He Who Must Not Be Named

More gems from the wedding.

(settling into our seats for the ceremony)

Guy: How do you guys know the bride or groom?

Moi: We went to grad school with Allison in Boston.

Guy: In Boston?  (turns to wife)  These ladies are Allison's friends.  From Harvard.  

Meredith: We don't like to throw that around.

Moi: Although to be honest, we're probably the smartest guests here.

Guy: My son went to Harvard for undergrad.  He's not that smart though.

(later)

Guy: (points to in row in front of us)  Now this guy, he's smart.  You guys should meet him.  

Nighty-O

Baseball ticket + drink + nachos + rail ticket to the game (and free ride back):

All for under $25.  And a come-from-behind win to boot.  Sometimes B'more lives up to its Charm City moniker.

Hold on to the Feeling

The last post was about the start of the wedding, this is about the perfect ending.

It was early Monday morning.  The first bus had already carried a number of guests back to the hotel, still more had driven home.  The dance floor had dwindled to a couple dozen at most.  The band had said its goodbyes, sang its last song, and we all cheered.  The lights came on.

But Allison's brother and a couple of friends were still up for dancing.  "One more song!  One more song!  One more song!"  It started slowly, then picked up steam as the chant reverberated throughout the room.  We stomped and clapped, then slowed again once we realized that the sound guy had already unplugged all the instrument.

The band shrugged at us helplessly, "we have no sound," they said.  But the guys didn't give up.  And finally, the band gave in.  

"I guess we'll have to do this a capella." 

I was skeptical how they'd give us a song to dance to without any back up.  They were a great band, but it was way beyond my bed time.  I had long changed into flip flops.  But then the singers stepped into the center of the floor--

Just a small town girl,

living in a lonely world-

We hooted.  We gathered in a circle.  We put our arms around each other.  We jumped up and down.  It was very difficult doing all these things at once.  But mostly, we belted our hearts out (or, in my case, belted, lip synced, and mumbled).  

Best. Ending. Ever.

All the World's a Blur

Allison's wedding was this past Sunday and it was the most fun I have had in a long while.  Granted, I have just wrapped up a school year, so the bar is fairly low but still, it was a rollicking good time.  The day had a portentous start.  Laura and I had planned, innocuously enough, to meet up at "the Krispy Kreme in Penn Station" to take the train to Long Island together.  We nearly didn't make it.  

(on the phone)

Laura: I'm afraid I picked a meeting place that doesn't exist.

Moi: What are you talking about?  I'm standing by a Krispy Kreme in Penn Station.

Laura: I don't see one.  I see a bunch of restaurants.

Moi: You have to come in more (no, she didn't).  Do you see a TGI Friday's?  

Laura: Oh yeah, let me go find you.

Ten minutes later, we had not found each other.  We then tried "the track by Auntie Anne's"-- I was standing at track 17, between 2 Auntie Anne stands.  So was Laura, but we couldn't see each other.  This went on for quite awhile.  It was all absurdly funny if we didn't have a train to catch.  We kept yelling into the phone, "But why don't I see you?"  All this time, we knew where the train tracks were but for whatever reason, thought it was much easier to meet at a mutually agreed upon landmark.  Until the train started boarding.  At that point, we decided that "The Train We Need to Be On" was a perfectly legitimate landmark to meet up at.  We also realized we were on different floors the whole time.  Hey, at least we were smart enough not to pick a Dunkin'.

Absolutely Fabulous

Dear Beignets:

I meant to write today.  I even wrote things down in my notebook and everything.  I went to a used book store and a museum and wandered around town getting blisters on my feet.  But then I got home and got very distracted with a BBC miniseries (Parade's End: think Downton Abbey, without the soap, and with way more words and unrequited love).  And now it's nighttime so I best be packing for Allison's wedding.  I'm off to Long Island for 24 hours.  As one does on Memorial Day weekend.

Be back soon.

