The Quota Coda

Moi: You used to have lots of fruit on your desk. Now there're two cans of Diet Coke. What happened?

Doc Binks: Is that what they teach you at public health school? To eat more fruits?

Moi: Didn't you learn that in public health school? (we belong to the same school)

Doc Binks: I just learned how to tell people to eat healthy.

Moi: That's what I learned, too.

Easy Mac Daddy

Every once in awhile, when my head is clouded by doubt, I turn to Lenny as a barometer o' reason. Is it overkill to add toffee to chocolate cake? Yes, but worth trying. I turn to Lenny because she too, embodies the high and low brow. She'd happily eating stale pretzels for dinner because, like Everest, it's there and free, but she's also hard core enough to make tortillas from scratch. And yet I cannot bring myself to tell even Lenny what I had for dinner last night.

I had dinner chez Mac & Van's. I may have invited myself once my plans for the night fell through. We had Mac's "Sunday night dinner," a tradition he started before Van moved in. We'd talked about having it together for at least 18 months and every time I brought it up, Van would shoot me dirty looks. It apparently took a lot of coaxing and adroit menu planning for them to stop having Sunday night dinners. But it'd been so long since the last one, and we're always so busy on weekends, that they were more than happy to share this Sunday night on a Thursday, if only we could pull it off.

Van, you see, had left her cell at home. And I had left my wallet. This made coordinating rather difficult. And meant that I couldn't bring dessert. That made me feel like a rotten guest. Especially when I had to borrow $2 just to get home. How, you may ask, could I invite myself over for a lavish meal on such short notice? How did they have time to shop, to plan, to cook? I could because Mac & Van are that kind of friends. And I could because Sunday night dinner? Is mac n' cheese with franks n' beans. None of it homemade. Van offered to make mac n' cheese from scratch, but we wouldn't have it. That's not in the spirit of Sunday night. I'd joked a few weeks that I sometimes craved Velveeta but was always too ashamed to buy it-- Mac not only concurred but actually deviated from his Easy Mac routine to purchase Velveeta. That's courage. Of course, we ate on the couch. In front of the TV. Watching re-runs. Because that's what you do when you have Sunday night dinner. (We felt like Coke would be the appropriate drink for such an occasion, but none of us could bring ourselves to drink it. Even we have standards.)

Concession Stands

I must have announced that I was fala-full at least three times last night. Perhaps in successive order. I don't usually make puns and Ash did not look impressed, but I'd like to think that the Falafel King would be pleased.

I went to the movies last night, so naturally, we snuck in food. Zvi had the right idea when he suggested rice, chicken, and spring rolls, and really, that was what I was craving (I've always wanted to eat in the dark with chopsticks), but we settled for falafel wraps instead. With a side of movie theater Swedish Fish (not from this particular theater), chocolate chip cookies, and Capri Sun (well, Ash started offering the Capri Sun to me then made it sound really undesirable so she had 2 to herself- very clever). We also saw a blind lady in the theater. Ash and I both felt bad about mulling the same question in our heads until we finally exchanged looks and said, "how does that work?"

The falafels, of course, meant that we couldn't enact Lenny's lunatic plan: Cup o' noodles and an electric kettle. Which was just too bad because of how well thought out it was. How would we power the kettle, you ask? Why, you'd plug it into a generator disguised as an oxygen tank, of course. And the chopsticks? Disguised in wrist braces.

Moi: This is starting to weigh me down.

Lenny: But with your broken wrist and supposed breathing problems, the staff will take pity on you and give you a nice seat. And maybe nachos!

As they say in Newsradio, "the imagination of yours is an absolute curse."

Old Mr. Louis

I made lasagna for Ash and the Ice Man on Friday. It was decent. The sauce was the most spectacular. But I'll be the first to admit that I goofed on the bechamel and pasta (mostly because Ash and Ice Man can't publicly admit to it. It'd be unseemly).

Today, I looked into my pantry and realized that I still don't have anything to cook with except lasagna and ground meat. (I think I've pulled 3 pounds of ground meat out of the freezer this week. I was clearly stocking up for something.) The sauce wasn't half as elegant this time because I was running on ingredient leftovers and short cuts, but everything else worked perfectly. I almost felt guilty that I liked the lasagna I made for myself so much more (just look at it, six layers!), but then I tasted it, and just felt sorry for all the people in the world who aren't having lasagna for lunch tomorrow.

I also made my Paula Deen gooey toffee cake, an old favorite with the Eddie Bert crowd. I know you're rolling your toity eyes at Ms. Deen because her recipes involve things like "cake mix." I re-live the skepticism every time I make this. But if you're going to insist on making tempeh from scratch, you're going to miss out on this marvelous use of toffee. This is on par with Dave's cinnamon rolls and those ridiculous cranberry parker house rolls when it comes to surefire, knee buckling goodness. And it takes a 1/4 of the time.

