner in the dining hall, where we all fell back into old habits. There were even seniors for us to bump into to and exchange plans with, which made us feel wonderfully at home (though there was no way we were actually going to the ASA Fashion Show). The highlight was perhaps my tearful reunion with the salad dressing Creamy Oriental. Nobody makes that like the Bo'.

The Suite Life

Due to a most fortunate mix up, Amy and I were put in different rooms at the bed & breakfast. Amy was in a room with a giant television and two queen beds. I was in a suite with 2 bedrooms: 1 day bed, 1 king bed, and 2 twins. All to ourselves. Needless to say, Amy and I freaked out like the country bumpkins that we are. And stole as much toiletries as we could. Extending the classy streak, instead of going out, Bree, Gak, and Seames spent the night in with us, comfortably sprawled on the ridiculously large bed with Papa John's pizza.

I hate to admit that I saw this at people.com. I know this is like complaining about the authenticity at P.F. Chang's, but this was the headline:

Trisha Yearwood in the Kitchen: Julia Child, Move Over

Julia Child is still dead, no?

O Happy Day

This morning, in our mutual fatigue, Landlady Chang misheard my "happy hump day" comment and we decided that Wednesdays would be much better as Happy Hunk Days than hump days.  Haven't worked out the celebration specs though. 

Here IT Goes Again

An ongoing correspondence between IT and me:

Dear IT:
  My webmail account seems to have dropped at least 3 emails over the weekend.  Also, my name appears as "LEE" in the address book.  Who should I speak to about this?  Thanks.


Dear LEE:
  Check this link (broken link with 2 typos).  As for the directory, talk to the registrar's office.


Dear IT:
  The link didn't help.  And I just checked with the registrar's office.  The lady there apologized for sending me back and forth but said that I should speak to you.  In fact, she just contacted you regarding a similar problem.  I hate you.

-----
On an unrelated note, Prof Papa winked at me today.  It was hard to tell because he was faraway and wrinkly (he's also wrinkly close up), but I think he meant to nod and ended up winking instead.  That makes it awkward interaction #847. 

Louise: [Papa] just stopped by [the lunch table] to chat with you guys?  Jealous!

(He was only stopping by to tell us not to listen to Prof Riveting.  Which I have no qualms with.  None at all.)

War on Poverty

They say that death is an equal opportunity merchant. Turns out, hunger is, too. It unites doctoral and master's students, from every program and ethnicity, as we flock toward unattended (ergo free for the taking) food at school. It's easy to see why Dining Services would be annoyed with students. We're liability issues, and impediments to clean up. Plus, we're always grabbing greedily in packs and often eating food meant for those revenue-generating symposium attendees.

But it's even easier to see why we're preying on tables. The school has so much food that's free. Better than what we'd eat on our own. And oh that's right, I just paid out about $48K*? This evening, emerging from the micro lab, I came upon a subtle leftover feast as people methodically snatched up as much food as they could. There was hummus and dip but no bread. No worries, bring it home or mix it with the salad. Dining Services had taken away all silverware, but folks managed. Stephanie found a fork. Some kid was using skewers as chopsticks. And then someone found takeout containers. So we all took home boxes of random salsa, tabouleh, and some sort of wild rice salad. Plus hummus. A Dining Service guy started pulling the trays from us, literally as people were still grabbing food off of the plate, but we didn't fight him. The battle may be over, but there will be free food again, School, and we'll be ready to pounce.

*Not sure of the amount, but at this point, being off by several thousand dollars no longer matters.

PS. The week may be a ceaseless wave of work, but the weekend promises coffee with the Band Man and breakfast with Riles, i.e. nerd nirvana.

Weekend Warrior

The weekend has been good to the nerdlinger in me. Except the part about getting my homework done. I got both gummy vitamins and gummy calcium (one is incredibly chewy, the other subtly disgusting). They're now my best parts of waking up. Doc Query and I got to discuss Hot Tub Time Machine. Though by "discuss" I meant that he spelled out its merits and failings in an email and I meekly assented. I also cooked brussel sprouts and caught up on Lost.

And oh, I just saw a commercial on Taiwanese Americans for the census.



Taiwanese Americans identity and the census. They're like bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens for me.

Thief and the Cross

The weird thing about this picture is that this place has been boarded up ever since I've lived in the neighborhood. Yet it's gone through at least 2 different sandwich signs. As far as I know, there's never been any hot pastrami. I'd know.

I stole someone's Easter candies at school. In my defense, I shared it with as many people as I could have, because Robin Hood is how I roll. In my defense, I read "Thuy" as "Hug." (Nic: You didn't think it was weird that someone signed the card "hug XOXO?" No. I did not.) And in my defense, I also know someone named Shan. Turns out, wrong Shan, wrong me, wrong mailbox. Right chocolates.

