Working Out

Shocking news, everyone, hold onto your seats as I share this nugget of wisdom: You can get so much more accomplished in a day if you don't go to work.

This morning, I showed up for jury duty, got orientated to our justice system, did some GRE exercises (I'm not getting better, but I am doing more... that's got to count for something, no?) was dismissed by said system, had lunch with Mother, went to the mall, bought new outfits, stopped by the farmer's market, and then the town library, and now I'm home to write about it all and it's not even dark out. I am so freakingly efficient when I'm not at work. Every day should be like this.

Duty Calls

I have jury duty tomorrow. Actually, I have standby jury duty tomorrow. I don't even get the real thing. Father suggested that I "dress like a high school kid." He thinks it'd help me not get picked. Just when I was convinced Mother was the whackest parent in the world, Father outdoes himself.

Pied Piper

I don't know how it happened. But during these last two months helping out with the church youth group, I have become a children magnet. They freaking love me. (OK, so the little boys only like playing at me because I die dramatically when they shoot me, but whatever) Not just the toddlers, but even the older kids. They come to me to tell on my youths. Yesterday, young Mary told me that my youth Jeannie was "mean to her." I thought it was the usual case of telling kids that they smelled or were stupid, funny stuff that I did all the time, but no, Jeannie has bested me in being an awesome influence over the grade school kids:

When Mary asked Jeannie why she was taking pictures of the group, Jeannie said: Because you're dying of cancer and we wanted to give you pictures of everyone so you can bring them to heaven with you.

(Who brings pictures to heaven?)

Faulty theology and damaging children with lies... I have no idea where she got any of this from. One last thing on kids: I wish I knew how to beat them. Whenever I fight with 5-year-old Timmy, I always lose. He throws bombs at me, I die, he laughs. I throw bombs at him, he says "water, water!" and lives. Then throws a grenade at me. Yesterday, I said "water, water!" and he threw back "scorpion rays" at me. What the freak are scorpion rays and how am I supposed to defend myself from them!?

Big Break

Whitecastle: Remember how their lawyers said everything was fine?

Moi: Wait, are you going to jail?

Whitecastle: No. And even if I were, you can't have my office.

Moi: You won't even be using it!

Totally not baking a shiv in his cake now. I was just asking after his future well being.

DocNice has the nicest anecdotes. If I ever write a book, I'm stealing all his stories. In the meantime, I'll post them here. DocNice was interviewing at a hospital. He was so confident of his performance that he actually told his wife that "the only way I'm not getting this job is if I vomit during [this final dinner with the division]." Oh, such famous last words, DocNice. He didn't vomit through dinner, he just bled. DocNice had the brilliant revelation that he should shave before dinner and cut his lip. Badly. So large was the gash that it would gush every time he removed his hand from it to answer a question. Schmoozing, answering questions, and eating dinner- perhaps the three hardest hardest things to do with blood running down your mouth. The lowest point, he said, came as he was midway through answering a question, another doctor cut him off from across the table to yell, "You've got to keep pressure on it!"

I think I've found my new catchphrase.

I Believe I Can

Fruit flies have invaded our office. I had considered their presence irksome until I had a flash of brilliance: a fly swatting contest (because, as always, competition makes life more fun. competition makes life worth living). It started on Wednesday as a tally of fly fatalities between Jen, Young Bo' and me, but soon Mandy and Doc Query wanted in on the fun. And what would fun be without nicknames, like "Slap Happy," "Argh," and "the Clapper"? However, one distressing note in the midst of all this fun- I am down by two flies. Young Bo' is apparently a fly magnet and I have yet to even tie her in the competition. Not being in the lead is not sitting well with me. Somebody send me some flies.

Bachelor of Arts, Master of None

Sister Claire is quite demanding about these blog posts.  Good thing I had one stashed away:

I am a terrible judge of "wouldn't hurt to ask" versus "might as well not say anything" moments.  A couple of weeks ago, I opted to not ask too many questions and something I kept silent about turned into an awkward situation for many.  Yesterday, I took the proactive, "I'm here to learn so there's no shame in asking" approach:

Moi: Are we using that starfish thing for the call? 

Whitecastle: Starfish?  (I could have sworn that was what it's called!)

Moi: The conference call thing.  Do I need to set anything up?

Whitecastle: You press "ON".

Moi: Oh.

(later, as the call ends…)

Moi: So now I press "OFF".

Whitecastle: And the light goes off.  See, if you press ON, the green light comes back.

Ah, the indignities.  At least the Chief thinks I'm a computer whiz...

Limerick, He/She Wrote

A few months ago, someone wrote a limerick about coffee and pasted it in place of the Nantucket Blend coffee label. Perfectly understated and random, the stunt inspired a thorough investigation on my part. Everyone I asked denied their part. Either because they really were innocent or because they were great liars. I can never tell. Probably because I'm so innocent and pure. I wrote a response limerick beseeching the secret poet to reveal his or her identity, but there was no response. A few weeks later, the same poet posted a lesser limerick about another flavor, but ignoring my piece, and the whole incident died down. Until today, when Jeremy once again suggested that I was behind the original stunt. It's either a brilliant diversion on his part- he was one of my first suspects- or he's really as intrigued by the anonymous limericks as I am. His logic, however, was slightly more flawed than mine:

Moi: I told you I didn't write it. I wrote the response limerick.

Jeremy: So?

Moi: So why would I write a response and sign it asking for the person to reveal their identity if I wrote the limerick myself?

Jeremy: To draw attention to the first poem. There was an episode of Murder, She Wrote on this. Really, it's just like the episode.

One for All

I am a consummate team player and lover of rules. I believe in waiting my turn, cheering for people who slow down the team ace (namely, me), saying please and thank you, and passing the cake around until everyone has a slice. It's unfortunate that not everyone was brought up as properly as I was. The misanthropic Whitecastle stopped halfway through cake passing today to grab a nice slice for himself.

Moi: You can't pick your own piece!

Whitecastle: (deadly glare)

Moi: I mean, erm, you can pick whatever you want.

Whitecastle: Listen, you're a little research assistant, you can't give me lip. My grants pay for your salary.

Moi: It's not very much money though.

Whitecastle: Yeah, my grants aren't very big...

Moi: I'd probably suck up more if the grants were bigger.

Whitecastle: You probably wouldn't get a raise even if the grants were bigger.

Work in Progress

The other day, I overheard a kid say "I actually go to school in Maine" and I must admit, my heart stopped a little when he said that. Then he revealed that he goes to UNE and I lost all interest in the conversation. One awesome thing about having a fellow Bo' alum in the office is that, though we didn't hang out for 4 years, we have automatic common ground. And I can continue learning exciting Bo' tidbits. Like how the school claims it was established in 1794 but classes didn't actually start until 1802. Life was pretty easy for the first few classes, I guess. The official explanation was that they spent all that time constructing the school. Now, this sounds like a perfectly reasonable explanation until you consider the fact that "the school" was just one building, Mass Hall. And as far as the architecture of the time goes, Mass Hall was neither exceptionally intricate or that well designed. Which means that the Bo's governing bodies were overpaid slackers from the very start. It's good to know that I at least have some constants to rely on.

In other news, I watched a reality show tonight in which a former anthropologist decided that anthropology was not the most useful field in life and took up specialty hula hooping instead. He then attempted to hula hoop a 50-pound tire for 45 seconds. He failed. Yet I'm almost tempted to follow in his footsteps. He's at least got a point about the social sciences.

Sun Never Sets

Almost forgot this little story until today. Like I said before, when our youth group was down at BP, we were paired with a group from North Carolina. After our night off, a couple of guys from the North Carolina group came back with "tattoos" they had gotten at Fanueil Hall, tattoos that they gladly showed off. They were matching Chinese characters and the guys were especially eager for our youth group to see it and give our approval.

NC Boy 1: What does this say?

Jeannie: English.

NC: What? The characters are in Chinese, right?

Jeannie: It says "English."

NC: What!? The guy said it says Power!

Moi: Well... it could also be the root word for bravery, or hero... but mainly it means British.

(later, we're going around the circle sharing our rose and thorn of the day, our high and low points...)

NC Boy 1 (dejectedly): Finding out that [this tattoo] says British hero when we thought it said power...

Oh, precious, precious white little suburban boys. You guys were awesome to spend a week with.

Crispy Days Ahead

Oh snap, crackle, and pop.

Sister Claire now knows my blog address. As do the fine, well-nourished folks at the SAS Institute. (Boosting the site meter hits from 0 to 2, I do believe) Good thing I never share anything embarrassing or incriminating... never.

Since I've spent most of my days of late cursing at both the quantitative and verbal reading comp sections of the GRE (I still don't understand. I am perfectly literate, why are those sections so stupid?) and then twiddling my thumbs in front of the TV instead of doing anything about my GRE scores, I don't have very many stories to share. Except that it only takes my dad 5 minutes to wash his hair in the sink, dry off, then change. He's not a speedy man, he just doesn't have a lot of hair.