The Glass Menagerie

Doc Vice is good at many things. Chief among them are his field of research, smuggling booze out of Germany, and raising tall children. Things he is not so good at include understanding baseball, using idioms, and other pieces of Americana.

(critiquing a study)

Doc Vice: But aren't you just throwing rocks inside a glass house?

(entire conference room falls silent to think through that phrase)

Doc Query: That was good, [Doc Vice], that almost made sense.

I’m a Conflicted Soul

In the age old rivalries of meaningless corporate allegiances we're asked to choose, I've always sided with Coca-Cola over Pepsi (though I don't drink either now), MacDonald's over Burger King (don't eat either now), and, growing up in the high tech suburbs, PCs over Macs. In the last 24 hours, however, I've suffered through major Mac envy. I don't care much about the iPhone or iPad. No, I'm enthralled by a program called Papers that archives and organizes PDFs from research databases (Whitecastle described it as "like EndNote but useful," and sadly, I knew exactly what he meant. Damn you, EndNote). That, and remembering how Riles can practice Chinese on the go with her iPod touch. And last night, using Ashley's MacBook Air with a squirming Meli in my lap, I very nearly ran home with that computer. I could hold the computer on one arm as I typed with the other hand, swerving it in the air to avoid her surprisingly strong arms. So nimble. So fancy. So great with Papers.

To be fair, Cecil the Thinkpad has not yet failed me. Cecil has been stupendous. And I'm not sure why I'd need a baby friendly computer or a device for practicing Chinese drills on the bus (but it'd be so cool), and while I'd probably do lit reviews for kicks if I had a program that managed the PDFs I pulled from PubMed (I'd never stop writing papers!), I'm nerd enough without it. Just give me a #1 meal with Coke and I'll be fine in a second.

Whitecastle: I always thought you had a Mac. You seem like a Mac user.

Moi: I don't know what that means.

Whitecastle: You should take it as a compliment.

Moi: …

Farther than They Appear

Good Idea: Bring Superior his favorite candy bar all the way from his native Canadia the day before annual review. Check.

Bad Idea: Engage in argument with Superior about the holiday practices of his native Canadia. Also check.

On "Family day*"--

Moi: You guys can't just make up a holiday in February 140 years into your history.

Whitecastle: Have you been to Canada in February? Give us a break.

Getting into fake arguments with Whitecastle may look easy, Dear Readers, but it's best left to professional stunt doubles. I've spent countless hours practicing in front of the mirror to take the right hits and dodge the right bullets. Today, Naive College Intern decided to join in the fray without the proper conditioning (or facts about Canada- you've always got to fact check Canada). It did not end well.

Intern: They celebrate Canada Day even though they're not even independent.

(lengthy spat ensues)

Whitecastle : Somebody needs to go back to college. No- somebody needs to graduate from college.

*Though not a federal holiday, Family Day was relatively recently adopted by 5 provinces (celebrated by ~60% of the country), first in Alberta in 1989 and as recently as 2007 in other provinces. It was designed to coincide with the American President's Day.

The Talkies

Ranwei, TChu, and I are monthly friends. All three of us took soc classes at the Bo' (Ranwei was also a major). All three of us like to eat. Two of us are making money, and planning on going to B-school, after which the two will make even more money. One of us is not. Because one of us believes in the noble pursuit of saving lives. One of us is often left out.

TChu: (business jargon about expansions)

(sometimes when TChu spews jargon, I can pretend to follow him, especially since I'm such a learned health economist now. last night was not one of those nights)

Moi: I'm nodding, but I'm not understanding.

(TChu and Ranwei stare blankly at me)

TChu: Vaccines.

Moi: Ohh. I get it now.

25th Hour

Did you want to hang out with me yesterday? Probably. It's not that I didn't want to, but everyone and their mothers asked for a spot in my dance cards yesterday (before they ditch me lonesome for the rest of the summer). I have not been this popular since I invented krumping nearly two decades ago.

First, there was lunch with my fellow school interns, where we discussed when it is ever appropriate to "drop the 'H' Bomb." (Never. Except to spite nemeses.)

Then I had coffee with The Woman Who Taught Me English (i.e. The Woman Who Taught Me How To Pwn Your Sorry Self in Boggle). We hadn't seen each other in 14 years. And then we did. Coffee was followed by appetizers with two groups of unrelated friends. Of all the gin joints in all the world, both Gak and Matty O chose the downtown P.F. Chang last night, a mere 30 minutes apart. So I made like it was Thorne and volleyed between tables (appropriate, too, that I was with my old Thorne buddies and we were having bad Chinese).

