Words that Come to Mind

When I grow up, I want to have 4 teaching assistants who will answer all questions regarding what I do for me. I don't want a pony. But I'd like Sister Claire's new office to have more food. Or perhaps just less healthy food. Though the snacks did remind me that I need to buy grapes. For that, I am thankful. Also, last Saturday, I went to a volunteer appreciation BBQ. There were the usual Common Good Bo' alums, retirees, park rangers, and community garden types. And then there was the band. Greasy, scrawny college kids with open shirts who shrieked into the microphone for their 30-minute set. I'm not saying that I don't appreciate a good head bang with some 19 year old boys, but it'd been a long, hot day of bulb planting and we were just trying to eat our burgers and paint our pumpkins in peace. And we'd already been so confused by the whole morning. Like why there were almost no service projects for us to do, but a huge celebratory BBQ afterward and whose retirement plant did we all sign. The poor park ranger tried to use the raffle prizes to lure us into staying longer (they'd already succeeded with the food). It went something like this:

Us: Why is this boy screaming? Let's go.

Ranger: But what about the raffle? You could win a mint plant*.

Us: Ooh. I want mint. When is the raffle?

Ranger: After the first set.

Us: (thinking, 'Good God, there's more than one set? then again, our raffle odds were incredibly good) When is that going to be over?

Ranger: Five, ten minutes?

Us: (quick cost-benefit analysis) We're going to go. Enjoy the plants.

*The mint hype turned out to be a lie. They had strawberries, oregano, and chives. That also made it easier to leave the BBQ.

Life's Persistent Questions

(stealing from my own facebook post, but I just had to double-share)

AKA #221 Why I'm a Sucker for Professors Named Nancy

BTW: Wish someone had informed me that TA'ing involves re-doing the homework and re-taking the exams with the students. I was not aware of this when I signed up.

Smile

Earlier today, with my back toward the window at church, I was mistaken for Mona. Twice. The first time, Zman's little brother Felix rushed in, shouted, "What Are You Doing In Here!?" Then sobered when he realized it was me, and asked again, much more softly, "what are you doing in here?" He rushed out when I told him the not very interesting answer of "listening to This American Life."

Jeannie's dad didn't bother with pretensions. He repeated banged on the window I was leaning against, then the door to the room I was in, then finally opened the door to apologize. "I'm sorry, I thought you were Mona. You looked just like her from the back."

And it all could have been fine. I really didn't mind being mistaken for someone from behind. Except that Mona is only 11 years old.

Letters I Want to Write to Students #8483

Dear Jenifer:
Yes, the link I sent does work. And Jennifer is spelled with two n's.

Ou Illogique

I'm home home this weekend. Being home home means being exposed to Mother's crazy up close. She's been on a working-out kick, one that I fully support, to the point of uncharacteristic dedication. When I mentioned that I'd need to borrow Mother's car in the early morning for the Bo's annual Common Good Day, she said that she wanted the car to go to the gym. The way I saw it, the options were:

A. I'd borrow the car for the morning and Mother could go to the gym in the afternoon.

B. Mother would drop me off at 8:30AM and go off to the gym, then pick me up when this was all over.

C. I'd borrow Father's car, or get dropped off by Father, or some other variation thereof.

But Mother chose Hidden Option X. "Go to the gym with Mother at 7:00AM, work out for an hour, shower, then go to Common Good Day, spending the morning picking up trash, planting daffodils, and getting sweaty all over again." Because she saw that as the most logical option.

Designated Harsher

One of the best parts of being a teaching assistant this year is the grateful realization that I no longer have to go through introductory econ, and better yet, I no longer have to take Prof Papa's exams.

Prof Papa: I'm going to go write the exam.

Moi: Is it going to be-

Prof Papa: Incredibly hard. I'm sick of being Mr. Nice Guy. It's going to be impossible.

Moi: Yes, because if there's one thing they complain about, it's how easy this course is.

---

Earlier today, Laura and I made another step toward applying to PhD program by meeting with the program director in Cambridge. Yet with all the connections that we've made at the school, our greatest hurdle remains getting through the door. Literally.

We arrived at the building 15 minutes early, but failing to find the department on the call box downstairs, decided to wait a few minutes before calling the director about how to be let into the building. That was when we ran into Shorts, who was just coming out of work. We gave him a hard time about not getting our feet into the program until finally, as we were parting, he realized that we actually wanted to get into the building. And revealed that the door was unlocked the whole time we waited outside. "I could hold the door for you guys if that's what you want, but you can just walk in yourself." And sure enough, the very glass door that we'd stood in front of for 15 minutes, waiting for directions on how to get in, opened once we pushed the door. On the elevator ride up, Laura and I just looked at each other and shook our heads, "there's no way we're getting in, is there?"

