Home Wrecker

My mother is perfectly healthy most days. But she was not this weekend. And I had the incredible timing of choosing this weekend, of all weekends, to go home (instead of staying in town to celebrate Lu's birthday, perhaps catch a movie with Dwighters, lunch with Faith... worst intuition ever). So I cooked breakfast (and lunch and dinner yesterday), folded the laundry, made sure that Mother stayed more or less alive, exchanged a suitcase at JCPenn'ys (this one was weird, because I am no longer covered on the insurance on my parents' car, so in Mother's mind, the most logical thing to do in this case was for her friend to give me a ride to the mall), and spent 2 hours on the phone with the phone company. All this affirmed that, yes, as with children, I can kickass in house managing. Although it has also affirmed that I do not want a children, house, or anyone infirmed under my care for a very long time. Perhaps never. All's I want to be responsible for is myself, my homework, and what shape chicken nuggets I'd like to have for dinner.

On the phone with the phone company:

Tech Support: Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear, are you Asian?

Moi: (begrudgingly) ... ... ... Yes.

Tech Support: Because I am, too.

Moi: Good for you.

Tech Support: So, what are you doing for Halloween anyway?

Moi: Nothing.

Tech Support: You don't celebrate Halloween?

Moi: ... ... ...

Fit to Stay the Same

To say that I'm a creature of habit is a bit like saying that I enjoy food.  Or that our trend in current health care spending is vexing.  A gross understatement.  For the past seven years, ever since an upperclassman suggested it at the Bo' Diversity Retreat (in that shady motel that recruited guests to be our wait staff), I've subscribed to the Times headlines via email.  I read it every morning.  And now, after 7 glorious years, the Times have decided to tinker with the layout of these emails (and their pages, don't get me started on that).  You know how they say that in terms of economic downturn, people want what's familiar?  To most people, that's Campbell's soup (am I cribbing from an episode of Fresh Prince?  I vaguely remember this).  To me, it's the same Times headlines I've read since I was 18.  Give me back my childhood, NYT. 

Promises, Promises

Dear Blog: Remember me?  I hardly do.  I'm all about hard work, school, and kissing up to professors now.  Which means I'm doing what I always do.



This morning, I walked into the office for the first time in a long while and ran into New Doc Poppy, who uttered the portentous phrase:

Doc Poppy: We were just talking about you yesterday!

Moi: In what context?

Doc Poppy: We were talking about a new project.  And [Whitecastle] said, "she's continuing her education, she'll do all the work for you."  Does he always speak for you like that?

Moi: (resigned)  Yeah, I guess I'll do your work for you.


(later, with the man himself)

Doc Whitecastle: Poppy is too impatient.  What did she have to tell you that for?  Doesn't this sound like a good project?  It's just an extension of what we're doing.  What you're already doing.

Moi: So I'll get started on all the work?

Doc Whitecastle: Exactly.  See, not too bad at all.


Systematic review #3.  Let's file that behind Systematic reviews #1 and #2 in the "Projects I Don't Have Time for Because I Haven't Even Eaten a Balanced Meal in 23 Days" queue.  Right ahead of "Read 8 chapters of a dense methodological book because the guy whose program I'm trying to get into has recommended it."  

Our Mutual Friend

Laura and I love Prof FAO. We think Prof FAO may even like us. But this is not to say that we share any rapport with Prof FAO. In fact, the certainty of awkwardity has been so ingrained in our encounters that characterizing them as such as become superfluous. Once in awhile, I get in a bout of self panic and think that I am the cause of all the unease. Then conversations like this put my fears to rest.

Laura: I ran into Prof FAO the other day.

Moi: Oh yeah? How is she?

Laura: Well, we sort of just smiled at each other too long and then it was too late to say anything though I think we both wanted to.

Moi: Doesn't that happen every single time you see her?

Laura: Yeah. It does.

