Of Knives and Naifs

The TSA and I have a little routine.  Every three months or so, I give the TSA a small, classic Swiss Army knife.  Sometimes it's a red one.  Sometimes it's purple.  Sometimes I remember the knife and dump it into a trash can or a TSA receptacle.  Sometimes the TSA finds a knife in my backpack that I thought I'd lost, and then throws it out for me ("Oh!  I'd been looking for that."  "Well, we have some extra tools to help us find them... but I'm still going to have to throw this out").  In the days before I flew regularly (i.e. the days when I didn't live in the 6th deadliest city in America), I used to hang onto knives for years.  I'd remember to take it off my keychain and put it into my checked bags and everything.  Nowadays, I gift my little, non-threatening gadget to the TSA once every other trip.

To remedy this problem and stop hemorrhaging money (why do I need a Swiss Army knife?  tweezers!  scissors!  nail file!  and a really dull blade.  who doesn't want to carry such fun around?), I recently made my first eBay purchase and bought a lot of 5 knives (probably from the TSA- they do a brisk confiscated goods resale business) on the cheap.  It's really not as unabomber as it sounds.  I promise.  Except, well, it is to eBay.  And now I get email notifications of all sorts of knife sales.  No matter how I try to unsubscribe from the emails.  eBay really wants me to bid on more weaponry.

Moi: These are totally innocuous tools.

TChu: Guns are innocuous until they kill someone.  Come on, public health PhD.

Touche, TChu.  Touche.

Bueller, Bueller?

My new biostatistics course isn't very interesting.  But the professor is slowing thawing my cold heart.  I can always relate to an awkward professor.

Professor:  That was a reference from She's Having a Baby.  Oh my gosh.  This was an experiment.  To see how out of touch I am with the students.  Moving on.

The Scouts Had a Point

This is the last week of winter break and though I've been going into the office for work the past week and have been working off and on for the past two and a half, on a good day without any meetings, I can still get away with dressing like a schlub (well, I often do that) and not bumping into anyone I know except the security guards and CB.  I don't need to impress CB.

I had a late start this morning (CB calls it "life administration"), didn't make the gun policy summit I had intended to, and didn't get around to leaving for school, un-showered, until about 11am.  Luckily, I bumped into CB (my J'Hop "little boss") at the bus shuttle.  It's OK to be super late to work if your supervisor is also a slacker.  

It was another hour until I got into a work groove at school and put the gun policy summit live webcast on as background noise (as some do) and discovered, via a Q & A session, that Prof Papa was in attendance.  He's a big deal in guns, but since he wasn't a presenter (his co-author was, and I pretended to be surprised to see him at breakfast yesterday even though I totally hoped to bump into him), I thought he'd stayed in Boston.  He may have meant to tell me in an email yesterday, but what he ended up sending was the word "Howdyrff."  I couldn't tell what that meant.

Super excited to see Prof Papa in B'more, I grabbed my ID, left the office, and ran down 2 blocks to catch the last 5 minutes of the summit so that I could say hi.  Did I mention that I was wearing flannel today?  And grey sneakers?  I really didn't expect to see anyone.  What I ended up doing however, was seeing Papa in my disheveled form, meeting a colleague of his, seeing many of mine, and having lunch with 3 of my friends.  Lesson learned: It's always a good idea to shower.

Just Kidding

Professor Tom's jokes are the stuff ulcers are made of.  Unfortunately, he quite appreciates humor, especially at his research assistants' expense.

Prof. Tom: Christine tells me that you have all the answers to what I'll be asking in our meeting today.

Moi: Christine is a liar.

Prof. Tom: No, she's not.  I've worked with her for a very long time.

Moi: She can't make promises she can't keep like that.

Prof. Tom: Well, she's not making them for herself.  They're for you.  

Moi: That hardly seems fair.

Prof. Tom: Life is challenging and full on unfair situations.  You've got 5 minutes before the meeting.  That's plenty of time.

(Just lost 2 minutes writing this entry instead of preparing.  Priorities.)

Revenge

Earlier tonight, Nicolae, Rachael, Lydia, and I couldn't decide on what movie on Netflix or Rachael's collection that we all wanted to watch together.  Or which of the dramas airing tonight (Pro Downton: The ladies.  Against Downton: Nicolae).  But we could all agree to pause the discussion for 30 minutes and watch a 60 Minutes segment on robotics.  Then get into a debate about labor automation.  

Because we are nerds.  Very, very big nerds.

Company Policy

Had a great night of Korean noodles and fried pork with Alice, followed by an H-Mart run to stock up on Asian cooking essentials (like soy sauce paste and dumplings) and some non-essentials (like guava and seaweed chips).  For hours after dinner, I talked about how full I was.  Alice was unimpressed.

