How You Say

Our family friend is visiting from Taiwan, where Yen-Hsun Lu is from. Our family friend is a professor, who, like many people, assumes that I'm more intelligent than I really am.

(except for the italics, we're speaking in Chinese)

Friend: Have you read L'Elegance du Herisson?

Moi: ... (I don't know what she's saying)

Friend: Have you read 刺蝟的優雅? (says book title in Chinese)

Moi: ... (I don't know what she's saying)

(We discuss how to say "herisson" or "刺蝟" in English for a few minutes. After a minute, I blurt "porcupine." "No, it's hedge something." "Hedgehog!")

Friend: Have you read The Elegance of the Hedgehog? (finally, with words I understand)

Moi: No.

Bested in three languages. My ego has seen better days.

---
PS. Dear Sportscasters, you do realize that 'Chinese Taipei' is not a physical place? It's just the name of sports teams representing Taiwan. You must. It's a factoid you read off every time you talk about anyone from the team. What you need to realize is that this means that people cannot grow up in Chinese Taipei, that Chinese Taipei does not have 'local' practices, and you can't have debates about the language people speak in Chinese Taipei. Because it's not a place. Mm kay?

Tingling Sensation

If I ate breakfast two hours ago, am I in the clear to finish my enormous omelet for lunch now? With a side of chocolate stout cake (can't taste the stout, but the chocolate frosting Mary suggested was brilliant).

After a couple of weeks of cooking bad pastas, I finally made something delicious this morning. I had a fridge full of a stray pieces: 1/4 onion, 1/2 shallot, 4 mushrooms, 1/3 pack wrinkled cherry tomatoes, and 2 last eggs in the carton and decided to toss it all together, plus some garlic, bacon pieces and cheddar, for a big, fluffy omelet. Granted, I now face the rest of the week with an empty fridge, but the breakfast just went down so lovely with some world war soccer.

The trouble with schooling and work and learning is that sooner or later, people start thrusting responsibilities on me and assuming that I'm capable. I'm completely flattered but question whether it's all well deserved. On Friday, a collaborator at Internship killed a plan to publicize the results of a study because of my assessment of the limits and methodology of the paper. The way Collaborator heard my analysis was both thrilling and terrifying. Because of all the people at Internship equipped to critique the statistical methods of a health economics paper by a brilliant professor, it's obviously me. Someone should give BP my number.

Smartest Girl I Know

Moi: What movies has she worked on?

Lenny: Have you seen the trailer for the movie Greenberg?

Moi: The one with Ben Stiller? She did the trailer?

Lenny: No, she worked on the movie.

Moi: Why did you say trailer then?

Lenny: Because no one has ever heard of Greenberg.

Moi: But you think if they haven't heard the film, they've heard of the trailer?

Lenny: ...

Little Brutus

There's a phrase in Chinese that says something to the effect of 'the perpetrator always tattles first.'  There's also a phrase like that in English but my mind isn't too sharp right now.  While the Riddle boys (minus Aaron, jury is still out on him) usually take the prize for their good behavior (unless you're putting them to bed- no prize there), they can be hilarious when they turn against each other.  They can be pounding each other to pieces one minute, but will stop to apologize, hug, and even forgive one another, if you suggest that pulping was not the best idea.  Last week, Joseph, Tim, and I stood admiring their mom's basil plant and Joseph helped himself to a leaf.  "Are you supposed to do that, Joseph?"  "Yeah, it's OK," the little liar replied.  Then Tim followed suit.  At which point, Joseph immediately yelled for his father and told on Timmy, because really, it wasn't OK. 

Speak Later

I normally hold my peace forever at weddings.  But then again, I normally show up on time.  (Except for Liz's.  Have we covered that already?  Nearly missed vows, the only non-Catholic, non-white, and one of few non-middle aged group to show up late- we blended right in.)  But Amy's wedding was far beyond normal.  It reached near fatal heights of adorable and fantastic.  And we left 30 minutes behind schedule (not my fault!), ran into traffic, and managed to be the only guests who were late to the wedding.  Which meant that I, with help from Allison, managed to hold up an entire wedding-- musicians, friends, families, and seething bride included.  And I wasn't even a member of the wedding party.  I just had to do a 90-second reading from the Bible that Amy refused to sic on someone else.  (Amy: I'm not going to make someone else read from the Bible!)  The whole experience made me feel strangely powerful.  And incredibly guilty.  But mostly happy, because these are wonderful people and they did get married.  Twice.  (they were married and presented to everyone... then remembered that rings weren't exchanged, then became man and wife again)

Freeze

I am proud of myself every time someone walks by or stops to check in and I just happen to be working.  Those moments always warrant a well-deserved stroll through the interweb. 

