Use Your Hands

Am I going to start every entry talking about how chaotic life is?  If I am, what are you going to do about it?  Yesterday, I had a reprieve from the work work and the not-packing and spending time with family to brunch with Zvi and Susan. 

(talking about chem free dorms at the Bo')

Moi: It's too bad that the good kids are so often stuck with the weird kids.

Susan: Exactly (gestures to herself, then to Zvi and myself).

Moi: No- (I start to correct Susan, but since my mouth is full of delicious crepe, I gesture instead to myself, then point to Zvi and Susan).

Zvi: You guys are here gesturing like mad, and I'm the weird one?

Faculty Sandwich

As I have already mentioned, and will probably mention many times over, I commenced yesterday.  Just like I did four years ago (and hope to do again in 4-5 years), everyone believed in me and thought I could and then I went ahead and did.  All very anti-climactic stuff.  Mother seemed much more excited to be attending an H'bomb graduation than her daughter's graduation, and insisted we take a picture at every H sign.  At one point, she even put on my robe.  I wish I was making this up.

In the chaos of yesterday, I took some time to eat lunch in the courtyard, sandwiched between Prof Singer (there's no time for nicknames) and Prof Papa.  If Meredith wasn't already sitting there and talking with them, I probably would have avoided such a faculty fest, but she was, and so I sat, in total nerd glory, and gleaned some last bits of facetious Papa.

(on how faculty caps are like the hats at the royal wedding)

Papa: Oh yeah? Did you go?

Moi: No, I had a biostat lab so I couldn't make it.

Papa: That's why I didn't see you.  It was a lovely ceremony.

(on his years as the guy who 'hooded' the doctoral students during commencement and his problems with not knowing how much he could touch the female students' hair to make room for the hood)

Moi: Did you give each of them a personalized message?

Papa: I whispered a haiku in all of their ears.

Moi: But you're not very good at haikus.

Papa: I just said, "one two three four five-" and counted the syllables.

And finally, some injury prevention tips (after informing me that I was going to the school with the "second best injury prevention center" in the United States-- the same week that the vice chief contemplated Baltimore and said, "well, everyone makes one mistake in their life")

Papa: Don't throw your cap in the air.  That's a safety hazard.

Today, I become a master.  Nothing has sunken in yet and a million things are in the air (including our flight tickets to Malaysia- insert pun at your own leisure).  The folks get here in about an hour and I'm sitting in a half packed room.  Which is why I have really been milking this graduation thing and dropping a few H bombs to have everyone be really nice and patient to me.  So much to get done before Tuesday!

Oh, did I not tell you about Tuesday?  I'm going away.  For a whole month.  Yikes.  That, and my mom's preference for pretending to date a friend rather than being friends to come in a few days.

Degrees of Separation

Doc Query: I never heard back from you about your title for the paper.

Moi: Really?  I'm pretty sure I emailed you.  Well, I graduate Thursday.

Doc Query: It's OK, I already put you down as an MPH.

Moi: But I'm getting an MS...

Doc Query: Oh well.  You can have both degrees.  Good job!

Riding in Cars with Boys

(my titles are on a movie streak) 

It appears that getting into an unmarked SUV has raised quite a bit of alarm.  Sister Claire offered gentle chiding, advice, and congrats (the best kind of alarm).  DBomb chose the "let-me-ask-you-a-rhetorical-question-to-point-out-your-idiocy" approach: 

DBomb: So your mom is freaking out about you traveling and civil unrest in Bangkok but here you are in Boston, getting into unmarked SUVs?

And Lenny?  To the point as always.

Lenny: I'm really losing faith in your ability to not die in Baltimore.

I promise to only ride in legit taxi cabs from now on.  

Date Day

I love Sunday dates.  I have a default Sunday date between May-September.  I've done it with Nik, Ash, Dwight, mom, as well as people without monosyllabic names.  It goes something like this: post-church brunch in the South End (preferably at a place with exposed wood beams.  And nettles).  Followed by a leisure stroll through the SOWA open markets.  With lots of free samples, lots of sarcasm, and perhaps the purchase of a few overpriced thank you cards or pretty trinkets.  The whole thing wraps up at a reasonable time so everyone goes home happy and in time for a nap (or homework- eck).  If I were to be profiled in the Times, this would be my Sunday routine. 

Are we friends?  Do we live in the same city?  If so, we're overdue for a Sunday date.

Things We Lost in the Fire

Confiscated by the TSA:

The Stonewall Kitchen blueberry preserves meant as a thank-you present for the Zack family.  When I arrived, all I had left to give them was a box of muffin mix and a blue spatula, loosely jostling in a now too-big bag. 