Oh, and yesterday, after much running and panting to catch the T, I settled into my seat only to discover that there were not one but two pregnant women standing in front of me. What were the chances that there two women, both bearing child, traveling separately, on the same train, and both standing in front of me? This is why I avoid eye contact on the train.

School of Rock

Three small slices of my great, big life.

Riles emailed me about a folk-pop singer-songwriter.  And because I actually trust her taste, I gave the guy a listen.  I don't like it when professors (former professors?  who are these people to me?) are more hip than I am.  In fact, they are one of those few groups I'm supposed to be able to rely upon to always be cooler than.  I don't have much in life, professors, don't take this away from me, too.

Is there a greater indignity than having to stop a 15-year-old boy from flirting with you?  ("How old are you?"  "15."  "How old do you think I am?"  "19."  "I am so much older than that, please stop talking to me."  "I don't believe you.")  This didn't happen to me, but I overheard on the train.  The poor lady was so exasperated.  And it was just the type of funny misery I needed to witness this morning.

I continue to marvel at the insane mind of Sister Claire.  Walked into a conversation today in which she was discussing the Stepford nature ofthe  employees at the SAS Institute (for the non-nerds, SAS is an statistical analysis program):  "I bet they all pack the same lunch, eat the same sandwich- tuna with lettuce on rye."  Heh.  That's as good as 'telling details' get.  PuMan and Walty would be so proud.

Amicable Split from Meaning

This morning on the trolley ahead of ours, a man had a heart attack.  That was the sort of sad part.  The not-sad part was that our car was delayed as we waited for the ambulance to arrive.  The conductor thanked everyone for our patience and for taking the T.  Everyone groaned and murmured.  Then, a few minutes later, the conductor's voice came on again and he prefaced his next statement with an apology.  This led to more groans.  It was rush hour.  We were crowded.  Delayed.  And testy.  But he said this: "Attention passengers, due to budget cuts in the system, we will not be serving any snacks or beverages during the delay."  It's amazing how those words can make a whole train laugh.

From the Annals of Words I Shouldn't Have Spoken:

"I can't find my key but I have to go.  I'm just going to leave things unlocked.  Can you guys just not steal my stuff?  Thanks."

(earlier, discussing potential new projects)
Whitecastle: See, this is what happens when you hang out with me and NiceDoc, you get sucked into these things.

Moi: Oh, I'm not hanging out with you guys.  This is my job.

Whitecastle: [Deadly glare]

Things Old People Should Not Be Allowed to Do

1. Carry the groceries by themselves.
2. Buy clothes for their grandchildren.
3. PDA on the T

Definitely not PDA on the T.  Had I had a bigger breakfast this morning, I would have puked a dozen times by now.  In fact, I feel like eating something right now just so I would puke, but that sounds bulimic and disturbing in a whole other way.  There was an old couple next to me this morning ("How old?""White hair old.""Oh, that's old.), much older than parents-old and not even good looking, too.  They looked frail and wore plaid.  Things started out cute as they held hands and talked about how glad they were to be taking the T together this morning, but very quickly progressed to annoying when they kissed goodbye at least half a dozen times when the man had to get off and it all went toward the realm of "my eyes cannot be glued to the Metro enough and I want to gouge them out then burn them just to make sure I really can't see anymore" when she (sitting) kept rubbing her palms over his (standing) butt.  And stroking his leg.  And - and- I don't even think I'm old enough to have witnessed that.

I Before E

Someone spelled my name wrong today. My first name. This happens so rarely I thought it deserved its own entry. How is a person who spells my name wrong allowed to make more money than I am?

A Transcript of My Mother's Conversation with a Rabbit in Our Backyard as She is Chopping Food in Our Kitchen

Bam Bam, you have to move. Move. Like that rabbit in Bambi, isn't its name Bam Bam? Don't you know that we have hawks here. You have to move...

Stupid rabbit. Move. Get out of our yard. People will eat you if you don't learn how to move. (Switching to English now) Move, move, Bam Bam...

We have coyotes, too. Rabbits should hope, Bam Bam. Jump! They sell rabbit at the grocery store. That's what happens when you don't move.

How are you such a lazy rabbit? Are you made out of plastic? (Taps window) Are rabbits hard of hearing?

Go Home Again Part II

Tween Brat 2: Do you have a job yet?

Moi: What do you mean? I've had a job for over a year.

Tween Brat 2: Oh. But is it a real job or part time?


Palm in slap-ready position, waiting for the go ahead.

All Americans Slurpee

Yesterday was free slurpee day at 7-11. For absolutely nothing, each person got to have a 7.11 oz of the slurpee of your choice for free. And because the stores didn't advertise it with banners, there was nary a queue. God, I love 7-11.

Zvi and I picked up our slurpees after lunch. To be honest, I don't think I'd ever bought a slurpee at 7-11. Or if I did, it was at least 15 years ago. When I was still in Sri Lanka. But I liked how it was just understood that we'd get slurpees. And how even though we talked it up so much, we were both surprised that it was carbonated.

Around 2PM, bored at work (why, I never), my mind started craving another slurpee but oddly, my stomach told me to hold still. I asked if Zvi's stomach was also sending him signals. His was not, he said. But his Japanese co-worker's was. Perhaps it's an Asian thing, he suggested. And so, like the good researcher that I am, I set out to investigate the matter and recruited whoever I could. Unfortunately, all I could manage to round up was an Inuit, a Pakistani, and a Chinese kid, like the setup of some bad joke. Even more unfortunate was that the Pakistani and Chinese kid had never had a slurpee. That would've been OK had they not spent a few minutes in the store sampling each flavor, comparing notes, frowning their brows and puckering their lips to deliberate the full flavorfication of each one. As if there were differences beyond color among the slurpees. Some people just don't get the spirit of free slurpee day.

You Can Go Home Again

Bloody bratty children (and some cute) have taken over my house.

Tween Brat 1: Were you here the last time I was here?

Moi: Um, I live here.


God, I need to move out. Soon. (Also need a new pair of knees. Cannot crawl on the floor chasing cars with little boys like I used to. My joins are sore all over.)

Mother of Pearl

I know that many people in the world think that their mom is crazy. And given the prevalence of mental illness in our society, I'd say that yes, maybe some of their moms really are crazy. But my mom takes absurdity to a whole new level.

Last night, I went to the bathroom to wash up and discovered the counter to be newly cleaned, so clean in fact, that my toothbrush was not in the holder where it's supposed to be. Yet it took five minutes of debating just to point out to Mother that my toothbrush really was missing. After which you said, "Oh, the orange one? I didn't think anyone was using it so I put it back." Into the linen closet. She'd somehow assumed that someone had unwrapped a new toothbrush, put it into the holder, and dutifully turned and wet it every night without actually using it. And concluded that the only right thing to do was to put it back into the closet.

The adventures continued when I put away the brush and rinsed my mouth with mouthwash... which tasted unusually bland. I asked Mother if she had put water in the mouthwash, but fully expected her to yell at me for being paranoid. Much to my surprise, I was right. Mother really did pour water into the mouthwash. A lot of water. "I was afraid it tasted too spicy" was her explanation. That tingling feeling is sort of the point of mouthwash, Mother.

------
Lying about how much she misses me...

Mother: When you were away at college, I sat on the stoop and cried each day for four years.

Moi: Why'd you have to sit outside to cry?

Mother: To be a little closer to you.

It Mainly Rains

Heard the distant din of public announcement speakers at work today and, hoping to see some splashy disaster below (helicopters, police escorts, and Santa Clauses are not uncommon in our parts), I looked out my window to check out the commotion.  Turned out, a press conference was right happening downstairs, complete with podium, TV cameras, and a modest crowd.  Mandy and I decided that snooping was more fun than endless Excel tables and pressed against the glass to make out what's going on below us.

Moi: They don't have anything free except fliers… wait, is that Tom Menino?
Mandy: That's who I thought, too.  That tent says 'Healthy' something.  I can't make it out.

(Spotting the mayor on the first try- I'm a regular ol' Bobby G!)

A little googling online confirmed that it was indeed Tom Menino, unveiling a new campaign called Healthy Main Streets.  That, and foam dolls that can be traded in for prizes.  No, I don't pretend to understand the ways of Thomas Menino.  And why he chose to announce this venture in front of my office building, which, as Mandy pointed out, is mostly characterized by the giant intersection that daily threatens our lives and a dearth of shops and restaurants as compared to surrounding neighborhoods.

Sister Claire (who fetched her glasses just so she could snoop in Elaine's empty cubicle): Promote local shopping?  There are no shops here.

Moi: That was my first reaction, too!  (We've got Stop & Shop, Walgreen's, 7-11, and that's it)  But Mandy pointed out the [weekly] farmer's market.  Except you have to cross the street to get there.  And I'm afraid of the intersection.