Slackers

On how the stems of pumpkins, squashes, and other gourds produces painful rashes on a small percentage of the population:

Moi: I read it somewhere. I'm sure it's true.

Josh: That sounds like something you'd learn in a frou-frou epi class.

It's true, but frou-frou and epidemiology never be used again in the same sentence.

Yours and Mine

Applying to schools means sucking up to people. A lot of people. And asking questions of a lot of people. Sometimes the questions aren't that important and I already know the answer to them. But the point is in the asking. I knew that this semester would be "back loaded" and tried to prepare my September/October accordingly and set up as meetings as I could. That way, I thought, I would be in good shape when the second half of the semester arrived. It's adorable how I thought I could manage that. I sent out lots of emails. Got very few responses. Until now. The second half of the semester starts next Monday, and on that day, I add on 2 classes (bringing the Monday total to 3) and meet with 3 different professors (one combines my two hated things in the world: an interview and a phone conversation; even more fun, one includes a project proposal I have yet to prepare for; the last one is a mystery bag), and oh yeah, I'll also be leading a lunchtime meeting, and somehow cramming my biostat problem sets in there somewhere.

Bring it, Monday. Only one of us will live until Tuesday.

Say Cheese

I've seen this video quite a few times, in different iterations, at different points of time. I don't know what it is, but I can't help but laugh every time. Two props that elevate it to share-worthy status: 1. It's about drugs. As a public health researcher (wannabe) specializing in drug policy, it's my duty to share such knowledge. 2. I believe heroin was what got my geometry teacher arrested, so this has special resonance.

Screwtape Letters

Things You Don't Want to Hear from People Writing Your Rec Letters (and by 'you' I mean 'I'):

Moi: I'm dropping off some info to help you with the recommendation letters.

Prof. Papa: That's good because I don't remember saying I'd write letters. I'll do it. What are you applying for?

Moi: In that case, you also said you'd give me a raise.

Prof. Papa: See, I don't remember that either.

Moi: You forget so many things.


Things I Do Want to Hear from People Writing My Rec Letters:

Moi: So ideally, if it's the program here, I'd want to work with Doc [Name Withheld].

Prof. Papa: Oh, good. I know him. I had him as a student.

Breakfast of Champions

One of the more surprising discoveries of attending this fine institution is how different each of the H bombs are from each other.  They're all separate entities.  And the same university dining services offers different food at each site.  The b-school, unsurprisingly, serves everything with a generous dusting of gold and truffles.  It's how they operate.  The school of government offers a surprisingly sub-par experience, dishing standard cafeteria food that fills without much substance (any similarity to their course offerings is purely coincidental).  And what have we got in public health?  It's no Bo' (only about half the size of Moulton, no lobster, no omelets made to order), but they're close, what with the expansive salad bar, the focus on all things local, healthy and tasty (who knew that they could go together?).  And the crave-worthy unhealthy entrees, like the open faced turkey sandwich with fixings and sweet potato fries.  On top of that, there's a daily selection of Indian food.  Which is confusing (especially since it doesn't actually taste like any Indian food I know-- it tastes good, I've just never tasted it elsewhere, cheap or fancy) but hits the spot when I forget to bring lunch for the fortieth time in a week.  The best part of the whole experience, however, is the new gimmick they've put on: Dr. Willett Says (or some variation thereof).  There are now little index card-sized placards all around the facility bearing a picture of one Dr. Willett (professor, MD, epidemiologist, nutrition researcher, but not a dietitian) as he explains what's heart healthy and good for you.  It's ridiculous on at least 3 different levels, especially if you've met the guy, but also strangely effective.  His face totally guilted me into getting fruit and yogurt when I wanted a sausage biscuit for breakfast. Well, I got both.  Six years of excellent private school dining services, I hope wherever I end up next can keep up.