Reason #8473 Why I'm Not a Baby Stylist

On colors considered 'gender-neutral' according to our gendered social context and normalization (those may not have been his exact words, but it was the gist of our discussion):

Moi: So lots of of yellows for you?

Whitecastle: And green. And white. And black. Not enough babies have black clothes.

Moi: It's an untapped market. Plus, black is very slimming and babies have a lot of fat.

Whitecastle: Stripes are good, too. Not enough black stripes on babies.

Trading Places (the movie, not the show)

Today, a doctor became a friend and a friend became a doctor. Alison gave her defense this afternoon and now goes by Dr. T while Doc Whitecastle, who's been a double doctor for as long as I've known, let slip about a change in status in the midst of his regularly scheduled lecture pointing out all the titles that would be helpful for me to have that I do not (MD, epidemiologist, economist, etc).

Whitecastle: Let me ask you something as a friend-

Moi: We're friends now? This is so exciting.

Whitecastle: Uh (clearly reconsidering proposition), you still have to do what I tell you to.

Moi: (considers proposition) I'm OK with that.

Run, Baby, Run

I don't know Angela very well, but her boyfriend has a food truck and she saves lives, and that's a worthy combination to me. Plus, she's agreed to go into a baby theft business with me. It doesn't seem very hard, the demand is certainly there, and the market is very receptive right now. I visited Ashley and baby again today and decided to join moral society this time by checking in with security. I recommend that everyone go visit someone in the hospital with a baby. It felt just like middle school, except with a new life to celebrate. I got out of class, walked over to the hospital, put my backpack down on the big comfy chair, and Mark offered my chocolates and juice. Yesterday, it was cookies. So there I was, happily content with my security badge and enjoying my snacks (and seeing Ashley and the baby...), when Angela came in and I noticed her badge. It had her picture on it. A picture that was taken at the security desk. They also swiped her ID through a machine. I didn't go through any of that. 2 days, 2 security breaches. I'm ok with that (before you try to fire my security guy, in my defense, I did have a hospital badge on me). As is Angela. Our business is going to be awesome.

PS. I got my water bottle back today! Nik. That was amazing. You have no idea how happy I am.

Raising Sydney

Ashley gave birth earlier this morning. I did not. Ashley gave birth in one of the premier hospitals in the nation, known especially for its obstetrics. I accidentally undermined its security system. The hospital has an intricate security system that protects all new babies requiring visitors to check in at security where IDs are presented, pictures taken, and badges made. All that was supposed to happen by the front desk on the first floor. But I got in via the second floor. Got in the elevator, and tried to press 10. It wouldn't go. "I think you need to go down to the first floor for them to buzz you in," the nice guy in the elevator told me. So I shrugged and followed him up to the 6th floor. I had fully intended to then ride down to the first floor. But then someone else got on to go to the 7th floor. And another for the 9th floor. Before I knew it, I was getting off at the 10th floor with 2 other nurses and picking up babies to take home. All this is apparently frowned upon and Ashley kept shaking her head and said, "How'd you get in?" And laughing whenever I pulled out my badge. "That's not what it's supposed to look like!" But hey, feigning innocence and walking confidently has gotten me pretty far in life and is essential for all future Code Pink operations. Just leave Ashley's baby Davidina-Joy* alone.

*It's not on the birth certificate, but we're fairly certain that the second middle name is Davidina-Joy. Of course, you can call her Deej for short.

Just spent 45 minutes crafting email response to student (an assistant professor at that!) with econ question. Thank God for September work ethic and good luck to anyone needing help in December.

I'll Learn to Get By

Earlier this week, I popped into Whitecastle's office, as I often do, with a question.

"Have you read Ariely's Predictably Irrational?"

"I have the book, but not yet."

"I think it has some great relevance to your trial."

Then we got into a discussion on whether this guy's body of work supported or weakened our study rationales (by 'our,' I mean Whitecastle's) and the implications of his writing for research.

It all ended with Whitecastle saying, "well that's great, maybe we'll cite him in the paper." Victories like that, short and simple as they are, make me think that the school isn't completely scamming me out of $50K a year. I'm learning, I'm putting it to good use, and I'm a big kid now.

