Cute Overload

This has nothing to do with anything.  I don't even like this lady's show.  But my heart keeps melting every time I watch this.  Granted, there isn't much of my heart left to dissolve into puddles since I've spent the day in my new flannel pajama pants listening to Adele, and after my heart breaks to tiny shards from her songs, I have been watching videos of that new polar bear cub everyone's been talking about to melt the tiny remnants.  It's a painstaking process, but hey, that's what vacations are for.

Back to the Past

There are certain immutable facts about me that suddenly become mutable once I am home home.  Facts like I am an early riser who doesn't like to sleep too late.  That I tend to eat at least 3 meals a day, around the same time each day.  Or facts even more basic than that.  Like how I am an independent being, a near grown-up, if you will, with my own free will. 

This afternoon, as it sometimes happens when I am home, I got stuck in Mother's vortex of chaos and bad ideas.  Mother, you see, has a history of complicating simple plans and of tricking me into joining her on errands I don't need to be involved in, which provides company for her but wastes a lot of time for me.  This afternoon, Mother convinced me to go out with her, ostensibly to watch a movie (I saw this ruse from a mile away, but that darn conscience always gets me when I try to say no to her), though first we stopped at her gym so she could pay for some classes.  And then she stopped at a different household, for your usual marital counseling.  Which was how it came to be that her friend had to come by and pick me up, because who knows how long the counseling would go on, and drop me off at Father's office at church.  Where I am currently killing time, eating his snacks, waiting for my mom, like I used to do when I was 12. 

Say Hello, Goodbye

I said goodbye to my grandfather this year.  I was glad that we got to have some semi-nice moments together this summer between his delusions to talk about his childhood, read psalms, even pray together.  Our last words were probably something along the lines of "I have to go now," "OK, go," but they sure beat the last words my grandmother ever said to me, which was something along the lines of "you have gained weight."  I didn't realize this before, but having dead grandparents (in the plural) means taking back everything we have ever given them, the photos and clothes and whatnot, because who else was going to hang out to those mementos now?  Consequently, a lot of Bo' and H'Bomb gear are now floating around our house.

Looking back, 2011 has been, fittingly, a year of 1sts.  Though it would have been more fitting if it was a year of 11ths.  But alas, my memories cannot count that high, so we'll focus on the firsts.  Like living south of the Mason Dixon for the first time.  Or visiting South Korea and Malaysia for the first time. There, I had take out delivered to a park and a giant abscess on my leg, respectively, both for the first time.  I graduated from my first grad school and entered my first doctoral program.  Neither were exciting moments in themselves, but they sound important when I tell other people.  I was commissioned to make a film for HPM orientation and write a poem for a wedding-- both firsts were highlights of the year because they blended words and friends together.  I also published in NEJM (perhaps the last?  let's hope this research career works out) though again, it didn't feel that special, it's just fun to tell med students who think they're smarter than I am.  Basically, I remember 2011 as a blur of mad studying and applications with spots of genuine goodness in between.  Nothing much to write home about, but not bad, not bad at all.

It's What's for Dinner

(we're all preparing to leave for the Christmas eve service, it's about 5:30pm and none of us has had anything to eat since lunch)

Father: So we're not having any dinner tonight?

Mother: Well, there's nothing to eat, so there's no supper.

Let me pause for a second so you can marvel at this clever, circular logic.  I am recording this here to remind myself in the future of this get-out-of-cooking excuse when I become responsible for feeding other souls.  If you don't cook dinner, there is no food to eat, and without food, dinner is moot. 

Little Man

Xiao is a tall kid, incredibly bright, and at least according to his parents, a bit of a chronic under achiever.  He'd always been one of my favorites at Father's church (though they were technically all my favorites), because even if he wasn't particularly well behaved, he was great at taking in sarcasm and had a quiet je-ne-sais-quois amused contentment around him (gosh, I hope he wasn't high).  Two days ago, Xiao went missing.  His dad called up his church friends and one by one, they all said that they thought Xiao was with someone else.  Until finally, Xiao himself called home.

What happened?  It was all quite  Jesus-at-the-temple, really, a perfect story for the season.  Xiao fell asleep at church during rehearsals for the Christmas pageant.  No one noticed.  It happens sometimes with well behaved children.  So everyone left and locked up.  He woke up about an hour later.  Found the church dark and empty and offices locked.  Having left his phone at home, he managed to walk about half a mile to the gas station in the dark, use the pay phone, and got his dad to pick him up.

I can sense that you want to congratulate the boy and his worried parents for their reunion, marvel at the boy's wits, and laugh at whatever friend's mom that left him behind, so perhaps I should mention something else about Xiao.  He's a freshman in college. 

The Movie, Or The Musical?

Merry Christmas, y'alls.  During a particularly brisk Christmas eve service tonight, I flipped through my notebook in the midst of the usual pageant mishaps (accidental solos by adorable children, broken heater, random Napoleon quotes during a performance) and found this gem from the fall:

(We were en route to church in Taiwan.  Father was telling Mother to ride with Aunt, while the rest of us would ride with Uncle)

Father: You two should ride together.  That way you guys can talk and catch up.

Mother: And what will we talk about?

Father: You know, hair and whatnot. 

See You When I See You

I met up with Amy on Wednesday.  I arrived at the Harvard T stop at the appointed time and called her to let her know which exit I was waiting at-- the one next to Out of Town News.  I tell you this as a way of setting an example.  A few minutes later, I learned via email from stolen Starbucks wifi that Amy had lost her phone and would be super late.  She would meet me, she said, if I ever get the message, "at the Dunkin Donuts near Harvard Square."  Which was a lot like saying "I'll meet you by the hospital in Longwood."  Or "the bookshelves in the library."

This was Massachusetts, after all, which part of Harvard Square, and just which Dunkin Donuts?  In fact, every time I have told this story, someone has named a different Dunkin Donut.  "The one near Grafton Street?"  "Thank God I didn't even think of that one."  "At least she didn't say Starbucks," Emily said (though Google reveals that there are slightly more Dunkins in the area).  I bumped into Emily en route to what I thought of as "the Dunkin near Harvard."  She convinced me to wait in the one inside the station.  That was, until I bumped into Christine, who convinced me to wait for the one by the IHOP (because the one in the station isn't technically near Harvard Square, it is in Harvard Station).  An hour, one hot chocolate, and many twists and turns around Cambridge later, I found Amy, who waited in blind faith in the one in the station for 15 minutes before I found her.  We ate a late lunch.  Then ate some more even when we weren't hungry, because that's what you do at an Indian buffet.  Then we had dessert even though we weren't hungry.  Because that's what you do with free birthday desserts from Finale.  Then we parted ways and had dinner even when we weren't hungry, because that's what you do with friends.

Party Down

Not that you can see their faces, but I don't actually know anyone in this picture. The whole scene was just so Christmas-y and cheerful though, that I could not resist snapping a picture.  I'm not a complete creepster.  I was with my friends, sitting on the couch between songs. This was how I spent my Saturday night. It was EB's wedding and we were in Vermont at a little inn. It was so cute and picturesque it was almost unbearable. Though the classiness of the 'after party'- with the double stuffed Oreos, pub cheese, and $3 wine did balance out some of it. What can I say, I get down with the best of them.

I'm Bach

Dear Diary and Assorted Friends and Cyber Friends,
  The com-poo-tah tells me that this month has been the least prolific I have been since this Dear Diary came into existence-- pretty astounding considering that I spent at least a couple of months in Chinar, where this site is blocked.  This means Grad School Part Deux has managed to stifle what Communism could not, namely, my steady stream of awkward encounters.  But have no fear, Gentle Reader, I am home on break now.  I went to a wedding last weekend (the most lovely and relaxed wedding weekend ever, and the most I have ever danced to a live country rock band), and will head to another this weekend.  I will also be heading into Boston to see friends and most likely, Old Work Work, and I can bet you $10,000 that awkwardity and hilarity will ensue at at least one of those encounters. 
  In the meantime, I am home, procrastinating from Whitecastle's work (why else did you think I was writing this).  I have a pot of carnitas sizzling on the stove top.  I had a breakfast of cheese and salamis.  And I may die of a heart attack before my next post.  But if I live through it all, I will be back here, ready to share.