By the time 'dinner' rolled around, it was 11pm. By the time TChu and Ranwei rolled around, I'd already explained to the waitress 4 times that yes, my friends were joining me. Dinner consisted of a cocktail, potato chips, and raw tuna. It may not have been classy, but those were the three best prepared things I'd eaten all day. And I'd do the craziness all over again just for another taste.

Say Anything

Sarah's friend had a hilarious and envy-inducingly-awesome story of running into the Obamas at Acadia this weekend and hanging out with the Secret Service. My favorite part was when one of the friends mumbled "thank you for closing the Medicare Part D donut hole" as they shouted greetings back and forth across some rocks.

Thank you for closing the Medicare part D donut hole. It's exactly the kind of nerdy thing I would say if I were to meet him again. Of course, I'd moderate it with "I appreciate that you're a pragmatist, sir, but I was disappointed with the speed with which you made deals with pharma. We believe you can do better, Barack." Young Bo' has a feeling we'd all end up stammering like idiots and asking him if he's seen Boston Med and heard of legendary surgeon William Curry who looks like a more handsome version of him. Or maybe I'd just say "remember meee? Remember me. Please remember meeeee." Lenny, with the timeless approach, would opt for the classic "peace out, B"-- always popular with the Secret Service.

If you were to meet our 44th, what would you say?

Summer Reading

I read a sandwich menu yesterday.  No, I didn't quickly skim through a board and no, it wasn't because I didn't have anything better to read.  I had a New Yorker and a Wired in hand, took a seat on the T, and chose to take out a menu that I'd grabbed from Lambert's to read.  Because I was hungry and there were twenty eight different sandwiches to choose from.  I love words.  And I love sandwiches, too.

Land Before Time

This weekend, I went up north and read Gros Grognon, the best picture book I've read in recent years. It's in French. And is basically a backwards Chicken Little story. Because that's how things work in Canada: French and backwards (redundant? perhaps. too easy? definitely).

Visiting public bathrooms constitutes as family fun in Canada.

Their buildings are from the 1850s and their buses the 1950s.

And in Canada, my people are still relegated to servile labor in laundromats.

Sum of All Parts

I am in Canadia right now.  I've been here before, several times, but this time I'm going native.  Sticking with a real Canadian and staying in a real Canadian house.  I know that Nik wants me to think that I'm in a different country.  And while I do find that everything here is slightly different, it seems less like a different country than a backwards America, 5-10 years behind schedule. I kid, Nik, I kid.

But getting a file to Father this morning took some creative thinking.  Our hostess, Erin, is aces and beyond incredible.  Sets of sheets, nicely made bed, awesome and welcome accommodations.  Best hostess ever.  Except that she forgot her wireless password.  And Canadians are apparently not as generous as they'd like to let on, since I couldn't hack into any other wireless service.  But that's OK, Erin has a desktop and a laptop.  The laptop does not have MS Word and is very slow.  But the desktop has no USB ports.  (mind you, readers, this is happening today, in the summer of 2010)  So this morning, I used the desk top to check my mail.  Discovered that Father needed a file.  Opened up Cecil the Computer (my laptop), put the file on my flash drive.  Then headed downstairs to use the laptop.  All for a 20 page document.  I miss America.  

Jeudi en July

Du and I skipped out of work early today for the French film festival at the art museum. Because chic and pretentious is how we roll. It's the second year we've come together for films about French boys (in a non-creepy way), and Le Petit Nicolas was a great throwback to M. Herbert's class. I learned so many words that don't come into every day conversation from that series. Like petit chouchou, millefeuille, and langoustine (little cabbage/darling, napoleon, and lobster). And no, I don't know why I only remember food names. (PS. GAK: We need you to visit Boston.)


Today's nonsensical quote of the day.

Young Bo: Whitecastle thinks too highly of himself for [death by hanging]. The only way he's going to die young is murder.

She has obviously considered the issue very carefully.

Today's no-nonsense quote of the day.

Doc Winner: Ever since becoming a faculty [last week], I've realized that I can't stand research assistants. You're lucky I even talk to you.

Silly Puddy

Will write more later. Made mozzarella just now. The recipe called for using gloves. Because the recipe is for sissies. Real cheesemakers use their bare, burnt hands.

The near-finished product.
"Yours looks phallic."

"What? Here, let me twist it so it looks braided and nice."

"I think you just made it worse."

