Land Before Time

This weekend, I went up north and read Gros Grognon, the best picture book I've read in recent years. It's in French. And is basically a backwards Chicken Little story. Because that's how things work in Canada: French and backwards (redundant? perhaps. too easy? definitely).

Visiting public bathrooms constitutes as family fun in Canada.

Their buildings are from the 1850s and their buses the 1950s.

And in Canada, my people are still relegated to servile labor in laundromats.

Sum of All Parts

I am in Canadia right now.  I've been here before, several times, but this time I'm going native.  Sticking with a real Canadian and staying in a real Canadian house.  I know that Nik wants me to think that I'm in a different country.  And while I do find that everything here is slightly different, it seems less like a different country than a backwards America, 5-10 years behind schedule. I kid, Nik, I kid.

But getting a file to Father this morning took some creative thinking.  Our hostess, Erin, is aces and beyond incredible.  Sets of sheets, nicely made bed, awesome and welcome accommodations.  Best hostess ever.  Except that she forgot her wireless password.  And Canadians are apparently not as generous as they'd like to let on, since I couldn't hack into any other wireless service.  But that's OK, Erin has a desktop and a laptop.  The laptop does not have MS Word and is very slow.  But the desktop has no USB ports.  (mind you, readers, this is happening today, in the summer of 2010)  So this morning, I used the desk top to check my mail.  Discovered that Father needed a file.  Opened up Cecil the Computer (my laptop), put the file on my flash drive.  Then headed downstairs to use the laptop.  All for a 20 page document.  I miss America.  

Jeudi en July

Du and I skipped out of work early today for the French film festival at the art museum. Because chic and pretentious is how we roll. It's the second year we've come together for films about French boys (in a non-creepy way), and Le Petit Nicolas was a great throwback to M. Herbert's class. I learned so many words that don't come into every day conversation from that series. Like petit chouchou, millefeuille, and langoustine (little cabbage/darling, napoleon, and lobster). And no, I don't know why I only remember food names. (PS. GAK: We need you to visit Boston.)


Today's nonsensical quote of the day.

Young Bo: Whitecastle thinks too highly of himself for [death by hanging]. The only way he's going to die young is murder.

She has obviously considered the issue very carefully.

Today's no-nonsense quote of the day.

Doc Winner: Ever since becoming a faculty [last week], I've realized that I can't stand research assistants. You're lucky I even talk to you.

Silly Puddy

Will write more later. Made mozzarella just now. The recipe called for using gloves. Because the recipe is for sissies. Real cheesemakers use their bare, burnt hands.

The near-finished product.
"Yours looks phallic."

"What? Here, let me twist it so it looks braided and nice."

"I think you just made it worse."

Splittsville

Young Bo' and I overlapped for three years at Bo' without a single conversation. And we've overlapped the past couple of years on many, many levels (last time we checked, it was four- but you don't want to know about the fourth). One of the greatest pleasures of all these overlaps is, in addition to being completely goofy with each other, I have had the chance to see her mature. No area is most evident in how she eats. I don't know what happened, but one day, she didn't eat eggplant and now she's one of my favorite dining companions in this city. Today, we went halfsies straight down the middle and had the perfect Saturday brunch: chicken tenders, shrimp salad, and sweet potato fries. There are few things I love better than eating with my hands, grazing, and halfsies. That, and being willing to re-watch Boston Med for someone, is the mark of a true partnership.

I Know that I'm Naive

Maria is awesome. She is also knowledgeable about Playmobils. Though none of them involve caped Santas. That's still a mystery. But when I grow up, I want to be like her. And not at all like Doc Query. Who lies about his age.

Query: I've had enough excitement in my 29 years that some people have in a lifetime.

Moi: Wait, you're only 29?

Query: ... No.

Moi: You totally look it though.

Query: Thank you.

Not only did I get to spend the day doing work in a study sanctuary, find out that I got a scholarship for having a blessed combination of smarts and poverty, and put up a board item that pleased Doc Firewall (nationally recognized as the nicest ER doc in Boston), but instead of being bullied at work today, I merely witnessed it.

Doc Winner: Peer pressure is a bitch.

Whitecastle: It never stops when you grow older. It just gets worse.

Doc Winner: Oh yeah?

Whitecastle: Yeah, how many papers have you published today anyway? Shouldn't you be working?

(later)

Doc Winner: Getting picked on is a sign that they like us, right?

Moi: Y'know, I tell myself that. But sometimes, I just don't think so.

Six to Eight Black Men

Why is a caped Santa caning a Jewish elf with a football in hand? I don't know. I don't like to get in the middle of these rows. At Internship today, Kate, who I hardly know, had a desk clearance sale (among the items: a used 2009 NBA wall calendar with November missing and Shaq's face covered up) and bequeathed her Playmobils unto me. Kindest gesture of the summer. I played with them for a good 10 minutes before remembering that I share an office with 1.5 other people.

So I brought them home, where I play to my heart's content.

Plead the Fourth

The long weekend is over. I am bruised (worth it), tan (probably not), bitten (itchy), and back to the vacation-work grind. This 4th was one of the best I'd had, greatly enhanced by being at a real home, with a real mom, and real friends*. We'd planned on Taboo and frisbee, maybe even Bananagram if time allowed, but alas, ambition is not always honorable, and we ended up just lounging by the pool and eating. I could have settled for much less.

*Perhaps more real to Amy than to me. But they're good people.

This is Greg. Amy invited us over his house. Greg did not. Greg is the exact kind of friend you want to have on the 4th-- a vegan who'd offer you a grilled sausage, a pool to swim in, a beach to view fireworks from, and home videos of penguins. Too bad Greg is moving in 2 weeks.

This is Dennis. He took us out on his boat.

We went against the crowd and toward the islands.

Merde

Quotes like this make me feel very old, very sad, and very smug (from today's Times).

A first-year M.B.A. student, Ashley Haumann, said that when she was an undergraduate at the University of Florida, "everyone cheated" in her accounting class of 300 by comparing answers during quizzes. She preferred the highly monitored testing center because it "encourages you to be ready for the test because you can't turn and ask, 'What'd you get?' "

We Stand on Guard for Thee

There are games that I play with minimal effort (anything requiring hand-eye coordination, Cranium, Boggle*), games in which I put up a fight (Scrabble, Scattergories, foosball), and games that I play to win (Bake Off, Bananagrams, life).  Canadian Trivia is a game I play to win.  Last night was Nic's annual Canada Day party, and though I didn't have time to study this year, and actually forgot many basic answers I knew last year (like how old Canada is), the mediocrity of everyone else around me helped me take the gold.  Or rather, a canoe figurine with a moose on it.

Since I was generally preoccupied with watching reruns of Say Yes to the Dress this week, and didn't have time to study, I asked Whitecastle to take time from his busy schedule of yelling at me (and claiming I owe him $20 whenever I stopped to take a break) to tutor me.  The consultation went the way most consultations with Whitecastle do: I learned many useless facts that did not help me on the exam (see also: graduate school applications, RDS 280, Epi 202, and HPM 245).  And yes, the highlight of every Canada Day party is an exam.  Did you know, for example, that the Liquor Control Board of Ontario is one of the largest purchasers of beverage alcohol in the world?  Canadians drink a lot of alcohol.  They have two different drinking ages.  34 million people.  And when they're not cribbing mottos from the United States, like to invent things like zippers. 

