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.