The Most Wasted Day

Beware of the friends you make.  Jen One is spending this weekend doing whacky wedding things with her friends.  Jen Two is spending it on the Cape, where her friend has a house.  And my friends?  They invited me down to Dorchester so I could help them move.  To the third freaking floor of an elevator-less triple decker.  I tried to time my arrival close to lunch and succeeded in missing most of the work involving couches and dressers, but Katie and Liz, they're greedy little hoarders and had plenty else for me to move.  Not that I did a spectacular job of helping.  I don't know if you've noticed, but other than that move-3-person-backseat-into-the-van-unaided incident, I don't use my physical strength for much.  I generally let other people do the heavy lifting and just touch my hands on the couch so it looks like I'm helping.  But that plan doesn't really work when you're moving a mattress/dresser/heavy box with only 2 people.  So it was yesterday, the moons aligned perfectly to form that rare occasion where I did not automatically ace whatever task was handed me.  Instead, there was a lot of trapping myself between shelf frames, panting, and scratching hard wood floors.  Now if you'll excuse me, I must search for friends to trade up.  Preferably one with a roomy beach house and ski lodge in Aspen.  And moving companies.  Keep your ears open, will ya?

 

PS. The title is not a commentary on the day, dumbass. 

Paragon of Professionalism

Last month, fellow Bo' alum Elaine started working in our division and just this week, we had a second new kid, Uzi. This means that I'm no longer the newest and dumbest kid at work. Instead, I have people to instruct. Earlier today, I suggest that Whitecastle stop by Uzi's desk. Unfortunately, Uzi was not there.

Whitecastle: Did you not explain to him that he can't ever leave his desk in case I ever stop by?

Moi: He's entitled to two minutes, it's his birthday today!

Whitecastle: That doesn't matter. You can't leave your desk. See, Elaine? She's sitting at her desk. Perfect. And what are you doing? (standing in the hallway talking to him) Why aren't you-

Moi: I was checking- I'm standing here talking to-

Whitecastle: What kind of example are you setting for these RAs?

I had been so good, and talking back so much less all summer long. And with one empty seat, Uzi brought back the hard times. Damn you, Uzi. His desk wasn't the only place he was absent from today. Being good-natured welcoming folks, we thought it'd be nice, in honor of his first week, that all of us lowly RAs got together and had lunch. We all grabbed our brown bags and headed downstairs... until we realized that Uzi was nowhere to be found. We kept searching through lobbies and Stop&Shop check out lines ("he couldn't have gotten lost... could he? we're just one floor up from the store, where could he be?"), and finally, we placed a call upstairs for help.

Moi: [The secretary] said he's sitting alone in the conference room.

Jen: Why would he do that? Did he not know that we're coming downstairs?

Elaine: ... I don't think anyone told him.

Welcome to the working world, kid. The Faculty better not like you better.

Personal Prayer

Dear God:
Wearing a raincoat everyday is getting tired. Could you do something about this? Thanks.

Dry and Drab

Reason #4496 Why I Love My Small College

One word: gossip. The Bo', like many other small, tight-knit campuses, was a place where everyone knew everyone else's business. That's pretty annoying when things go wrong, misunderstandings arise, relationships break, and people you didn't even know are telling stories that aren't true about you. Even someone as boring as myself has experienced that and it's pretty frustrating. But when you're not in the midst of anything, talking about people can be downright delightful. Having graduated, I relish the opportunities to sit down with my Bo' friends and catch up on the statuses of our acquaintances because there just isn't that much to talk about regarding our other friends (talking about them too much can seem malicious), but with a small campus- we have dozens of people who are built-in conversation starters, like a set of soap opera characters ready at our disposal. They're together? Does he know about it? Scandalous! Tell me more!

----
Queen's English

Australian Faculty Member: I don't want to be a bullfly at a Christmas party on the beach, but...

The Entire Division: (confused silence)

Youths of Summer

This picture did not turn out as well as I'd expected. But when Victoria was taking it, I felt like it was going to be my new favorite picture because the moment seemed so perfect. I was with my youth group, during a night off at the Boston Project, and we were heading for dinner when along the way, we spotted fountains and little kids running through them. Naturally, we took of our shoes and followed suit. Here we are, just lying around, waiting for the sun to dry us off before walking to dinner. If I ever tell you I can't hang out with you during the weekend, it's because I'm with my youth group.

Little Victories

Dear Lady Trying to Buy An Entire House Through the 12 Items or Less Line at Stop & Shop:
  No.  No.  No.  Bad lady, bad. 

Sincerely,

Just My Soup and Me



Whitecastle is a bad Canadian.  He doesn't know that there are grades to maple syrup.  I am not a bad Canadian.  I vaguely know about grades and color.  I remembered my New England field trip to the sugar tapping place much better than he did his Canadian one.  It's too bad, however, that I did not yet comprehend English on my 4th grade field trip.  The entire experience was lost on me.  I remember big troughs of syrup.  I remember drinking syrup.  I remember later that day, trying to explain to my parents what I saw ("something apple-y" was the best I could come up with), them consulting with each other, and then explaining to me that what I saw had nothing to do with apples-- the word was "maple" syrup.  I had forgotten that story and never told it until today.  Now that I think about it, it's pretty amusing.  Most of fourth grade went by in that same blur.  I was taken to places I did not know and told things I could not repeat.  Even going on each field trip was a genuine surprise because I had no idea what anyone around me was saying, and no one ever broke things down enough for me.  And nothing my parents said ahead of time ever prepared me for the experiences-- Plymouth Plantation, Wolf Hollow, maple tapping-- even if they did tell me ahead of time (I seriously don't think they told me about most field trips), my little life in Taipei held no reference points to those things. 

The Short List

Three things I hate the most right now.

1. Reading comp.

2. Pressing 1 to speak with a customer service representative.

3.

I can't actually muster enough hate to list a third item. All my contempt is being directed at the first two. I get speechless trying to describe how much I hate them because my rage occludes all rational thought and I just want to punch things instead of verbalize my feelings. But for continuity's sake, I will list a third but far more distant hate. It's more an annoyance than anything:


1. Reading comp.

2. Pressing 1 to speak with a customer service representative.

3. Knowing I can do a better job than someone else but not having the chance to prove it.

Crazy/Beautiful

The weather here has been hella wild lately. Earlier this week, it was hailing (above) and now it's thundering like mad. As for the picture below- I found this little severed head on my desk this morning. (Note the red along the neck, what details!) I can't remember any of the why/what/how behind this, or if there was a body that went along with it. But it does look like something I might have done in my younger days...

The Call

Beware of not having plans for Saturday evenings. Beware also of picking up the phone before you're quite awake on Saturday morning. Then telling people about your lack of plans. You may find yourself agreeing to speak at your old church later in the evening. As I may have done today... it was weird being back in the youth room. All the youths- who I used to babysit, kids I literally watched growing up, those I knew as toddlers and elementary school kids, were now stretched out- their faces and bodies odd distortions of their former little selves. I sought refuge and chatted with the eldest amongst them, who I also babysat, and who were all the youngest siblings of my friends. At least I could name those kids. Some of the younger ones didn't even know who I am. I guess this is what it feels like to be old.

No Spring Chicken

Spent a few days this week with the Boston Project and my youths. As usual, it was great to be back in Dorchester. It was hard, it was familiar, and it was very rewarding. It also made me feel incredibly old. I was older than many staff members (now "instructors") and that's just not right. We were grouped with a church from North Carolina. One kid in the group divided whoever he could get into 2 rival "gangs" and tagged the unfortunates with magic marker- AquaMice and Pollo Verde (quite ironically, I had forbidden my youths from using the word gangster for the week...). I accidentally joined Pollo Verde when I stuck out my arm because I thought we were all playing a game. Turns out the guys were showing their "tattoos." And I got inked. Which wouldn't have been so bad had I not had to go back to work the next day. Let me tell you, buyers of permanent marker, you get your money's worth because that stuff is hard to get off. The faded chicken on my arm plus my paint-stained finger nails all looked great for our epi meeting.

Water into Whine

Yesterday, I was trying to make Liz see that between of the two of us, I was clearly the better youth leader of the duo. Unfortunately, the youths were not participating...

Moi: Check this out- what book of the Bible have we been studying all summer?

The Girls: (in unison, too) John.

And that's where I should have stopped. But I was trying to make a point to Liz.

Moi: And what lessons have we been learning?

(pause)

Girl: ... that Jesus is awesome?

Shame. Shame. For those keeping score, that's Liz: 1, Moi: 0, and My Youths: -4966

Bashful Birthdays

Woke up this morning and felt like watching the excesses of Super Sweet Sixteen. To my great disappointment, the show just doesn't feel like what it used to be. I sped through half a dozen episodes and there were no tantrums. Friends, parents, events coordinators, and birthday child all got along swimmingly. What happened, MTV? Who wants to watch ridiculous and grateful children? I want to see the ridiculous and hateful.

My disappointments with rich 16 year olds across the country made me want to make some banana popsicles. So I did (above). What's that? They're the most amazing banana popsicles you have ever seen? I know. I have magical fingers. If I didn't want to change the world and save lives, I'd probably be happy as a caterer. I love serving people and delegating. Speaking of birthdays, my mom had one this week and this is what I got her:

You can send that "Best Daughter of the Year" award right on over.

Three Idling Thoughts

Dear Cyclists:
I don't want to hit you. Don't make it so hard for me not to.


