Scallionwag

I attended Father's church today. The entire service started an hour earlier than usual. Apparently, you can just do things like that when a third of the church is gone for a conference. Because of holiday shuffling and the snowstorm and conference, I was pulled in for emergency interpretation duty. I sat next to a guy and narrated the entire service to him in English. I'm not sure he saw all the parallels between the Old and New Testament symbols in the message. But I tried the best I could.

Christmas wasn't super great, but I got to see my folks and got new pens and Airwave gum, which was everything I had wanted. Now I'm back in the city to enjoy a nice snow day. Whenever I return from home home, I get a hankering for scallion pancakes. We eat a lot of it at home, though hardly ever from scratch. The fridge at home has an impressive arsenal of frozen dumplings and pancakes. In Taiwan, scallion pancakes are one of those things that are so cheaply and widely available, at such good quality, that it's hardly ever worth it to make it at home. But that's not how we roll in the South End. So I got my doughy hands dirty and made some. Along with the sweet spicy dipping sauce (also never homemade in Taiwan). Now I'm going to enjoy a Lifetime Originals movie. The way snow days are meant to be enjoyed.

Tender and Mild

Every time I come home, I seem to write some entry about Mother forsaking her matronly duties for television, and the damage we pay in hunger. This year, I tried really hard to stray from the same topics and jokes and respect Mother and how she operates the household. Especially since she mentioned making lamb two ways at lunch yesterday, or maybe it was for us to choose one of two ways. I can't remember very well right now. I am extremely hungry.

After enduring hours of quiet stomach rumblings, I finally approached Mother. I had left her on the couch about three hours ago, when she said that she wanted to "relax a little" after we'd just watched some good ol' PBS. ("Relax from... watching TV?" I wanted to ask. But I held my tongue and let her have the remote.)

Moi: Is it OK if I ask what we're going to have for dinner? Because I can fix something myself.

Mother (genuine shock): You want to eat dinner tonight?

Moi: That would be lovely, yes.

Mother: I'm not hungry at all. Didn't we have a big lunch?

Moi: Yes, we did, ma'am.

Mother: And you're hungry again?

Moi: It would appear so.

And to All a Good Meal

Mother: It's 5PM. Don't you still have to shower? You better hop in now.

Moi: What's the hurry? We're not leaving for [the Christmas eve service] for another 2 hours.

Mother: But you need to shower... and make dinner.

Moi: So that's what we're doing for dinner.

Honest Tea

Another perk of working from home, one that is infinitely better than the shortened commute, is afternoon tea. There were no petits-fours or clotted cream, but at around 3:30PM today, Father knocked on my door and asked if I wanted tea. "What kind?" "Just name it. I have everything." Then he came by again at 5PM to refill my cup of tieguanyin.

He's right about having every kind of tea. Father isn't particularly obsessive (the honor goes to the uncles), but we have a number of varieties of greens, blacks, and reds in bag and loose leaf form. Earl Grey and Pu-erh, fruits and barley and everything in between. It isn't just that we're from a culture where tea is quotidian. Plenty of people drink ghastly 'tea' in the UK and China. But I have a Father whose idea of a practical joke was teaching his four-year-old daughter the wrong name for a tea and who makes perfect Thai iced teas, down to the frothy top he makes with a martini shaker (but we just call it iced tea). There is no reverence about tea or ceremony in our family. It is about salty snacks, grown up chatter, and family.

This is why I flinch a little when I ask for tea and people offer me chamomile from a bag. I grew up on that delicate, brown butter hue, that sweet taste I know as oolong. Drinking it on a December afternoon, why, it tastes just like home.

Time Crunch

I have discovered a new route to work, a route that leads to much happiness. When I first moved into the Ho' after commuting from home home for a year, I was ecstatic to cut my commute down to an hour at the most (round trip) from 3 hours. Three hours is very long for a commute. But do you know what's better than a 25 minute commute? Working from home. I wake up at 9am, roll out of bed, and walk 3 feet to my desk. Do you know when the last time I woke up at 9am was? Well, er, other than the accidental oversleep last Sunday, it'd been at least 5 months. And since I'm home home, there's no deep forage for appropriate breakfast foods or eating tuna mixed with rice. The kitchen is teeming with fruits and pastries. The whole set up is glorious. If only I was motivated to do more work.

--
Mother just walked over from her computer in her study to inform me that a childhood friend of mine wanted to reconnect (mother's exact words were "write letters to me," though I'm not sure that's what chum meant). I last saw this girl when I was 5 or 6 years old, so I don't understand why she has a better recollection of me than I do of her (or why she's corresponding with Mother), but this seems to happen to me a lot. But clearing my mind of information like names of childhood chums is a price to pay for retaining things like the differences between the Wilcoxon Mann and Kruskal-Wallis test, the status of the ScarJo-Reynolds marriage, and of course, the hierarchy of Whitecastle's favorite fonts. "Is it OK if I give her your email?" "Yeah, sure." "OK. I will forward you the email when I have the time." I don't know how Mother forwards emails. But it sounds like an arduous process.