Fall Harvest

I know that I can't get the thrill of the first snow or relief of turning in my honors every single day. I can't eat turnip cakes* for breakfast or watch Newsradio reruns everyday. In the same vein, I cannot have this morning every weekend. I wish I could. Yet moments like these are to be stored for the long winter ahead, when work piles up, applications are due, and the Youngers have moved to Korea**.

I woke up late this morning. And walked an extra mile because my morning stupor clouded my sense of direction. But I met up with Laura for the Boston Book Festival. We went to a talk of Serious Fiction Writers. Then one of Hilarious Non-Fiction Writers, including David Rakoff, who I have long admired. He signed a book (freakin' hard copy- so mad that I couldn't find my copy of his old, paperback book) for me and though I froze and didn't have much to say to him, he did like my compliment a lot, so I'm just going to forget the rest of the encounter. There was the beautiful sun, discovering a new cafe with flaky scones and good coffee, free packs of Haribo gold bears, and the pleasure of running into Jon Pan. Mornings don't get more blessed than that.


*Turnip cakes, not to be confused with turd cakes, taste much better than it sounds (pretty much has to, right?). One of my favorite breakfast foods. Along with mantou, millet corn porridge, and egg scallion pancakes with sweet hot sauce.

**It's OK. They'll be in Seoul. And not a labor camp in the North. We like Seoul. Mark is going to save the world. The girls will learn Korean. And hilarity will ensue for Ashley (as she saves the world and makes great friends).

Bookish Type

I just read an article about the rising price of kimchi and found teaching examples in there to use for my economics course. And now I'm about to update my neglected blog. Such are the lengths I'm willing to go to procrastinate.

I got a box of chocolates today. And fancy Godiva's at that. I may have jokingly told Kos that instead of his books, I wanted a real present from him. How was I supposed to know that he would take me seriously? If I had known, I would have asked for a MacBook Air.

I was looking for a copy of Prof. Papa's book today because as a master note-personalizer, I wanted to fact check a story about him that I knew was in the preface of the book so I could mention it in the note. Unfortunately, my copy was home home, where I'd forgotten to check it last weekend. And while most of my friends were glad to lend a copy, no one had it on them. Except, as Laura pointed out, Prof. Papa himself. He let me borrow the hardcover version. Then asked me how he could help. This was when my smooth side came out.

"Um, yeah, I know that you wrote this, but I just need to look up a story real quick... I'll be back in 10 minutes."

Luckily, Prof Papa is good at overlooking awkwardness for an opportunity to make a joke.

Papa: You don't have 3, 4 copies of this? Come on.

Moi: You know, I gave them all away. It's a shame.

Papa: They should really have a few of these books on every floor, get the word out there.

You're Welcome World, #3844

Really enjoying a day during which, whenever I turn aside to work on a problem set, go to a lecture, or hold office hours, another life is saved in dramatic fashion. Makes me feel really productive. I like to think that this is how public health operates. Every regression I run in Stata prevents another statistical life from harm. You're welcome, World.

Note to the World

I imagine that upon my death, people will compile a collection of my letters to the world and study them for hidden meanings.  I also expect to win a lot of awards posthumously.  Though I wouldn't mind some pre-action.

Dear Cashier:
  Please refrain from opening my shampoo bottle, sniffing it, and exclaiming "That smells so good," during price check.  Thank you kindly.

Dear Bus Driver:
  Try, oh do try not to drive the bus when I am walking in front of you.  It makes me very nervous.

Dear Mother:
  There are inches, centimeters, and even palm lengths.  But "sock deep," is not a helpful unit of measurement.  I don't know how deep the flowers are to be planted.

Yours sincerely,

Killing time until office hours are over

Good Friday

Today was a solid day. An answered-prayer type of good day. The sun was shining and all was right. Other than Josh's thrilling epi jokes, there weren't particular highlights to the day. I'm just an easy sell. Had an 8:15AM lab. Got two shots at the doctor's. And spent the rest of the day at work ignoring my homework. I went grocery shopping. Cooked dinner. Watched Grey's. And now I'm in front of the computer again, ready to get some more work done. That's all I want from a day, really: Good food, good work, and good public health (you're welcome for getting vaccinated, World).