Dear Aggressive Driver:
I don't mind that you go ahead of me. I do mind that you nearly kill me in the process. I don't know if anyone has told you lately, but I have a lot to live for.


Dear Radio:
For the love of God, no sudden noises. Especially car honking. It freaks the bejeebus out of me.



Sincerely,
I'd-Rather-Ride-A-Bike-But-I-Have-A-Feeling-I'd-Die-Even-Sooner-That-Way

Pooped Scooper

Last autumn, I was fit for about three glorious months. I exercised regularly and slept well. It was probably the three best months my body had had for years. That all went downhill when I visited Taiwan and was greeted by a stupendous wealth of culinary delights and lost all motivations for good health. Ever since then, I have just been spiraling out of shape. And we arrive at today. When my hands are sore from scooping ice cream. Moments like this make me wonder if I will ever be healthy again.

In other news, Punty's little sister's dance extravaganza was fabulous. And scandalous, too, because hair and makeup never showed up. Hair and makeup not showing up for a dance recital with half a dozen costume changes.... that's akin to the caterer not showing up for a wedding. Or perhaps the bride. Props to Punty's whole family for their forced smiles and composure and not letting on that they are going to seek vengeance and retributions from the makeup lady to the 6th generation.

What does it say about the Monday I've had if I looked to golf scores online to get me through the day?

Power of One

Tonight is Punty's little sister's huge recital extravaganza. And though I have no words of wisdom to offer this young graduate, I am attending because I do love me some dance, free food, and hanging out with Punty. Earlier today, I went to the bookstore so to pick up a gift (so it wouldn't be so transparent that I don't actually know Kitty and really went to gawk and eat). She loves history and fantasy. And she's a second generation immigrant. What better book then, than Maxine Hong Kingston's Woman Warrior? At the big chain bookstore, I ask the lady where I would find Woman Warrior and Oliver Sacks' books- to my surprise, the lady didn't recognize either and had to search through the computer. After making sure that the book was in store, we set off on our search. And landed in the Asian History section. Close, but not quite. She radioed someone on her walkie talkie for help.

"We're in Asian History, where is Asian American studies?" A long pause. Static cackles.

And then we hear, "Asian American studies?"

"Yes." Another pause.

"That's like one book!" Ah, thank you helpful bookstore employee. Later, we were told by yet another clerk that the Asian American section was somewhere between the African American studies and Latino studies shelves ("sometimes, they're just stuck randomly in there"). Of course, it is.

Bad and Ugly Need Not Apply

Sometimes, Father likes to evoke more gravitas than the situation warrants. Last night, I watched the 1st half of the game with him, yelling and cheering, but mostly wincing, and upset at the Celtics for the way they played. But being lame, I had to go to bed early while he watched the rest of the game. This morning, I found a note from him lying atop my computer:

Good Returned, Good Won.

Dramatic much, Father? But also one of the best news to wake up to on a a Friday morning.

Yet the Sides Are Two

Doors are not complicated constructions. They either open or close. I have witnessed the ancient structures of Asia and Europe, some thousands of years old, and many of them had doors. So I don't understand why the MBTA can't seem to figure doors out. Sometimes, they're jammed against the platform (and we all have to shift to the left side of the train to offset the weight), sometimes the back ones fail to open, and a few times this week, doors couldn't close. On Tuesday, I was late to work when I thought I'd be early because for thirty minutes, we stood there as the technicians did everything they could to close the door. There was shutting the train on and off, and a lot of tugging, but the doors wouldn't budge. And finally we couldn't wait anymore and had to take a different line. At least the MBTA wheels are still round and rolling.

The IT Girl

Co-worker Jen and I have the same initials (not middle). In fact, we have the same last name. But Jen went to MIT and I did not. And Jen possesses great computer and web skills that I do not have. This combination led Jen to have the distinction of being the go-to junior IT person in the division. A distinction that I again did not have. Life surprises you with treats like that sometimes. For all her hard work and expertise, Jen constantly had people approaching her with computer problems, most of them stupid, while I blissfully went about my business. Until 2 weeks ago. Something (again, we don't know what) snapped in the Chief and he has changed course in his technology consulting. All the questions now somehow come to me and I have no idea what he bases his claims that I'm a "whiz with computers" on. I mean, I know I created the best PowerPoint presentation of a car crash, ever, but that hardly qualifies me. I was convinced that he meant to ask Jen one time and is just too stubborn to switch back now, but as the days go by and questions mount, I'm starting to doubt that hypothesis. And now I'm fixing upgrade glitches and modifying settings and hooking up email accounts, all the while clueless to what I'm actually doing. I don't know how long I have to keep this charade up. I'm about to crack under pressure.

Maine

The commute going by too fast because you're absorbed in a good book. Eating roast duck breast while catching up with your friend from 6th grade. Then going home, putting on sweats, watching an old DVD, and cuddling under a fleece blanket while it's 90 degrees outside- because the central air is once again working- this is the way life should be.

Tevye Like It Is

Dear God, you made many, many poor people. I realize, of course, that it's no shame to being poor. But it's no great honor, either. What would've been so terrible if- my AC wasn't broken today?

Footballer's Sons

Go Celtics. I don't know how other cities do it, but North Station in Boston is connected to the Garden, which means that on days like these, the place has an interesting mix of weary commuters in our proper jackets and shoes, and rowdy sports fans clapping and whooping through the corridors. Most days, I find them obnoxious, but tonight, I'm just excited for the Celts.

Mini Chief, who's not quite mini, is from Germany. And though he speaks excellent English and has produced 6 American children, he is still thoroughly German, especially when it comes to sports.

Mini Chief, on his growing son: He'll be perfect for football. He's going to be tall, and big, too. It's too bad he can never play American football because I can't explain it to him.

Another Day

I don't know what makes this woman tick.

Mother: You don't need an umbrella?

Moi: No, I'm wearing my raincoat.

Mother: Aren't you afraid the rain will ruin it?

Moi: No... because it's a raincoat. (One from "The the Bean" at that.)

Mother: You should be careful with it. It's new.

Chain Reaction

Frustrated with lots of stuff today, I came up with a brilliant solution for it all: getting a kid so I can have someone to yell at. I'm surprised that I didn't think of this sooner. I realized that the Chain of Screaming ends with me from many different sources and thus to remedy that, I must get a small child that cannot talk back. Yes, I must produce a mute child or at least a very slow learner. It's the only way to vent. Jen suggested being a boot camp instructor but that seems like a path of many resistance. Training myself physically and then quitting my minimum wage job just to take on another one at a boot camp... it all seems like a lot of work when I can just have a kid. The timing is right and everything.

On My Good Side This Week: Pork. The weather. Google.

On My Bad Side: Vowels and other low score letters. Insurance companies. Citations.

Not My Job

Hee. Wienerschnitzle.

Earlier today, I followed a few of our doctors around the division and took pictures as they prepared different poses. They are for an article one of them is writing. Yesterday, I googled people for Doc Query. And tomorrow, I will sit at our chief's desk and figure out Thunderbird for him. Thank the good Lord for my Bo' education, for that honors thesis, and all those years of lab.

(Lest anyone from work ever read this, I should point out that I also got to sit in on an investigators' meeting yesterday and witnessed experts advise on a trial I'm helping with. And today, I sat with 2 doctors as we brainstormed an idea I came up with. Not a bad week.)

My name has 3 letters. But starting a few weeks ago, our chief decided to abbreviate that to just my initials in his emails. And this week, he dropped yet another letter. Now I only have one left. Maybe when he runs out, he'll stop asking me IT questions I can't answer? One can only hope. (Just as I'm the default coolest kid in the office because of the small sample size, I also seem to be the default person to ask when it comes to web/computer things. Both very unfortunate assumptions on the part of the division.)

Until We Meat Again

It's been awhile since I bragged about my culinary prowess, which is unfortunate, because I am quite awesome. Allow me to present my latest conquest: a 9-pound beast of a pork shoulder. Nine pounds. That's bigger than a baby!

Poncho La Vie

This is a story that shall go into the annals of great embarrassments. A story that I feel privileged to have heard, though second hand. Yesterday, Dwight was confused why Jackie had a skirt around her neck (she didn't, it was a scarf; boys are deaf) when Katie shared this delicious anecdote. She had a friend, let's call her Jane, who had a sister who studied abroad. While Jane's sister was abroad, she sent Jane a box of clothes and Jane delighted in wearing said clothes, including in particular, a poncho, which she wore several times in the six months her sister was gone. In fact, she liked it so much that she wore it when her sister visited after returning from abroad. Her sister took one look at her and said, "Jane, why are you wearing my skirt like that?"

These Words Are Not Mine

Totally slipped today and yo'd Whitecastle, as in, "Have a goodnight, yo." I caught myself half way and sort of mumbled the end, so it sounded more like "Have a goodnight, you." I believe that makes it more awkward, not less. If only I could translate my awkwardity into a marketable skill. I'd swim in coins a la McDuck.