All Grown Up

I keep forgetting to take pictures of my orzo because I keep eating it.  It is delicious.  On Monday, with too much food in the fridge before winter break (two days away and yet it seems much farther off), I decided to make "grown up" food.  Orzo with bail cream sauce, sauteed mushrooms and tomatoes.  And a side of sauteed broccolini.  Yeah.  That's how I roll now.  Of course, the act (and surely this is only an act) would be a lot more convincing if I did not have Digestive biscuits for breakfast, followed by cookies as a snack.  But hey, it's finals week and I'm fully entitled.

Present Value

Despite postponing my birthday dinner until February, Alene insisted on buying me a birthday drink today, which was super sweet, though it wasn't clear if I was actually on her mind.

Moi: Just a small mocha would be awesome.

Alene: Why not a large?  I want to get you a large.

Moi: I don't want to drink that much liquid.

(later, Alene returns with a generous size cup)

Moi: That's not a small, is it?

Alene: It's a medium.  We compromised. 

Thanks, Alene!  And thanks to the rest of my hungry cohort, who devoured all the brownies and gluten-free pound-cupcakes I brought, so that there isn't much to share with the Bible study folks tonight.  To be fair, Amber did most of the gluten-free damage-- even as she complained about the hard cheese in the cakes, she steadily kept at them, as if they don't have cakes in Australia. 

And Many More

Dear Blog,
  Oh, what else is new?  I have not updated in a week and I am aging precipitously.  Tomorrow, I will have aged a whole other year.  Though my actual birthday dinner/get-together will be postponed for 2 months.  Because my birthday, per usual, falls amidst finals preparations.  This means 3 classes tomorrow, plus 2 "LiveTalks" (basically conference calls for online courses, a quiz, and an assignment to turn in.  On the plus side, I won't be holed up in the library during my surprise birthday party, so it's a win, win, and an improvement over previous birthdays.  Plus, there will be jelly beans, brownies, and gluten-free cake.  (and, presumably, friends to share this with, though that's hardly important)

(I should know by now that passive aggression doesn't not work on my mother, but every year, I hope and try)

Moi: You guys realize that [Brother's] birthday is next Friday, right?  Are you getting him something?

Mother: Oh next Friday?  Already?

Moi: And you do realize that another birthday comes the day before that, right?  You have two children.

Mother: Doesn't ring a bell.  Son's birthday on Friday.  Got it.

Where's My Future?

I have been working on this for years, since freshman year of college.  I remember working for the CSRC at the Bo', long before it became the Center for the Common Good.  It was my first job and first time in college, and I remember thinking that I needed to work on not calling Big Boss (who's actually little) "dude."  I remember failing at that, and also calling the Band Man "dude."  I remember graduating from college, stepping into the real world, and working harder than ever to not call anyone "dude."  There was one particularly awful encounter when I tried to stop myself from saying "goodnight, dude," to Doc Whitecastle, so that what came out of my mouth sounded like "goodnight, you," which intensified the awkwardity at least four fold.  Tonight, all those years of striving toward professionalism proved vain once again on a call with Doc Nice from Boston.  He is sort of a big deal now and I'm trying to work with him in the future.  So naturally, I ended a call  to him with "later, dude."  Because that's how you talk to directors of government agencies you're trying to impress.  At least that's how I've done it for years.

Two Letter Words

Playing Scrabble with Amber, who's quite vocal and indignant about her losses*.

Amber: What is 'za'?

Moi: Well, what kind of word is 'phew'?

Amber: Phew is like (hand on forehead), oh phew!

Moi: (lift up hand) Oh za!

*That's optimistic.  We've just started playing.  But I hope it will be a loss.

At Least We Didn't Play the Race Card

I had lunch with Carol, Mrs. Cho, and their ever growing boys today (well, Jim is slimming, but he's more of a man than a boy).  These are people I associate with home, food, and laughing a lot.  Though I should also associate my future healthcare costs with them.  At Jim's urging, I had brisket, wings, and 3 donuts.  

(Jim laments how he now laughs at laugh-track jokes in sitcoms and worries his humor is waning)

Moi: Well, yes, but you did just make a joke about bestiality and Sunday school three minutes ago.

Jim: I guess I still have my edge.

Mrs. Cho is always talking about how I like to challenge kids to Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble, so I'm pretty sure there were also a couple of blind children jokes tossed in there (not by me!) for good measure.  Wholly inappropriate, yes, but it harkened back to countless other chain restaurant meals before this one, out in the suburbs, with these people I love, and isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about?

How to Succeed without Really Trying

Here is what I love about professors:  Other than the fact that they are awkward and nerdy (are those words not synonymous?), if you just show a sliver of interest in their topics of expertise, they get all excited and start handing out references.  And that beats doing research.  Mentioned to Prof Papa that I was stealing one of his illustrations for a presentation and he wrote back with 2 citations.  Naturally. 

To Catch a Virus

I was in Boston for under 24 hours Tuesday-Wednesday.  When I first arrived, I joked with Dwighters that I was trying to catch the flu because I had a day of zooming through the MBTA ahead of me and was heading to the airport later in the afternoon (to meet up with Father, arriving back from Chinar).  On the busiest travel day of the year.  Despite having just arrived in town via plane/bus/subway.  Little did I know that I would indeed do all that, plus visit two hospitals, and ride in a cab. To ensure full germification, I also visited a mall food court, hung out with 3 teachers from 3 different schools, and walked in the rain without an umbrella. There was also a handshake with an 11-year-old boy somewhere in there.

Now it's a day later, Thanksgiving is over, I'm exhausted, feel like I had barely seen anyone I had meant to, and I feel a cold coming on.  I don't even know where to begin to pinpoint the sickness.  It could have been anywhere during my dash around town.  Or tonight, when I went to Logan for the 3rd time in 3 days (to pick up Mother- it's complicated).  Or dinner afterward in a crowded restaurant in Chinatown.  Good thing I'm not Gwyneth Paltrow, or else I'm pretty sure the world would end in 5-7 days.

Are Too, Brute?

In this season of Thanksgiving and flu-catching, I stopped by my old haunts to say hello, and naturally, bicker with Whitecastle (well, "bicker", or "define workplace boundaries"-- tomatoes, tomahtoes).  I thought I was stopping by the office to say hello, but Whitecastle gave me a 30 minute window and set it up as a work meeting.  So we discussed future projects-- even though I live in a different state now and go to a different school.  The worst part was, I want to do the project and it was a good idea to schedule an exact time.

Moi: Are you going to make some poor research assistants (RA) decorate your office again?

Whitecastle: All I did was ask for a little help, if anyone wanted to-

Moi: So we volunteered to help you move.

Whitecastle: I set these new monitors up by myself.  I'm down underneath my desk fixing things way more than the RAs.

Moi: I'm pretty sure no RA should ever be underneath your desk.

Hill Street Blues

A few days ago, when Eunice dropped me off, Jae saw my apartment complex for the first time, he said it was very "bougie."  I couldn't help but smile.  It reminded me of Boston.  And living in a Howard-like condo.  And all that razzing that came with being posh in the South End, all the farmer's markets and brunch spots and $10,000 flame retardant furniture in the common space.  Even as pictures from my window kept popping up in places like the Harvard Public Health Review to inform me that I was living in a food desert.  It happened against yesterday, reading the New York Times (natch).  The article was about a high school student from one of the "poorer sections" of Boston trying to get into college.  I had that de ja vu feeling again.  The accompanying photo collage of her rough neighborhood showed scenes from my commute for 3 years.  That was my CVS.  I walked the rough streets of Boston.  And now I'm doing it in B'more. 

Carrot Stickler

If you invite me over for dinner and served me a plate of carrots.  I will gamely swallow it without chewing.  I will not tell you that I hate cilantro, celery, and carrots almost as much as I do social injustice.  I try to keep my prickly food habits as unobtrusive and as private as possible (except, of course, when I announce it publicly here- but this is pretty much as private and low-traffic as the interweb gets).  Today, however, the truth came out.  And as always, this led to much disbelief and shaken heads.  Which was why I try to keep this secret in the first place.