Odds and Ends

Father: Forget the PhD, why not start a bakery?

I'll take that as a compliment on my cheesecake.


(on the Humility Council t-shirts*)

Doc Poppy's Husband: That must be funny to you Harvard people, huh?"

I'll take that as a compliment on our great senses of humor.


(Louise, on slogans for our department)

"We rock... except at making small talk."

(and our faculty)

"One is like your second mother. The rest are socially awkward."

I'll take that as all I've known of academia. It was true at Riley House. And it's still true in Kresge.

Oliver's Twist

Turns out, it's hard to get a good picture of a chocolate-filled cream puff. One wrong angle and the whole thing looks like a colostomy bag*.

I'm on a baking streak this weekend. As thank you presents, I made the Smitten Kitchen's dulce de leche cheesecake. It was surprisingly straight forward. And tastes as good as it sounds. Imagine everything you like about cheesecake, then add the creamy sweetness of dulce de leche, and top it off with a chocolate glaze. I would post pictures, but they really just look like they do on the site. You should stop reading this now and go make one for yourself. I called mine "Haddon's Matrix Cheesecake**" because they're for Prof Papa.

I also made "(Injury) Prevention Profiteroles**." I followed the Minimalist's recent profiterole recipe but swapped raspberries and vanilla ice cream for chocolate Bailey's pudding. That is to say, I swapped raspberries and ice cream for excellence. Tastes surprisingly like "the real thing," except better.

*That probably crossed a taste line of some sort. My apologies.

**Shameless renaming that has nothing to do with the desserts and everything to do with pandering to Prof Papa? Perhaps. What're you going to do about it?

But What Are You?

frm Amy (not to be confused with me) and I split an order of grilled cheese and mushroom ravioli tonight. When the plate of delicate raviolis arrived, I double checked with the waiter to make sure that hadn't made a mistake. "Is this the large portion?" Yes, these nine delicate raviolis comprise of the large. The grilled cheese was the best I've ever had. And the dark fudge brownie sundae that followed was exceptionally delicious. The whole experience made me feel like a South End regular, hanging out in my neighborhood spot, down to the part where I overpaid for a simple yet delicious meal.

(watching Au Revoir Les Enfants* last night)

Amy: I can't tell these children apart.

Moi: You went to the Bo', shouldn't you know your white people?

Amy: There are so many white people in Seattle. It's been so hard.

*Not as depressing as Into the Arms of Strangers or Boy in the Striped Pajamas, but as a movie about Jewish children during WWII, still very depressing over all. Not recommended after sundaes on a Saturday night.

Almost Fabulous

Finals season is over, nearly for the last time. Every time I get to this stretch, I can't tell if I can go through another. If you'd asked me on Thursday, it would have been a resigned 'no.' But on days like today, it wasn't so bad after all. Last night, for the second night in a row, we celebrated the end of the semester at Laura's. Nearly identical people and everything. (a few pictures posted because we realized that none of us had photographic proof of our friendship)

Lu thinks Prof Papa's nickname should be 'Sexy Beast.' I advocate we settle for DHem. The Weed Whacker is always ready to pose.

Laura is tall, beautiful, slightly racist, and my steadiest partner in the past semester. We spent 4 hours grading econ exams yesterday. Jesse came up with a game of pitting random students against each other. It made the whole thing a lot of fun. But also very time consuming. Jesse and I had to stay after an extra 45 minutes to grade without games.

Two more applications, and lots of hours of work work await. Whitecastle is under the impression that I will draft a manuscript this month (which will require finishing data collection and doing the analysis...). Practicum folks are under the impression that I am capable of banging out another one in a few months. But hey, I get to sleep as late as I want.

Permalink

Are you on LinkedIn?  It is facebook for grown ups.  Or, according to Prof Papa, it is facebook without knowing what your friend bought at the supermarket.  You just know when said friend gets a new job.  Because facebook in any form = procrastination, I decided to finally join LinkedIn last night to stave off studying for biostatistics (or as Brother calls it, "fake science").  I was not vigilant about researching how LinkedIn operates ahead of time.  In fact, I am still not fully aware of how it functions.  People with whom I have corresponded on a regular basis know that I have 2 personal email addresses.  One for friends and repeat offenders.  The other generally reserved for professors and business contacts.  Naturally, I chose the semi-professional account for LinkedIn.  When it asked whether I wanted to "connect" with people in my address book who were already on LinkedIn, I clicked 'yes,' not really knowing what the whole process entails.  I am now connected with many of my professors, professors who I do not mean to be connected with.  This includes: Doc Whitecastle, Prof Papa, Prof Adviser, the Band Man, and Prof SBell.  I would not be surprised if Walty was on that list.  Though he probably wouldn't accept me.  I do not know who I have requested a connection from until I've received a confirmation congratulating me for making a 'connection'.  I can't undo the requests.  I have no idea who they went to.  And perhaps most cruelly, only some of my close friends that I want to network with are actually on the list. 