Not Confiscated by the TSA:

My Swiss Army knife.  I didn't even realize I had it until I started unpacking this morning.

The World Didn't End

I took a cab ride in a black SUV without a meter tonight.  Feeling lazy and tired after a flight from Ballymore, I decided to take only one bus from the airport instead of the usual two and get off at South Station for take out and a cab ride.  The Chinese place was still open, so for the second time in as many weeks, I got greasy, bad, Chinese take out and I ordered it all in English so as not to let people know that I am actually Chinese.  Because, yes, I am ashamed of myself every time I order terrible Chinese food.  But I've been an American for too long and sometimes, in the absence of good food, I crave some spring rolls with indiscernible vegetable fillings.  Within seconds of stepping out of South Station, I was approached by a man asking if I needed a cab.  I wasn't sure if he worked for the station or not but told him, yes, I did.  He asked where I was going.  I told him.  He asked if $15 was reasonable.  I had no idea and said sure.  He walked me to a cab.  The cabbie was gone.  And he asked if I wanted to go with him in his SUV.  There was no meter.  I didn't see a license.  I trusted that he would take me home.  It is not as shady as it all sounds.  I'm pretty sure he works for a limo service.  But I am also pretty sure it wasn't the best decision I'd made.  But hey, we had a great talk, a great ride, and other than the last bit where he pretended he didn't have change for my $20, we all got along very well.  His shady SUV smelled very nice.  And it's a much better story than taking a cab.

Retrospectus

In the end, it all turned out OK school-wise.  And in the end, I am optimistic that this Ballymore housing mess will all turn out OK as well. 

Things got hairy toward the end of the semester there (hence the lack of posts).  Pressed for time, and tired of how picky the graders were about homework assignments I clearly understood, I gave up on studying for a course and decided instead to happily settle for a B+.  Despite having taken a couple of mid-level biostat courses, the policy department's quantitative method course had my homework grades hovering around the average for 3 assignments (1 was even slightly below).  So I washed my hands of it all and decided to focus on my biostat course.  But I also ran out of time studying for that.  And braced myself for limping toward the finish line with 2 B's.  Who cares?  I kept telling myself.  Grades don't matter.  Then 10 minutes before the biostat final, on a morning when I already ran out of time to grab breakfast, I realized that I had left my laptop on the shuttle bus.  There was much frantic phone calling (and of course, my phone dying so I had to borrow Allison's) and rushing out of the classroom and asking Professor Bob if I could get a few extra minutes and being put on hold and perhaps tears shed in the bathroom as the exam began and I was still trying to get a hold of someone who might know about my laptop.  Those were the 15 worst minutes of grad school in my last 2 years.  But it's funny how finding out my grades for the course changes how I remember it all now, because it worked out OK.  I aced and aced-minused and passed my way to the end despite feeling like a failure in the moments just before (thank you, grading curves and grade inflation!).  A little less than a week from now, I expect everyone to address me as Master. 

Bananas

Even the most casual of readers (not that this blog has any) should know how much I like to win and how much of a nerd I am.  Put these two together, and you've got my love of word games.  Not anagrams.  I hate those.  But games along the Scrabble, Boggle, Bananagram variety.  My school friends did not know this (unlike my Bo' friends- I love playing Bananagram with Jenny and Karina!).  They just discovered that this past weekend when we had a pre-graduation retreat.  What started in the plans as a camping trip quickly became spending the weekend playing board games and reading in a really, really nice house on the water.  Exactly how I like it. 

After I won the third straight round of Bananagrams, they imposed a handicap on me.  (I also have a 4-letter handicap in Boggle.  I hate playing with equally competitive people who won't just let me win but have to make life difficult for me)  They may not have expected to be whupped in Bananagram (these, after all, are all very smart people with very high GPAs and expansive vocabulary), but they knew about my pitiful tolerance (for alcohol, not people of other cultures).  So they made me take a sip before I could say "peel" to get more letters.  Did it slow me down?  I did narrowly lose one round but then won 2 more.  However, within 15 minutes, I had also downed 2 glasses of wine.  Even if my awesome winning skills were not hampered, my face was beet red and the strategy was not sustainable.  We tried switching to eating Wheat Thins, but chewing crackers quickly while spelling words and shouting "peel" proved to be a choking hazard.  And I had to settle for retiring, knowing that I am the greatest Bananagrams player these H'bomb losers have ever seen.  

This Isn't Happening

This morning, during a break from biostatistics, I went upstairs for the free pancakes they have during finals week. I arrived too late and all the "strawberry compote" was gone.  Still, strawberry-less pancakes were better than strawberry-less nothings.  Especially since Prof Papa joined the table Louise and I were sharing, along with our conversation.  He was contemplating getting some pancakes.