Amber: How do you not like carrots?

Liz: You love food!  You go all the way to DC for special soup noodles, but not eat basic food that every child is given?

Moi: I'm not proud of it.

Amber: This is absurd.  I don't believe it.

And yet it's true.  I can't stand them.  When I discovered that the "Maryland crab soup" that I bought on Tuesday was just broth, carrots, celery, corn, and peas.  I drank the broth.  Tried to pick out as much of whatever else I could.  Then closed the soup and tossed out the rest of the vegetables.  It was all pretty tricky, because I did this in class, in front of Prof. Who, and was trying my best to look like a grown up.  But I managed.  I always do.

In Which I Only Understand Class Materials In Relation to Science Fiction

(the biostatistics professor reveals a 3-D graph)

Chris: Whoa.

Moi: This is trippy.  Like The Matrix.

Chris: Yeah.  Or Puss in Boots 3-D.

(advisor/prof got oddly philosophical during our patient outcomes course)

Prof Who: Some people say that all time are happening now, at the same time.

Moi (whisper to Julia): Whoa, like Lost.

Julia: Exactly like Lost.

Unproductive, Things That Are

Let's file this under "Things That I Should Not Be Doing Because I Have 3 Midterms To Prepare For, Nay, 4":  researching Pilot pens online, checking their availability in the U.S., then lamenting the dearth of good writing pens sold in the States.  Even though: I barely even take notes by hand anymore, I still have 10 unopened pens from my summer trip, waiting to be used, and did I mention the 4 midterms? 

Sweet Potato Fry

OK. You caught me. I'm just taking pictures of random objects and passing them off as posts. But I was especially proud of these fries tonight since I've had a hard time with fries in the past. They always took too long or were too burnt or soggy. But not tonight. I ate this plate (essentially one sweet potato) in minutes. Then immediately got hungry again and started rummaging through the fridge. In fact, I'm still hungry now. I'm not sure if I'll ever be full again. (Yes, that's my red yarn in the back. Sachini and I pretended we knew how to knit and went yarn shopping on Saturday. We got into the store, started looking through different weights and materials and numbers. Asked each other what our instructor had taught us. Then turned to the clerk for help. Because we have no retention capabilities.)

Palate Spectrum

Carnitas. I love carnitas. Yesterday, after a week of craving non-white people food, from katsu don on Monday to curry goat on Friday,
I finally got to satisfy my craving. (Don't get all uppity, White People, I crave your food, too. That's why Sachini and I sought out pierogies for brunch yesterday, only to be greatly disappointed.) I got the tacos to go and was pleasantly surprised to discover sides and sauces neatly packaged in little containers so my carnitas would not get soggy. I didn't understand how a city could be both less white and less ethnically diverse than the Bean Town until I got to B'more. But last night, I had these tacos to fill the Flour/Penang/Flames II/Bon Chon/Pho 88 shaped hole in my heart.

Conflict Resolution

 

Found these 2 signs outside the hospital, just a few feet apart.

Transformers

Sincere apologies for the gaps in postings, Gentle Reader. I have been preoccupied with procrastination. It takes a lot of time. Thought I'd present these pictures to show how funny Ballymore is. Every time I think I like it for what I see, I learn these quirks that just makes everything funnier. It can be so pretty on the outside, until you learn that the white statue in the back (the lesser Washington Monument) used to be open to the public to climb to the top for a view of the city. Why did they close it? Security reasons. Not terrorists, but too many muggings in the statue (it's quite genius when you think about it). And the picture below? Inside an elementary school in a preppy neighborhood. Doubtful that this is public health.

It Was the E-Coli

I went through middle school and high school in a strange town.  It didn't feel strange at the time.  It looked and felt like other well-to-do Massachusetts, well-to-do but not as tony as the old money towns with their obsessive academics and strict zoning rules.  We were small-time enough that when Wendy's opened up sophomore year, it became the coolest place to hang out for years.  And yet, it was a school where, at least when I was there, no smart kid was ever picked on (probably because we were so cool), there was no identifiable 'popular clique' (according to Nish, there were the "good preppy kids" and "the preppy kids who actually did things" and no one thought either was something to strive toward) and where the greatest slackers I knew also had the highest GPAs.

(on stalking people from high school on facebook)

Moi: He has two kids... and is politically conservative.

Chels: Whoa.  Politically conservative!?

Moi:  I did not expect that.  We always had the Jesus thing in common, but I thought his weird friends would have rubbed off on him.

Chels: Weird friends, yes.  But [our town] is kind of yuppy.

Moi: I keep forgetting that because of our weird friends.  We had an Animal Rights League.  (of which I may have been vice president, at least according to college applications)

Poncho Villa

I'm usually a pro-poncho person.  I've even been known to rock (yes, I do rock the look) purple fleece ponchos.  If I have to choose between form and function, function always wins.  And ponchos function to keep me warm and comfortable.  But I met my match yesterday, in the form of Nick's gianormous poncho.  After walking around in snow and sleet and generally making myself to vulnerable to hypothermia and pneumonia, we arrived at Nick's for a brief interlude before dinner*.  At Nick's, I was able to make use of my emergency socks and dry my toes, but my jacket was still pretty wet and cottony, so Nick offered up a poncho.  A poncho that is "a little large on him."  He also added that, "the instruction says it can double as a tarp or tent."  That's exactly what the green sheet looked like on me.  I was lucky it went slightly above my toes.  Whatever, I said, I just want to be dry.  Then I tried to put my backpack on.  The left arm worked just fine.  But we ran into difficulties with the right one.  Because ponchos don't really have sleeves, but vague slits, I couldn't pull my arm through the backpack loop.  I tried laughing it off and starting over, but my arm was still stuck.  Then Nick tried to help me but we still couldn't yank my hand through.  (I may have shouted "I have a Harvard degree!" at one point)  So Nick gave up.  And I walked down the street with one free arm and one nubbin of an arm jammed through my backpack strap, in a giant green sheet, like a sad, misshapen blob.  But I really rocked the misshapen blob look.

*Dinner?  It was at your typical Peruvian-chicken-by-day-secret-ramen-noodle-joint-by-night type of place.  You know how those things are.

The Sillies

I spent my day in D.C. yesterday with two dear high school friends (and a brief cameo by Marie) eating scrapple, uncharacteristically losing at a board game, and walking in snow/sleet conditions without waterproof gear or winter clothes. 

(craning necks, squinting eyes, standing on tippy toes to see what the board says about when the next train was coming)

Nish: It'll be here in 6 minutes.

Nick: Or is that 8?  Maybe 8 minutes.

Nish: Now I'm seeing 4, or 5.

Moi: Are you guys just saying single digit numbers?

Nick: 7 minutes.  No, 3.  9.  14.  Yeah, I said 14.  It's a single digit number in base 7.  That's right.  I saw you about to make a snide comment about 14, but I was thinking in base 7.

For Claire

(Click to enlarge)

The One

I've found him, Reader(s).  After two months here, two classes into my second quarter, I think I've found a new, eminently quotable professor.  Though I was a lot more sure of his status twenty minutes into his lecture than I was two hours in.  Toward the end of the class, after the 37th detour on his 22nd digression, it became clear we weren't actually going to learn anything new, but he never lost his charm and wit.  And of course, what really had me was what happened before lecture.  When he climbed up the stairs and into the row I was sitting in, asked me if he had my name right (we had never spoken or met-- I had never even seen him until then), followed by the words, "Now, how did you know you were allergic to llamas?"

Ah, yes, the llamas.  We were told in the first class (by a different instructor) to email the teaching staff an introduction.  I did.  I added that fun fact.  And it apparently made quite an impression as we spent the next 5 minutes dissecting and mocking my poor immune response ("are you allergic to llama meat?  Have you had llama?"  "No, have you?"  "No."  "Wait, do people even eat llama?"  ...  "I promise not to use any llamas during lecture."  "I appreciate that."  "We don't know about your classmates." ...)