And that wasn't even the dumbest thing that I committed today. I was in the medical library today when all the sudden, two clicks came over the PA system-- the PA system that no one even knew the library had-- so everyone knew it had to be important. "Attention library patrons," and imagine my surprise when they announced my name. Well, almost my name. There was a "Doctor" before it (I must admit, it sounded very nice). They uttered the page twice. First, I thought it was a funny coincidence. Then I realized that they wanted me and started freaking out. What could be so important that I'd need to be paged to the front desk? Not email. Not cellphone. They had somehow tracked me down into the library? Then the librarian announced that my ID was at the Circulation Desk. All fears fled at that moment and mortification set in as I made the walk of shame down and everyone that saw me along the way smirked, knowing exactly who I was. Well, almost exactly. They think I'm a doctor. (It's because of my hospital badge, though anyone who actually works there would know with one glance that I'm staff, not doctor)

Magical Flute

Oh, Leon Leonwood. Your clothes are not cheap. And quite often, they're not very pretty. But they sure are sturdy (and they keep you warm in Maine, a magical land where there's no stigma attached to wearing winter coats). Whne they're not sturdy, L.L. Bean has just about the greatest customer service in the world. They'll mend, replace, or exchange items for you simply because they care. A couple of weeks ago, I had a raincoat that I love, one of those few things from the Bean that actually looks good, that needed some fixing. The waterproof material was stripping away on the hood, so I asked the good folks in Freeport to take a look. Sadly, they could not fix it, but offered me store credit to replace it. Actually, the guy offered me more than credit. I had bought the raincoat on sale at an outlet store, but he knowingly offered me full price so I could have an easier time finding a comparable coat. My knees buckled a little when he did that. In a world where I'm constantly put on hold trying to talk to a live person, it's refreshing that Leon and his descendants are so decent.

Taxi Driver

It happened again. I was walking out of the T station, at least three other East Asians in front of me, when I was pulled over by a lost old man. Do you speak Chinese, he asked. And well, I do. At least three others in front of me.

I later relayed this story to coworker Joyce (at a not-at-all-awkward work function), who sometimes receives my emails and vice versa, and she told me that she's never been asked that question, ever, in all her commuting days. Joyce is at least 10 years more Taiwanese than I am. People apparently think she's Japanese. Sensing my exasperation, Joyce tried to comfort me by saying that perhaps it's my friendly face that makes people ask me. And that she thinks I look more like an ABC. Neither of those tidbits were actually comforting.

Now for the last time, white people, I am proud of my heritage and happy with my looks. I am just puzzled as to why I look more Chinese than anyone I know. And extremely annoyed that my face seems to say "A Hearty Welcome to You and Your Family from Your Local Chinese Reception Committee Representative. "

One Day at a Time

Lately, I feel like I've been exclaiming "what the hell?" and "what is wrong with you?" a lot.  Neither are very original and I'm trying to cut the habit.  Last week, I only got to Monday without asking either of those two questions (Mack truck hitting your car does that to you).  And this week, with the long weekend, I managed to get to Tuesday before I asked those 2 questions many, many times.  Here's looking at a new week. 

Also, I'm driving and walking around fine, but cars freak me out a little now.  Funny how accidents do that to you.

Class Act

The BP staff has a bad habit of looking like college catalogs whenever they/we hang out. We didn't even do this on purpose. This post actually isn't about these folks, 3 of whom I'd met for the first time on Saturday night. This is about the before. When D-Bomb, Kat, and I attended to a wedding of another BP vet. We were dressed much classier than these folks and had an awesome time laughing at the wedding. Then came the reception and little plates of salad. Everyone around us, it seemed, ate theirs with ease. But we couldn't figure out how to eat the little cherry tomatoes. Well, we saw that Amy ate hers with her fingers. And her boyfriend Phillip, who we'd just met, awesomely reached over Amy to eat cucumbers off of D-bomb's plate. It was the funniest and most impudent moves I'd seen in a long time. Without a word to anyone, he just reached over while D-Bomb and Amy were talking and started eating cucumbers.

Moi: How did they all eat the tomatoes? She even cut hers.

D-Bomb: I think you scoop it? Or maybe stab it with a fork.

Moi: I tried to stab it, but it ended up shooting a cucumber off of my plate. It may have fallen into Kat's purse, 'cause I don't see it on the floor. But I don't see it there, either. I think it just disappeared.

(hours later)

Kat: Why is there a cucumber in my purse?

------
(A man after my own heart...)

Nithin: I grew up in the suburbs. I am token.

Moi: Me too! And I went to school in Maine.

Nithin: I went to Montana.

Moi: Then I studied abroad in Scotland.

Nithin: I went to northern Ireland.

Total Recall

Here's Hoping

After a moderate day of work, ever get the urge to just stand up in your cubicle and dance?  Having a hard time containing myself from doing an all-out-crazy-funk-lap-around-the-cube-victory dance right now.  Nothing to celebrate, except that the work day is almost done.

There Will Be Rain

For the past four days, the weather sites have been telling me that there is a chance of rain. Thus for the past four days, I have been wearing my new raincoat everywhere, including the wreckage of a car and the emergency room. So far, nothing. Rain is again expected for tomorrow so I shall don my raincoat again. But I'm really tired of being looked at as the crazy child with the rain gear when everyone else is out in t-shirts.

Proof of Life

I keep promising you posts but life keeps getting ahead of me. Exercise, insurance forms, relationships, GRE drills, oh crap, Friday night lessons... there are a lot of things I have to deal with right now. So all I can share with you was the warm welcome I got today, returning to work after my accident yesterday:

Nice Doc: Limbs all there. She looks fine to me.

Whitecastle: I know. Dump truck my ass.

Do Not Try This At Home

Earlier today, my car got hit by a truck and tonight, I helped my parents move their bed. They got a new one, so the old one went to the guest room and the guest room bed went downstairs to be given away. (I just squished a bug with my fingers, but when I went to flick it off of my fingers, I couldn't find it. Where did you go, bug?) All very complicated. In the midst of it though, my parents' old mattress was stripped and laid on the floor for about half an hour- perfect time for me to hop on and jump. Jump. Then jump some more. Until bursts of pain shot through my neck. Turns out, mattress jumping exacerbates neck sprain. Now we know.

Objects in Mirror

I don't know why this picture is fuzzy. This is not my picture. But this is very similar to the truck that hit me this morning.

Crushed

My car was hit by a truck this morning. And after everything was taken care of and we went out for brunch, they ran out of corned beef hash. Not sure what crushed me more. OK, fine, corned beef hash. Will tell you more about everything soon. In the meantime, I'm OK.

Drinking Time Together

Went up to Bo'. Came down. And I'll tell you all about it in the morning, but right now, I think spending the weekend there may have worsened my attitude toward work and nostalgia for Maine-- a nostalgia for careless sunny afternoons on the quad and all sorts of other things that don't happen on typical Bo' days, but whatever, memories are selective and stubborn. Bed, I'm ready for you.

That is the Question

Discussing who to eat dinner with…

Moi: What about Amos?

TC: Um, he has TB.

Moi: Wait, why is he still on campus?

TC: The question is, why is he still working at the café?

Moi: Don't all FOBs have that TB shot? (I have it!)  I thought he'd still be allowed to hang out.  Aye still saw people when he had TB.

TC: Yeah, he doesn't seem to know what he has or its implications, so we don't really know…

Oh, Amos.  It's been too long since we've had lunch.  Can't wait to go up.

Port is Near

Commencement is next week. Everyone who is anyone is going to be there, especially a sizable chunk of my class. Which is why I'm going up to the Bo' this weekend. Hooray for my inflexible schedule. The same flawless logic also led me to miss homecoming but hey, some Bo' is better than no Bo' at all. And next weekend will be so commencement-centric that I won't get to enjoy B-wick as much as I would this weekend (so I tell myself). Enjoying brunch after breakfast, relying on my friends to drive me around, being at a place I know inside out- where people say hi to you by name- it'll just be like the old times.

In other news, Dr. Bob shares an office with Dr. Tall. At least he did until today. When he decided to take up the empty cubicle next to me. Many people passed him in the hall today and said, oh why, Dr. Bob? Why are you out here with the plebeians? And Dr. Bob explained that he had a very nasty cold and did not want to get Dr. Tall sick. Which is why he chose instead of park his stuff next to my cubicle. Where there are no doors to keep away the germs. Thanks, Dr. Bob. You are a considerate soul.

Day by Day

Today, I spotted a little snake, was whacked on the head by a stranger, alienated half of the library with my squeaky sneakers, and killed a lot of trees. What did you do with your day, hotshot?

Enabler II

I just brushed my teeth and was about to go upstairs and prepare for bed when my dad came by and handed me a plate of sliced guava. And there's no way you can say no to that. Not those little pink things, either. I'm talking a real guava, almost like ones we have in Taiwan, big, white, and firm. $4.90/lb. Really no freaking way to say no.

PS. I love friends who IM facebook links so the two of us can make fun of a profile together. Thank God for this newfangled technology that brings people together.

5 W's and an H

From the Annals of WTF, Mate? A couple of stories that beg questions...

1. The express train I was riding on tonight did not feel very express. In fact, it was very, very slow because earlier this afternoon, some vandals had decided to steal some signaling wire.