Casual Friday

Wow, Diary, it's been awhile.

Tonight, I had lobster, pork chop, and smoked Gouda for dinner. It was a good night.

Here's hoping for plenty more.



PS. Sister Claire. Are you at Population Medicine? I'll be visiting there in a couple of weeks.

Tall Tales

Last night, I ate a much bigger plate of pad Thai than I should have. But it was home made and went well with all our stories. Ashley's dad shot off the head of a cat while poor little Roger watched. It was either that or a horse in the bed, I suppose, since the lesson was on watching out for family. Mark had a medication error that caused him to be strung out for days until his pharmacist tracked him all the way to Tanzania to correct the mistake, all before a climb up Kilimanjaro. But that pales in comparison to Dave's story. He was dehydrated and left alone under a tree in the Sahara while his guide went off to find help. Dave owes his life to a nomad his guide found while lost in the desert (I wouldn't recommend this guide in the future) The nomad knew the exact tree the guide was trying to get to and managed to find poor dying Dave just in time. Not a dull story in the bunch. It was probably best then, that my story led the night. It contained no hilarity, near death experiences, or violence, just Prof B(l)ender and some failed sucking up.

Moi: Professor B(l)ender, I was in your class in the spring. (He had 100+ students in 2 schools and I almost never spoke in class. It was only fair that I introduced myself first.)

B(l)ender: You think that I don't remember you. But I do. (But offers no details to back up his claim)

Moi: Everyone at [Internship] told me to take your class. They all raved about you.

(Silence, come to realize that sucking up requires even more compliments than this, struggle for a bit as I doodled through much of the semester)

Moi: ... And everything you said, from framing to understanding the uh, environment, all came into play.

B(l)ender looks pleased, starts raving about the same three topics, and we part amicably. Then I take a cat out back and shoot its head off.

Are You Being Served?

I think one of my friends has a tapeworm. A hole in the stomach. Or was abducted by aliens for a brief period last night. But I'm not sure who it is. Or how best to remedy the situation.

Last night, I made dinner at the Youngers. At dinner, there was the two of them, Dave-- who had already had dinner (lobster, ribs, and fried dough... as one does)-- and myself. I made chicken Romesco using a recipe that serves 6. Then doubled it so that we'd have leftovers. We cooked a whole box of pasta to go with it, with a serving size of 6-8. Yet somehow, there were no leftovers. OK, there was a small tupperware of pasta left, but Kelly came in and batted clean up. We also consumed an entire loaf of baguette. And 60% of a cake (serving size 10-12). An inordinate amount of food for four adults (but meager for extraterrestrials). And yet, eating it all felt so right.

He's No Liar

Nathan wore pants to school today. He just never made it to school with his pants and certainly wasn't wearing any at our fellowship meeting. Instead, beneath his striped dress shirt was a pair of gray gym shorts. To his credit, they were Harvard shorts, but ridiculous nonetheless. If you ask Nathan how his pants got wet, he'd probably tell you that he got caught in the storm this morning. How does a guy who lives 5 minutes from the school get caught off guard by rain? I don't know. I believe he wet them some other way. However it happened, the situation forced him into the school store to buy the cheapest leg coverings he could. Nathan endured the shorts-shirt combo for many hours, attended classes and meeting, before finally running home to change. I just met the kid, so it'd be awkward if he was to discover this entry, but I can't help it, guys. I love this story. I'm a sucker for wet pants.

The View

Love these people.

Love's Labor Found

Are you ready for a Labor Day miracle? Today was a hard day, as the past few weeks have been. Trouble with the registrar's office, upset stomach, falling asleep in biostat, but at 5:30PM today, coming down from class, we discovered that there was an open reception in the cafeteria. Something about campus sustainability, not that we cared. I'll put my name on whatever mailing list if it means free chips. But no, the story gets better. As I'm filling up my plate with pita chips and hummus, this girl comes by and says that there's an even better spread downstairs. From the Dean's Distinguished Lectures series. How fancy? Baby asparagus and chevres, yo. Best Tuesday surprise ever.

Crimson Pride

As Hunter once astutely pointed out, if you ask a graduate student in Boston what they do (particularly a Christian one, though most of my friends in school also behave this way), and they respond vaguely by saying something like, "I'm in medical school," or "working on a master's," then the person probably goes to the Big H and feel uncomfortable dropping the H bomb. It's a silly practice, but I always try to err on the side of patronizing rather than hostile arrogance. Though trying does not always ensure success.