Squatter Rights

The last 15 minutes of the morning went something like this:

Moi: Where am I sitting this week?

2/3 Supervisor: Jessica's desk.

Moi: Oh?  Where's Jessica?

2/3 Supervisor: I suppose on vacation.  Don't know why that's not on my calendar.

(settle into Jessica's desk, log off, log in, sign in... enter Jessica)

Jessica: What's going on here?

Moi: You are not on vacation.  You are here.

Jessica: Yes, I am.

Moi: So I should not sit here anymore.

Jessica: No.

This is why parents shouldn't name their kids off of the Top 10 list.

(Don't cry for me, Readers, I'm now at a much more secluded spot that I much, much prefer.  It's got big windows and is in a corner of a quiet section of the office, so nobody's sneaking up on me this week, and no more drop-by hellos.)

Things Liz Missed

On Thursday, Landlady Chang and I gathered in Dwight's posh, spacious kitchen to cook for the new batch of BP summer staff. We were getting our good deed of the summer out of the way, and doing it early on, when the staff was still fresh and grateful. We've all served as BP counselors, all love the organization, and are all psyched that we are not out mowing lawns with teenagers all summer. I still remember every meal we had my summer (if you think I'm hungry now, imagine how hungry I was being on my feet 18 hours a day), and haven't had corn bread pudding as good as the one the Fosters made in 2004. I'm optimistic that my Thursday cinnamon rolls will likewise be remembered. From what I hear, they are legendary. The recipe came by way of Scotland, from Dave (who got it from a guy at Alpha Course?), who made wonderful things in that S. Clark Street flat. I don't make these often because they're so time consuming but the oohs and wows afterward are well worth it. And today, I received the ultimate compliment: Sarah -- who made a baked Alaska, Sarah of the pirate and Hannah Montana cakes-- asked me for the recipe. She's going to make it this weekend. That's like Mo Rivera asking to see how I throw the ball. Who am I to turn down a Hall of Famer?

Planned Internship

Sometimes, Boys and Girls, you plan for things but things do not happen according to plan.  This is a story about one of those times.

 

I had planned on taking the day off on Thursday.  But then Internship One Third Supervisor asked to check in on Thursday morning.  Not a problem.  We scheduled the meeting for 9:15am.  I'm in, I'm out, I'm off making Guinness cake.  Yesterday, meeting got postponed to 10:00am.  Not a problem.  I'm in, I work a little longer, I meet with Supervisor and Collaborator, I'm out, and I'm off making cinnamon rolls.

 

10:00am rolls around.  Empty office.  10:10am.  10:15am.  I shoot a quick email to Phantom Supervisor.  Apparently, she left me off of an email chain.  In which she explained that she couldn't come to work this morning.  To which Collaborator replied that he'd meet with me, but was running late.

 

Change of plans, yes, but I'm adaptable.  I'm in, I work a little more, I meet with Collaborator, I'm out, and I'm not sure what I'm making.  But now that I have time to kill, I dig around Collaborator's organization blog.  I find a post about the 2 reports we're meeting about, the 2 reports that I'd been summarizing in preparation for a blog post.  That's funny because it's what I'd been preparing for the last 2 weeks, what we're supposed to meet about, and what I was supposed to work on writing next week if the meeting went well— all completed and on the website.  As of a week ago.  And here I am, sitting in the office, wearing my best confused face.  I'm in, and I'm hungry for sticky buns.

Life's Persistent Questions

Why doesn't my pandering work?

Why do the leaves change colors with the seasons?

How come everyone else knew that "the 11 o'clock meeting starts at 11:15?"  Why don't we call it the 11:15 meeting then?

Why are the fourth and fifth floors X'ed out in the elevator and why do they have "Restricted" signs in the staircase? 

But this much I know:

Do I particularly care about the South Africa and Uruguay?  Not really.  (though I do remember that Uruguay's capital is Montevideo)  Then again, was I committed to Portugal and Ivory Coast?  No.  Did it matter to me that Roger Federer did not make it to the French Open finals?  No.  I barely knew what was going on.  But do all these things help me stay awake during the work day?  Yes, absolutely, yes.  Thank you, Sports, for your wonderful array of story lines I can pretend to care about every day.

I love Nicole.

Bust the Funky Lyrics

I thought I had a rough week last week. Then I talked to Amy (not to be confused with me). She was bitten by dogs two days in a row (beat that, Lenny Charles). Alison had an awkward encounter with Mother of Boyfriend. Ashley is lounging in Antigua (oh wait, not an example of hardship). And we all saw what the English goalie did. Put into perspective, empty threats and feeling like an idiot at internship really can't compare.

Whitecastle: If you somehow see un-blinded data, or if because of you, I see un-blinded data-

Moi: I'll get hit by a Mack truck? Because that's already happened.