And now, some lecture highlights (before it all got lost):

(the discovery is so new, I don't even have a nickname read for him, so he's just Generic Professor for the moment)

(on class participation)

GenProf: Are you going to be one of those shy classes that don't talk?  That's not going to work because I'm going to keep doing this and asking you questions.  And I will win, so you should just raise your hand.

(after someone answered the 3 branches of government correctly)

GenProf:  Good job.  Did you go to 7th grade?

(on ways of dealing with unfair laws)

Student 1: I could choose to ignore it.

GenProf: We could visit you in jail.  But as your lawyer, I would advise against it.

Again

I have no idea how long Sachini and I were at dinner.  Sure, I know what time we got there and what time we left, but we're also sure that we entered a time warp and that a couple a few tables down from us disappeared into thin air.  It was a pretty bizarre Greek restaurant (the non-bizarre one we had meant to go to was closed), where patrons either ate in pairs or giant 10+ people long parties.  One of those parties was the quietest family meal we had ever seen.  Halfway through the dinner, I looked at them and noticed that there were kids.  We certainly didn't hear them.  Or anyone else at the table.  Though they were only a few feet away.  We did hear another table, though.  A table of weird people who wore hats.  Who were not given free dessert like us.  For a few minutes there, it was dicey whether we'd get free dessert or not (we'd overheard another table being rewarded, witnessed the hatters not being rewarded, and had tried very hard to be gracious to the wait staff) because I didn't want to box up my leftover lamb.  It just wasn't so good. We took the mousaka and spinach pie but the waitress did not approve.  You can have it tomorrow for a sandwich!  So, fine, I took the lamb home.  She was satisfied.  Gave us the free dessert.  Then checked up on us again to make sure we ate it all.  And the disappeared couple?  All we know is, they were being served their mousaka when we were waiting for our boxes.  Then somehow we turned around to look and their table was completely clear and we were still eating dessert.  I'm going to be checking the Sun for news of those two.

Fortified

Every evening that I remember to pause and meditate, I take a calcium pill right after.  Then I reward myself with 2 vitamin gummies.  I have decided that I'm grown up enough to take calcium tablets instead of calcium chew, but not so old that I can't take vitamin gummies.  It's a public health win-win-win.

Partners

I have entered into a relationship with my epi lab group, though I did not realize that that was happening until Amber asked, "are you guys still seeing each other?"  As of last night we were, and were glad to do it again in the future.  It's been an odd quarter (even odder that a quarter is already over and another started without even a weekend in between), and epi in particular.  I had never had to focus so much required time on epi (3 lectures and 2 lab sessions a week), nor with so many other people so glad to be there.  Our TAs baked us cookies every week, twice a week and my small group, we got along so swimmingly that, well, we've taken to hanging out with each other outside of class, and hanging out with friends of our friends.  On the one hand, I find this whole turn of events startling and sickening, on the other hand, I can't wait for our puppy parties.

Occupied

Finals season is here again.  Naturally, I am eating poorly and being anti-social.  Though not studying as much as I probably should.  Since I was taking finals just six months ago, I'm used to the whole routine.  So I've been helping out my cohort by teaching them how to embrace this season.  But the message gets diluted each time it gets passed onto the next person, so that Alene texted me yesterday to ask, "So I heard you're giving us permission to dress like slobs, eat like pigs, and be mean to each other?  I am already doing 2 out of the 3."  My original words had more of a flourish, but yes, that's the general idea.  Let's blame everything on finals.  And Wall Street.

Early Bloomer

Got to spend a few days with Father this week.  Where I made the following observations:

Father eats dinner later than I do.

Father goes to bed later than I do.

Father drinks more coffee than I do.

Father is much younger than I am.

Cracked

Working on my paper this morning and searching through KFF.org for the umpteenth time for references that will support my arguments (I find it much easier to make people's words fit mine then the traditional method of conducting research, synthesizing information, and producing a paper based on what I learned from the literature), I had an epiphany.  All this work I was doing was just supporting the whole research industrial complex. So, like any good grad student, I made a flow diagram to plot the whole thing out.  Then went about my business as usual.

Technicality Difficulties

Happy (100th*) birthday, Taiwan. And happy 59th? birthday, pops. Although none of you were technically born on October, 10th, we like to celebrate it today. And Taiwan really isn't 100 per se, because really, what is Taiwan? A hundred years ago, Taiwan was under colonial Japanese rule. The nationalist-led Republic did not arrive in Taiwan until 1945. But the Republic of China, by certain calculations, was sort of founded 100 years ago. And that's what we celebrate as Taiwan, Republic of China. It's a messy history, but that's half the fun-- a land of others and colonial rule that got mushed together and used for political purposes into a newly forged Taiwanese identity. Gosh, I miss sociology.

As for the old man? His story is much simpler. He was born on October 1st. Along with the People's Republic of China. Which made the choice to celebrate his birthday on the 10th quite easy for his parents. There may also have been something about living in the mountains and not having time to register his birth right away. I am getting my family stories mixed up. But hey, happy birthday!

Roommate's Keeper

Even though New Roommate Claude and I are in the same track of the same department pursuing the same degree program, it is not unusual for us to go by a whole day in school without seeing each other.  That's why I was surprised to find her strolling into the reading room with Alene today.

Moi:  Don't you have econ right now?

NRC: What time is it?

Moi: 3:26.

NRC: What time does that class start?

Moi: 3:30.

NRC: Oh.  I will see you guys later then.

If I can't have my own life together.  The least I could is to have my roommate's life in order.

To Have Fun with Anyone

I'm often so busy with trying to act like a normal person that it's not until after the fact that I notice something around me is amiss and that something is not me.  Last night, I had dinner with Sharon at a decent Korean restaurant.  It was, as she explained, in a "shady" part of town.  I didn't think much of it until she pointed out that the TVs in the dining room and at the bar were CCTVs showing the parking lot outside-- not so much to deter crime, but to let patrons see if their cars are broken into.  Even then, I still didn't think much of it.  After all, I was hungry (though I shouldn't have been, having just come drinks with my epi lab group where we shared a "bucket of tots") and distracted.  It wasn't until this morning, when I ran into Ian and recounted the restaurant that it all started clicking.  Yes, it is strange that a restaurant should need two CCTVs surveying the parking lot.  It is unusual to have cars broken into during dinner.  There are parts of B'more that are not like B'town.  But the barley tea was just as good and the food felt as homey as it did in Korea, B'town, and home.

Cruel World

I love a good wallow and pity party because I love talking about myself (see: The McWonder Years archive) but the truth is, I'm incredibly lucky to have amazing friends.  Friends who take care of me.  Check up on me.  Give me connections.  And buy me dinner.  The people I can count single handedly (I won't even have to use all my fingers) who read this thing do all three.  Tonight, the lovely Marie (and Bryant) swept into town in a brand new car ("Is this what happens when you graduate from Harvard?") to take me out to dinner.  We were in the hipster section of town but no worries, I was in flannel, which matched what the old bearded guy strolling down the street was wearing.  We witnessed a rat burrowing under a tree as we sat by the restaurant window.  When I turned to question Bry whether what I thought I saw was really what I saw, he tried to put the most positive spin on the whole incident.  "Was that a - that's too small to be a mouse, right?"  "Well, I think that was a rat.  But it wasn't so large that we should be grossed out or concerned."  We got to talk Harvard and PBMs and Vermont's single payer plans, which felt lovely and homey after a month of Hopkins.  When the last spoonful of coconut flan was scooped up, I made up a weak fight to protest when everything was put on one card, but they took good care of me.  And reminded me that being in a new city isn't much to whine about when there are awesome people sharing their experiences and footing the bill.

Moi: You don't have to do this.  I'm not poor yet.

Marie: But you will be.

Touche.

True Grits

What is the best place for grits in B'more?  I don't know.  But I am on the way to finding out.  For the past several weeks, Sachini and I have been hitting the intentionally-rustic streets in front of cute brunch joints all over town, answering such important questions as "is it wrong to order grits for the fourth week in a row?" and "when is it too early to eat fried chicken?"  The answers is "never" on both counts-- which is why I'm having breakfast at 10am today.  We've even got a three-category system of how we're judging cheesy grits all over town.  In Boston, I tried never to schedule brunch before 1pm.  11am the earliest I'd do.  But I'm hungry early, and by God, these mid-Atlantic people don't mess around with breakfast. 