Timing Is Everything

Today was the rare day that Ilene, Liz, and I were not only all on campus together, but had lunch together at the cafe.  We had meant to meet up at noon but ended up eating a little early because I got hungry and bored, and well, Ilene is always up for eating early.  So there we were, Liz and Ilene chatting as I tried to tackle The Largest Turkey Burger In the World, when who should stroll by but Kurt.

I never bump into Kurt.  He's always running of somewhere.  That's what comes of being in a dual program.  But today, he didn't run off.  Instead, he stopped and chatted with us and we talked about his seminar and comps and all this stuff and how his meeting with Judy got canceled, until finally:

Moi: If you're all done, then what're you doing here?

Kurt: To meet with you.  We're having lunch and talking about Who.

Moi: I thought that was next week.

Kurt: No, that's today.

Moi: At noon, right?  Oh, it's noon now.  Oh look, I'm here, eating lunch.  This is perfect.  

Sometimes, I forget meetings I'm supposed to have but still manage to show up at the exact right time and place.  And because I met with Kurt, I didn't have time to look up where my next meeting was, which was just as well, because Kurt knows how to navigate the hospital and with his fancy badge, cleared me through lots of doorways.  So that I only got lost 3 times going to my next meeting, and once on the way back.  Best coincidence ever.  

An Author By Any Other Size

The Case of the Missing Name has been resolved.  I've emailed and called The Journal and had my name (and Advisor's middle initial) restored.  The authors even wrote a response.  It's all very good fun and the most satisfying piece of 'work' that I've done lately.  If only letters to the editor counted toward papers for graduation.

All that remains now, is the puzzle of why my letter remains in a smaller font than both the letter that came before mine, and the authors' response.  I bet they're in cahoots with the plaque people.  I must have wronged a member of the Font Size Mob family some time in my youth, and they keep having their revenge.

An Author By Any Other Name

Last week, Advisor Who and I submitted a Letter to the Editor.  It was fun, and the first time I'd ever written a comment on an article.  I came up with the idea, Who made my words pretty, and I submitted it with both our names on it.  And didn't hear anything from the journal.

I assumed that that meant we had been passed over, but Who said that that might not be the case.  So I checked.  And indeed, it wasn't the case!  Our letter had been published.

It's just that, miraculously, my name was not.

Who's name is on there.

My words are on there.

But not my name.  

This is as perplexing as it is hilarious.  As frustrating as it absurd.  Like that time my name on the plaque was smaller than all the honorees before me.  History has a way of repeating itself to my disadvantage.

Peace of Christ

Anyone who was part of the Impromptu Hourlong Hallway Handholding Prayer Session of 2004 (Dwighters?) knows that I am not a fan of holding hands.  It is imposing, sweaty, and unsanitary.  However, I made an exception at church today in the name of Christian solidarity.  Handholding comes up at church not infrequently.  Whenever I want to resist (i.e. always) I remind myself of the the Woolwich church I attended back at the Bo'.  There, we ended each communion service with the whole congregation filing out of our pews to make a giant circle, joining hands, and singing Blest Be the Tie that Binds.  It was a tradition at once cheesy, simple, and deeply moving-- a reminder of what binds hilariously different people (like the old German man who welcomed us as the 'Oriental friends from afar') together.  

Today at church, the band played "They'll Know We Are Christians by Our Love," a classic from the 60s, as the service closed.  I love the song but couldn't help but note with alarm that as the song began, Josh, standing around the corner from me, was holding hands with his neighbors.  Soon, the clasp traveled down around the bend and Nancy, on my left, grabbed my hand.  I turned to Gene on my right and shrugged, "I guess we're holding hands." 

But Gene wasn't one for displays of Christian unity (I wish I knew that was an option, though I wouldn't have the heart to say no to Nancy).  He simply shook his head and kept his arms crossed.  Thinking that he misheard me, since the song was still and we were singing through all of this, I motioned to him again, and again, no go.  By now, our row was in near hysterics because of his flat out denial (though still trying to look composed and holy since people were deep in feeling the Christian love).  Finally, Stephanie, from the row behind, extended her hand to me.  Her row, too, had formed a line of clasped hands.  So there we were in the back, an amoeboid symbol of unity, weaving across pews, and completely cutting off Gene and Carrie.