*Boggle: minimal effort, maximum impact.

How You Say

Our family friend is visiting from Taiwan, where Yen-Hsun Lu is from. Our family friend is a professor, who, like many people, assumes that I'm more intelligent than I really am.

(except for the italics, we're speaking in Chinese)

Friend: Have you read L'Elegance du Herisson?

Moi: ... (I don't know what she's saying)

Friend: Have you read 刺蝟的優雅? (says book title in Chinese)

Moi: ... (I don't know what she's saying)

(We discuss how to say "herisson" or "刺蝟" in English for a few minutes. After a minute, I blurt "porcupine." "No, it's hedge something." "Hedgehog!")

Friend: Have you read The Elegance of the Hedgehog? (finally, with words I understand)

Moi: No.

Bested in three languages. My ego has seen better days.

---
PS. Dear Sportscasters, you do realize that 'Chinese Taipei' is not a physical place? It's just the name of sports teams representing Taiwan. You must. It's a factoid you read off every time you talk about anyone from the team. What you need to realize is that this means that people cannot grow up in Chinese Taipei, that Chinese Taipei does not have 'local' practices, and you can't have debates about the language people speak in Chinese Taipei. Because it's not a place. Mm kay?

Tingling Sensation

If I ate breakfast two hours ago, am I in the clear to finish my enormous omelet for lunch now? With a side of chocolate stout cake (can't taste the stout, but the chocolate frosting Mary suggested was brilliant).

After a couple of weeks of cooking bad pastas, I finally made something delicious this morning. I had a fridge full of a stray pieces: 1/4 onion, 1/2 shallot, 4 mushrooms, 1/3 pack wrinkled cherry tomatoes, and 2 last eggs in the carton and decided to toss it all together, plus some garlic, bacon pieces and cheddar, for a big, fluffy omelet. Granted, I now face the rest of the week with an empty fridge, but the breakfast just went down so lovely with some world war soccer.

The trouble with schooling and work and learning is that sooner or later, people start thrusting responsibilities on me and assuming that I'm capable. I'm completely flattered but question whether it's all well deserved. On Friday, a collaborator at Internship killed a plan to publicize the results of a study because of my assessment of the limits and methodology of the paper. The way Collaborator heard my analysis was both thrilling and terrifying. Because of all the people at Internship equipped to critique the statistical methods of a health economics paper by a brilliant professor, it's obviously me. Someone should give BP my number.

Smartest Girl I Know

Moi: What movies has she worked on?

Lenny: Have you seen the trailer for the movie Greenberg?

Moi: The one with Ben Stiller? She did the trailer?

Lenny: No, she worked on the movie.

Moi: Why did you say trailer then?

Lenny: Because no one has ever heard of Greenberg.

Moi: But you think if they haven't heard the film, they've heard of the trailer?

Lenny: ...

Little Brutus

There's a phrase in Chinese that says something to the effect of 'the perpetrator always tattles first.'  There's also a phrase like that in English but my mind isn't too sharp right now.  While the Riddle boys (minus Aaron, jury is still out on him) usually take the prize for their good behavior (unless you're putting them to bed- no prize there), they can be hilarious when they turn against each other.  They can be pounding each other to pieces one minute, but will stop to apologize, hug, and even forgive one another, if you suggest that pulping was not the best idea.  Last week, Joseph, Tim, and I stood admiring their mom's basil plant and Joseph helped himself to a leaf.  "Are you supposed to do that, Joseph?"  "Yeah, it's OK," the little liar replied.  Then Tim followed suit.  At which point, Joseph immediately yelled for his father and told on Timmy, because really, it wasn't OK. 

Speak Later

I normally hold my peace forever at weddings.  But then again, I normally show up on time.  (Except for Liz's.  Have we covered that already?  Nearly missed vows, the only non-Catholic, non-white, and one of few non-middle aged group to show up late- we blended right in.)  But Amy's wedding was far beyond normal.  It reached near fatal heights of adorable and fantastic.  And we left 30 minutes behind schedule (not my fault!), ran into traffic, and managed to be the only guests who were late to the wedding.  Which meant that I, with help from Allison, managed to hold up an entire wedding-- musicians, friends, families, and seething bride included.  And I wasn't even a member of the wedding party.  I just had to do a 90-second reading from the Bible that Amy refused to sic on someone else.  (Amy: I'm not going to make someone else read from the Bible!)  The whole experience made me feel strangely powerful.  And incredibly guilty.  But mostly happy, because these are wonderful people and they did get married.  Twice.  (they were married and presented to everyone... then remembered that rings weren't exchanged, then became man and wife again)

Freeze

I am proud of myself every time someone walks by or stops to check in and I just happen to be working.  Those moments always warrant a well-deserved stroll through the interweb. 

Squatter Rights

The last 15 minutes of the morning went something like this:

Moi: Where am I sitting this week?

2/3 Supervisor: Jessica's desk.

Moi: Oh?  Where's Jessica?

2/3 Supervisor: I suppose on vacation.  Don't know why that's not on my calendar.

(settle into Jessica's desk, log off, log in, sign in... enter Jessica)

Jessica: What's going on here?

Moi: You are not on vacation.  You are here.

Jessica: Yes, I am.

Moi: So I should not sit here anymore.

Jessica: No.

This is why parents shouldn't name their kids off of the Top 10 list.

(Don't cry for me, Readers, I'm now at a much more secluded spot that I much, much prefer.  It's got big windows and is in a corner of a quiet section of the office, so nobody's sneaking up on me this week, and no more drop-by hellos.)

Things Liz Missed

On Thursday, Landlady Chang and I gathered in Dwight's posh, spacious kitchen to cook for the new batch of BP summer staff. We were getting our good deed of the summer out of the way, and doing it early on, when the staff was still fresh and grateful. We've all served as BP counselors, all love the organization, and are all psyched that we are not out mowing lawns with teenagers all summer. I still remember every meal we had my summer (if you think I'm hungry now, imagine how hungry I was being on my feet 18 hours a day), and haven't had corn bread pudding as good as the one the Fosters made in 2004. I'm optimistic that my Thursday cinnamon rolls will likewise be remembered. From what I hear, they are legendary. The recipe came by way of Scotland, from Dave (who got it from a guy at Alpha Course?), who made wonderful things in that S. Clark Street flat. I don't make these often because they're so time consuming but the oohs and wows afterward are well worth it. And today, I received the ultimate compliment: Sarah -- who made a baked Alaska, Sarah of the pirate and Hannah Montana cakes-- asked me for the recipe. She's going to make it this weekend. That's like Mo Rivera asking to see how I throw the ball. Who am I to turn down a Hall of Famer?

Planned Internship

Sometimes, Boys and Girls, you plan for things but things do not happen according to plan.  This is a story about one of those times.

 

I had planned on taking the day off on Thursday.  But then Internship One Third Supervisor asked to check in on Thursday morning.  Not a problem.  We scheduled the meeting for 9:15am.  I'm in, I'm out, I'm off making Guinness cake.  Yesterday, meeting got postponed to 10:00am.  Not a problem.  I'm in, I work a little longer, I meet with Supervisor and Collaborator, I'm out, and I'm off making cinnamon rolls.