Josh's Thrilling Epi Joke (assume this is funny*):

Man: How's it going?

Epidemiologist: Not very good. I'm weighed down by age and sex.

Like all good epidemiology jokes, I don't fully comprehend this. I may have misheard or misremembered the punch line. The moral of the story is that epidemiologists stratify a lot of things by age and sex. And that they are not good joke tellers. Funny, yes, kind, nerdy, all the things you want in life, and they're great at talking smack about biostatisticians. But can they tell a good joke about their own profession? No dice.

*See what I did there? I made an epi joke.

Three Girls a Guy

There's a half block strip close to work where an Indian, Jamaican, Chinese, Mexican, and Italian restaurant/take-out joint and a liquor store all coexist together, one next to another. It's a greasy stretch that Jesse knows all too well.

Moi (to Lisa and Laura): If you guys try the Chinese place, let me know how it is. Though it looks pretty sketchy. Then again, that's not fair. They're all bad and sketchy.

Jesse: Oh no. That place is spectacularly sketchy.

Moi: More so than other take-out places?

Jesse: I'd say it's even sketchier than the Jamaican place.

Moi: The one that's always empty?

Jesse: Exactly.

The ethnic war breakdown on Huntington Ave: Mexican>Indian>Jamaican>Italian>Chinese.

(Sorry, ancestors, I'll avenge your honor!)

Weekend Update

This weekend was the:

It was the fifth annual party. And the 4th for the Bo' Crew.
So naturally, I found myself in Vermont.

Where flannel is not ironic. And Regis fits in seamlessly.

And the most magical weekend brunch place in the world operates (ok, actually a short drive across state line). An old sock would taste delicious dipped in Rathbun's maple syrup.

Fridays a Trois

Professor Papa says some offbeat things. It's why I loved his lectures and like working with him. It can, however, be startling when you're not aware of the context, not used to saying stupid things, or wholly not expecting what he'll say.

Moi: Lisa will be here in a second. She's battling it out at the Registrar's right now.

(Lisa arrives in a second)

Prof. Papa: Did you beat up the Registrar?

Lisa: (utter confusion and horror on her face)

Prof. Papa: Did you win?

Lisa: (confused silence)

---

My friends know that in life, I like proteins, carbs, word games, winning at word games, Jesus, and sacrilegious humor (not in that order, natch). My professors are just starting to learn that. Earlier this week, I shared the awesome Post-It that program adviser Second Nancy gave me. Today, just because I was finally shipping them out, and to demonstrate just how much I loved her note, I showed Second Nancy the presents I had gotten for Jax: a roll of Jesus tape (it's what it sounds like. a multi-colored roll of packing tape with pictures of Jesus) and a shopping bag with Jesus on one side and Mary on the other.

All was going well until Second Nancy tried to be PC and started talking different types of humor.

Second Nancy: I'm so glad you like that Post-It. Because you never know how people will- well, there's a strong Christian student group on campus-

Moi: Which I'm co-leading this year.

Second Nancy: (utter confusion and horror on her face) Right... I knew you were involved in the Christian group, I didn't know that...

And that was Awkward Moment #3324 for the week.

---
(At the Local Pizza Parlor- there's a barrier between patrons and pizza so I couldn't see exactly what I was ordering)

Moi: Can I have a slice of buffalo chicken, and the broccoli one? What kind of pizza is this?

Cashier: You mean veggie?

Moi: Is that it? I thought I saw chicken on there. Yeah, the one with the broccoli.

Cashier: (checks with pizza making guys in the back) Yeah. Veggie lover. (punches in "VEGGIE" on the register)

(Later)

Moi: (unwrap pizza. discover that in addition to broccoli and spinach, the "veggie lovers" pizza also had pepperoni, sausage, and bacon. That's my kind of pizza joint.)