We tried to dissuade him, arguing that it was for people who were taking finals, that it came out of our tuition, and that it was certainly not for people who give really hard finals at the end of the fall semester.  We also told him how we were onto his game and noticed that he stole pizzas from Louise's event last week.  He claimed that Prof Captain did the stealing and he was merely an accessory.  Likely story.  (no, seriously, likely story)  Then off he went, in search of pancakes.  At that point, my break nearly over, I had a choice between returning to a review lecture I did not understand, or hanging out with Prof Papa and Louise. 

It was the best decision I have made this month.

Because somewhere along the way, after Prof Papa returned, our conversation turned to haikus.  And later, when we all parted ways, we all shared injury/suicide prevention haikus via email.  I had to slap Louise a few times to make sure this was all happening.  Greatest. Emails. Ever.

My piece, on my final project:

Endings by hanging,
for Asians, not whites, nor blacks,
(it's the guns, stupid).

Hip in My Step

How hip was I today?  Let me count the ways.

Ironic church attendance?  Check.

(OK, that's not an actual thing and I didn't go ironically, but I wanted it in there.)

Brunch at gastro pub*?  Check.

Stroll through open-air market with  hand crafts, food trucks, and locally procured produce?  Check.

Afternoon coffee at sustainable bakery?  Check.

All done within 0.5 miles of my place?  In a gentrifying neighborhood?  Check, check, and check.   

 I would be disgusted with myself, but I just spent the evening editing papers and making a biostatistics study guide.  So I can sleep at night.

*OK, a little cooler if this was 2004, but whatever, not all of us eat in pop-up restaurants.

Confidence Man

It's finals season.  I am preparing to travel in a few weeks.  Between now and then, I need to grade papers, write papers, study, look for housing, conceptualize a thank you present for the class, organize two trips, book tickets and hostels, take finals, "relax in Maine," fly to Baltimore, graduate, pack, prepare projects to on my travels, etc., etc., and oh wait,

I just found out that I have a shot at getting my name in NEJM.

So never mind sleep and fun and farewell (not that that was ever an option), this weekend is going to get raw.  And by 'raw,' I mean Excel intensive.

Whitecastle: What I am about to show you is strictly confidential.  You can't tell your friends.  You can smile, but you can't tell people why you're smiling. 

Moi: OK.

Whitecastle: Actually, your friends probably don't matter.  You can tell them whatever you want.

Take Care

For Christmas this year, I'd like respect from my superiors.

Second Nancy: Your preceptor wrote a very nice evaluation for you.  I almost wrote back to make sure he had the right person.

(earlier today, there was a scheduling mix up and I stood Whitecastle up for a meeting, the first time in 4 years that has ever happened.  Even though it wasn't my fault that he misunderstood me, I wrote him to apologize for waiting.)

Whitecastle (the aforementioned preceptor): Are there any more evaluations I can fill out for you?

Ice Cold

It was been subtly chilly the last couple of days.  The sun has been out, but the wind has also been blowing, and the air cool.  It's the perfect weather to walk around, but feels especially brisk if instead of walking around, one chose to sit outside for 3 hours after the sun has set.

I went to Fenway last night with DBomb, Allison, and Marie.  But instead of getting 4 seats together, I got seats in 2 different rows.  Thanks to this, and the time I turned in her homework to the wrong TA and caused a weekend of confusion, Allison has barred me from handling all responsibilities.  I am OK with that.  Last night was not a great night for decision making.  Since DBomb and I had to entertain ourselves for the two thirds of the game when Allison and Marie (along with the extra warm pullover she had packed for me) had to sit in their proper seats, we made a lot of small talk about the food being flown around us.  We especially fixated our gaze on the swirls of soft serve ice cream served in little plastic helmets and after 7 innings, convinced ourselves that more than nachos, peanuts, Cracker Jack, and er, clam chowder (who buys clam chowder in the stands?), we both really wanted ice cream. 

(first sign of alarm, as I zipped up my jacket)

Moi: How cold do you think the ice cream will be?

DBomb: Uh.  Cold? 

(more brilliance)

DBomb: OK.  I scoped out the prices.  The helmet is $5.50.  The cup is $4.50.

Moi: You mean the price is as it says on that giant sign in front of us?

DBomb: Oh, what?  I did not see that.  I was really proud of my asking around.

(final verdict- shivering in the stands, sweatshirt hoods drawn, slurping down ice cream)

Moi: So if we were to do a cost benefit analysis of this experience-

DBomb: I've eaten a lot of ice cream and the benefits are generally worthwhile.

Moi: But I wish I had gotten all chocolate.  I just didn't want to seem like I preferred black over white.

DBomb: On second thought, I am freezing.  And I also wish I had gotten chocolate.