 

10:00am rolls around.  Empty office.  10:10am.  10:15am.  I shoot a quick email to Phantom Supervisor.  Apparently, she left me off of an email chain.  In which she explained that she couldn't come to work this morning.  To which Collaborator replied that he'd meet with me, but was running late.

 

Change of plans, yes, but I'm adaptable.  I'm in, I work a little more, I meet with Collaborator, I'm out, and I'm not sure what I'm making.  But now that I have time to kill, I dig around Collaborator's organization blog.  I find a post about the 2 reports we're meeting about, the 2 reports that I'd been summarizing in preparation for a blog post.  That's funny because it's what I'd been preparing for the last 2 weeks, what we're supposed to meet about, and what I was supposed to work on writing next week if the meeting went well— all completed and on the website.  As of a week ago.  And here I am, sitting in the office, wearing my best confused face.  I'm in, and I'm hungry for sticky buns.

Life's Persistent Questions

Why doesn't my pandering work?

Why do the leaves change colors with the seasons?

How come everyone else knew that "the 11 o'clock meeting starts at 11:15?"  Why don't we call it the 11:15 meeting then?

Why are the fourth and fifth floors X'ed out in the elevator and why do they have "Restricted" signs in the staircase? 

But this much I know:

Do I particularly care about the South Africa and Uruguay?  Not really.  (though I do remember that Uruguay's capital is Montevideo)  Then again, was I committed to Portugal and Ivory Coast?  No.  Did it matter to me that Roger Federer did not make it to the French Open finals?  No.  I barely knew what was going on.  But do all these things help me stay awake during the work day?  Yes, absolutely, yes.  Thank you, Sports, for your wonderful array of story lines I can pretend to care about every day.

I love Nicole.

Bust the Funky Lyrics

I thought I had a rough week last week. Then I talked to Amy (not to be confused with me). She was bitten by dogs two days in a row (beat that, Lenny Charles). Alison had an awkward encounter with Mother of Boyfriend. Ashley is lounging in Antigua (oh wait, not an example of hardship). And we all saw what the English goalie did. Put into perspective, empty threats and feeling like an idiot at internship really can't compare.

Whitecastle: If you somehow see un-blinded data, or if because of you, I see un-blinded data-

Moi: I'll get hit by a Mack truck? Because that's already happened.

Whitecastle: No, I'll make you hit the Mack truck. You'll be running toward it this time.

That Ms. Flinner

Moving my desk at work every three months isn't fun. But it sure beats moving every week at the internship. And Doc Winner has a quiet, caustic wit that makes the new seat quite enjoyable.

(on his moving into Dorchester)

Moi: Yeah, I have do-gooder friends there. They work on building up the community and neighborhoods, that kind of thing.

Doc Winner: I just wait until they're revitalized and move in. It's much easier that way.

(leaving the office early together for a second time in a row)

Moi: We've got to stop doing this. It's getting embarrassing.

Doc Winner: What's embarrassing is how late you come in and early you leave.

Moi: No, what's really embarrassing is how little money I make.

Doc Winner: Touche.

I know that he said 'touche,' but I still feel like I'm at the losing end of that.

The Test of Time

I received my last finals of the year today. I'd long known how I'd done on the course, but reading the actual exam and paper brought out surprising revelations. The term paper that I thought I'd enjoyed writing, that I spent more hours on than I should have at the expense
of my other projects, turned out to be far less marvelous than I had remembered. In those last few, sleep-deprived frenzied hours, I had apparently delivered a paper riddled with embarrassing grammar mistakes (though, natch, still awesome). Yet the exam that had
me most worried, that I remember stressing about even as I was taking it, turned out to be fine. (I think it was fine, at least, I can't really make out the scoring system. It was pretty nerve wracking when the professor picked up the exam booklet and before handing it back to me, flipped through it and said, "Let's see how you did.) In fact, I even had time to be sassy in the exam.

For a true or false question, I answered "False. Because 'always' is always a tip off in true/false questions.

I also wrote, at the start of the exam book, "Before we begin, your shirt looks nice today?" Usually a sure win with professors, TAs, and supervisors, this teaching staff was not as appreciative of this comment as I had hoped. It was circled, and someone wrote a giant "!?" over the section.

Un-American Activities

For a man who is very specific about the color, font, and layout of his work, Whitecastle sure makes some broad statements:

Whitecastle: ... it's called the "Red Rocket" in Toronto.

Moi: Wow. You guys really are socialists.

Whitecastle: What? You went to school in Maine.

(it's been three years, and I still don't understand why Maine is socialist)

---

Moi: We had some controversy over the official sport last year. My Canadian friend didn't believe me.

Whitecastle: Well, your Canadian is a loser.

(Don't shoot the messenger, Nik. You're a winner in McDarty's book.)

---

Moi: You know how you ran into Young Bo' the other night and she was with someone?

Nice Doc: (explains to Whitecastle that he was arriving from D.C.) I guess Young Bo' runs with a rough crowd.

Moi: I mean, not that we ever talk about you- or you-

Whitecastle: Right. You just knew that he was wearing a blue tie.

What's That Sound

Maybe it's the unseasonably cold weather, the gray foreboding sky, or the extra long fire alarm this morning, but everything seems slightly off today.

The day started auspicious enough, with Herr Doctor Vice Chief (Doc Vice's full title) taking sudden interest in my academic career, calling me into his office to talk about my year. It was a very kind gesture. Unfortunately, I have not thought of my academic career for a few weeks and could only speak in very general terms, describing every class as "interesting and helpful" when he wanted to talk about all the epi classes I have avoided thus far. Which led him to give the same unimpressed look I was accustomed to seeing on Whitecastle. Luckily, Doc Firewall came in with a question and I was quickly relieved.

Then the fire alarm broke the morning lull and everything came to pieces. Mary was near hypothermic. Decision Scientist was starving. Josh and I (or is it Doc Winner now?) became competitive over who received more greetings from people that passed our desks, and by the time our conference call rolled around, I was the only person dialed in at 3:30PM sharp. (Whitecastle: I've trained her well, instilled fear in her so she calls in before me.)

When it was all over and I was ready to go home, Whitecastle was manically exclaiming, "Show me the P-value" a la Jerry Maguire and across town, Landlady Chang's neck was incapacitated and her phone missing. Lord. have mercy.

Collared Blues

On Saturday, I accompanied Mother to the gym. Wearing my baggy shorts from middle school. And a t-shirt featuring cows from an ice cream stand on Prince Edwards Island. Because this is what happens when I'm not prepared for activities that Mother suggests and have to rummage through my closet at home for clothes.

Not that I needed to change. Mother was wearing flip flops, lawn green cargo shirts and a checkered blue/white flannel shirt. She looked sort of indie cool, especially when she had her sunglasses on and hat on. (Mother: I'm going to wear this little one. Do you want to wear the big straw hat? Moi: No, I don't.)

Moi: So, you're working out in a collared shirt?

Mother: Yeah. It's comfortable, isn't it?

