Jumping the Shark

Halfway through lunch with my uncle last month, he told me that he forgot to mention that the seafood dumpling soup we were having (the name does not do it justice- it is a big dumpling rich with seafood wrapped in a delicate skin that swims in a soothing broth) contained shark fin.

 

Uncle: You don't mind that there's shark fin, do you?

 

Moi: No, I'm good.

 

Uncle: Because come on, right?  There are so many sharks in the ocean. 

So glad to be back on U.S. soil, with friends and family, for quotes like this:

Jeannie (when I asked her how she was adjusting to life at an all-girl school): I really like it.  But sometimes I get girls and boys confused. 

(this one actually happened abroad.  DBomb and I were discussing Midwestern friendliness versus Bostonian friendliness):

Moi: People in Boston are actually pretty friendly.  If you smile, they'll smile back at you.  Actually, sometimes people are a little too friendly and you wish they weren't.

DBomb: OK, that's not Boston.  That's living next to Boston Medical.

Dump Day

My 'hometown' of Taipei is a modern and progressive city.  It's the type of city where the use of Styrofoam is banned for carry-out containers, recycling and composting are heavily encouraged, and trash bags cost money.  People can only take out their trash at a specific time of day when the garbage trucks come by the neighborhood.  The trucks play a song as they ride by and arrive in the same neighborhoods at the same time every week night, so it actually works pretty well as a system.  But these policies may reduce waste and increase sustainability, but they also make life incredibly difficult for the casual long-term visitor.  Such as myself.  Since I was almost never in the apartment Royce lent me in time for the trash trucks and only had 1 large official trash bag, we tried not to produce trash (green) and often resorted to illegal dumping (not green).  Casual wrappers and every day trash often made it into the cans at the metro stations.  The box of cake that the ants discovered were tripled wrapped and shoved into the Sheraton bathroom trash can.  And at the end of my stay, our large bag of official trash was brought on a 40-minute journey (during which we stopped for breakfast- trash bag put inside a pink tote bag that Dwight gamely carried) to my faux-godmother's church.  That night, when we still had a few empty water bottles and junk paper to dispose of, we took one last walk around the neighborhood, each with a bag in hand, pretended to act surprised at the public waste baskets we saw, dropped them in the first two we saw, turned around just in time to smile at the neighborhood watch ladies, then scurried back before they could suspect us of anything.  Two years of graduate education in public health, and this is what I've become. 

Honor Roll

Two of my favorite things about travel in one rest stop (plus lots of things I don't like, like being moved to a different bus and not understanding what's going on): trying out foreign potato chips and purchasing random fried things I point out to discover the surprise inside (the contents turn out to be a slightly sweet but mostly savory potato-filled empanada).

I will be home soon. Everything to come then.

Fit for a Prince(ss)

(coffee with unlimited red tea... it's as if they want us to use their facilities)

I am not a coffee drinker by nature or habit, save for a brief stint at the Bo'. I like it OK, but my drink of choice is first water, then tea. Yet the People of Taiwan keep feeding me coffee. Fancy coffee at that. All foamy and what not (except for the one above)-- because it goes with breakfast, chocolate, pizza... the list goes on. Today was so one of the new client-baristas* could practice making cappucinos. Tim had the first cup, found it not frothy enough, and got them to make a second cup for me-- even though I'd drank my iced tea already. Consequently, I'm super alert right now and pumping out entries like it's my job.

*My cousins/uncle run an amazing training school for people with mental retardation (MR seems to be the most PC term at the moment) and they have a bakery cafe in which the clients are involved in every part of the production.

