On the House

Some people have the ability to charm restaurant owners and wait staff. Young Bo' is one of those people. My brother is another. I don't understand it. I'm perfectly polite and personable, but my compliments and chatter never get me anything except smiles. Having Taiwanese food tonight:

Restaurant Owner: What are you guys drinking? (motions to the waitress) Two more Tsingtaos. On me. (turns to me) Do you want some? Another Tsingtao.

Moi: No, thanks.

Brother: This is my little sister.

Restaurant Owner: Don't worry, I don't check ID.

Turkey Trot

I set off a mild panic chain over the weekend when I couldn't find
Prof. Papa's spring course in the catalog. We'd been waiting to take
that class for more than a year, so I headed to his office for
clarification (the man is one of the worst emailers I've ever met).

Moi: Is your injury class every other year?

Prof. Papa: No. Well, it's every other year, then every other year.

Moo: (no words, I just look really confused  I'm good at that.)

Prof. Papa: That means I teach it every year.

Of course, it does. It's not that my life hasn't been great.
Thanksgiving was full of getting enough sleep and eating lots of food
(in take out form, too!  One of my favorites), especially Chinese
food. And catching wii rabbits (surprisingly difficult) and watching
Korean cowboys and having a brother on my couch. But I've also spent
the bulk of the break in my room, editing essays and submitting
applications. Maybe next week, I'll tell you something interesting. In
the meantime, keep living your weary little lives and I'll do the
same.

All that Talk

Jazz on WGBH with Eric Jackson is my study music. It appears, however, that Eric Jackson is on holiday or some other form of extended leave. I hope for both of our sakes that he returns soon. The fill-in-host for the past two days has been driving me absolutely insane. He keeps talking. When all I want is jazz. I am about to look up WGBH's address, walk to Enterprise, rent a car, drive to WGBH, and send this man on permanent leave.

Yes, I am complaining about the guest host of an NPR jazz program. And yet you're here, reading about it. Whose life is dull now?

Busted

When it comes to Australians, those descendants of British ruffians, I've always been ambivalent. Sure, they've got great pharmaceutical policies and I've worked with some wonderful ones, but as a people, they had never done much for me, at least compared to other subjects of the throne. All that is rapidly changing this semester.

This morning, at my purposefully inconveniently scheduled office hours (I learned from the best, i.e. Walty, when it comes to office hours), two Aussies chatted loudly at the table next to me. When they started talking about cheering on Prof Papa's tennis matches and bringing supply and demand signs in support, well, it wasn't just hard not to eavesdrop, it was hard to even pretend I wasn't eavesdropping. Good thing Greg caught on and asked for my input straight on. I suggested playing tennis for grades. (Remember how Mr. Bowen was willing to bet for grades? Not enough teachers are willing to do that.) All this would have been normal. But what then followed was a bizarre nerdy exchange in which we marginally joked around but mainly discussed our respective health and education systems and which courses offered the most practical skills in health policy. Of all the banter in the world, we talked about healthcare. While skipping class. The morning before a holiday break. ("Are you guys celebrating how the American Indians gave food to our forefathers?" "Is that what happened? I haven't actually read the story.") The complexity and geekitude of all that perplex me. These Australians-- they don't have anything to offer just yet. But they've got my attention for now.

Of Babies and Men

Doc Binks is now in the possession of twins, as in a pair of lives he is responsible for. I would've guessed that of all the ways fatherhood could've changed him, it would've made him less prone to hand me a nasty olive to eat just to see how I'd react. In his defense, he did tell me it was nasty before demanding that I eat it.

Moi: I don't want to. It won't taste good.

Binks: But I want to see how you'd react.

---
Speaking of fatherhood....

Whitecastle: Children cost a lot of money. You've got to get a new house, new car, 2 strollers, seats, cribs...

Moi: You do know that the baby won't be operating any of this, right? These are things for you.

Whitecastle: Well, I know that [my wife] isn't fitting in that stroller. That's for the baby.

Moi: People in other parts of the world do without all these things and they seem OK.

Whitecastle: You mean those people who go without food and go without vaccines?