Whose Desks These Are

Another week at the internship, another office.  Most interns get cubicles at the internship.  Even people who work here full time get cubicles.  But not me.  I get offices.  With doors and wide desks and tables on the side and a couple of extra chairs.  Because I deserve it.  But mostly because they don't have a space for me, so I switch from office to office, squatting wherever someone has left for vacation.  This cushy arrangement usually comes to an awful and awkward end every Monday morning (three and counting) when I show up at work, the previous occupant at their rightful spot, and I once again have no idea where to sit.  It's exacerbated by the fact that I can't seem to be able to show up at the internship late, no matter how hard I try, and no one here is actually at their office at 9:00am.  So I just sit in the reception area, waiting for one of three to four people who can help me to come and tell me where to sit.  Which is wonderful.  Three weeks into my internship.  This morning, as people walked by the front desk, there was a lot of: "Haven't you started working here?"  "Yes, but I don't have a desk."  "Oh.  And the secretary is-?"  "Not here."  "And your supervisor is?"  "Not here."  "And that other lady in charge of this?"  "Not here."  "Well, see ya!"

PS. Even more awesome.  Just discovered that the person whose desk I'm sitting at did not put a vacation message on her phone.  And I can't do it for her because I don't have her password.  There's going to be a lot of phone ringing this week.

Not in Spain Anymore

I gave up on work today because there are too many John Chans in the world. And a surprising number of them are in the natural sciences. And I'm too tired to try to figure out which one I'm supposed to be stalking.

I'm not just lazy, but it's been a draining Sabbath. Mother and I were walking along the street today, minding our business (I was regretting not being able to buy a book of papal paper dolls at the flea market), when water suddenly poured from the sky. There was no forewarning, except a few black clouds. It did not gradually start raining or pouring, but it was as if we were suddenly thrown in a pool. Water was coming down with such great force that we had trouble seeing the path in front of us. Needless to say, we were soaked. We tried to run, but Mother fell. And one of my flip flops fell off. So we were quite impaired. Not that there was any sense to run. We were saturated. There was so much water all around us and the wind whipping so hard that it became senseless to put the flop (or was it flip?) back on.

We were just 1.5 blocks from the apartment, but by the time we made it there, our clothes hung so heavily that it was hard to walk. Puddles trailed us when we came inside. And my mother can never get wet on the streets of Boston again. Because I found the one t-shirt and one pair of shorts she could change into. And have no more clothes that can fit. ("You may not want to drive by the Russian church tonight, Ma." 'Why not?" "If I remember correctly, your t-shirt makes a tasteless joke about the KGB." -- a Russian club relic from Jared I'd long meant to give away.) Go away, rain. And stay away from my Scooper Bowl.

Nothing at All

Can you think of a four-syllable word that starts with the letter 'Y'? Mary has the best word games for staying awake during lunch conferences that run 30 minutes over. I came close, but I'm trying to find something better than yellow-jacket. It counts on a technicality. But I like to win my battles clean.

I don't have much else to say about the week. I swatted a fly dead today. And even though I suspect that I'm not performing to par at my internship, at least work work has been good. Well, you can't expect Whitecastle to yell at me every week. Sometimes he just looks unimpressed.

Thursday Trio

In eighth grade, I learned the phrase "arch nemesis" from Lenny. She said weird stuff like that. I also learned that Azerbajean was a country. But we weren't really nemeses. She always bested me, in smarts, awkwardity, and the random acts of life. And she hasn't stopped. I get hit by a Mack truck. A boulder rolls onto her car. I have a ghastly swollen leg due to a reaction to a mosquito. She has a spider bite. On the face.

Moi (after determining that she's OK, or perhaps right before): Do you look funny?

Lenny: One cheek is swollen. So it looks like I'm halfheartedly hoarding food.

Damn you, Lenny. She's even got her own punch line.

Ashley (trying very hard to surprise Mark for his birthday): Quick, I need an alibi.

Moi: How are you going to bake a carrot cake without him knowing?

Ashley: I'm going to tell him that I'm going to Kelly's to work on his present.

Moi: So your alibi is the truth?

Ashley: … yeah. I guess I'm OK.

Ran into Professor Papa today, carrying his cap and gown.

Moi: Commencement was a few days ago.

Papa: Dang it. I just missed it. Actually, I just like to carry this around.

Max: It does suit you very well.

Moi: Brings out the color of your eyes.

Papa: If I don't return this tomorrow, they're going to charge me.

Whoa, what? Not even professors get to keep their gowns? What kind of cheapass institution do I attend? (And what kind of cheapass professor would rather wear a rented gown for 30 years?)

Property of Matter

Nik will probably get mad at me when she reads this later. It's a gorgeous day outside. The last day of a long weekend. I should be calling up my friends. And probably will in a few. But right now, I just want to sit before my desk.

I've got [very little sleep but can't seem to sleep in] + [a captivating book (The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks)] + [new headphones that make me want to re-listen to every song in my pathetic collection] + [sun shining on the couch] + [freshly baked focaccia]. Why would anyone ever want to move?

Plus, my appetites for eating and cooking have returned (the former never quite left). My spinach dip disappointed last night, but swapping goods with frmAmy (not to be confused with me) did not. Now, I want to make a nice roast chicken sandwich and eat a Chinese banquet. But will probably settle for burnt burgers for the day.

Red Bean Soup

Yesterday, I got tricked into going home with the promise of a free, albeit shady, haircut. The haircut turned out to be absolutely fine and at a nice salon, but then I was guilted into staying the night. Only after I agreed did I realize that my parents actually had an event at the church until 9:30PM. So really, I was tricked into spending the night home alone and watching a re-airing of the LOST finale (the ending is just as annoying the second time around). This was all after I'd spent 3 hours in the church office waiting for Mother, only to have her come by and say, "Why don't you just drive home [and I'll ride back later with your father] since we came in 2 separate cars?" "Because 3 hours ago, you asked me to wait for you to drive home now." "Oh. I've decided to stay until 9pm." "Wait, this thing goes past dinner?" (She gave no indication we were even coming to the church from the salon until an hour into the haircut. She's that good.)

Staying at home meant that I had to catch an early train this morning to get in town for Meli's baptism. I would've had just enough time to go home, change into fancier clothes and shoes, wipe the train grime off my face, and hop right back on the bus had there not been a half marathon that derailed all my plans. Instead, I did what I do best:

Moi: Just a heads up that since I don't have time to go home, I'll be in jeans and carrying a giant backpack when I come to church.

Ashley: I wouldn't expect any less.

(I'd shown up to her graduation with a giant backpack-- full of my shoes and work stuff-- to everyone's confusion: "What's in there... homework?")

Moi: And since I have 40 minutes to kill, I'm wandering the streets of Chinatown.

Ashley: Isn't that what you always do?

Indeed. Indeed. I was there so early that quite a few street sleepers were still in slumber.

Dream Jobs

1. Editor of This American Life

2. Interpreter for major league baseball player

3. Quality control for Cheetos. According to Wired: "... every hour hours, a four-person panel convenes to inspect and taste the snacks, comparing them to perfect reference Cheetos sent from Frito-Lay headquarters." I don't care about ice cream or chocolate, I want to taste a perfect Cheeto.