Perspective

Heh.  From the Times baseball blog today:

Just remember that when telling your grandchildren about the Great Collapse of 2011, you must leave out the fact that you attended a Bruins Stanley Cup parade three months earlier. Or a Celtics parade two years before that. Or a Red Sox parade the year before that. And skip the three Patriots Super Bowl celebrations. They all get in the way of a good story.

Important Business

Remember how I wrote about witnessing "courtesy buttons" in a Korean public bathroom this summer? Not getting a picture of it was one of my biggest regrets from my travels. (The other being not buying more squishy toys from the night markets) My layover in Japan 2 weeks ago remedied that situation.  Plus, a bathroom bonus: deodorizing, nay, powerful deodorizing buttons.  People of Japan, I bow to your ingenuity.

Social Medicine

While eating dinner with my aunt and uncle a few weeks ago, Ah-Bei (as I call my eldest uncle) pulled out a bottle of wine.  (I drank more in that family weekend than I do on a normal weekend.)

Ah-Bei: So, tell us about the health benefits of wine.

Father: They're pretty general and obvious, right?  Good for your heart, anti-oxidants...

Ah-Bei: No, I want to hear it from her.  A Harvard-educated public health expert.

---

Later, debating the merits of animal fats.

Brother: True, they're saturated fats, but they are actually healthier-

Moi: I haven't read as much on it, but I don't think-

Ah-Bei: Hm.  The public health PhD has doubts about this.  I'm going to go with Harvard on this one.

Social Math

Oh that's unfortunate.  Only my fabulous new school friends ("cohort") will get the title joke.  But they will not read this.

Let's cut to the chase for this entry:  I am a winner.  Last night was no different.  A big group of us went to the school-sponsored happy hour for public health/Hopkins trivia yesterday.  Since the MPH program started a few months before us, and all of us were out of towners (except for Cass, our intrepid TA) we were perhaps the newest to the school and knew the least about public health/Hopkins.  It did not help that we did not submit any questions and there was nothing in our specialty (that being disseminating health policy issues in 1500 words or less).  Things did not look good.  We even forgot basic public health law questions we should have known.  Sensing imminent defeat, we were happy to just talk disruptively in the corner and let the night fade away.  Then the final round changed everything.  We discovered that, perhaps due to our careful listening, we had been calculating our points wrong (i.e. doubling them- and still not winning).  The MC corrected the misdeed for Round 3, but never caught it for Round 2.  So we went into the final question neck and neck with two other teams.  Then the first place team made a major tumble while we correctly wagered all of our points to double up the score.  In the end, our team in the corner, the one that that had never won a round, and didn't hear the question half the time, became the shady Cinderella and took home the grand prize.  They'll probably make an HBO special about our surprising comeback.  You should stay tuned.

Like Butter

I refuse to believe that I will never be suave.  So time after time, I allow optimism into my heart and come to believe that I am capable of executing life smoothly.  Take my biostat midterm this morning.  I was convinced that I was well prepared (oh how you proved me wrong, test) but even more, I was convinced that I could exit the test without much trouble.  After all, there was only 1 student to the left of me.  I just needed to pick up my backpack, tilt to the side, and scoot past him with my backpack lifted up, so as not to disturb him, and then I'd be all set.

If only.  If only.  If only.  Instead, I managed to step on my shoelaces for the first time in years, trip, and then miraculously catch my backpack on the handrail at the edge of the row, so I ended up tripping right in front of the guy I was trying not to disturb, and my backpack hung half on his desk and half on the banister.  Of course. 

Family Meal

It was an absurd moment in a surreal weekend.  There I was, sitting in a minibus in my nice black dress, trying to balance all that was going on.  My cousin had ordered bento boxes for lunch and I was trying to eat mine.  We were having bentos with fried chicken drumsticks that were actually packaged separately, because they don't fit in the box.  There was no way to properly wield the chicken except to use my hand and try not to get any greasy bits on my face or dress.  But I also had to hold the box, work my chopsticks, balance the rest of the box (which required suspending the drumstick so it wouldn't cover the rest of the food), and keep my drink in place as the driver hit every bump along the way.  As luck would have it, I only had 2 hands.  

Being a part of an extended family, to me, feels like wearing glasses.  Like the new or occasional glasses wearer, I am always acutely aware of being with my extended family because it happens so rarely.  I imagine the rest of them hardly notice the feeling.  For me, it takes some adjustment every time.  Whenever we have big gatherings, I catch myself thinking, "so this is what a big family, my family, feels like."  The feeling reached a crescendo a week ago, eating lunch en route to my grandfather's burial.  Since the cemetery was a long drive away (they are almost always in the mountains in Taiwan and the burial was only for family members), 17 of us packed into a mini-bus for the journey and shared the tragicomic moment..  All of us (eh, most of us) were in our Sunday bests, trying to balance the least fast-food-friendly-meal-ever, all the while passing straws, napkins, and drinks up and down the aisles.  Writers always think their families exceptional.  And I'm pretty sure my family drama is exceptional.  But at that moment-- bickering, joking, catching up (some with more ease than others)-- we were just like any other family.

The RidicuList

On the same day that Hopkins (OK, a Hopkins-affiliated institute) is being sued for sued for exposing poor black children to lead paint, I learn that the ol' H'Bomb (the Boston-based major H'Bomb) has gone in the other direction in taking on the public image.  Just check out this catalog listing: Oh, that's right.  It's a dog.  That you can use at the medical library.  But remember, just like that December 1813 issue of NEJM, you can use it in library, but you can't check it out.

The Accidental Scenester

Do you know what guabao is?  If you do, chances are, you are either Taiwanese or knowledgeable on foodie trends.  As part of the pork fad of the last decade and also the rise of less-known Asian food in the States (read: Korean tacos, Taiwanese, Chinese provincial specialties over pan-China classics), guabao has become trendy.  It's what's described as a "Taiwanese burger"- fatty braised pork belly sandwiched between soft, white bread pocket with cilantro, pickled cabbage, and the all important sweet peanut powder.  The perfect melding of crunch and softness, sweet and salty, greasy and dry.  I love me a guabao.  But I especially like that this esoteric trendy food item here that isn't served in every city (because how many of them have Taiwanese food?) nor every Taiwanese restaurant, is so common in Taiwan that I had this for breakfast at the airport.  I love that I come from a food history so rich that what is available here in the States is only a speck of what is available at home.  And that I can eat guabaos in peace in Taiwan, without food trucks or eating local.

It Is Happening

Is it here already?  It feels like it is too soon.  Is this what everyone feels like when the moment is upon them?  I am too young.  I am not ready.  But fashion and pop culture are now mining the 90's, the decade during which I grew up (I suppose I could still cling onto the 00's).  The decade that seems too recent and unremarkable to be emulating.  From today's New York Times

While the indie rock band Dinosaur Jr. played on Topshop’s sound system, Ms. Callis [17] noted that she approves of the ’90s, which fashion seems to be mining. “You couldn’t even tell what anyone’s bodies looked like,” she said approvingly, while eyeing a cocoon sweater that was “very Alexander Wang.”

The Children's Bread

A title with a theological allusion.  Kingdom points for that.

By now, you and I should be fairly acquainted with the opposites-attract approach to life that is my parents' marriage.  Yet the way it plays out in real life still surprises me.  My family and I are staying at my uncle's for the weekend.  Last night, they had already gone to bed when I found out that the guest bathroom didn't have any shampoo, so I went to the parents to see if they had any.

Mother: Do you have any soap?

Moi: Yeah, there's a new bar of soap in there.

Mother: Just use that for now on your hair.  They're all the same.

Father: I have a bottle of shampoo here and one of those hotel packets.  Why don't you take whichever one you want?

Stylus of Champions

A whole box of my favorite pen. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?

I'm going away again for a long weekend and coming back disoriented and jet lagged. Will tell you tales from the journey if I make it back sane and alive.