Splittsville

Young Bo' and I overlapped for three years at Bo' without a single conversation. And we've overlapped the past couple of years on many, many levels (last time we checked, it was four- but you don't want to know about the fourth). One of the greatest pleasures of all these overlaps is, in addition to being completely goofy with each other, I have had the chance to see her mature. No area is most evident in how she eats. I don't know what happened, but one day, she didn't eat eggplant and now she's one of my favorite dining companions in this city. Today, we went halfsies straight down the middle and had the perfect Saturday brunch: chicken tenders, shrimp salad, and sweet potato fries. There are few things I love better than eating with my hands, grazing, and halfsies. That, and being willing to re-watch Boston Med for someone, is the mark of a true partnership.

I Know that I'm Naive

Maria is awesome. She is also knowledgeable about Playmobils. Though none of them involve caped Santas. That's still a mystery. But when I grow up, I want to be like her. And not at all like Doc Query. Who lies about his age.

Query: I've had enough excitement in my 29 years that some people have in a lifetime.

Moi: Wait, you're only 29?

Query: ... No.

Moi: You totally look it though.

Query: Thank you.

Not only did I get to spend the day doing work in a study sanctuary, find out that I got a scholarship for having a blessed combination of smarts and poverty, and put up a board item that pleased Doc Firewall (nationally recognized as the nicest ER doc in Boston), but instead of being bullied at work today, I merely witnessed it.

Doc Winner: Peer pressure is a bitch.

Whitecastle: It never stops when you grow older. It just gets worse.

Doc Winner: Oh yeah?

Whitecastle: Yeah, how many papers have you published today anyway? Shouldn't you be working?

(later)

Doc Winner: Getting picked on is a sign that they like us, right?

Moi: Y'know, I tell myself that. But sometimes, I just don't think so.

Six to Eight Black Men

Why is a caped Santa caning a Jewish elf with a football in hand? I don't know. I don't like to get in the middle of these rows. At Internship today, Kate, who I hardly know, had a desk clearance sale (among the items: a used 2009 NBA wall calendar with November missing and Shaq's face covered up) and bequeathed her Playmobils unto me. Kindest gesture of the summer. I played with them for a good 10 minutes before remembering that I share an office with 1.5 other people.

So I brought them home, where I play to my heart's content.

Plead the Fourth

The long weekend is over. I am bruised (worth it), tan (probably not), bitten (itchy), and back to the vacation-work grind. This 4th was one of the best I'd had, greatly enhanced by being at a real home, with a real mom, and real friends*. We'd planned on Taboo and frisbee, maybe even Bananagram if time allowed, but alas, ambition is not always honorable, and we ended up just lounging by the pool and eating. I could have settled for much less.

*Perhaps more real to Amy than to me. But they're good people.

This is Greg. Amy invited us over his house. Greg did not. Greg is the exact kind of friend you want to have on the 4th-- a vegan who'd offer you a grilled sausage, a pool to swim in, a beach to view fireworks from, and home videos of penguins. Too bad Greg is moving in 2 weeks.

This is Dennis. He took us out on his boat.

We went against the crowd and toward the islands.

Merde

Quotes like this make me feel very old, very sad, and very smug (from today's Times).

A first-year M.B.A. student, Ashley Haumann, said that when she was an undergraduate at the University of Florida, "everyone cheated" in her accounting class of 300 by comparing answers during quizzes. She preferred the highly monitored testing center because it "encourages you to be ready for the test because you can't turn and ask, 'What'd you get?' "

We Stand on Guard for Thee

There are games that I play with minimal effort (anything requiring hand-eye coordination, Cranium, Boggle*), games in which I put up a fight (Scrabble, Scattergories, foosball), and games that I play to win (Bake Off, Bananagrams, life).  Canadian Trivia is a game I play to win.  Last night was Nic's annual Canada Day party, and though I didn't have time to study this year, and actually forgot many basic answers I knew last year (like how old Canada is), the mediocrity of everyone else around me helped me take the gold.  Or rather, a canoe figurine with a moose on it.

Since I was generally preoccupied with watching reruns of Say Yes to the Dress this week, and didn't have time to study, I asked Whitecastle to take time from his busy schedule of yelling at me (and claiming I owe him $20 whenever I stopped to take a break) to tutor me.  The consultation went the way most consultations with Whitecastle do: I learned many useless facts that did not help me on the exam (see also: graduate school applications, RDS 280, Epi 202, and HPM 245).  And yes, the highlight of every Canada Day party is an exam.  Did you know, for example, that the Liquor Control Board of Ontario is one of the largest purchasers of beverage alcohol in the world?  Canadians drink a lot of alcohol.  They have two different drinking ages.  34 million people.  And when they're not cribbing mottos from the United States, like to invent things like zippers. 

*Boggle: minimal effort, maximum impact.