Moi: You mean people who go without autism.

Of Chicks and Babes

Oh Lenny.

Who speaks of sentient gum, third legs, and a sandwich chain named after her in plural. Lenny is at least 4 types of weird. Which was why she answered King Solomon's Bluff (as I'll call the question from now on) so readily and wonderfully. And, as she's wont to do, with oddly specific details and not a hint of remorse. She's overtaken Ranwei for the #2 answer.

Here goes the ranking:

1. Torso (organ harvesting, angry letters to TChu, you know the drill)

2. Top half (Lenny went for viability, utility, and robots. Bet you didn't see that coming. "If you squish the organs in right, it is the most likely half to survive. Then you make a robot bottom. And you have a super robot baby. It would have have an afterburner so there's no dirty diapers (sic) plus, 200% baby efficiency. But you have to remember not to make the robot bottom weapons-capable until the kid passes the terrible twos.")

3. Top half (baby wall art. it seems so quaint in comparison)

Ranwei's Baby

At brunch with TChu and Ranwei today, I brought up our classic BCF discussion: If you were to call King Solomon's bluff, which half of the baby would you want?

In all the years since the Bo,' the question has been tested with many people in many ice breakers, but no one has had as dispassionate and thorough an analysis as we had that fateful BCF lunch. If you recall, or click on the old post, you'll note that we (i.e. TChu. Remember, the angry letters go to him) chose torso. So the organs could be harvested. Most people stare in disbelief. Or at the most, choose the top half. That is, until today. Ranwei showed no hesitation. Either right half or top half. However you slice it, that half would be mounted on the wall as an artistic conversation starter. As in, "hey, you've got half a baby on the wall." The top half would be especially lovely because the arms could be positioned Superman-style, as if a baby was flying out of the wall.

Moi: Or you could take the bottom half, and just have feet sticking out of the wall. Maybe even put a chair beneath it for a more surrealist twist.

Ranwei: No. That would be wrong.

Moi: Oh excuse me, I took it too far.

Superbad

Just when I thought people couldn't make me happier today, a note from Prof Riles, Prof of all Profs, Adviser of all Advisers, who misses "ordinary weather problems" like the New England cold, prompted me to look for news on the weather in Beijing. This is what I found:

BEIJING (AP) — Pollution in Beijing was so bad Friday the U.S. Embassy, which has been independently monitoring air quality, ran out of conventional adjectives to describe it, at one point saying it was "crazy bad."

The embassy later deleted the phrase, saying it was an "incorrect" description and it would revise the language to use when the air quality index goes above 500, its highest point and a level considered hazardous for all people by U.S. standards.

More than the Sum

I have found my dim sum soul mate in the form of one Faith Wu. If I were to find a boy (er, man) version of Faith (Faitherson? Faithderick? Fidel?), I would be ready to settle down. I had a near-perfect brunch with Lu, Grant, and Faith today. Grant and Faith bonded over Wagner and Debussy; Lu and I bonded over not knowing what they were talking about. And chopping (not the karate kind-- that's what Grant does). I love eating with people who love eating with people, especially those who discuss Man vs. Food as easily as cost drivers in healthcare.

I don't want to detract from my deep fondness for Lu and Grant. Heck, I felt comfortable enough with them to accept a custard tart from Grant in one hand while actively shoving chicken feet in my mouth (with chopsticks- I'm not a savage) in the other. But Lady Wu surprised me with her simultaneous aggression and sweetness, a deadly combination for yum cha. She can't speak Canto, but she was great at understanding the litany of food terms tossed at us and spitting back in Mandarin. Enjoying shumai and shrimp dumplings is one thing, but sharing chicken feet, tofu skin-wrapped pork (which she cut in half for everyone) and clearing plates? That's what futures are built on.


(on being an ABC [American Born Chinese, for my Caucasoid friends])

Moi: You should work on being a better ABC.

TChu: I'm awesome at the AB part...just not the C part.

Moi: Yes, you were wonderful through gestation.