2. Yesterday, we took mother out for a mother's day lunch. We were seated. Settled in. Said grace. Then went up to serve ourselves at the buffet. When we came back, we were very surprised to see people who were not us sitting at our table. The mistake would have been vaguely understandable had the hostess not seated us just 3 minutes earlier, and had my fleece not been on the back of my former chair. It astounds me how both hostess and patrons just accepted the presence of my jacket and sat down.

Mother of Invention

Why is it that other people's moms' irratic ways always seem funnier and less frustrating than mine?  Yesterday, I learned that Jen's mom takes gleans valuable lessons from Lifetime movies and applies them to her daughters' lives.

Jen: After she watched Not Without My Daughter she forbids us to date Iranian men.

Moi: That's hilarious.

Jen: No, it's really not.  It's awful. 

(So mother's day is coming up… any gift ideas that don't include brunch, flowers, or me doing chores that I don't like?)

So I Think I Can Work

Some days, work goes by so slowly and smoothly that there are not enough articles in either the Times or the Globe for me to read. Those days haven't happened in awhile. Some days, like yesterday, are crapfulistic maelstroms. On the best of days, work is challenging and worth it and I learn a lot in the process. Some days, however, are like today, when it just feels like I'm doing homework all day long. There was one tiny break in all of this, and that was when I got up to go to the restroom and saw our research fellow (is that her title? I don't know, she's a doctor of the Ph variety) doing the worm on the floor. It was just a bit puzzling.

A couple of minutes later, I was back, as was the decorum of the work place. Everyone was once again hard at work as if nothing had ever happened. Turns out, NiceDoc was bragging about dancing with his daughter and it came up that our Fellow could do the worm. He didn't believe her, so she proved it. And he got served. A dance challenge drama right in my hallway and I missed most of it! It was practically a dance off (albeit one-sided, but hey, how many dance offs happened at your work this week, huh?) and no one called me in to arbitrate. I'm practicing my moon walk in case NiceDoc ever calls on me for a challenge. Though knowing my streak, I'll probably miss it somehow.

My Bad

I messed up at work today. Badly. Rather, I messed up on March 24th and we didn't catch it until today. The discovery of the mistake definitely resulted in a personal record of faculty swears witnessed per minute (they're no chef or sailor, but I'm always startled to see 'grown ups' swear). It went something like this:

Whitecastle: %*$'in! *&$* hell, #^@* ()$#&! $#*, $#*, $#*! We're *$%#ed.

Moi: (silence)

Whitecastle: (flagging down NiceDoc) Hey, we have a problem [explain mistake]-

NiceDoc: Oh *$#&.

Expletives aside, however, they were very generous in not laying blame even though the mistake was very clearly my fault. They kept reassuring me that it was a fluke and that they responsible. I should not, they emphasized, feel bad about the whole thing.

Moi: So job safe?

Nice Doc: Job is definitely safe.

Whitecastle: Well, you could be fired tomorrow, but it'd be for something else. You're safe today.


Mother's first reaction to the story: Wow, you really messed up.

Mother's second reaction to the story: Canadians curse? Really?

Is it too late to enter her for some Mother of the Year contest?

The Pusher

Mother: Do you want some mochi ice cream?

Moi: No, [it's 10:3o], I'm going to bed.

Mother: Come on, there's only one left.

Moi: I'll have it tomorrow for breakfast.

Mother: You'll forget by then!

(earlier in the night)


Moi: I'm going to play a little ping-pong.

Mother: But dinner is ready. (she made pork chops)

Moi: You're asking me to eat instead of exercise? I'm going to die of heart disease at a young age.

Mother: You've got to die somehow, you know?

XOXO

Yesterday, while flipping through the channels, I came upon a PBS special on the Chinese American immigration experience and found myself unable to turn away. One hour into watching, I finally had to leave the couch to clean my room (it's now the cleanest it's been since 2005), but I went back to it later and must have easily watched 3 hours of the thing. I don't know when else that's going to happen in my life again that I'd spend an afternoon watching public television (who knew I still had the attention span?), but it was fascinating stuff. Y'all should check it out if you can. Sadly, this was one of the highlights of my weekend.

Of course, I had to even out all the culture capital I gained with PBS (can't put all your eggs in one basket) with other forms of entertainment, like Gossip Girl. I love the devious machinations of just about everyone on the show, but my mom had a very difficult time keeping up with the plots and characters...

Mother: Are you sure they're not sisters?

Moi: Um, no, they're best friends.

Mother: How do you know?

Moi: They don't look alike and they have different mothers.

Bloody Pie

My words will only detract from the beauty of this article, so I'll just give you the link straight up.

HeartAche-1

In Taiwanese steakhouses, entrees are always preceded by buttery rolls (literally, soft dinner rolls with melted butter on the inside- I loved those when I was a child because they were so salty, greasy, and limp- to the point that my parents would make it a point to save me theirs whenever they went out for dinners) and a bowl of creamed corn soup.  The soup was milky white, starchy, and did not taste of much except salt, kernels of corn, and cream, with an occasional dash of pepper.  But oh, I just had a sudden hankering for that simple soup.  A taste just came into my mouth to make me think of it and now I want no more of work (work that I actually like doing today), but just a simple ladle of soup, served in a white soup bowl with two handles resting atop a saucer, and perhaps a couple of those sinfully buttery rolls to dip in.  And I sure wouldn't holler if all that was followed by a Taiwanese steak as well (thin, and served on a sizzling platter with a side of pepper sauce). 

The Prodigy without a Face

   If it comes to pass that I am suddenly and mysteriously disfigured become either too emotionally or physically scarred, or both, to explain how my face was marred by a giant fireball, please alert the proper authorities and explain that my hair dryer is trying to kill me.  Oh, it's been uncooperative for some time now, refusing to retract its retractable cords, blowing out the fuse when you turn it to high, and refusing to blow cool air, but the dryer's evil machinations have really been coming together this past week and I fear for my life each morning I use it.  It's has started hissing and making crackling noises but I know that if I ever turn it toward me to study the machinery, something will pop out and burn my eyes off.  Like a very patient time bomb, it's just waiting for me to slip.  I don't know how much longer I can hold off. 
  To add a note of levity to this entry about my impending disfigurement, Leash has the greatest stories in the world, like how for 23 years, her grandparents had given her the same three cards for birthday, Christmas, and Chinese New Year, and her dad always took it from her drawer and returned the cards to her grandparents, who would dole out the same card at the appropriate occasion.  And for 23 years, our little genius did not notice. 
  Oh, and my job may not be as secure as I think.  So I'm walking and talking with NiceDoc (that's what magnates do, they walk and talk business at the same time) and he jokes that I should fire him (firing people instead of being fired, how refreshing for a change)...

Moi: That guy (pointing to Whitecastle) is always joking about threatening to fire me.  You should probably talk to him about it.

NiceDoc: Really?  I think he might be serious.

Moi: I should stop showing up?

NiceDoc: Well, he doesn't mess around. 

Got Journal?

I love library duty because other than the duty itself, almost everything about the library is awesome. There's the oddly protective security guards, the lack of adult supervision over me, and most importantly, the opportunity to browse through hundreds of academic journals. Never mind that many academic journals start with the word Annals, which is homonymous enough for at least a few giggles, but the library shelves are just filled with stacks upon stacks of oddly specific and morbidly funny titles. Some of my favorites, as I've already discussed, are Blood, Death Studies, and Placenta. Friday afternoon brought a new favorite: the Journal of Human Lactation.

It's so perfect a title I really have no other comments. So I'll move on to a story about how I defended Indiana's honor. It's true. During our weekly meeting on Friday, whilst discussing politics and whatnot, the intelligence and political leanings of the people of Indiana were called into question and I was all, "No, you didn't," and vigorously defended the state. (Did you know that there are more interstates per capita in Indiana than anywhere else in the Union? That's why it's the Crossroads of America!) Because as you know, we all ought to make judgments and generalizations about peoples and regions based upon what we know of a couple of examples. That's certainly what I do.

It's What's For Breakfast

This morning, like many mornings that came before it, I got up and didn't particularly feel like eating, though I knew I should. I looked around the kitchen and nothing seemed appetizing. Until I remembered a conversation with Father last night. And thought of Haagen-Daz chocolate ice cream. But of course, that's not very heart healthy. So I had Haagen-Daz chocolate ice cream with fresh strawberries for breakfast this morning. God, being an adult rocks.

(Be sure to check back next week when I start running again and regret all my poor dining choices. Or in two hours, when I suddenly get incredibly hungry. But for right now... loving it.)

View from the Window

I was at Priscilla and Leash's place last night when suddenly, this girl was kicked off of American Idol and then just as suddenly, the power went out in the building. And when it all went dark, they say, is when all the fun began. At Priscilla and Leash's apartment, it's apparently OK to lean out the window and shout at people below, in fact, it's down right encouraged and expected.

Priscilla, talking out one window: What's going on out here? Did somebody die again? I want something to happen!

Moi, talking out a different window: How come no one else is curious and leaning out the window like us? Don't they want to know?