Wouldn't It Be Nice

The internship may not have lunch conferences (remember those pre-recession days of bento boxes, Finale, and warm Viga sandwiches for lunch? I hope you're happy Wall Street), but it gets a little better every day. This morning, there was birthday breakfast. There were fresh fruit and bagels and yogurt and granola bars and pastries. And I found people discussing Lost and crashed their conversation. And met an intern that is not my nemesis. The awkward-to-normal ratio here is completely different from both school and work. I'm not sure if I can ever go back.

(discussing the internship)

Moi: They're all really nice.

Whitecastle (scoffs): Of course they are. They want to save the world.

Species on Species Abuse

A. Sister Claire is awesome.

 

B. There's also someone awesome at my internship.  Or deranged.  It's not clear.  On the paper towel dispensers in the bathroom are hand written signs, written on paper towel, with pictures of trees, that reminds people (written from the POV of a paper towel) that towels come from trees so we should not be wasteful.  When I first saw the signs yesterday, I thought it was ridiculous that they would be written on paper towels.  Until I looked closer this morning and realized that someone else also felt that way, and had written below one of the signs, "Thank you for sacrificing your life to save your brethren!" 

 

C. Eating through a packet of Pocky sticks right now and enjoying myself for it.

Newman

Today was the first day of my internship, and already, I don't want to have another internship ever again. And already, I've made a nemesis. I arrived at work today in a colorful skirt and tee shirt, looking bright, summery, and semi-casual, only to find my Nemesis already in the reception area. At least 4 other interns started today. Nemesis was in a full suit. And had a leather briefcase to my giant backpack (I crashed at Liz's last night). A coffee to my soy milk. Sensible shoes to my dressy sandals. "I have no idea what I'm doing," I confided, after telling her what department I'll be working with. "Well, I'm a law student," she replied in turn, as if that cleared up anything about her job description, before telling me her department. And that, my friends, is how nemeses are born.

Catching Up

I suck at capturing the magical moments of my life. School friends, North Conway, Liz's wedding, Amy's party, LOST BBQ, and this is all I've got:

Mike's Pastries. Every time I think they're overrated, I taste something that I like.

So did Louise.

Besties.

Picture is awful, but note the strangely short furniture of the cabin we stayed in. This is McDarty and Nik at their most "comfortable." Not pictured: The bear on the wall. I kid you not, actual bear on wall. Best cabin ever.

Making Assumptions

Those hockey games at the Bo' really did contribute to our education (and by "those," I really meant the two that I attended in my four years)...

Amy: Horses and mules make donkeys, and donkeys-

Moi: No, no, you've got it mixed up.

Amy: Oh right, that's because-

(fists instinctively clenched and raised)

Amy et Moi: (chanting halfheartedly, but in unison) Mules are sterile.  Colby sucks.

Laura: Wow.  Fist pumps, really? 

Talk to Your Father Today

Discussing allergy meds with father on the phone took an unexpected turn on Monday...

Moi: Do you take Zyrtec or Benadryl?

Father: Neither, it starts with a 'V'.

Moi: Claritin?

Father: No. V-something.

Moi: There're no allergy meds that start with a 'v' and you're not on Viagra.

Father: That's the word! It's not Viagra but it's something similar. It's always on TV.

(did I mention that I'm standing in CVS when I'm having this conversation?)

Moi: (mental image of 2 old people in bath tubs overlooking a cliff) It's NOT Zyrtec or Benadryl? Not Claritin? Not Viagra. Please don't say Cialis... Allegra?

Father: That's it. Allegra.

Moi: Oh, thank God.

The Say Ah Kid, Update

How many Harvard clinicians does it take to diagnose a mosquito bite allergy? A conclusion that I had already reached before I saw any of them? For the average American, probably 0. But if you work in the medical area, 4.

After I'd seen Doc Query and the school nurse. I stuck around work for a couple of hours until it was no longer possible to elevate and cold compress my leg in a manner befitting the work place (it was hard enough finding a modest skirt today-- skirts were not designed for people to lift their calves for physician supervisors to inspect). When I announced that I was heading home, Whitecastle became uncharacteristically concerned and volunteered his clinical services. Once again, the sheer size and gnarliness of the bite impressed him, as it had everyone I've seen. He suggested that I ignore the nurse and get my hands on some drugs. It's always encouraging when doctors do that. Finally, for kicks, I consulted Nurse Ashley to round out the conflicting advice. (and waiting for the bus got boring) She mostly sided with Whitecastle, except for those times she paused to laugh at me. Final degrees count: 4 clinicians-- 2 MDs, 2 NPs, 2 MPHs, 1 JD, and 1PhD.

The Say Ah Kid

Remember that mosquito bite from yesterday?  It has grown.  After a long deliberation with Jen regarding our docs of choice, because working for a group of docs is both a wonderful clinical resource and awfully awkward when you want to take advantage of that resource, I stepped into Doc Query's office for a quick consult.  ("You look nice today... can I ask you for your medical opinion?)  Yesterday, Doc Firewall sent Jessica to the ER for her toe.  Luckily, I fared better.  After commenting on the "nice red border" of my grotesque bite and providing no assurances on the state of my leg, only that he's not going to prescribe me any meds ("am I going to lose my leg?"  "I hope not."  "Is this freakish?"  "Well..."), Query gave me the OK that this wouldn't be a ridiculous reason to see a doctor.  His words were, "As much as it pains me to tell you not to work on my project today, I think you should go see an urgent care provider right now."  So off I went to student health services...

Moi: I don't have an appointment, but I have an allergic reaction.

Nurse Aide/Secretary I: (looking unimpressed) You think you're having allergic reactions? 

Nurse Aide/Secretary II: (skeptical) What kind of reaction?

Moi: This.  (stick out my leg)

Nurse Aide/Secretary I: (alarm and repulsion)  Come sit here.  Let me see that.  You can see a nurse practitioner in 30 minutes. 

Nurse Aide/Secretary II: (more alarm and repulsion)  I think this is the third case we've had this week.

Moi: Glad I can contribute to the trend.

Nurse Aide/Secretary I: No, no, that's not a good thing.

So I Says

For reasons that are unclear, I was designed with a particular skin tone with even more particular attributes-- dry, dermatographic, and allergic to mosquitoes. Spending the weekend in the White Mountains, I was lucky to avoid mosquito bites for most of our stay (and also avoid arduous hikes by generally being a kill joy) until literally, the last 5 minutes in the area. The waters and woods had nothing on me. But I was bitten on the car ride home. And now, the little sting has blossomed into a giant circle three and a half inches in diameter pulsating through my calf. It's made for a miserable Monday. A Monday when I had wheat thins and coffee for breakfast. A Monday that felt not quite like death-- it felt so sluggish and fatigued that it seemed incapable of taking someone's life-- more like death's second cousin. Mabel.

The One with the Adorable Doctor from India

Talking about our challenges of the year-

Shawn (boy): No matter how many episodes of Friends and Sex and the City you watch, it just doesn't prepare you for life in the United States.

I dare you to have a more precious quote of the day.  Bring it on.

Acknowledged in the latest NEJM, which is almost like being published in NEJM... maybe this will motivate me to finish my papers.