Fit to Prosper

I know this is wrong. And sad on two levels. But I'm spending the night revising a group paper (the best kind) and this headline makes me smile and distracts me from the fun I'm missing:

Afghan Hero Dog Is Euthanized by Mistake in U.S. (NYT)

All You Can Wallow

My folks travel a lot. Not Up in the Air a lot. But they spend about a month each year in Taiwan and China. Though I see and talk to them too much stateside, we only stay in touch sparingly when they're abroad. Last year, they were gone for five weeks and did not call home once. They seem to have no curiosity regarding my well being. And would make the worst teenagers. But I don't really mind because when we do talk, we invariably touch upon all the food that they're eating that I'm not. Yesterday, Father spent our Skype conversation recounting the buffet that they went to, with quality Chinese, Japanese, and "Western style" delicacies (lamb chops, roast beef, grilled pork), plus chocolate fondue. Chocolate fondue! All for $10 because there was a promotion. And suddenly, catching up with him made me incredibly sad. He did manage to remember to ask if I was eating well, but it sounded gloaty and hollow.

Today's Nutrition Tips in Question:

Do you know what makes the school's spicy rice crackers actually tasty?

Dredging them in peanut butter.

Do you know what offsets all the nutritional merits of the school's spicy rice crackers?

Dredging them in peanut butter. I can't wait to buy more tomorrow.

Big Tuna

For three people who are taking a course pass/fail, for three people who haven't purchased the text book or taken any notes in class, who have walked out of lecture for onion rings, boredom, or just to chat with friends, Allison, Laura, and I are fastidious about being punctual to Environmental Health. Each class, we rush to the lecture hall at least 8 minutes early, just as the previous class is about to let out. We do all this to stake a seat in the prized last row, where demand exceeds supply. Once we spread our stuff in the seats, we go about our business--take a walk, check our email, do econ problem sets, pass notes, spill steak & cheese all over the desk (surprisingly, not me)-- anything that doesn't involve listening. It's not that we are terrible students, it's just that Environmental Health is very crowded and depressing. The bits of knowledge that manage to seep in despair us, like How Two Drops of Mercury Slowly Killed a Beloved Professor, Never Swim in Open Water After Rain (only in the northeast), Haiti, Sometimes Standards are Made Up in the Absence of Knowledge, and of course, How Being an Academic Can Lead to Death Threats. And for the past week, the course has felt like a giant game of Marry Boff Kill (chuck, f*ck or destroy) with Cholera, Arsenic, and Thirst. So we do our best to lay low in the back row, all the while knowing that though our topic is different, we're training to be exactly like our lecturers. The back row is a rare gift of a break. Because in life, we can't actually hide from our public health calling and pretend we don't hear what bothers us. In life, we're taking on the giant problems (pharmaceutical spending, long term care, health reform, etc), using the same analytical methods Environmental Health is teaching us, and dismantling the problems, one tiny depressing piece at a time. We just won't be doing it from 10:30-12:30PM on Mondays and Wednesdays.

Cooks Intentions

Had a lovely day dining al fresco (in the warm November sun- thanks global climate change!) with the Humility Council crew and many, many slices of quiche. We discussed all sorts of lovely things, like tecktonik, the misuse of utilitarianism, and links to avoid when googling "booty." It was all the more lovely because we were all on the same wavelengths-- about being internally crazy but externally drama free, putting normal friends on hold, and of course, being aspirational cooks who are actually quite lazy:

Moi: I love The Minimalist. He makes everything so easy.

Laura: I do, too. Do you read Smitten-

Moi: Smitten Kitchen? I love it. Though I never make anything from it.

Laura: Oh God no. But the recipes look great.

Moi: And the pictures are so pretty.

Easy A

Mad props for the most clever title in awhile.

I'd been so busy lately that I thought my social standing was in pretty good order. But today's lunch brought multiple blows and cleared away any remaining disillusions. I made the mistake of giving up a free lunch talk at Work Work today to buy my own lunch at School School so that I can go to Prof. Papa's class instead. This decision coincided with the discovery that the handful of first years I know a. only wanted to talk to me about when they'd get their econ exams back and b. had other talks to go to and could not sit with me in the cafeteria (blow number one).