I know what you're thinking, this sounds like a regular indignity story.  What makes this one special?  How about being singled out by Prof Yeast on the last day of class?  As he wrapped the class up, he mentioned that he'd be happy to stay in touch with us.  "Some of you," he added, "well actually one person, has actually contacted me on LinkedIn.  I'm happy to stay connected that way."  Oh yes.  He was my third "connection" last night.  Thank you, Prof Yeast.  I'm really not eager to network and would be OK if we never speak to each other again (though you are very nice and I look forward to going to your house in February).

Apples and Oranges

The parentals returned from the motherland today. They almost didn't make it. Mother forgot that she had oranges on her body (well, bag). That the oranges came from Taiwan makes them contraband. Mother went through a couple of checks in customs because she realized this error. When she realized her error, rather than a) not doing anything and just continue walking through customs or b) disposing of the oranges immediately, Mother chose c): eat the oranges on the spot (because she was "hungry"). Predictably, the customs dogs immediately surrounded her and she was reprimanded by the officials. When it was all over, Father was relieved that the officials "showed mercy" and let everyone go with a harsh word. Mother, on the other hand, doesn't understand why everyone was so rude and why they threw the rest of her oranges away.

You and You and You

Many people suspect discipline or drive, but sleep is the true driving force behind my study habits and deadlines. It has been this way for as long as I've known. I only start projects early so I can get a fair amount of sleep and the closest I've ever gotten to an all nighter was 3 hours of sleep for the biochem take home in junior year (at which point I started referring to enzymes as "buggers" on my exam, leading to lots of "???" in red ink).

So it was with regret that I dragged myself out of bed early this morning to get to school by 7:30am to finish my pass/fail paper, all because our school network drive was down over the weekend. If there's one thing I'm good at as a student, it's packing my bag the night before (folders, hat, emergency socks, breakfast, lunch, and snack- all check). Though I'm good at working against deadline, too. I just hate the process-- the faux adrenaline that masks my fatigue, the eerily quiet streets, the goofy grin I wear all morning (Ray: That's a very big smile for Monday morning), and the crash that slogs through all afternoon that no amount of free cheese and dip could cure (sidebar: dean's reception today with only 3 kinds of cheeses, all semi-hard-- what is this, a state school? I want my gouda and chevre). Wherever I end up next year, I hope it's a place full of sleep. Sweet dreams.

The Name Blame

The econ TAs have been particularly punchy the past couple of days.

"I had a problem earlier in the semester where I kept calling Lisa 'Laura' by accident, and then thought I should try to cover it up by referring to you as 'Jesse'." -- Jesse (who, as we discussed in the review session, is a Caucasian male. I am not.)

"No one has a question? Come on, guys!" -- Laura, speaking up during review session after she had a particularly difficult section and the rest of us got away question-free.

Orchard for a Dome

(on going to school in beautiful, secluded places)

Moi: The mountains are great and all, but will that actually affect your school experience? It's not like you'll be hiking every weekend.

Vita-K: It's not like I'll be inside for three years either.

Moi: But seriously, in our four years at the Bo', how many times did you climb Katahdin?

Vita-K: Twice. Once after our sophomore year and once senior year.

Moi: Oh. You actually climbed that thing? (I never did) Maybe you should go to school in West Virginia. I should never go to school in West Virginia.

No No Noel

Was walking home from the annual Starlight banquet today and wished for the 725th time that I had my camera with me (or a better camera phone): Spotted a handwritten wooden sign on the sidewalk that said "Picture with Santa. 10am-4pm. 5th floor." Shadiest Santa ever.

Geek Test

(I was supposed to post this a few days ago)

The president is not selling out. I understand that compromises are necessary and he had to make concessions to preserve unemployment and other benefits. I just wish he was a better negotiator. Because not raising taxes on the wealthiest, not increasing social security contributions, and adding the burden for those making under $20k all seem like really bad ideas.