The night before my last two finals are due is a perfect time to be craving sugarcane juice. Can anyone spare a cane?

Filial Priority

(after I'd explained that I wasn't going home tomorrow but instead preparing for finals)

Mother: If you fail a class, you can always retake it. But you only have one mother.

Physician,

Writing my paper just now (procrastinating just now, writing moments earlier), I thought of how I need to use PubMed to find articles that I could cite to define proper adherence. Then I said, "Doesn't that sound like a paper I wrote*?" And found that I could cite myself instead. Why, I could get used to this feeling.



*Or, I was 4th author out of 7 and mainly tried to make figures to Whitecastle's liking.

Parental Discretion

The craziest stories I have heard have come from my parents. Not all of them have been true. And many were missing important details. Which was probably why they sounded crazy. They're not very good at story telling. Or checking in. They'd been out of the country for a month and didn't call until tonight, when they arrived in Chicago (to be fair, my dad did email- once).

That was when I heard this story.

Father: ... there was an incident toward the end of the trip. We got stomach flu and couldn't go on the exploration.

Moi: Explore what?

Father: The Shanghai explore. The biggest thing in-

Moi: The Expo?

Father: Yes. Ex-po. We got sick. It was probably from this Tibetan tea that cost 100,000 RMB.

Moi: How were you drinking such expensive tea? (~$15K USD)?

Father: It wasn't really 100,000 RMB. Well, The bag of tea was, but we only had a little. We toured this tea place and the owner gave us each two pieces [of this caterpillar fungus tea]. The roots were 50 RMB apiece ($7.30). It's not like we could say no. So we had some. No, wait, it was 360,000 RMB. That's $53,000 USD.

Moi: And that made you sick?

Father: It's a little complicated. I'll tell you more when I get home.

Based on the hesitation in his voice, I'm guessing some 'shrooms were involved, too.

Building My Church

When I was wee, I was very wee. My red Snoopy backpack often looked like it could eat me. That I was capable of carrying so much weight always marveled Mother. One day, she lifted my bag off of my back and exclaimed, "what did you put in here, rocks?" And discovered that indeed, I had.

I had been for weeks. I brought rocks to school for a science unit one day in 1st or 2nd grade and never took them out. Because Wee Me liked rocks. And enjoyed having them with me. I never said that Wee Me was smart (but I was, I really was). Picking up my backpack this morning (nickname: Yasu, after my bag twin*), it felt like I'd been hoarding rocks. I even checked. But all I found inside were grad student things like real notebooks and notebook computers. In 10 days, this, too, will be off of my back (for the summer).

Keep'em coming, School. I've been training for this since 2nd grade.



*For months, I thought that Yasu, an (unintentionally) hilarious PowerPoint whiz kid in my cohort, had the same backpack as I do. This fact made me feel much better about ditching my way-cooler green Puma pack. It now appears that I may have mixed up my Japanese classmates and my twin is someone less exciting. Jury is still out though, I have a hard time telling these people apart.

Weekend Menu

Finals are just around the corner, so of course I roasted a chicken, made a simple bread salad, whipped up some creamed spinach, and also made a bread pudding this weekend. I tossed some corn into the spinach and tasting the result, it reminded me of the creamed corn soup served in Taiwanese steak houses- a very pleasant callback. I've often mentioned this, but the 3 foods I missed most when I first moved from Taiwan were potato chips, hot dogs/sausages, and steak dinners. So finding that little whiff in my spinach? Highlight of the weekend.

Close behind that was the sauce I made for my bread pudding. The recipe that I loosely followed (perhaps 'consulted' is a closer word) called for whiskey. I didn't have whiskey. I had Bailey's. And it turned out wonderfully buttery and fragrant. Like butterscotch for grown ups.

Booster Shot

This is just like last year, when Riles told me I'd get into all my schools easily and Doc Whitecastle said I'd have "a good chance of getting into at least another top tier school."  There's something about these docs (or something I've done) that makes them not put any confidence in me. 

Talking to Doc Gollum about my upcoming finals:

Moi: School is about to get scary.

Doc Gollum: You need to go into this with confidence.

Moi: All right.  I'm going to ace all my finals.

Doc Gollum: Well… not necessarily ace.  Let's just say you'll do well.

No Such Thing

Just walked out of the computer lab and spotted 1.5 muffins on the table with a handwritten sign by it that said "FREE "  Naturally, I took a piece without question.

If anyone wants to remove a generation of the country's best and the brightest (because surely that's what I am), there's no easier way than to spike a tray of food and drop it off anywhere on campus (random hallway, classroom, lab-- we'll find it) and put a "FREE" sign on it.  If you build it, they'll come.

The Incident

Troubled by the loud (what I'd assumed to be) construction noises outside, I moved to pull my window close and ended up making direct eye contact with a fireman positioning a ladder traveling up my building.

"OK. Interesting." And so I moved to the living room, where, from a side vantage point, I could spy on the fireman instead of staring face-on. That was how I spotted the 3 fire trucks, one police car, and one emergency rescue vehicle all parked outside my building. And a nice crowd of spectators, too, dutifully holding up their cameras and phones toward me.

But why? It didn't make sense that they'd be rescuing a stray cat. We have elevators for that. And as far as I could tell, I wasn't being engulfed in flames. So I headed downstairs to investigate.

At the stairwell, I bumped into an archetypal blond, handsome, fireman, "We had reports of smoke from the garage," he said, "But it was nothing." And just like that, by the time I got back upstairs, the ladder was coming down and the trucks soon fanned out. Almost as if the whole thing never happened. Or if I'd only seen flashes of the event in my mind.

And now, mysteries remain, like why the firemen looked so grimy if there was no fire, why they were headed up the ladder when the garage is in the basement, and oh yeah, why they'd send three trucks to investigate smoke reports before evacuating the building? Is my building harboring the smoke monster/Christian Shepherd/John Locke?

In the future, Building, if there's mysterious garage smoke serious enough to alarm three fire trucks, or if my balcony is going to be used as an alien helipad, a little notice might be nice.

Tiger Balm

I was a terribly truant and sickly student from preschool through kindergarten. In those 3 years, I probably only went to school a maximum of 200 days, spending the bulk of the time at home with my mom. And working in textiles. Consequently, I'm terrible with nursery rhymes, the Mandarin alphabet (Taiwan), and fairy tales. It didn't help that my mom liked to be 'creative.' Even now, I'm not sure if half the stories she told me were made up or part of a greater folk lore.

I do remember one song we sang in school, Tiger Witch (or Tiger Grandma, which sounds even stranger). And woke up thinking of it this morning. It's a kindergarten classic. Perfect for talent shows because of its vivid lyrics. (And as these songs are apt to, full of alarming lyrics for toddlers to belt out and act out.)

The Tiger Witch

Mama once told me a far, faraway tale,
in the darkest of dark nights,
there comes the Tiger Witch.

Don't cry, crybabies, or she will eat your little ears
Go to sleep, if you're still up, or she will eat your little fingers,

I still remember closing my eyes to say,
Don't bite me, Tiger Witch,
This sweet child is going to bed.

Youtube is full of clips of children screaming the song out in preschools, homes, and dance classes*, all over Taiwan. I feel like a stalker sharing them, but it's all in the interest of helping you understand, so please, don't be creepy.