(standing in line for hot dogs at church with Susan, chatting with new girl)

New Girl: I'm in the 2nd year of a master's in public health at Northeastern.

Red Head Susan: Hey, she's doing the same thing.

Moi: Cool. I'm doing my master's at HSPH. So I'm right down the street from you.

New Girl: (looks confused) The pharmacy school? No, I'm doing a master's in public health.

Moi: No, me too. I'm at Harvard School of Public Health.

New Girl: (chooses awkward silence)

Moi: (over compensating) So you're a second year? Me too. What program are you in?

New Girl: (again confused) I'm in the urban public health MPH program.

Moi: I meant your concentration, like epi, or health policy?

New Girl: No, it's just general public health MPH.

(conversation drifts off here, so I try to talk about the hot dogs we're having for dinner)

Red Head Susan: You know what I miss from Japan? Those little hot dogs.

New Girl: (reanimated) Is that how you two know each other?! You both lived in Japan?

Red Head Susan: Well, no, we were freshmen roommates... I've lived in Japan.

Moi: And I've never been to Japan.

(at this point, we lose sight of New Girl and never see her again the rest of the night)


---
Ashley: So I should be expecting her at [my church] next week?

Strange Pictures of Everyone Involved

This is what happened when I handed the camera to Jared.

No good pictures of the giant troll we were there to see,
but lots of shots of his head and other dismembered bodies.

I miss my Seattle people.

(we're picking the troll's nose
and Jared is giving a middle finger
to the people who kept walking into our shot)

Dewey Cheetham & Howe

I gave away Landlady Chang's plastic poncho tonight to the sandwich lady downstairs. I had gotten home late, forgotten to pick up groceries, and arrived home without anything to eat and 8 minutes to spare before the sandwich, I mean bocadillo, shop downstairs closed. The counter lady was completely gracious, though I was keeping her from closing the shop and she was worried about biking home umbrella-less. But Landlady Chang gave me a poncho. So I ran downstairs and gave it to counter lady. I think it made my night more than hers. And if that doesn't get me a free Orangina in the future. I don't know what else a girl has got to do.



Prof Papa: If they get the right answer even though the work is wrong and you think they copied off the person next to them, give them full credit. The tests are hard, but the better they do, the less they go to you with questions.

Oh yes, it's Day 3 into being Prof Papa's teaching assistant and already, we've fielded our share of crazy questions from zealous students. And already, he's given us the same speech thrice. It's OK though, because the gems that come through are worth it.

Moi (on how Gender & Health Perspectives is a course relevant to my 'professional future'): I'll figure something out to tell my adviser. Women, health, poverty, economy, policy... toss those words together-

Prof Papa: You've convinced me. I'll sign it.

Moi: Now we just need to talk to my adviser.

Prof Papa: If you guys ever need anything signed. Just have me do it.

Title Three

Remember when I used to do lists in threes? Think of this as an anniversary throwback. And not a cop out because I'm short on credits and there's too much chaos in too little time.

Three Email Subject Lines That Made My Day Today:

3. Study recruitment done!

Three years, one car crash, and thousands of patients later, recruitment is finally over. I suggested that a steak dinner be an appropriate reward for my hard work, but Whitecastle has decided to withhold steak until we know the results. Three to six months from now. Though I have no control over such results.

2. any James L's in your family?

Technically from yesterday, but it shows Ash's care and concern... and suspicion of anyone with my last name.

1. please pee before you come over my apt. tonight (if possible)

We don't really need words for this, do we?

Priorities

(Seattle. On our way back from all-you-can-eat sushi)
The place offers Nails and Joys. Hard to turn that down.

(Nob Hill, San Francisco)
Love how they prioritize things. Clearly proud of their deli.

(ferry, San Francisco)
Finally got to see my brother in his natural habitat.
Here we are, tricked into eating overpriced Chinese food masquerading as Japanese street snacks.

New Beginnings

It's the first day of school.
And I'm not even done telling you about the West Coast yet.
Or the fact that my advisor thinks I'm special (the short bus kind).

And we never got to celebrate our Dear Diary 5 Year Anniversary (oh yes, we've had 5 McWonder years, plus a few more in Xanga land. remember Xanga?). What can I say? It's been a rough week.

But this new toy just made my day. When I first saw it, I was afraid that it really was Amelia's toy that accidentally got into my stuff. And that I'd have to give it back. Because taking toys from babies is frowned upon (though not explicitly banned). But alas, it's my very own finger puppet. Just like the one I used to have. But more like a chicken.