Perhaps I should also mention that this Shan has terrible handwriting. And none of this is my fault. I happily ate and shared chocolates that I found in my mailbox. But then when I thanked my Shan and she was confused, tried very hard to figure out who else it might have been that gave me chocolates. That part was easy because I don't have very many friends. Until April pointed out that the chocolates probably belonged to someone else and accidentally ended up in my box. Which made the chocolates taste more sinful than usual, but not in a good way. So we went back to the note, studied its possibilities, searched the student directory, and came up with a few guesses. Jen probably summed it all up best.

Jen: So you're going to awkwardly email this random girl and basically say 'hey, I think ate your chocolates but I'm not sure. And I can't really make out your friend's name, or where your mailbox is, so this could all be a mistake. Sorry if you don't know what I'm talking about?'

Moi: Pretty much.

Jen: Why do these things only happen to you?

PS. Hi, Dave! I still listen to Dave Richards sermons online sometimes. You should tell him that.

You Talking to Me?

Last night, I had a wonderful time with Mrs. Cho and Carol. Those two are a potent hangout duo. Amazingly, without any prompting on my part, we got to talking about the new tax on tanning salons in the health reform bill.

Mrs. Cho: The guy said it was like a tax on sunshine.

Carol: Is the tax on the salons? Do they have to pay or do the customers have to pay more now?

Moi: That depends. The incidence of tax- the tax burden- depends on the price elasticity of demand for the product.

Mrs. Cho: You must be thrilling at parties.

(later, telling Laura this story)

Laura: But you're thrilling at [school] parties!

Exactly.

Comedy of Errors

It used to be that Whitecastle would mock or yell at me for everything except when I actually messed up. Then, like Ranma 1/2 with water (or for the non-Taiwanese/Japanese but agriculturally savvy readers, Mimosa pudica with touch), he would suddenly transform into a patient teacher, withholding blame and telling me not to apologize.

Not sure whether I should take this as a compliment (I take many unjustified compliments), but after 2.5 years and 1 transformation too many, Whitecastle has stopped holding back judgment and now makes fun of me regardless of circumstance.

Whitecastle: You inverted the assignments for these two groups. What were you thinking?

Moi: Well, I didn't think the differences were that-

(Whitecastle tells me he's kidding, starts laughing, then goes back to belittling my decisions for 4 more minutes)

Whitecastle: It just doesn't make any sense. Are you trying to mess this up?

Moi: I'm going to go cry now.

Small Step for Bears

Teevee's McDreamy is a Bo' alum (the Shepherd, not the actor). It's a distinction no one else in the universe knows about. And one we're not particularly fond of- much like the fact that the only pro-slavery Northern president is also a Bo' alum. Mainly, this means that he occasionally wears t-shirts bearing the school's name. Except so far, all you've seen is either "Bo" or "in." Which could mean any number of schools. But Thursday night, I happened to catch the last 10 minutes of the show, and witness the whole Bo' name on display. Which prompted an exclamation from me and a rebuke from Landlady Chang. But I don't care: Go U Bears.

(And go Butler!)

Elevator Music

I take the elevator more than I should. And always feel bad about it. But when I have luggage with me, such as this morning, I feel justified in taking the lift. Where it allows me to overhear awesome conversations.

Man 1: .... what do you mean which? There's only one Mufasa. From Lion King.

Man 2: My friend Dan in New York dated a Mufasa.

Man 1: Was he a cartoon character?

Man 2: No, he wasn't a cartoon character. What kind of a question is that?

Begive and Beget

Are you or anyone you know expecting a child? If so, I could use your help.

Someone named their baby after Grant today. Sure, it was only a middle name, but that's farther than I've come. Baby Aaon Coppley, you break my heart. As do Joyce and Elise (not to be confused with Lenny)-- always close, but never enough. To stack the cards further against me (isn't it bad enough that he's so tall?) Grant's going to have exclusive access to babies in the near future (he's not creepy, he's just being a doctor). And the Ozolins offspring is already spoken for. It's not that even that I'd like to beat Grant, but I need to win this. So start getting busy, folks.

Young Bo': I've never had anyone named after me. But I've been named after someone.

Moi: That doesn't count. And I don't even have that.

Title Fine

You have noticed that I've posted fewer entries lately. It's because I've been tired since 1978.

For the past few weeks, maybe even month, Ashley and I have been repeating the same refrains to many, many different people. "It's about a hot tub that's also a time machine." "Of course, it's not as good as The Hangover- that's not the point." And "What's not to understand? The title explains everything."

We don't know what everyone's deals are. Well, we do know. "Simpletons," Ashley so aptly pinpointed. But the movie had us pumped. I'm talking international dance troupes type of pumped levels. And so this afternoon, we went for it. "We have to... go," was what we told people as we left school. "If I said we're going to the movies," Ashley wisely speculated, "They'd ask us which one. It was easier not to say anything." But ain't no matter. We recruited no one else for the ride. In fact, there were only 10 people in the theater. But there was popcorn. Dibs. John Cusack. Obscene bear. The 80's. And when we got out, sunshine. And a glorious, glorious day.