*Clip not from dance class. Dance class ones were all duds. It's a kindergarten "graduation" performance. Extra kicks because they're all wearing weird costumes.

Digging to China

I displeased Whitecastle today. Why don't I tell you something you don't know. Like how you shouldn't kiss a baby on the lips (or pass anything from your mouth to a baby's) until it's about 2 years old. It's the same reason why you have to tell them bedtime tales of a cloud-riding monkey and how Medicare will take care of them in old age. There're some truths that they just can't handle. And your mouth germ is one of them. But I digress.

Earlier, I referred to some people who are writing recs for me as 'delinquents' in an email. Whitecastle wanted me to know that he was not a delinquent.

Whitecastle: For someone who's a good writer, you should be more careful about how you address people when your career is on the line.

Moi: But your shirt looks nice today?

Whitecastle: Thank you. Not helping.

This should have been the end of the conversation-- a conversation I was tricked into having because Edith said that Whitecastle was looking for me and made me leave my half eaten pizza to check in with him. He was not looking for me. But since I was already sitting there, he had some questions.

Whitecastle: How many people are enrolled in the study right now?

Moi: What? Thousands.

Whitecastle: Useless. Now I'm even more mad.

Moi: I'm in the middle of a pizza.

Whitecastle: Should I write "attention to detail" in your letter? And when's our meeting?

Moi: Mid-May? Mid-May.

Whitecastle: You have no idea, do you? I think it was the 23rd... no, here it is, May 12th.

Moi: Funny. I think that's mid-May.

Missing Link

Today, I picked up a folder of articles I'd been missing for a couple of months from Doc Nice's office. Doc Nice did not steal my articles. Doc Giggles had given the articles to him. She'd found them in her office just recently and had no idea why. I have no idea why either. Or why she gave the articles to Doc Nice after I'd informed her that they might be mine and described the articles I was missing, articles she said that "sounded like what was in the folder." Her reasoning was that Doc Nice had been in her office a few times in the past few months. I hadn't. Ergo, it was more likely that the articles were his. Even though he wasn't missing them. My reasoning was: I don't know how you stole my articles, but I'd like them back.

Among all the unlikely scenarios, the most likely one, we speculate, is that Doc Giggles had a meeting with Doc Gollum in my office and somehow got so carried away that she picked up an extra folder from my desk. Because that's totally logical.

Moi: ... not that I ever lose any articles. And in case Whitecastle ever asks, the lit review is going swimmingly.

Doc Nice: Of course. You were mentally reading them all this time.

---

Today, Prof. Papa spoke on a panel for our student research group. It's a small, obscure group but we had a good turn out. In planning the event, I'd been the point person for Papa, explaining who we were and why we were putting the panel together. I thought we were all on track. I also thought Josh did a great job introducing and moderating the whole event today. Papa did not. After the talk, he came up to Laura and me and asked, "So, what group was this again? Who did I just speak to?"

Et Tu et Tu et Tu

As if I needed to go all the way up to Maine for this.

Band Man: I do have a serious question: do they sew the elbow patches on for you, or do you provide your own?

Moi: They provide the patches, but we sew it on ourselves.

(later, discussing Amy's nebulous admission status)

Riles: UDub, UNC, Hopkins- these are all great schools. Well done.

Amy: I did get one rejection.

Riles: Yeah, but who wants to go to Harvard anyway? Only weird people go there and they've got an awful program.

Moi: Standing right here, people. Right here.

I'd feel worse, but Riles revealed that she's currently reading The Time Traveler's Wife and that makes me feel wonderfully smug. "That's like reading The Notebook," I said to her. "I know, it was a faulty recommendation."

Sunday

This morning, Amy and I checked out of the bed & breakfast, where we were greeted with breakfast. We gamely declined (because we were having breakfast with Riles), but not before picking up some freshly made blueberry cake, still warm from the oven. Bed & breakfast and wealth go amazingly together. I wish I spent more weekends with them.

Leaving the panel, Riles gave each of us a card. This morning, we found out that they were written before the panel, but written as if she had written them after the panel. How do I mean?

"Thank you for coming (and for being funny)."

Moi: How did she know I'd be funny?

Amy: You weren't that funny.

You know what was funny? Amy's card.

"Thank you for speaking about things."

Best. Professor. Ever.

Bonus Section: New epidemiology joke (once again, not very funny, though everyone at breakfast much preferred this to Alan's original).

A woman is walking down the street and meets her neighbor, who asks, "How's your husband?" To which she says, "Compared to what?" The moral of the story is that epidemiologists are always concerned with comparators. It'd be really great if epi jokes had less morals and more humor.

Saturday

The last 24 hours have been surreal. frmAmy (not to be confused with me) and I trekked up to the Bo' to serve on a young alum panel that Riles arranged.

Band Coffee
Before the panel, we'd planned on coffee at the cafe with the Band Man. I'd even started dreaming of those vanilla milkshakes with a shot of espresso that alternately made my senior year and upset my body. But in the end, we had water out of mason jars at the Band House. Amy and I shared our favorite humiliating soc stories that the Band Man had forgotten until now. Or maybe he'd never noticed. We didn't register much in his mind.

Amy: (after a story about how kids in class confused us) So which one of us emailed you?

Band Man: Uh... you. (pointing straight to the space between us)

(debriefing the event)

Amy: That was really nice.

Moi: Almost makes you wish that things had gone... a little more awkward?

Dinner at Thorne

As part of our panel, we had dinner in the dining hall, where we all fell back into old habits. There were even seniors for us to bump into to and exchange plans with, which made us feel wonderfully at home (though there was no way we were actually going to the ASA Fashion Show). The highlight was perhaps my tearful reunion with the salad dressing Creamy Oriental. Nobody makes that like the Bo'.

The Suite Life

Due to a most fortunate mix up, Amy and I were put in different rooms at the bed & breakfast. Amy was in a room with a giant television and two queen beds. I was in a suite with 2 bedrooms: 1 day bed, 1 king bed, and 2 twins. All to ourselves. Needless to say, Amy and I freaked out like the country bumpkins that we are. And stole as much toiletries as we could. Extending the classy streak, instead of going out, Bree, Gak, and Seames spent the night in with us, comfortably sprawled on the ridiculously large bed with Papa John's pizza.

I hate to admit that I saw this at people.com. I know this is like complaining about the authenticity at P.F. Chang's, but this was the headline:

Trisha Yearwood in the Kitchen: Julia Child, Move Over

Julia Child is still dead, no?

O Happy Day

This morning, in our mutual fatigue, Landlady Chang misheard my "happy hump day" comment and we decided that Wednesdays would be much better as Happy Hunk Days than hump days.  Haven't worked out the celebration specs though. 

Here IT Goes Again

An ongoing correspondence between IT and me:

Dear IT:
  My webmail account seems to have dropped at least 3 emails over the weekend.  Also, my name appears as "LEE" in the address book.  Who should I speak to about this?  Thanks.


Dear LEE:
  Check this link (broken link with 2 typos).  As for the directory, talk to the registrar's office.


