Office Space, Part 2

(discussing the office we are sharing, the one with only one chair and one computer)

Amber: So you're here, too?

Moi: Yeah, but don't worry, this is only temporary.

Amber: Me too.  I'll be moving into that space down the hall when it opens up in the fall.

Moi: Wait, that's what they told me, too.

Office Space

Number of professors who want me to have a work space on the 6th floor: 2

Advisor Who and another professor I'm working closely with for a project are both on the 6th floor.  To them, it made sense to have me right around the corner since questions will invariably come up as I play with data.

Number of offices I have on the 6th floor: 0

Number of offices I have on the 3rd floor: 2

Number of people I displaced to take over Room 304: 2

Ah, academic bureaucracy.

Surfer Gurl

Professor Molten is the nicest professor here at J'Hop. Professor Molten used to think of me as a Bostonian. But ever since we talked about tacos once a few months ago, Professor Molten has gotten into her head that I am from California. It is a hard habit to shake. Unless, that is, I try Alice's plan.

 Moi: ... and then she said, "that's the Californian in you." I just nodded. It was easier that way. 

Alice: You need to start talking about clam chowder.

 Moi: I had wicked good chowdah at Haaaaavuhd? Alice: Exactly.

Not Again

I'm running out of ways to say how proud I am of my brother. He went and debuted another music video (this time, he made it with Ben, who's practically a brother, ergo, practically my brother). In me news? I re-installed my toy sofa because I realized that I set up my backboard wrong the first time around. I nearly won a game in Scrabble (should be able to wrap it up soon). And I finally took out the trash. After decades of being the-sibling-with-the-grades, I'm starting to understand what it feels like to be the black sheep.

Bigger Inside than Outside

I often feel like I have to remind Advisor Who of my existence, and following that, prompt him on who I am and what I might need from him.  It's nothing against him; he's just very busy, even as he's very cheerful and willing to help.  Nevertheless, after a year here, I'm happy to wander the halls and be able to pop into an office for a quick hello (even if he wasn't entirely certain why I was there to do that).  I remember how it felt last fall, when all I wanted was to feel familiar again, to walk down the street and have someone to say hi to, some landmark I'd recognize, and someplace that made me feel like I belonged.  It's not that Boston ever felt homey, but it was a city I knew.  Longwood meant work and school and friends/colleagues/professors, even people-whose-faces-I-want-to-avoid.  At this time last year, B'more meant nothing except confusion and overwhelming newness.

Who: So, d'you have fun?

Moi: Well, no big fun.  I didn't do anything exciting, but there was little fun.

Who: We don't have to catalog all the little fun you had.

---
I've mentioned this before, but talking to Advisor Who and Doc Nice inevitably turn into a namedropping game that I can't win.  They're just way more important than I am.  This point was again driven in this week.

(on where we had tacos last week)

Moi: Tiny storefront in B'more.
DocNice: The White House

(on where we stayed at the Cape)

Moi: Marie's aunt's friend's house.
Advisor Who: The National Academy of Science compound.

Grammar Gestapo

Nish came to town today.  We had too much brunch then made our way toward the harbor where we found the cutest park in the city.  A park that emphasizes spelling is my kind of outdoor space.

Price of Doing Business

I went to my bathroom this morning and was startled to discover a blood stain on the door.  I don't remember stabbing anyone at my doorsteps.  The blood, it appears, came as a result of a cut on my thumb.  How it drifted and flowed all the way down to the foot of the door, I am not sure.  All I know is that furniture assembly is a dangerous business, even when it is something as innocuous as a small nightstand with but one drawer.  Such a process can take entire afternoons and lead to deep cuts and dramatic rivers of blood as one attempts to rip open a band aid one-handed (Band-Aid brand band aids don't come with easy-pull tabs anymore, which led to a great struggle).  And yes, furniture assembly becomes exponentially more difficult and dangerous when it is done with one hand/thumb elevated to prevent further bloodbaths.  Said Father, "See, your father is good for some things, right?"  He is greatly missed down here in B'more.

Busy Day Today

I made a couch today. Not exactly from scratch. But close enough. It's a very small couch.  I want to call it 'Tiny Dancer.'  I also want to nap on the couch because my arms are very sore. But alas, I must shower, put on presentable clothes, and head south to DC for dinner.

Strapped

Anyone who says that we live in a cashless society has not tried to actually live two weeks without cash. Granted, I was doing pretty well without cash for much of the month, until I tried to deposit a check and realized that my bank card expired. That made the check deposit really difficult. It also made obtaining cash really difficult. Which made commerce very difficult. Mostly commerce that involves food. That is to say, all the important commercial transactions in life. Bank cards expire all the time. Except my new one got sent to B'more. And I was not in B'more. I know, I live a hard life. But I live it as a cautionary tale for you.