Whitecastle: No, I'll make you hit the Mack truck. You'll be running toward it this time.

That Ms. Flinner

Moving my desk at work every three months isn't fun. But it sure beats moving every week at the internship. And Doc Winner has a quiet, caustic wit that makes the new seat quite enjoyable.

(on his moving into Dorchester)

Moi: Yeah, I have do-gooder friends there. They work on building up the community and neighborhoods, that kind of thing.

Doc Winner: I just wait until they're revitalized and move in. It's much easier that way.

(leaving the office early together for a second time in a row)

Moi: We've got to stop doing this. It's getting embarrassing.

Doc Winner: What's embarrassing is how late you come in and early you leave.

Moi: No, what's really embarrassing is how little money I make.

Doc Winner: Touche.

I know that he said 'touche,' but I still feel like I'm at the losing end of that.

The Test of Time

I received my last finals of the year today. I'd long known how I'd done on the course, but reading the actual exam and paper brought out surprising revelations. The term paper that I thought I'd enjoyed writing, that I spent more hours on than I should have at the expense
of my other projects, turned out to be far less marvelous than I had remembered. In those last few, sleep-deprived frenzied hours, I had apparently delivered a paper riddled with embarrassing grammar mistakes (though, natch, still awesome). Yet the exam that had
me most worried, that I remember stressing about even as I was taking it, turned out to be fine. (I think it was fine, at least, I can't really make out the scoring system. It was pretty nerve wracking when the professor picked up the exam booklet and before handing it back to me, flipped through it and said, "Let's see how you did.) In fact, I even had time to be sassy in the exam.

For a true or false question, I answered "False. Because 'always' is always a tip off in true/false questions.

I also wrote, at the start of the exam book, "Before we begin, your shirt looks nice today?" Usually a sure win with professors, TAs, and supervisors, this teaching staff was not as appreciative of this comment as I had hoped. It was circled, and someone wrote a giant "!?" over the section.

Un-American Activities

For a man who is very specific about the color, font, and layout of his work, Whitecastle sure makes some broad statements:

Whitecastle: ... it's called the "Red Rocket" in Toronto.

Moi: Wow. You guys really are socialists.

Whitecastle: What? You went to school in Maine.

(it's been three years, and I still don't understand why Maine is socialist)

---

Moi: We had some controversy over the official sport last year. My Canadian friend didn't believe me.

Whitecastle: Well, your Canadian is a loser.

(Don't shoot the messenger, Nik. You're a winner in McDarty's book.)

---

Moi: You know how you ran into Young Bo' the other night and she was with someone?

Nice Doc: (explains to Whitecastle that he was arriving from D.C.) I guess Young Bo' runs with a rough crowd.

Moi: I mean, not that we ever talk about you- or you-

Whitecastle: Right. You just knew that he was wearing a blue tie.

What's That Sound

Maybe it's the unseasonably cold weather, the gray foreboding sky, or the extra long fire alarm this morning, but everything seems slightly off today.

The day started auspicious enough, with Herr Doctor Vice Chief (Doc Vice's full title) taking sudden interest in my academic career, calling me into his office to talk about my year. It was a very kind gesture. Unfortunately, I have not thought of my academic career for a few weeks and could only speak in very general terms, describing every class as "interesting and helpful" when he wanted to talk about all the epi classes I have avoided thus far. Which led him to give the same unimpressed look I was accustomed to seeing on Whitecastle. Luckily, Doc Firewall came in with a question and I was quickly relieved.

Then the fire alarm broke the morning lull and everything came to pieces. Mary was near hypothermic. Decision Scientist was starving. Josh and I (or is it Doc Winner now?) became competitive over who received more greetings from people that passed our desks, and by the time our conference call rolled around, I was the only person dialed in at 3:30PM sharp. (Whitecastle: I've trained her well, instilled fear in her so she calls in before me.)

When it was all over and I was ready to go home, Whitecastle was manically exclaiming, "Show me the P-value" a la Jerry Maguire and across town, Landlady Chang's neck was incapacitated and her phone missing. Lord. have mercy.

Collared Blues

On Saturday, I accompanied Mother to the gym. Wearing my baggy shorts from middle school. And a t-shirt featuring cows from an ice cream stand on Prince Edwards Island. Because this is what happens when I'm not prepared for activities that Mother suggests and have to rummage through my closet at home for clothes.

Not that I needed to change. Mother was wearing flip flops, lawn green cargo shirts and a checkered blue/white flannel shirt. She looked sort of indie cool, especially when she had her sunglasses on and hat on. (Mother: I'm going to wear this little one. Do you want to wear the big straw hat? Moi: No, I don't.)