We will work with each other/ we will work side by side/
And we'll guard each one's dignity/ and save each one's pride/
unless you're Gene Lee/
And they'll know we are Christians by our love/ by our love/
Yes, they'll know we are Christians by our love.

Insider Baseball

Lately, I've been working on a project that's in the final weeks of analysis and polish.  Whenever we discuss data issues and decide that it's something too technical to for the Client to care about, the big and little bosses say that it's too "inside baseball."  

Last night, we went over to Rachael's for a "clean-out-the-freezer" cookout then strolled over to Camden Yards for a game.  Our discussions were definitely not too inside baseball.  It took awhile just to establish what inning it was and Liz kept clapping for the wrong team.  Though I wrote in the fall of how fun it was to go to a game and how everyone cared about baseball, that was not the case last night.

We did stand and hoot and yell, but the loudest roar went to the ketchup, mustard, and relish scoreboard race (I had my money on Mustard and he delivered). By the start of the 8th inning, we were worn from an exhausting semester, a long day of work, and a barbecue bickering over who ate that wedge in Julia's cheesecake.  The O's were down 12-4 (my yelling "stop scoring" at the Rays didn't do the trick), and we started making our way home.

Then a guy jumped onto the field and it took the grounds crew quite awhile to catch up with him (and the cops awhile longer-- those guys are not in peak running form).  We left, but that apparently was just the start of the fun.  The O's ended up rallying, though not quite enough.  They scored 6 runs in the last 2 innings.  I took that hard and blamed myself and our absence for their inability to overcome the deficit.  Susan took a different approach.  She blamed the guy running shirtless across the field.  Had he been a full streaker, she reasoned, that would have energized the team enough to win.  Hard to argue with that logic.

Raw Food Diet

Last year, we used to make fun of Dan for his lunches because, well, he packed them like a boy.  That is to say, rather than making lunches, Dan packed raw ingredients.  A jar of peanut butter here, a packet of deli ham there, a grocery size bag of pretzels here, and an apple there.  He didn't eat too terribly, he just never made lunches.  

Fast forward a year plus and my eating habits have deteriorated so badly that I hardly ever pack lunch.  And when I do, as I did this morning, it looked something like this:

half a banana

package of lox

1 frozen bagel

I had to buy cream cheese from the school cafe, which the lady working there was nice enough to give me for free (after incredulously checking that I just wanted cream cheese 3 three times).  

Moi: Do you want some lox?

Ilene: Why are you so absurd?

Moi: What?  I have some extra for my lunch, do you want some?

Ilene: You are weird. 

(Ilene isn't very tolerant of people who don't pack lunch like her)

Civilization 101

This afternoon, I headed over to the Outpatient Center to meet with new colleagues on a project I'm joining.  On my way up, in the elevator, I realized that the guy riding up with me is one of the people I will be working with.  I "realized" it by intently reading his name badge, and avoiding eye contact, then saying, "I think we're heading to the same place."  All of that came off just slightly creepy.  But New Colleague was a nice guy and we struck up a conversation.  Soon, the elevator door opened (and what we thought was the 6th floor).  People got in.  And New Colleague realized that we were riding down.  

Apparently, both of us thought we were on the 6th floor when we had actually reached the 7th (our destination).  Because we both mistook the elevator number for the floor number.  Because, one could reasonably argue, we are both idiots.  So we rode down to the 4th floor.  Then the 2nd.  Then all the way down to the LL.

When the last rider exited, she very kindly explained that she was a temp worker at the hospital and used to make the same mistake all the time.  She told us where to look to know what floor we were on.  And to press '7' to get to the 7th floor.  It was all very sweet of her.

But really, she gave us a step by step tutorial on how to ride the elevator.  That's 1 MD/PhD.  1 PhD in training.  1 elevator tutorial.