If He Be Awesome

This is why all throughout school, I was known always as "Pete's sister."  My brother directed this.  He is all sorts of awesome.  See the whole NPR post here.

Hair's to Me

A hairdresser complimented my hair today.  Well, not the previous haircut ("bangs cut too short," which explains my new haircut "looks weird on the right, but will get better as the hair grows"), but my hair itself.  It is apparently "healthy."  After a lifetime of being yelled at by hairdressers for using both too much and too little conditioner and all sorts of other flaws, this is welcome news.  It is so unexpected, much like that one time I went to the dentist and did not have any cavities, that I am committing a whole blog entry to it to commemorate the event.  Happy healthy hair day, everyone.

Water Ice

This was an installation in the RISD museum in Providence.  Isn't it pretty?  Too bad this was all we could say about it.  This, and "I wish I could run through the glass."  This is all to say, the museum was mostly lost on us.

The More Things Change

I just had a phone conversation with Lenny that went something like this:

Lenny: I can't talk now, I'm in Chile.

Moi: Isn't this call super expensive then?  Why'd you even pick up?

Lenny: I thought it was an emergency.

Moi: (from me?) It's not.

I had decided to call Lenny because I'm clearing out my bedroom in my home home and had just come across an old planner.  In it, I found an entry that said "calc test" in Lenny's handwriting.  Then entry was crossed out.  Next to it, I had written "I hate Lenny."  Apparently, Lenny used to go through my planner adding phantom test dates.  This is why I'm OK running up her phone bill.

Fishy Tales

At lunch today, in a Chinese restaurant overlooking the Merrimack Valley in Dracut, we saw a couple of guys fishing in the waters and releasing their catch back into the water.  The Merrimack used to be a heavily polluted river because of all the factories in the area.  The fishermen prompted Mother to strike up conversation with the waiter about whether he'd ever fished there.  He said that, oh yes, the river was great for fishing.  The kitchen staff do it all the time and there are some large fish there, even bass.  They do it for fun, of course, not to eat.  The chef lost a fishing pole recently because the fish was so big.  They gather around the restaurant because of the food waste that goes into the river.  They were so plentiful that they didn't even need to fish with a real rod, just a string and stick.  They'd set them up, tie to a tree, and return every once in awhile to check on the lines.  The entire tale sounded fantastical.  We smiled and nodded at his story, taking it all in, until we left the restaurant and got into the car.

Mother: They're not supposed to dump food into the river, right?  That's illegal.

Father:  And no Chinese chef ever 'fishes for fun.'  Remember never to order fish at this place.

Near Miss

Yesterday was a near-perfect day in food.  If only I'd gotten dessert.  I went down to Providence for the day and sweated, ate, and repeated the two many times over.  The morning began with Gruyere croissants en route into the city.  We paused for some anthropology and art before "Lunch Part 1": seafood pancakes from a food truck.  Then there was the detour for lemonade/iced tea.  And "Lunch Part 2": half order eggs Benedict with pulled pork hash at a place we all likened to "Other Side Cafe in Boston, except with really good food.  And capable service."  Despite its hipster-dive atmosphere, I can't recommend Julian's enough.  It does vegan, vegetarian, and fatty meat all so well.  (Laura made sure of this.  "Just to make sure, the 'soy marinaded steak' is actual meat, right?")  To burn all this off, we slowly walked around a lake, only to circle back to town for early happy hour (Pacifico, hummus, corn fritters) as Z-the-Underaged watched.  He also got to compare restaurant notes with Laura.  Lesson learned?  Undergrad Boys and Grad School Women run in very different restaurant/bar scenes.  We learned that lesson again when we decamped to our next stop: an absurdly twee tapas bar where we had yet more food amid high ceilings, exposed beams, chalkboard menus, and a quirky waitress.

Like I said, a terribly trendy and wonderful food day.  My only regret was that we didn't have dessert (we were too full and lacked foresight).  Because miraculous as it sounds, by the time I got home around 11pm, I was hungry again.

Lola

There was a girl in a pink skirt yesterday and the whole train loved her.  She was first spotted as the train emerged onto street level.  As soon as she saw the train, she started running, and we started watching.  She almost caught up to the train at the stop.  But traffic didn't go her way and she couldn't cross the street in time to catch the train.  By the time we reached the next stop, however, she was there waiting for us.  She had run in her skirt and pretty sandals through the city blocks and beat the train.  The conductor suggested she join the Olympics.  People congratulated her.  Guys high-fived her as they exited.  It turned out that she didn't really need to hurry.  She had 30 minutes to pass two stops.

"But I didn't want to walk in the heat anymore."
"So you ran instead?"
"I didn't think about it very well."

Someone suggested that she ride all the way to the VA just to get her money's worth.  Her logic may have been faulty, but the running was great.  And it was wonderful, free entertainment for a Thursday morning.