In high school, it was Lenny. We watched underrated shows like Newsradio and listened to underrated music like Moxy Fruvous. Not because we were cool. Or these things were hidden greats. They were just hidden. My brother is constantly watching and listening to cool things the mainstream doesn't know about because he's cool. We were just bad judges of culture. (Although 13-year-old-me did recognize the goodness of Freaks and Geeks right when it came out, and not years later on DVDs) I remember then, going to my first (and only) alternative kids upperclassman party as a freshman at the Bo' and what a relief it felt to know that other people had not only heard of this disbanded 90's Canadian band (that no one is mourning) but liked them, too. "These are my people," I remember thinking, "They like the same obscure things that I do." Later, I would find out that they were way too hip to be my people. On Monday night, I had that feeling again. But it was even more special. At our cohort holiday party, Lisa brought up SportsNight. And not only did everyone know of it, but everyone claimed it as one of their favorite shows, just like I did. Then Gennie brought up Friday Night Lights and I nearly cried from all the like mindedness in the room. With every rung on the education ladder, my peers get a little nerdier and these geek nirvana moments become more frequent. And now in my 18th year of school, these people are my people.

Honest Tea

My school friends have been on a truth-telling crusade this week. I am not in favor of this.

(Last night, Lu listed a litany of shows that she watches and made me feel a lot better about being excited to see the Grammers split on cable TV)

Moi: Wait a minute, aren't these shows on on Friday nights?  What are you doing-
Louise: Whoa, whoa. I know for a fact that you cannot judge.
Allison: You didn't come out for drinks last week so you could brine a chicken.
Moi: These are all true statements.

Moi: I don't understand how we're going to talk about this for 10 minutes. Our papers aren't even 10 pages.
Laura: But at this point in our schooling, aren't we all really good at BS'ing?
Moi:  This is a true statement.

Moi: I'm heading off to a meeting. I'm very important.
Greg: You know, I've always said that about you. Very important.
That's the truest statement of them all.

Go Shorty

It is my birthday today. It is my birthday as I type. I celebrated, as I usually do when I'm in school, by having an 8:30 class, getting a shot (the vaccine kind), having a meeting about my practicum, holding office hours, eating leftovers and doing homework.

And yet, it's been a great day.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a break from it all to have ice cream with pear jelly and a side of Community (the show, not the sense of camaraderie).

Greener Acres

To offset the somber tone of the last entry, a couple of happy (albeit poorly taken) pictures of my weekend. I got to see Emily perform at Symphony Hall last night, which was a very big deal. And made me feel like a very big deal. I mean, when's the last time your lab partner in high school anatomy (with whom you co-dissected a cat) performed at Symphony Hall? Last night, that's when.

Today was our 4th annual post-Bo' pre-Thanksgiving gathering. We had it post-Thanksgiving because I may have forgotten about the whole tradition altogether. Then ran into scheduling difficulties. But at least we had a gathering today. The W'ville crew so completely forgot about our high school tradition that we didn't even have Veggie Giving this year. I made the best roast chicken I've ever made (the key is in brining). I'm really enjoying this point in my life when potlucks work because everyone pulls their weight and brings really tasty food. Remember when I had a potluck junior year and Squeaky G brought Tostitos? We're not in W'ville anymore. The picture doesn't do all the deliciousness justice (blame Lisa) but I like the group shot because of how shady Joe looks crouching in the background. It's all very "one of these things is not like the other."

Green Acres

The life of a pastor is full of its special perks and privileges, like christening your great nieces and maybe one day, officiating your children's weddings. It means giving your loved ones the greatest gift that you can, that of God's blessing, in the most momentous occasions of their lives. Oftentimes, however, heartache precedes that first dance. For my dad, being a pastor this week means preaching at his brother-in-law's memorial service (his sister's husband). He was a pastor, too, an incredibly kind and sincere man who was good not only to his wife and children, but his wife's whole family, my father included, and our whole family, too. He befriended my mother's father when they lived in the same city. Because that's what it means to be a pastor. In between the baptisms, weddings, and funerals is life, carrying burdens and tending relationships. The kind of pastoral acts that earn you the privilege and responsibility of making sense of a life you cultivated, when it comes to an end.

Call Me Ishmael

Haaahvard is very particular about its applicants. It helps, for example, to have the surname Thayer, to have graduated from a parochial school in Cambridge, and to related by lineage to a member of the class of 1902 (documentation required). There are certain qualities that appeal to the committees. And I, apparently, do not fit specifications. Not my middle name, at least.

Repeatedly encountered errors tonight because:

Applicant middle or other name cannot contain any special characters.

My hyphenated middle name displeases the institution. Spaces didn't work either. I had to delete the space in between. And it all felt very Ellis Island.

Where the Side Walk Ends

Earlier this afternoon, I was sitting in Kresge, deep in discussion with a team member in how we ought to pull the structure of our paper together-- as a mature student of public health and team leader does (I was doing some great "I" statements and everything)-- when out of nowhere, Laura and Louise came prancing down the hallway and right before my eyes in a weird dance shuffle. "We did this for you," they yelled as they crab-walk skipped through the hall and down the stairs. Stunned, all I could say muster, "I hate you."

It's very hard to keep a professional composure when people dance for you like that. Happiest moment of the week. Sorry, Ma Query's pumpkin cheesecake- better luck next year (not sorry, long T ride with Josh).