Priscilla: Oh, there's a guy downstairs. I was talking to him.

Moi (look out window, see guy waving up): Hi, guy, how are you?

Guy: Hi!

It was the most fun I'd had in years. Especially with Leash's flashlight (kept in a special Ziploc bag) and hand cranked radio. Then later, all these fire engines and police motorbikes and OnStar vans came out, so we took a stroll to try to see what was happening. Priscilla practiced her line of "how am I supposed to get my car out now?" at least 3 times as we wandered around the block, trying to get closer to the police tape and figure out what exactly went on. But alas, the power came on just in time for Top Chef eliminations and we all went to sleep after that, completely forgetting about why the blackout happened in the first place. You know, I don't think we'd make very good detectives, or even survivors, but TV and screaming out windows sure are fun.

Wayback Machine Goes to the Silver Screen

While I was in Chinar, I visited a small provincial television studio. This was a view from their window.

Bevy of Ridiculousness

On the 1 to 8 scale of ridiculousness, Ms. Sonia is a bona fide 12. Last night, Sonia had a bunch of us over for cupcakes. That's right. Five different kinds of cupcakes. Plus cookies. Plus pound cake. Plus hot chocolate. All homemade and delicious. We even got little bags to take home. Though putting the cupcakes into the bags turned out to be a much bigger challenge than we had all anticipated. I know I've been using scissors for decades now, but they still get me every time. I think I'm going to start a list of ridiculous feminist domestic goddesses and start ranking all the ones that I know. Hannah and Sonia are on top of the list. I'm not sure who is better, but I do know that I fear Hannah's wrath more and thus I place her first.

Also ridiculous about last night were the GRE books that Sonia was giving away. Amy and I greedily took them (Moi: I got a book a month ago and so far I've only memorized 20 words. Amy: That's better than me. I got my book a month ago and I've only made it to chapter 1 section 2. Moi: But it was my new year's resolution to buy a book.) and right away, Amy started testing our vocab. Yes, it is completely socially acceptable to whip out vocab books and test your peers at Bo' gatherings. Though we were all surprised by how wrong we were on words we thought we knew, like bevy. This made those of us with yet uncertain futures panic... until we realized that our educations weren't wasted, just Amy's. She had read all the definitions wrong. A dyspeptic person really isn't all that tender and mellow.

Crab Apple

I'm being lazy about sharing my pictures. Perhaps I'll dig one up from the Wayback Machine later. Last week, I went down to New York with Jenny and Zvi. Once we got into the City, we split from Zvi because we try not to see the boy more than we have to. I think Zvi did some male bonding with his brother. We're not sure. We didn't care, we were going to Karina's!

The next morning, Karina, Jenny, and I were joined by Cait and Linda, and the five of us roamed through the city, representing good ol' Bo. Late Saturday night, as we were heading for some bar whose significance I never quite got, we spotted a familiar face in the distance. Family friend? High school friend? Yet another Bo' alum? No. In the city of eight million, of all the people we could have bumped into, all the people we knew were in New York, we had the good fortune of bumping into Zvi. What were the chances? I don't know. All's I know is that everyone was excited hugging and catching up but Jenny and I had nothing to say. We had just had a 4 hour bus ride with the boy the night before. Sometimes, even the greatest city in the world isn't quite great enough. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to water my front lawn.

Pie in the Sky

Dusty has recommended that I learn humility. Nonsense. Humility is for the losers and Pauls of this world. Plus, NiceDoc told me on Friday that he recently lost his two-week old phone and had to get another one. So I like the company I keep. (We'll ignore the part about how "company" means that he's my boss's boss and that he has more degrees than I have years of work experience.) And last night, I totally schooled my opponents in Monopoly. So what if one was still in middle school, he asked for it. And so what if Amy pointed out that I buttoned my jacket all wrong tonight. I'm on a hot streak. Maybe I'll try humility sometime when I'm not being completely awesome.

What Not to Do with Your New Phone

Dunk it in a cup of water, that's what.  Phone was so new I'd only told Jen about it.  And then it went berserk on me (to be fair to the phone, I was trying to balance it atop my cup-- I thought it'd make a nice stand for my headphones-- and that was entirely stupid).  Luckily, after a night of airing out (I wanted to dry it in a vat of rice, Father said that was unnecessary) as well as some vigorous vacuuming of all parts, the phone seems to have recovered.  Beat that, all those unhelpful sites that me to get a new phone!

Lost T pass, giant fall, wet phone... this has not been an easy week.

The Munchies

Got another package of 8 cookies today and even though we split the cost, Jen let me take the credit and share the love.

Moi: Want a cookie?  Look, you're not the last one!

Whitecastle: I've already told you.  I want to be first.

Moi: But you're not last!

Whitecastle: Do you think I got to where I am today by not being last?  I got here by being first.

Moi: You know, I considered it, but then thought I didn't want to give you the satisfaction.  It'd be too easy.

Whitecastle: I could not give you the satisfaction of having a job.

Most people just say thank you...

Hodge Podge

So many things to say...

Killer Heels
My shoes are on a blood thirsty rampage. First they break Father's toe and earlier this morning, I tripped over one. instead of recovering, however, I fell down a few steps, twisted some things, and landed flat on the cold concrete. Thank the Lord for my youthful agility so that after a moment of groaning and writing, I was able to get on my feet without too much damage. My knee hurts real though. I'll be walking like a haemophiliac in winter for awhile.

Regarding Dusty
Sorry you weren't snob enough. I guess I'll put away the Lacoste jacket I bought you. I'm pretty sure you're end up somewhere better. (Not in rankings or academic caliber, of course, but you know, better in other things)
Also, People Who Are Not My Facebook Friends-- why are we not friends? I don't get it.
And finally, it's cute, Dusty, that you think you'll get the rumor lines started. If we've learned anything from the McWonder years, it's that no one is paying attention. Except kids who google Tom Severo. It appears that they're often misled here. Sorry, stalkers, I just mentioned him once! (BTW- I haven't seen the show since its premiere- is he still around, anyone?)

Regarding Lucy
How odd that you found 4 for $1 dumplings. Karina kept talking about how she knew of a guy who knew a place for 6 for $1 dumplings but did not lead us to any. You know, I don't think she's the best hostess in the world. We went to a little stall-like place with a few window seats and no workers who spoke English. Or Mandarin, for that matter.

Spring Chicken
I was in a restaurant on Sunday night that advertised its chicken special as handmade. Which made me want to check the kitchen and bear witness to the fleet of robots preparing everything else, like my salt and pepper tenderloin. Or bear witness how they crafted a chicken out of nothing but their own hands. Now, 2 days later, the forgetful dyslexic in me is wondering if it said homemade. I'm pretty sure not, but that'd be ridiculous as well. Though sometimes I do wish more restaurants would carry Chik Fil A products.

No Rinse Put Asunder
As the late great once said (bonus points for reading thus far, then more bonus for naming the great!), 2 is not big enough for 1. That's why they made 2. My 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner tells me that for best results, I should follow with conditioner. It makes me want to return half the bottle.

I swear I'll tell you my great NYC story and post my measly pictures later.

Lost Soul

One of the few awesome things about having a cubicle is the sense of camaraderie among the cubes. It's the row of us against those with their own little offices and we protect our own. We talk over our walls. Doc Query summons people by shouting from his chair. And if you sneeze, I will shout a bless you over the walls. If Doc Query sneezes, however, we may not all stir. That's because Doc Query sneezes a lot.

Earlier yesterday, from our respective cubes...

Doc Query: [Booming sneeze!]

Moi: Bless you.

Doc Query: Somebody bless me.

Moi: I just did!

Doc Query: Oh. I expect to hear a chorus of at least six bless yous when I sneeze.

NY C- List

I just had a marvelous weekend in New York City. Why was it so marvelous? The reasons are manifold.

A. Dusty is old but not creepy. I was just suggesting that keeping in touch with your 7th grader is a little sketchy, though of course, that's not what happened.

B. I got to see a plethora of Bo' friends. Not just Bo' alums, but friends. That really made the weekend. We sat around a lot, talked, enjoyed sangria, missed who we were missing, but were happy with who was with us.

C. I just overheard a doctor say "hey, bro, how are you?" And had to pretend that work was so funny that it just made me chortle. It isn't.

D. We saw Topanga! (of Boy Meets World, though it's sad if you need the reference help) She had a whopping 3 paparazzi taking her picture and shouting at her (do they even know her name? does anyone?) and was entering the tapas bar as we were leaving. She may have even sat at our table.

E. "Imagine snakes on a plane." Greatest sermon line ever. (This did not happen in New York, but I felt that I should share)

F. Dumplings in Chinatown New York are 4 for $1. And I'm pretty sure, as delicious as they were, we shouldn't have been so happy at that price. It could have gone lower. We had a great filling lunch for a little less than $4, unnecessary tipping included.


I have had a long night being on hold with customer service, so pictures and stories of just how big the greatest city in the world is shall come later. Good night.

Stone Cold Dealer

I love it when I understand NEJM enough that it makes me laugh.  This is about a case of 8 young people who showed up with what seems like lead poisoning, but the health authorities could not identify the source of lead.  Until...