But it was OK. I ran into Professor Papa by the heart healthy "Indian" food line. He may have cut me for rice. But at least I had someone to sit with (derrota numero dos). He complained about not knowing any young musicians. It was adorably old. He also suggested that it was us second years' fault for not having anyone to sit with in the cafe because we didn't diversify our friend options last year and stuck too close together. I could accept that. But when I got up to get water, he made friends with the girl sitting across the table from us thereby proving his superior popularity (derrota numero tres). And that was just being smug.

But all these pale to what came next. Two of Prof Papa's colleagues joined our table (derrota numero cuatro- for having even more friends). And when he introduced me, he commented that I was "easy" (blows number five to infinity). An uncomfortable number of seconds went by before he clarified that my name was easy to remember. I am never eating in Kresge again.

Full Course Load

From David Rakoff's Half Empty:

Aside from the fact that it was expensive, we were surprised and regretful to find the training process both time-consuming and legitimate.

The passage was about life coaching lessons, yet it encapsulates how grad school feels at the moment. It's not that I don't like school. I just wish that I could blow off more classes. But respect and work ethic keep getting in the way.

Recruiting Members

Discussing Ricky Martin:

Edith: You know how some people are humble, but they have to try really hard at it, and they want you to know that they're being humble?

Moi: You mean like this?

(point to my shirt)

Edith: (eye roll) Yes. Exactly like that.

Military Intelligence

Is intellection one of your strengths? Do you know what intellection means? Spell-check clearly does not. Because intellect and reasoning are not among its strengths. At school, we are going through the Strength Finder series as a cohort. And though we'd been warned not to read ahead (so we'd end up choosing strengths we wanted rather than what we actually had), a few details inevitably slipped out. And it is now clear that Allison, Marie, and Louise are all intellection strong. But not Meredith or me. And the fact that this 30-minute online test doesn't think we possess it is smarting (heh) more than it really should. It's become a dividing line. And as usual, I fall on the special side (with weak sauce strengths like "maximizer" and "connectedness"-- no one ever wins a gold medal for being maximizing maximus).

Secret Sauce

Reading econ and suddenly grew concerned for Ginger Dave...

From Predictably Irrational:

One seventeenth-century recipe for a "cure all" medication advised: "Take the fresh corpse of a red-haired, uninjured, unblemished man, 24 years old and killed no more than one day before, preferably by hanging, breaking on the wheel, or impaling... Leave it one day and one night in the light of the sun and the moon, then cut into shreds or rough strips. Sprinkle on a little powder of myrrh and aloes, to prevent it from being too bitter."

Guess I missed my chance to capitalize on this wonder drug when I left Eddie Bert. Could have made a killing (ba da che). Are you 24, Dave?

Little Blue Books

Scene: It is 5:30PM on a Thursday afternoon. In an empty classroom, Lisa and I are sitting with test booklets in front of us, furiously drawing graphs and reading through answers. A student walks in.

Student: You guys are grading exams already? How're we doing?

Us: Um... yeah.

Actually, we were rummaging through the tests, picking out the names of people who did well on the first exam, with the hopes that perhaps someone would be able to show us how to answer a question logically. Because we sure didn't know how to do it ourselves. It is slightly humbling when one has to look through one's students test papers for solutions. But when Lisa doesn't know something. That stuff is hard.

Come Back Another Day

Dear Common Cold:
  Thank you kindly for waiting until all my papers, problem sets, office hours, and presentations have finished this week to arrive.  I had thought that I would use my little 4-day break to catch up on sleep and friends (by which I mean apply for graduate school), but it's OK.  I can hang out with you and the aches, soreness, and snot that you bring.  I'm just glad that you held off until today.  It's very thoughtful of you.


Sincerely Under the Weather

What She Said

Sometimes, I really hate graduate school. In my environmental class
just now, the professor just said "I want to know what's going on in
my gonadal regions." And not a single person giggled. I don't know if
this is an institution I want to be a part of if we're not going to
laugh about gonadal regions.