If I Knew Then What I Know Now

Dear 9-Year-Old-Self

Learning to speak, read, write, and ultimately think in English is hard.  It takes awhile.  It's not super fun.  But one day, you will be so good at it that you will lose your native Chinese.  This is neither good nor bad.  It's just something that happens.  English will be your dominant tongue.  But one good thing out of all this is that you will be able to use the "English is my second language" card.  The more fluent you are, the more valuable this card will be.  Anytime you misspeak, and believe me, you will, you have this in your back pocket.  

Sincerely,

Your Older Self

---

Professor Tom: Do you have any questions for me?

Moi: No, I just met with CB and she answered them all.  I just need some time to decom- de-congest?  No, de-

Professor Tom: Decongest?  What?

Moi: No, decom- digest?  To digest this?  To unpack what we discussed.  (as I'm turning away)  Decompress!  

Professor Tom: Having trouble with words today?

Moi: This is my second language.

Professor Tom: This is unfair.  I wish I could use that excuse.

Affirmation

Hadn't hung out with Alice in a awhile, but tonight, we made up for lost time and headed to the blacksauce barbecue stand (followed by an excursion to Wegman's, both to walk off the food coma, and to stock up for future food comas).  When we got there, it was raining, we were starving, and had to park a short walk down the road.  But standing there, straining to read the chalkboard menu, and waiting in line to make our orders, things began to turn.  I heard the guys at the grill say, "Is that Joy that just walked by?"  That was a highlight*.  Actually, no.  That was just the beginning.  After the rain, a rainbow came out.  The bluegrass band came back out to play.  And then there was eating too much good food with Alice.  That was the true highlight of the week.

Damian: What'd you guys get?

Moi: The cauliflower, the beans, the oxtail sandwich, the pizza, and then the bread pudding.

Damian: That's a lot of food.

Moi: Yeah, we sampled most of your repertoire.

Damian: But no chorizo?

No, Guys.  Even gluttons have to draw the line somewhere.  

*How many biscuits must one have bought at the farmer's market that one would be recognized by the wonderful chefs just passing by?  Let's not think about that.  It's not public health.  

Kekavia Ka-ching

I have found the holy grail, Boys and Girls, and it's called "faculty candidate dinners."  I had had lunch with faculty candidates before, but who hasn't?  I'd been having them since my days at the Bo'.  But those lunches required work.  You had to tell them about the school and ask them questions and listen to their spiel.  A very pleasant process, yes, and one that I will keep signing up for (free food is free food), but I now have higher heights to aspire to.

Sachini had briefed me on these events before, which seems to happen more frequently in the biostat department, so I wasn't completely unaware.  But the faculty candidate dinner pretty much boils down to free dinner at fancy restaurant + pleasant small talk with candidate, faculty, and perhaps other students.  I hope we never find a suitable candidate.  There's no research to read up on.  I don't have to talk about my work interests.  Just free food and conversation (and, at tonight's restaurant, a visit to the fish display case to see where our dinner came from, at Who's insistence).  And you know me, they already had me at free food.  

Time Out

Our internet connection was down for several hours today.  This led to all sorts of disruptions.

Moi: We should call Comcast to see what's wrong.  Do you have Comcast's number?

Roommate: No.

---

Roommate: I'm heading out for yoga.  Since I can't look it up, do you know what the weather is like outside?

Moi: It was sort of like it was before.  If I had to guess, I'd say mid 60s?  But cold-ish?

O Interweb, how did we ever do without you?

Putting the STAR in Starving

The department ice cream social started at 3pm today and went until 4:30pm.

Lucky for me, I had a meeting at 3pm and another one at 4pm.

When I jokingly asked Professor Dub if he was going to the ice cream social at the start of our meeting, he was very sweet.  He even offered to raid the fridge before our meeting so we could get bootleg ice cream.  He made a self-deprecating comment about too much ice cream and then proceeded to pause every 5 minutes to comment on how he'd make sure we left enough time for me to grab some.  He was good on his promise.  I had never loved Professor Dub more.

-----

At my 4pm meeting with Who, I had had my ice cream fix but was still very hungry.  Halfway through the meeting, I forget to hide my hunger and priorities.

Advisor Who: Did you get an invite in the mail?

Moi: No?