Moi: (hours after dinner) I am still so full.  

Alice: I don't know why you're surprised.  This happens every time we hang out.  We eat a lot of food.

Power of One

As someone who does not have a lot of money, I keep my finances in pretty good order.  Not as good as someone who budgets properly, but I at least always pay my credit card on time and always have a little money in the bank (it helps to not have nice things).  So I was pretty confused why Target turned me down for a credit card a few months back.  I can't afford to shop at many places, but Target?  I can afford Targets flimsy bookcases.

A bajillion frustrated phone calls and one very illuminating one later, I finally figured it all out.  Well, a very, very helpful customer service person figured it out.  I'm thankful that I talked to her today, and not the other dozen unhelpful people before her.  Turns out, precision matters.  And typos can ruin credits.  Because I had a student loan under a wrong social that ballooned into a vicious catch-22.  Whenever I got an angry letter or call, I'd call back, identify myself with my correct info, and they wouldn't see the typo account and would tell me that I was crazy or I should call someone else or it wasn't their problem.  I don't know what made the representative today look a little deeper than everyone else I'd talked to in the last year (on and off... I didn't think it was that big a deal since I was in school and my loans are in deferment and no one seemed to be willing to track down my phantom loans, but Wrong Social Me wasn't in school, hence the angry calls).  But something clicked this morning and it all got sorted out (ish, pending lots of paperwork).  

One misplaced number.  One helpful person.  One financial disaster averted (we think).

My Side of the Mountain

After all these years, it still astounds me how scenes of simple beauty like this just exist in New England backyards.  (Just as how, after all these months, it still astounds me how many places aren't walk-able in B'more.)  Last week, I decided to be Chelsea's "outdoorsy friend" (chortle, chortle) and we went snow shoeing in other people's backyards (also a 'national park' but just barely one at that).  Despite the 1.25 doctorates between us, it took awhile just to find a proper trail.  Though only some of the blame should go toward our poor map reading skills.  The unmarked "parking lots" (um, indents on the side of the road) and barricades with "Warning: Do Not Enter" signs where trails should be also made it all difficult.  But, we endured, found a proper lean-to should we have needed one (see below) and got our toes terribly numb.  When it was all over, we went for hot chocolate at Dunkin Donuts.  Because that's what people do in Massachusetts.    

Thanksgiving 2013

It's been 5 years since we've left the Bo' (going on 6) and every year, we've tried to have a Thanksgiving meal together.  It's a challenging feat because we're never all in the same city on Thanksgiving (though the Wongs were kind enough to adopt me one year) and the season gets so clogged with other holiday events.  The "we" also shifts year by year.  But the Bo' Thanksgiving meal was one of those rare moments when we all acknowledged that these friendships and familiarity we shared felt like family and ate together in celebration of that (and the abundant meat that was served in the usually protein-stingy dining halls).  I think we managed to eat our (pre) Thanksgiving meal actually before Thanksgiving just once.  Last year was the first time it happened in January.  And this year followed the model set by 2011.  Except with oysters.

Do you see what a thing of beauty this is?  I can't believe I went to the same school as the guy that made this happen.  Turns out, you can learn how to start your own oyster business with a liberal arts education.  Nic brought oysters (he claims that winter is a great time for them because they're nice a fat, though if you ask him in a few months, he'll also tell you that summer is the best season for oysters...) and we all ate to our hearts' content.  I had never gotten full from oysters before.  Nor have I had so many sweet, plump, and fresh oysters.  But I did yesterday.

I get that almost everyone loved their college experience.  And most people liked their colleges, too.  But I am convinced that the Bo' is just a little bit special.  There's a loyalty and closeness that I don't see elsewhere (hence the record breaking reunion attendance).  We talked for hours yesterday, not just about each other, and the goofy things we did, but we talked nerdily, of courses that stumped us and professors that shaped us, for no other reason than because those memories are blended in with "good college times."

(on her freshman year history class)

LT: That was such a hard class.  If you guys ever-

Joe: If we ever what?

Nic: Don't take that class for a grade?  If we're ever taking classes at Bowdoin College again?

We did pretty well in our gathering yesterday.  We had econ, psychology, environmental studies, chemistry, biology, and sociology represented.  Among us, only Dr. Regis is practicing medicine (though no longer in med school).  It seemed, however, that everyone else in our class is on their way to becoming a doctor.  "Whatever happened to so-and-so?"  "Really?  Med school?" we kept asking ourselves, "Wasn't he a romance language major?"  "Wasn't he going to be an economist?"  "Didn't he swim around the world?"  Maybe med schools aren't as selective as they let on.