Audio 2: Childish Analogy

If I had to choose one piece of work that I am most proud of- one cupcake, one publication, one gesture, one anything- this may be it. So if you listen to it and like it, I'm sorry. There isn't more where this came from. This is the best that I can do. I wrote this my freshman year at the Bo' and it's been downhill ever since (for more things that have gone downhill since 2003, see also: this blog, physical shape, grasp of calculus etc., etc.).

Audio 1: Work in Progress

Haven't done this for forever and thought I'd share a piece I'm still working on.  It's long (2.5 min), so you have to really like the sound of my voice to sit through this.  I think I have the words down, but the timing is still a little off at parts, and I misspoke a line.  But I haven't done anything productive and creative like this for so long, I thought I'd share anyway.  We'll go back to awkward stories tomorrow.  Today, it's all vulnerable soul baring, all the time.

At Some Point, It's Just Lunch

I never thought I'd miss the food at Sebastian's but after six years of institutional coddling and excellent salad bars, I'm finally at a school without good food.  The cafe at Hampton House has great free iced water, wifi, and a very friendly staff, but I miss my "cheap" and healthy "Indian" food, surly cashiers, Heart Healthy entrees, and all those pictures of Walter Willet telling me that I should have oatmeal. 

What I don't miss about Boston, however, is having great brunch options within walking distance from my place.  I have that here.  Just came back from my first B'more brunch (with Sachini-- whose frames of reference include Boston, Harvard, Hopkins, B'more, California, Asia, and Beyonce's baby-to-be, which makes her perfect brunch company) and licked my plate clean.  How could I not, when it contained some of my favorite things?  Poached eggs (my brunch egg go-to), fried chicken, and biscuits.  I can't even think of anything more perfect and I certainly can't wait to brunch again. 

Which Side Are You

I had dinner with Sharon tonight, in what appears to be the only Vietnamese restaurant in the great city of B'more.  It was lovely.  Until we tried to leave.  Sharon kept turning the knob and the door wasn't opening.  "Am I missing something here?"  She asked, then turned to let me have a try.  The apparatus seemed simple enough, so I turned the knob.  Still nothing.  Then I noticed that the latch wasn't moving no matter how we turned the knob.  Soon the owner came over.  "Are we doing something wrong?"  We asked.  "No, I think we may be locked in."

The latch still firmly in place, the owner went scavenging and came back with a screw driver.  Still no luck.  (All this while Sharon and I just stood there next to the door, a table of people still eating behind us, because the place was so small and there was nowhere else to be.)  He went back again and returned with an electric drill.  Now we were getting somewhere.  Finally, with some assistance from customers arriving from the other side of the door, another customer trying to leave who had apparently had some experience with this, and that customer's credit card, we were released.  I'd like to go back there again sometime.  But I'm afraid I'd never get home.  And I'd like to get home some day.  If only for all the good Vietnamese food that awaits me in Boston and Lowell.

It's Still August, No?

I'm more sorry than usual to be neglecting you, Lonesome Reader, but life without the interweb has been difficult.  I've spent many afternoons standing in the park across the street from my new apartment, stealing free internet and pretending I'm waiting for someone as I conduct my business with my iPod.  Which is fine and good.  Except I end up looking slightly creepy.  Or just like I've been stood up too many times.  Needless to say, such experiences make for interesting stories but are not conducive to posting entries.  Just how out of it am I?  I wore my shirt inside out today and did not notice until Roommate pointed it out to me.  Unfortunately, we were already out of the house by then, and in fact, off of the bus.  I guess I'm not what you call "detail-oriented."  I'll be back soon, y'all, I promise.

Aloha

For years, my away message (remember those) said "I am a tragicomic hero."  I was reminded of this phrase again and again this week as I settled into a new city and having a new advisor.  One who reached out his hand during the orientation happy hour, amidst the sunshine and drinks and shouting over crowds of people, to say "I'm sorry about your family."  Which, while appreciated, really brought a halt to the proceedings.  Not to be outdone, our Section Chair also offered his condolences for my grandfather's passing.  Being a student of awkwardity myself, I said "It's OK," because I was so caught off guard.  In the next sentence, I mentioned I was going to Taiwan for the service in a couple of weeks.  And because we were at a crowded happy hour social, someone immediately joined the circle to say "Taiwan?  Are you Taiwanese!?" 

And of course, when I emailed my new advisor with my travel schedule and when I'd be missing classes, he wrote back with a chirpy "Bon voyage!"  A much nicer man than Whitecastle, yes, but much more socially inappropriate.  More stories to come once I have interweb access.  Fingers crossed that the hurricane doesn't ruin everything. 

Under Study

It's been a lovely last week, nay, last month, in Boston.  I've been dining with people who like to go halfsies, discovering lunch specials, spreading my love of office work,  and laughing a whole lot along the way. 

On the curious case of the woman with the too-short 'dress' who kept walking past our restaurant window:

Moi: How does she sit down?

Sarah: Maybe she forgot to wear pants.

Faith: Maybe she's wearing shorts underneath so it's OK.

DBomb: Really, really short shorts?

Sarah: Really short, flesh colored shorts that we can't see?  We call that underwear.

Pay Attention in Class, Mrs. Cho

Father and I have spent a lot of quality time together this week.  We drove down to B'more, unloaded, bought new furniture, assembled, and drove back up in the span of 3 days.  Within this span, we've talked, eaten in a few food courts, and discovered what an absolute time drain IKEA is.  A time drain with the worst instructional manuals ever.

Father:  The only thing we didn't have to assemble were the bed springs.  I'm surprised that they even came coiled.

(when I decided to have fried chicken for lunch while he chose a tasteful salad)

Father: So public health people don't actually eat healthy?

----
Once in a rare while, Mother asks a piercing yet insightful question regarding fields she knows little about, spurred on by her fresh perspective.   Tonight was not one of those nights.

(discussing Mariano Rivera's recent pitching woes)

Mother: If he's so good and they let him play so much, why didn't we see him [when we went to the game]?

Moi: Well, for starters, we didn't watch his team play. 

Stickler

At the Hillsong concert in Seoul, Mark went out to find food and drinks. He asked what I wanted. "Anything on a stick." He obliged and brought back fried chicken on a stick with ketchup. Along with some rice cake in spicy sauce and gatorade for Ash and himself. Now do you understand why I love Asian convenience stores?

Not that Rankings Mean Anything

I am tired of packing (I leave tomorrow morning), so I am paying more attention to this blog this week than I have all year.  Packing is boring.  Although it takes me down weird detours on memory lane.  Like the time Young Bo' and I staged office Olympics (and annoyed Doc Query).  I still have my bronze metal from the event.

Van and Mac's placement on my List of Affections has been grossly inflated of late since I need both a ride and a place to crash from them.  Vannie, however, is greedy and still not content with their current placement..

Van: The real question is: how can Mac & Vannie out-rank Jesus in the future?  How often do you update the ranking?

Boundaries

Oftentimes, what I find most mortifying about Mother isn't what she says, it's that people consider what she says seriously and respond accordingly.  As much as I don't understand how the woman operates, I understand why people answer her even less.  Allow me to illustrate:

At lunch yesterday, Mother asked a 20-year-old guy who we've known since he was little, whether he thought the Deegans, another family we've all known forever whose kids he had grown up with, whether he agreed that the Deegan* girls all turned out rather attractively.  This is a question, if ever posed to me, I would first vomit in my mouth a little, then have smiled at and found a way to get out of.  But not 20-year-old guy.  Yes, he said, he thought they were.  So Mother pressed.  Given the choice of say, Prunella* and Francine*, both girls he had grown up with who were his age, who did he find better looking?  Again he answered.  And again, I tried to stab myself with the forks on the table. 

*Yes, Arthur characters used to go to our church.  I did not sub in fake names to protect anyone.

Sabbath

Reason #88290 Why I Love My Father: He prays for the Red Sox when he says grace.  It's Sunday night.  The Sox are playing the Yankees, and both Father and I are watching.  But since we have basic cable, we're both watching on our respective computers.  Between the two of us though, he has the better set up:  He's sitting in front of the TV, a PBS drama on the big screen, and the game on his laptop, which he's listening to through head phones.  Multi-tasking isn't just a young person's game.