After 8 weeks, we detected a common pattern: the patients were young, were unemployed or were students, had a history of smoking, and had body piercings. On questioning, all the patients eventually conceded that they were regular users of marijuana smoked in "joint" form or with the use of a water pipe.

It's sad that someone tainted their marijuana, but I love that characterization of potheads.  The authorities were eventually able to track this whole thing down and treat lots of other people who got sick. 

A Little Unwell

Some people think that I have pretty absurd taste in food.  Those people haven't met my mother.

Mother: You know what's really good?  Cream of mushroom soup and cheerios.

Moi: Why would you even think of that combination?

Mother: I figured that soup is salty and cheerios are, too, so might as well have them together.

---
Perhaps it was early in the morning, perhaps it's old age, perhaps she's crazy, but this morning, as she was about to drive me to the commuter rail station, she saw my work outfit and freaked out.  "That's what you're wearing to New York?  Why don't you put on jeans or something more comfortable?"  "Um, I've packed other clothes in my backpack, but I need to wear this to work."  "Oh, that makes sense."

Not Unlike a Typical Day with BP

It's hard sometimes, to explain BP and the friendships that have been made there.  The '04 staff is easy, we worked together, but when you get to talking about landlady-to-be (church?  we worked at the same place different summers?  counselor?), Dusty (the creepiest of all- I was in 8th grade when he was on summer staff), and the Malkemeses (former counselors, bosses, brother's landlords, always role models), the exact origin of the relationships get more complicated.  And then there's Keith.  Counselor, boss, friend, or none of the above?  Who knows. 

Sarah (wife of Keith) invited me over for dinner last night.  Just as I was about to call Keith from the T stop, however, to ask if it was OK that I was going to be about 15-20 minutes early, I got a message from him explaining that due to a mix up, Sarah was actually going to be gone for dinner (to go to a focus group… on oranges).  My invitation was still open, he said, and could be rescheduled anytime.  Or I could go over anyway, and have pizza with him and the boys.  "Um, I'm already here."  So dinner with the boys it was.  A lot of the night went like this:

Keith: What do you want on your pizza?  You can have anything you like.  We've got onions, peppers, pepperoni, sausages…

Moi: Oh, that all sounds great.

(Keith checks fridge)

Keith: Um, what I actually meant was, do you want pepperoni or cheese on your pizza?

(later)

Keith: What do you want to drink?  Does coke sound good?

Moi: Yeah, I like coke.

(Keith checks coke)

Keith: Actually, it's flat coke, is that OK?

(still later)

Keith: Uh, how would you like to babysit for a few minutes while I go pick up Sarah?

But I loved the haphazard nature of the night.  Surprises are what BP is all about.  It also helped that Joseph and Timothy were hilarious.  Three-year-old pirate Joseph apparently has a brilliant strategy in which he does something bad, gets reprimanded, but then says, "It's OK, Mom, I was just pretending to be naughty."  And Timothy?  I think my favorite moment of the night was when we found him bent over, head on the floor, butt sticking up, each little baby hand clutching an ice cube, and unsure how to move.  He sort of had to just rest his heavy head for awhile.  Oh, and Sarah's brownies and tea were mighty fine, too.

The Specialist

Just when I think I can't heart Sister Claire Francis anymore, she says something better.  This morning, I'm trying to figure out the difference between PharmaCare and PharmaNet.  I don't know much about the two and Supervisor said that since Claire was the one who works with the data, she was the one to ask.

Sister: Someone explained it to me a long time ago, but it was really complicated.  And I figured I don't really need to know it to do my job, so I just never paid much attention.  I use the term interchangeably.  They're not interchangeable.  But no one really knows the difference.

Moi: So I should just group these two as one?

Sister: Yeah, no one's really going to care.

Spring Cheating

I hate it when I'm tricked into cleaning my room. Like tonight. Earlier today, my accountant, my "people"-- my father, informed me that he was missing my health insurance form for my taxes. I knew exactly the form he was referring to and could have sworn I had placed it amongst other important envelopes on my desk. So when I got home, I searched and searched and cleaned and weeded and nothing. So I searched some more, around my computer downstairs, around the shelves upstairs, all over my desk, the floor, the chests, etc, etc. (It's a decent sized room and it's a bit of a mess, so there was a lot to work with.) I cleared out a huge pile of paper yet still, no form. I even searched around my mom's desk. Finally, I went back to Father to double check if I had left it somewhere around his desk. He quickly shuffled through the envelopes I gave him. Wait, I said. What about that white one? The one with the blue cross and the blue shield on the front? That looks like it might be from my health insurance. And sure enough, he had the form on him the whole time. Which means that my mess of a system was right. And I didn't really need to clean my desk after all. Dang it.

And a Brain, Too

Jeremy says that it's not fair to anthropomorphize my computer, but I'm pretty sure that it hates me.  I've also taken to calling it Sparky.  Last Friday, I requested a standard update for both Whitecastle and me.  Yesterday, I recounted to you my troubles.  This morning, I discovered that the upgrade scheduled for last night did not in fact take place.  But Whitecastle's did.  His PC is working swimmingly.  As is his Macbook Air.  That means he has 2 more working work computers than I do.  He also has 2 more doctorates.  Life really isn't fair.  So I called IT (to their credit, our IT department is always uber friendly) and was told that someone would be contacting me shortly.  A couple of hours later someone did.  She told me that she's never seen an error message like the one that I have.  And that she's hesitant to even play with my computer remotely.  In fact, it's so messed up (how is that possible?  I don't rightly know) that she's just going to send someone in to rebuild the whole thing.  Maybe they'll throw in a heart when they're rebuilding it so Sparky will hate me less.

Office Needs Some Space

You know what's really hard to do office work without? Microsoft Office. Just putting that out there. (hey, Microsoft, want to buy me up? I won't be snotty!) This morning, whilst explain to Whitecastle yet another stupid mistake on my part, my computer all the sudden informed me that it was shutting down in 10 minutes and that I should save any work as soon as possible. Many questions ran through my mind at that moment, like why? Is this for reals? And Whitecastle, can you please stop laughing at me? The notice looked fishy, so I stopped it then rebooted my computer. Then I realized I couldn't check my email anymore. Or open any spreadsheets. And that basically all of Microsoft Office had stopped working for me. So I called the help desk. The tech guy was as confused as I was. I hate it when I stump the tech guy. Why am I always stumping them? My computer is scheduled for a shutdown and upgrade to Microsoft 2003 (because it's still running on 2000- do you know how long ago 2000 was? Of course, you do. The math is easy) tonight, but there's no reason why it should have started 9 hours early. Or why Whitecastle's computer, scheduled for the same upgrade, was perfectly fine and mine wasn't. The only thing to do, the tech guy explained, was to wait until tomorrow morning when the upgrade should be complete.

Moi: So, um, is there anything I can do now to fix this?

Tech Guy: No. I'd just not use the computer for today.

Moi: I sort of need it for my job.

Tech Guy: (annoyed) Isn't there a different computer you could use?

I don't know how things work in IT, but where I come from, we sort of have an unspoken, one-computer-per-person rule around here, guy.

Phantom Photobooth

It's a classic, even trite, question yet one that needs to be asked: Just how many Bo' grads does it take to operate a photo booth?

Today at the Diesel Cafe (which we patronized purely for its bathrooms and free water), Son, Leash, Lauren (soon to be Dr. Lauren to you) and I decided that we just couldn't pass the photo booth without going in. We each dug around for a dollar and put it into a machine. Then realized that all the pictures had no more than 2 people in it. But whatever, we were little women and determined to make things work. So in we piled. Then started reading the directions. Then found that we didn't know how to follow them. Then bright lights started flashing. We panicked. And the promised 5 minutes was over in seconds. Then we noticed that the machine had no buttons. So e just hung out by the booth hoping a picture would come out. It took awhile, but alas, our beautiful moment in front of the camera:

Shakespeare, continued

This afternoon, I bought a pack of 8 cookies to share at work because it's Friday and raining and half of the office isn't here and the other half need some encouragement.  Plus, buying 8 'gourmet' cookies from the grocery store is much more economical than one from JP Licks and we're heading into a recession (hey, how come they don't tell us it's patriotic to buy things anymore?).  I thought of what Whitecastle said and considered offering the cookies to him first, but two offices come before his and I just couldn't pass them in good conscience without sharing my bounty.  So, with 2 down and 6 more to give, I knocked on Whitecastle's door.

Moi: Want a cookie?  I'm working on my suck up game.

Whitecastle: (sighs, motions the open package) Clearly, you've offered it to other people already.

One day, one day soon, my efforts will be good enough.

Act III Scene 2

Mad props if you get that reference.  And then why I used it.  You're no nerd at all.

I give and give at work and still they ask for more...

Moi: Oh, everything I do for you is of the greatest priority.

Whitecastle: We've already discussed this.  Your sucking up skills have to be more believable.

Moi: But I'm saying the words!

Whitecastle: I'm not buying it though.  It has to sound more meaningful.  "Thank you for the scut work!  I love it!"