Advisor Who: It's for dinner with a candidate.  Are you free tomorrow?

Moi: Ooh, which restaurant is it?

(pause)

Moi: Wait, I mean, what candidate?

Advisor Who: (judgmental look)  Check your email.

Only in B'More

My newfound friend Merci had dinner with even newer found friends last night.  She saw a man looking for a dog on the street.  She drove the man around in her car to look for the dog.  They did not find the dog.  But the man and his wife invited her over for dinner.  A couple of days later, other people found the dog and returned it.  These are all things that will never happen in B'town.  

----

On Friday, I was walking along with Advisor Who, discussing the meeting we'd just had, when we bumped into Anders.  The three of us then stopped in the lobby to discuss.  It was a little bit of a Who's On First scenario.  For the purposes of this story, it's also worth pointing out that we're all Asian.  

Who: (to me) About our meeting at 2pm.  Are we meeting at 2pm?

Moi: I don't have a meeting with you.

Anders: We're meeting at 2pm.

Who: Oh right.

Moi: Did you just get your Asians confused?  That's quite racist.

Who: It's OK.  It's all in the family.

Anders: So I'll see you at 2pm?

Who: No, I'm going to be late.  I double booked.  

Keep B'More Weird

It's hard to choose a favorite picture from this morning's kinetic sculpture race (waterfront edition).  Weird and Charming Weekend in the city continued this morning, with a visit to the kinetic sculpture race, where we saw Harry Potter, Angry Bird, the Alice in Wonderland caterpillar, a platypus, a tank, a dinosaur, 2 Flintstone sets, 2 crabs, and lots of other randomness.  It was a perfectly sunny and funny Saturday morning, made all the more wonderful by how friendly everyone here is.  We cheered for every float that passed and yelled helpful tips along the way (watch out for the log, veer left, be careful of the wind) and cheered all the more when they made their turn and got back on land.  Laid back, goofy, and requiring a lot of engineering and navigational skills (not to mention physical endurance), this race is the exact opposite of playing Bananagrams for me, and thus the exact type of non-competitive race that I would both be terrible at and be very upset that people weren't more competitive.

In the end, Gene, Carrie, Michelle and I got tired and hungry and traded getting good tacos and juices in favor of watching the rest of the race finish on land and mud.  Even as I type, there's a little fair going on outside my apartment (I've got my headphones on because I can't listen to the traffic cop's whistles for another minute).  Summer has arrived in B'more in full force, and it's going to be one random activity after another until the leaves start falling.

Things Said Among Friends

(as a small group, we made 150 brown bags for a homeless outreach group last night)

Moi: Are these sandwiches going to be OK unrefrigerated overnight?  (I didn't have room for all 150 in my fridge)

Carrie: Yeah.  I've definitely had sandwich that was left out longer and survived.

Bing:  Plus, none of us will be there tomorrow when they eat it.  So it's OK.

---

(as evening dawned at the food truck fest)

Moi: You look really cold.  Do you want my jacket?

Sachini: No, that's OK.

Moi: Oh thank God, because I'm really cold, too.  

Free Hug Day

Tonight was an essence-of-Baltimore kind of night.  Sachini, Ilene, Alene, and I met up by the train station for a food truck gathering.  Because that totally makes sense.  And had all sorts of fun people watching moments.  Like the drunk 14 year old who tried to get Sachini and Ilene's number.

Ilene: I can't hear you, come closer.

Sachini: (I can hear you.  Go away.)

Or the guy Ilene went on a bad date with who pretended not to see her after she said hi.  (Also after she said, "Is that the guy I went on a bad date with?")

There was also the guy giving free hugs.  And lots of food trucks.  Though not Woody's Taco Truck.  Everyone kept talking about Woody's Taco Truck.  

There was also the random school bus selling vintage clothes next to all the food trucks.  But that's just how people roll in B'more.  I can't wait for the summer and the endless festivals.  Mostly though, I just can't wait to be done with homework.  It really is the worst.

Life Lesson #120

Mulch can kind of looks like pulled pork.  I just noticed that today.