EpiLogue

I told myself that I'd organize my luggage today and that I'd also write.  Since I've done neither and the day is near over, I thought I would at least put in an entry, which is almost like real writing.  Except, of course, when I don't bother with the prose and just put down a few random quotes.  Like I'm about to do now.

On Thursday, I officially said goodbye to work work, at least the physical place.  I still need to wrap up 1.25 projects with Whitecastle, but Thursday was my last day at the office.  I got an ice cream party and everything.  On my way out, Doc Winner (Josh?  I forget which one I'm supposed to use) had some near-kind parting words (Whitecastle had them, too, it was just unfortunate that he said them midway through our meeting.  "Well, good luck with your move and- "  "Um, I wasn't done.  Can we talk about Table 1?")

Doc Winner: If you ever need a job, I'm going to be running this place in a few years, so-

Moi: Stop sucking up to Whitecastle, and start sucking up to you?

Doc Winner: Obvi.  Notice how he treats me differently now?

10,000 bonus points for saying 'obvi.'  I'm going to miss this work buddy.

Greener on the Other Side

(at our mini econ TA reunion lunch today)

Jesse: Is the grass wet?  Should we sit in the shade?

Lisa: (sits down)  No, this isn't wet.

Moi: (I sit down)  I don't know, this feels damp... no, this is definitely wet.  (stand up)

Lisa: I think you were sitting in a puddle.

(later, after lunch, after we'd all sat in non-puddles for an hour)

Moi: I'm still pretty sure that this grass is damp.

Jesse: My butt feels wet. 

How many Harvard grads does it take to determine if the grass is wet or safe to sit on?  Definitely more than three.

Can I Canai

Penang is one of my favorite restaurants in town and Father's as well.  Every time I go, as I have for a few years, I always order a roti appetizer.  For whatever reason, that trend was threatened last week as a waiter brought surprising revelation and reluctance:

Moi: ... and a roti canai, please?

Waiter: Oh.  You know we don't make it fresh here? 

Moi (didn't know that, actually): Yeah, that's fine.

Waiter: We just made the sauce for the bread.  We get it from somewhere else-

Moi: Can I still have it, please?

The Walk and Talk

We are coming down to our last Whitecastle stories.  Soon, the Whitecastles and Prof Papas of today will be replaced by kinder, gentler advisers of B'more*.

(I walk into Whitecastle's office for a scheduled meeting today)

Moi: Is this a good time?

Whitecastle: Well, I need a cup of coffee, so you'll have to follow me to the kitchen.**

Moi: Just like an episode of the West Wing.  This is so exciting!

Whitecastle: Which characters are we?

Moi:...

Whitecastle: It was a trick question.  Don't answer it.

*Sure, every professor/mentor I've had and respected since the Bo' has been abusive, but I can dream, can't I?

**Completely unnecessary.  I could have just come back in a minute.

The Paltry Pantry

I am cleaning out the fridge and cupboard this week in order to fully move out of Boston (most of my possessions have already gone home home, which makes this week interesting and my skin/hair generally unhappy).  I baked up a cake to use up some remaining supplies and brought it to the office to share.  The reactions I got for doing so split easily between those who knew me and those who didn't.

New Co-Worker I Don't Know #1: Thank you.  It was delicious!

New Co-Worker I Don't Know #2: I kept trying to resist but I finally gave in.  This was so good.

---

Edith: Pears and chocolate?  Do they go together?  There's corn in here.  This should be called cornbread. 

Moi: I ran out of flour and may have put in a little cornmeal...

Whitecastle: So you made this?  Is it good?

Moi: I had to clear my cupboard.

Whitecastle: Not a ringing endorsement.

Moi: Eh.  It's not the greatest cake ever.  But people here ate it really quickly.

Whitecastle: They have very low standards. 

Brain Drain

(Mother's first trip to Fenway)

I love a true vacation. Granted, whenever Father asks if I can wrap up my work work projects before the end of the month, I hem and haw that it may not be doable, but I've been able to take a break this week because of things beyond my control. And yes, I did spent all of June traveling and eating and sightseeing, but sometimes that can be exhausting.  That's why this week has been my favorite week all summer*. Even whilst battling the cold. It's the first week in a long time when I feel truly relaxed and I'm grateful for the opportunity because I know how rare these gifts are.  How have I spent this time?  I have watched four movies at the theaters (there were plans to go to the ICA- but give me the choice of Woody Allen + seeing two movies for the price of one + M&M pretzels OR contemporary art? come on). I cooked. I read. I sang Sweet Caroline at Fenway. I ate roti canai. And I did not sleep late.  What more could I want from a week? (um, one last SoWA with Ben and Esther this Sunday may just do it) It is unfortunate that the only other people not working during the day are Landlady Chang and DBomb (thanks, middle school teachers!), but hey, they make pretty great stand-ins. And this time next week, I'll be back to my usual work + dinner with people thing.

*The week in Korea was pretty great, too.

Schmear Campaign

Today, like most days, did not go entirely well.  For starters, this being-sick-in-July bit is really holding me back.  Head stuffed, I canceled dinner plans with TChu. (OK, I'm more upset that I canceled on Taiwanese food than on TChu, but let's keep that between us)  My few hours at work were generally futile so I called it quits early and decided to cook up what's left in my freezer before I move out this weekend.  That's where things got interesting.  I had my first attempt at making pate.  Without going to the grocery store.  So I was missing a couple of ingredients from every recipe I looked.  Midway through this attempt, hot oil splattered on both of my wrists.  That was fun, because when both wrists are burnt, it makes it hard to ice either one.  Running them under cold water was very therapeutic, but that also gets in the way of basic activities, like cooking and eating.  And then there was the time when I ran my wrists under scalding hot water instead.  In the end though, neither wrist will require amputation or grafting and the pate was pretty tasty.  So my awesomeness rating remains.

Fat Hot American Summer

I heart the New York Times for their special ability to make my eyes bleed.
(on the trend of riding private planes to summer camps at desolate, distant places like Maine and New Hampshire)

But some parents have already tired of this private-plane status infiltrating the simpler world of summer camp. [Nancy Chemtob, a divorce lawyer] once managed to get on a charter plane from the airport in East Hampton, N.Y., for $750. After listening to enough banter among parents about “who is flying, who is flying private, who they can get a lift home with,” she decided she “was done with Maine and the planes and all of the people.”

“It’s a crazy world out there,” she added. She now sends her children to camp in Europe.

Bad Medicine

I am sick this weekend and I am home home visiting the parents.  They are having trouble grasping the concept of disease.

(I take two ibuprofen)

Mother: Is being home really that painful for you?  Does being around us give you a headache?

---
I haven't seen Greydon in years, and with our impending new grad schools and moves, I probably won't for awhile.  That's OK for the both of us.  But I do appreciate a friend I can belittle without consideration of feelings and all that other mumble jumbo.

Moi: Good luck, loser.

Greydon: I hope you never get better.

Patient, Kind, and Irrational

An analytic mind can take the fun out of a lot of things, even something as fun as reading Korean love greeting cards (oh, you don't know about love greeting cards?  Koreans apparently love to send love notes and there is a whole section of really intense love notes in their card sections.  None of that watered-down Hallmark stuff.)

Moi: This card cover says You + <3 = Me.  But that's wrong, right?  Shouldn't it be You + Me = <3?

Ashley: Right, because by that logic, Me - <3 = You.

Moi: Exactly.  The transitive property.

Even though we figured that out, I'm pretty sure the tally still stands at:

Korean love greeting cards: 385,987,737
Ashley et Moi: 0.

Burn

It is July.  We are in the midst of a heatwave.  And parts of me are burning up.  More specifically, my throat.  It appears that I have beaten the odds and, sitting in my air-conditioned apartment, where I've only left a few times this week to work (I've mostly worked from home, but on the days that I manage to work in the office, I mostly sit in an office by myself, with the occasional visit from Josh or Doc Gollum), eat dinner, and have ice cream, I have caught a cold/flu.  I'm not sure what it is.  I just know that my throat burns and every hour or so, I go into a coughing fit.  How is this possible?  I don't know.  I have stayed away from crowds and children for the good part of the past two weeks, but somewhere along the way, something has attacked my immune system.  And now I'm sick.  And forced to spend even more time in my air-conditioned apartment.  Life isn't fair.