Moi: So, you're working out in a collared shirt?

Mother: Yeah. It's comfortable, isn't it?

Whose Desks These Are

Another week at the internship, another office.  Most interns get cubicles at the internship.  Even people who work here full time get cubicles.  But not me.  I get offices.  With doors and wide desks and tables on the side and a couple of extra chairs.  Because I deserve it.  But mostly because they don't have a space for me, so I switch from office to office, squatting wherever someone has left for vacation.  This cushy arrangement usually comes to an awful and awkward end every Monday morning (three and counting) when I show up at work, the previous occupant at their rightful spot, and I once again have no idea where to sit.  It's exacerbated by the fact that I can't seem to be able to show up at the internship late, no matter how hard I try, and no one here is actually at their office at 9:00am.  So I just sit in the reception area, waiting for one of three to four people who can help me to come and tell me where to sit.  Which is wonderful.  Three weeks into my internship.  This morning, as people walked by the front desk, there was a lot of: "Haven't you started working here?"  "Yes, but I don't have a desk."  "Oh.  And the secretary is-?"  "Not here."  "And your supervisor is?"  "Not here."  "And that other lady in charge of this?"  "Not here."  "Well, see ya!"

PS. Even more awesome.  Just discovered that the person whose desk I'm sitting at did not put a vacation message on her phone.  And I can't do it for her because I don't have her password.  There's going to be a lot of phone ringing this week.

Not in Spain Anymore

I gave up on work today because there are too many John Chans in the world. And a surprising number of them are in the natural sciences. And I'm too tired to try to figure out which one I'm supposed to be stalking.

I'm not just lazy, but it's been a draining Sabbath. Mother and I were walking along the street today, minding our business (I was regretting not being able to buy a book of papal paper dolls at the flea market), when water suddenly poured from the sky. There was no forewarning, except a few black clouds. It did not gradually start raining or pouring, but it was as if we were suddenly thrown in a pool. Water was coming down with such great force that we had trouble seeing the path in front of us. Needless to say, we were soaked. We tried to run, but Mother fell. And one of my flip flops fell off. So we were quite impaired. Not that there was any sense to run. We were saturated. There was so much water all around us and the wind whipping so hard that it became senseless to put the flop (or was it flip?) back on.

We were just 1.5 blocks from the apartment, but by the time we made it there, our clothes hung so heavily that it was hard to walk. Puddles trailed us when we came inside. And my mother can never get wet on the streets of Boston again. Because I found the one t-shirt and one pair of shorts she could change into. And have no more clothes that can fit. ("You may not want to drive by the Russian church tonight, Ma." 'Why not?" "If I remember correctly, your t-shirt makes a tasteless joke about the KGB." -- a Russian club relic from Jared I'd long meant to give away.) Go away, rain. And stay away from my Scooper Bowl.

Nothing at All

Can you think of a four-syllable word that starts with the letter 'Y'? Mary has the best word games for staying awake during lunch conferences that run 30 minutes over. I came close, but I'm trying to find something better than yellow-jacket. It counts on a technicality. But I like to win my battles clean.

I don't have much else to say about the week. I swatted a fly dead today. And even though I suspect that I'm not performing to par at my internship, at least work work has been good. Well, you can't expect Whitecastle to yell at me every week. Sometimes he just looks unimpressed.

Thursday Trio

In eighth grade, I learned the phrase "arch nemesis" from Lenny. She said weird stuff like that. I also learned that Azerbajean was a country. But we weren't really nemeses. She always bested me, in smarts, awkwardity, and the random acts of life. And she hasn't stopped. I get hit by a Mack truck. A boulder rolls onto her car. I have a ghastly swollen leg due to a reaction to a mosquito. She has a spider bite. On the face.

Moi (after determining that she's OK, or perhaps right before): Do you look funny?

Lenny: One cheek is swollen. So it looks like I'm halfheartedly hoarding food.

Damn you, Lenny. She's even got her own punch line.

Ashley (trying very hard to surprise Mark for his birthday): Quick, I need an alibi.

Moi: How are you going to bake a carrot cake without him knowing?

Ashley: I'm going to tell him that I'm going to Kelly's to work on his present.

Moi: So your alibi is the truth?

Ashley: … yeah. I guess I'm OK.

Ran into Professor Papa today, carrying his cap and gown.

Moi: Commencement was a few days ago.

Papa: Dang it. I just missed it. Actually, I just like to carry this around.

Max: It does suit you very well.

Moi: Brings out the color of your eyes.

Papa: If I don't return this tomorrow, they're going to charge me.

Whoa, what? Not even professors get to keep their gowns? What kind of cheapass institution do I attend? (And what kind of cheapass professor would rather wear a rented gown for 30 years?)