Dear IT:
  The link didn't help.  And I just checked with the registrar's office.  The lady there apologized for sending me back and forth but said that I should speak to you.  In fact, she just contacted you regarding a similar problem.  I hate you.

-----
On an unrelated note, Prof Papa winked at me today.  It was hard to tell because he was faraway and wrinkly (he's also wrinkly close up), but I think he meant to nod and ended up winking instead.  That makes it awkward interaction #847. 

Louise: [Papa] just stopped by [the lunch table] to chat with you guys?  Jealous!

(He was only stopping by to tell us not to listen to Prof Riveting.  Which I have no qualms with.  None at all.)

War on Poverty

They say that death is an equal opportunity merchant. Turns out, hunger is, too. It unites doctoral and master's students, from every program and ethnicity, as we flock toward unattended (ergo free for the taking) food at school. It's easy to see why Dining Services would be annoyed with students. We're liability issues, and impediments to clean up. Plus, we're always grabbing greedily in packs and often eating food meant for those revenue-generating symposium attendees.

But it's even easier to see why we're preying on tables. The school has so much food that's free. Better than what we'd eat on our own. And oh that's right, I just paid out about $48K*? This evening, emerging from the micro lab, I came upon a subtle leftover feast as people methodically snatched up as much food as they could. There was hummus and dip but no bread. No worries, bring it home or mix it with the salad. Dining Services had taken away all silverware, but folks managed. Stephanie found a fork. Some kid was using skewers as chopsticks. And then someone found takeout containers. So we all took home boxes of random salsa, tabouleh, and some sort of wild rice salad. Plus hummus. A Dining Service guy started pulling the trays from us, literally as people were still grabbing food off of the plate, but we didn't fight him. The battle may be over, but there will be free food again, School, and we'll be ready to pounce.

*Not sure of the amount, but at this point, being off by several thousand dollars no longer matters.

PS. The week may be a ceaseless wave of work, but the weekend promises coffee with the Band Man and breakfast with Riles, i.e. nerd nirvana.

Weekend Warrior

The weekend has been good to the nerdlinger in me. Except the part about getting my homework done. I got both gummy vitamins and gummy calcium (one is incredibly chewy, the other subtly disgusting). They're now my best parts of waking up. Doc Query and I got to discuss Hot Tub Time Machine. Though by "discuss" I meant that he spelled out its merits and failings in an email and I meekly assented. I also cooked brussel sprouts and caught up on Lost.

And oh, I just saw a commercial on Taiwanese Americans for the census.



Taiwanese Americans identity and the census. They're like bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens for me.

Thief and the Cross

The weird thing about this picture is that this place has been boarded up ever since I've lived in the neighborhood. Yet it's gone through at least 2 different sandwich signs. As far as I know, there's never been any hot pastrami. I'd know.

I stole someone's Easter candies at school. In my defense, I shared it with as many people as I could have, because Robin Hood is how I roll. In my defense, I read "Thuy" as "Hug." (Nic: You didn't think it was weird that someone signed the card "hug XOXO?" No. I did not.) And in my defense, I also know someone named Shan. Turns out, wrong Shan, wrong me, wrong mailbox. Right chocolates.

Perhaps I should also mention that this Shan has terrible handwriting. And none of this is my fault. I happily ate and shared chocolates that I found in my mailbox. But then when I thanked my Shan and she was confused, tried very hard to figure out who else it might have been that gave me chocolates. That part was easy because I don't have very many friends. Until April pointed out that the chocolates probably belonged to someone else and accidentally ended up in my box. Which made the chocolates taste more sinful than usual, but not in a good way. So we went back to the note, studied its possibilities, searched the student directory, and came up with a few guesses. Jen probably summed it all up best.

Jen: So you're going to awkwardly email this random girl and basically say 'hey, I think ate your chocolates but I'm not sure. And I can't really make out your friend's name, or where your mailbox is, so this could all be a mistake. Sorry if you don't know what I'm talking about?'

Moi: Pretty much.

Jen: Why do these things only happen to you?

PS. Hi, Dave! I still listen to Dave Richards sermons online sometimes. You should tell him that.

You Talking to Me?

Last night, I had a wonderful time with Mrs. Cho and Carol. Those two are a potent hangout duo. Amazingly, without any prompting on my part, we got to talking about the new tax on tanning salons in the health reform bill.

Mrs. Cho: The guy said it was like a tax on sunshine.

Carol: Is the tax on the salons? Do they have to pay or do the customers have to pay more now?

Moi: That depends. The incidence of tax- the tax burden- depends on the price elasticity of demand for the product.

Mrs. Cho: You must be thrilling at parties.

(later, telling Laura this story)

Laura: But you're thrilling at [school] parties!

Exactly.

Comedy of Errors

It used to be that Whitecastle would mock or yell at me for everything except when I actually messed up. Then, like Ranma 1/2 with water (or for the non-Taiwanese/Japanese but agriculturally savvy readers, Mimosa pudica with touch), he would suddenly transform into a patient teacher, withholding blame and telling me not to apologize.

Not sure whether I should take this as a compliment (I take many unjustified compliments), but after 2.5 years and 1 transformation too many, Whitecastle has stopped holding back judgment and now makes fun of me regardless of circumstance.

Whitecastle: You inverted the assignments for these two groups. What were you thinking?

Moi: Well, I didn't think the differences were that-

(Whitecastle tells me he's kidding, starts laughing, then goes back to belittling my decisions for 4 more minutes)

Whitecastle: It just doesn't make any sense. Are you trying to mess this up?

Moi: I'm going to go cry now.

Small Step for Bears

Teevee's McDreamy is a Bo' alum (the Shepherd, not the actor). It's a distinction no one else in the universe knows about. And one we're not particularly fond of- much like the fact that the only pro-slavery Northern president is also a Bo' alum. Mainly, this means that he occasionally wears t-shirts bearing the school's name. Except so far, all you've seen is either "Bo" or "in." Which could mean any number of schools. But Thursday night, I happened to catch the last 10 minutes of the show, and witness the whole Bo' name on display. Which prompted an exclamation from me and a rebuke from Landlady Chang. But I don't care: Go U Bears.

(And go Butler!)

Elevator Music

I take the elevator more than I should. And always feel bad about it. But when I have luggage with me, such as this morning, I feel justified in taking the lift. Where it allows me to overhear awesome conversations.

Man 1: .... what do you mean which? There's only one Mufasa. From Lion King.

Man 2: My friend Dan in New York dated a Mufasa.

Man 1: Was he a cartoon character?

Man 2: No, he wasn't a cartoon character. What kind of a question is that?

Begive and Beget

Are you or anyone you know expecting a child? If so, I could use your help.

Someone named their baby after Grant today. Sure, it was only a middle name, but that's farther than I've come. Baby Aaon Coppley, you break my heart. As do Joyce and Elise (not to be confused with Lenny)-- always close, but never enough. To stack the cards further against me (isn't it bad enough that he's so tall?) Grant's going to have exclusive access to babies in the near future (he's not creepy, he's just being a doctor). And the Ozolins offspring is already spoken for. It's not that even that I'd like to beat Grant, but I need to win this. So start getting busy, folks.

Young Bo': I've never had anyone named after me. But I've been named after someone.

Moi: That doesn't count. And I don't even have that.