Annual Revue

Thanks to the wonderful flexibility of hospital bureaucracy, I had to have a performance review today with two weeks left in my tenure.  Luckily, Whitecastle made the whole thing as painless as possible.  We sat down.  We signed the papers.  And that was that.
 
Whitecastle: This is silly.  You know what it says.  Basically, you suck.
 
Moi: That's why I'm leaving?
 
Whitecastle: We can't let you stay here.

On the Hose

It should be obvious by now, gentle reader, that I love a good bathroom picture almost as much as winning at word games or an awkward professor story. So when I discovered that Malaysian bathrooms all come equipped with a hose within fifteen minutes in country-- the whole realization and the days that followed of figuring out what was going on-- that journey was almost as great as the trip itself.

Through much googling, guesswork, and a consultation with Genuine Muslim Friend Uzi, I've learned all about the hose (or "bidet spray") and its pros and cons. Ask me about it. We can talk for hours. Or at least 20 minutes. And since Uzi mentioned that while the hose was for ceremonial washing, it "wasn't so much a Muslim thing but a brown people thing," I thought I would also ask Whitecastle about it today. That was a poor idea. Apparently, one should not engage one's supervisor/mentor/employer in discussion of toilet accessories. Not with a performance review in a week.

Moi: So uh, in India, do the bathrooms ever have hoses?

Whitecastle: When you said you unlearned everything on vacation, did that include manners?

Moi: [Mention the wondrous hose discovery]

Whitecastle: I've been to Malaysia and I've never seen this. Maybe the places you stayed in-

Moi: It was in the classy places, too!

Heat

(traditional douhua, or tofu pudding-- this isn't the kids' play you get in Chinese restaurants)

Here's the thing about Taiwan and Malaysia (and even Korea): It was hot. I hardly went a day without an icy drink during my monthlong stay. Certainly in Malaysia, we had some kind of fruit "ice blended" at least once a day (I stuck mostly with ice teas in Taiwan). It was hot and humid and I sweated a lot every day. That's why, coming home last week, I stood at pedestrian pick-up at Logan, drained after a 20-hour-plus journey, and smiled.  An hour and a half earlier, I had almost missed my connecting flight and was the last passenger to get on.  I was so out of breath when I got to the gate that I didn't actually have words for the flight attendant, I just weakly held out my boarding pass and she re-opened the doors.  (Before my mad dash, I had asked an airport lady how far away my gate was from immigration [I overheard it was 15 min, I only had 7 to spare], to which she replied, "Don't think about it, just run!"  And so I did.)  I was still wearing my jacket, huge bags to each side of me, standing in the 90-degree heat, breathing in car exhaust, and happy because as miserable and hot as I was, it was mild and lovely compared to where I'd just come from. I was not sweating buckets. I could walk and not feel dehydrated*. For a whole week, I smiled and breathed in New England summer. So warm during the day, so cool in the evening, so beautiful. That is, until two days ago. This isn't cute anymore, New England. It's starting to feel like Taiwan. And if I wanted to put up with this weather, I would've stayed. And eaten more Taiwanese fried chicken.

*It's not that I didn't walk. I walked a lot. I just felt like Shadrach when I was walking.

Jumping the Shark

Halfway through lunch with my uncle last month, he told me that he forgot to mention that the seafood dumpling soup we were having (the name does not do it justice- it is a big dumpling rich with seafood wrapped in a delicate skin that swims in a soothing broth) contained shark fin.

 

Uncle: You don't mind that there's shark fin, do you?

 

Moi: No, I'm good.

 

Uncle: Because come on, right?  There are so many sharks in the ocean. 

So glad to be back on U.S. soil, with friends and family, for quotes like this:

Jeannie (when I asked her how she was adjusting to life at an all-girl school): I really like it.  But sometimes I get girls and boys confused. 

(this one actually happened abroad.  DBomb and I were discussing Midwestern friendliness versus Bostonian friendliness):

Moi: People in Boston are actually pretty friendly.  If you smile, they'll smile back at you.  Actually, sometimes people are a little too friendly and you wish they weren't.

DBomb: OK, that's not Boston.  That's living next to Boston Medical.

Dump Day

My 'hometown' of Taipei is a modern and progressive city.  It's the type of city where the use of Styrofoam is banned for carry-out containers, recycling and composting are heavily encouraged, and trash bags cost money.  People can only take out their trash at a specific time of day when the garbage trucks come by the neighborhood.  The trucks play a song as they ride by and arrive in the same neighborhoods at the same time every week night, so it actually works pretty well as a system.  But these policies may reduce waste and increase sustainability, but they also make life incredibly difficult for the casual long-term visitor.  Such as myself.  Since I was almost never in the apartment Royce lent me in time for the trash trucks and only had 1 large official trash bag, we tried not to produce trash (green) and often resorted to illegal dumping (not green).  Casual wrappers and every day trash often made it into the cans at the metro stations.  The box of cake that the ants discovered were tripled wrapped and shoved into the Sheraton bathroom trash can.  And at the end of my stay, our large bag of official trash was brought on a 40-minute journey (during which we stopped for breakfast- trash bag put inside a pink tote bag that Dwight gamely carried) to my faux-godmother's church.  That night, when we still had a few empty water bottles and junk paper to dispose of, we took one last walk around the neighborhood, each with a bag in hand, pretended to act surprised at the public waste baskets we saw, dropped them in the first two we saw, turned around just in time to smile at the neighborhood watch ladies, then scurried back before they could suspect us of anything.  Two years of graduate education in public health, and this is what I've become. 

Honor Roll

Two of my favorite things about travel in one rest stop (plus lots of things I don't like, like being moved to a different bus and not understanding what's going on): trying out foreign potato chips and purchasing random fried things I point out to discover the surprise inside (the contents turn out to be a slightly sweet but mostly savory potato-filled empanada).

I will be home soon. Everything to come then.

Fit for a Prince(ss)

(coffee with unlimited red tea... it's as if they want us to use their facilities)

I am not a coffee drinker by nature or habit, save for a brief stint at the Bo'. I like it OK, but my drink of choice is first water, then tea. Yet the People of Taiwan keep feeding me coffee. Fancy coffee at that. All foamy and what not (except for the one above)-- because it goes with breakfast, chocolate, pizza... the list goes on. Today was so one of the new client-baristas* could practice making cappucinos. Tim had the first cup, found it not frothy enough, and got them to make a second cup for me-- even though I'd drank my iced tea already. Consequently, I'm super alert right now and pumping out entries like it's my job.

*My cousins/uncle run an amazing training school for people with mental retardation (MR seems to be the most PC term at the moment) and they have a bakery cafe in which the clients are involved in every part of the production.

Sun, Moon, and Stars

Just how obsessive are the Taiwanese when it comes to food? I took a day trip to the mountains with my parents' friends a couple of days ago and this is how they talked of certain food stalls and restaurants: "That's where we came for popsicles." "This place has really special tea eggs." "I'm making a detour to get iced tea here." Do you know how devoted people have to be to maintain a business in the hills where all you sell are popsicles? Popsicles that are made of water and sugar. To be so specialized and successful that you are known for your tea eggs (hard boiled eggs steeped in soy sauce, sugar, and tea leaves)- things everyone can make. There are so many iced tea stands in Taiwan that I don't bother learning where they are. Because if I wanted some, I could just walk a couple of blocks in any direction and there will be someone selling me drinks. (and failing that, I'd run into a 7-11) And yet people drive out of their way to go to favorite stores..

People keep shaking their heads at me when I tell them all the things I've eaten at night markets. "Did you go to the crepe place?  What about the tofu places?"  "Uh... but I had iced tea?"  Because it's not enough to eat at night markets, you have to eat at the right places, and being too lazy to stand in line, I tend to eat at all the wrong places.  Vacation life is harder than you might think.