Sun, Moon, and Stars

Just how obsessive are the Taiwanese when it comes to food? I took a day trip to the mountains with my parents' friends a couple of days ago and this is how they talked of certain food stalls and restaurants: "That's where we came for popsicles." "This place has really special tea eggs." "I'm making a detour to get iced tea here." Do you know how devoted people have to be to maintain a business in the hills where all you sell are popsicles? Popsicles that are made of water and sugar. To be so specialized and successful that you are known for your tea eggs (hard boiled eggs steeped in soy sauce, sugar, and tea leaves)- things everyone can make. There are so many iced tea stands in Taiwan that I don't bother learning where they are. Because if I wanted some, I could just walk a couple of blocks in any direction and there will be someone selling me drinks. (and failing that, I'd run into a 7-11) And yet people drive out of their way to go to favorite stores..

People keep shaking their heads at me when I tell them all the things I've eaten at night markets. "Did you go to the crepe place?  What about the tofu places?"  "Uh... but I had iced tea?"  Because it's not enough to eat at night markets, you have to eat at the right places, and being too lazy to stand in line, I tend to eat at all the wrong places.  Vacation life is harder than you might think.

Too Many Words

Glad Embankment Air Delicious Food Plaza probably would not have been my first choice of a translation for the food court. But I'm certainly glad that they went with it. It is increasingly difficult to find funny English things in Taiwan, what with everyone learning English and all. These types of things only happen when you step away from Taipei.

Speaking of stepping away, I have really come to appreciate major train and high speed rail stations in Taiwan. They are clean, well lit, efficient, traveler-friendly, and well equipped with convenience stores, helpful attendants, spotless restrooms, etc., etc. Step away from the major hubs, however, and you have the little county train stations. That operate without escalators. Which meant lugging my backpack and carry-on suitcase up and down long flights of stairs. Two days in a row. While other people look on with faint amusement. And an old lady chided me for having too much luggage. "Where are you going?" she kept on asking. "There's almost no room for your legs in the seat."

Taiwan, J'Adore

Our super good family friends, Ruby and Glenn, opened up a personal pan pizza joint in Taipei a couple of years ago. I love these guys and if you are ever in the city, you must vist them. The dough is made from scratch (as in by hand by hand, as in no industrial mixers on the premises) and each pizza is made to order. I used to ride on Glenn's shoulders when I was little (but not that little- he still let me get away with it when I was 9 and gave me a piggy back ride today just to prove that he could) and Ruby made my award-winning science fair poster for me when I was in the third grade.

When I finally visited their restaurant today (in a new, swanky location) and got to watch them in action, I made a joke about spitting in the pizza dough for some extra flavoring.

Glenn: Maybe it'll rise differently with the spit.

Moi: Spit is warm. It will totally help with the rising.

Glenn: You've been into gross out humor ever since you were little.

Faux Godmother: Really?

Moi: Wasn't I always good and quiet?

Glenn: That, yes, and I can't remember specifics, but I'm pretty sure you joked about some disgusting things when you were little.


I have no recollection of this.

A Case of the Unday

Today was an "un"day. Unexpected. Unusual. Unlikely. It all started at 5am with the driver that never showed up. For whatever reason, the car we had arranged for Ashley did not show up at 5am. The oddity and offness of the day continued with oversleeping and running late to lunch with my faux-godmother (she's not technically my godmother but she has known me since I was little and is very good to my brother and I and was our most trusted long-term babysitter). Running into a rain storm while peddle-boating with faux-godmother's real godchildren. And then there was the wardrobe malfunction. This being polite company, I can't disclose the details, but it did involve a trip to the nearest available undies store where the over-attentive sales lady over-shared my measurements and commentary on my body size with faux-godmother while I was in the dressing room (I believe the trigger was "I like your uniform."). Yet the surrealness did not end there. The surrealness was sitting on the edge of a hotel bed sipping Inner Mongolian milk tea (salty and strange) as faux-godmother visited with a distant friend on a sighseeing tour from the mainland whose father had taken a fall. Huh? You say. Exactly. Huh, indeed. A completely bizzaro day.

For the Changs

Spotted in restaurant restroom in Insadong: the largest tongs I've ever seen, mysteriously clipped to the wastebasket for paper towels. Why? Why? Why? Please speculate.

Da Bears

The woman who took this picture is Taiwanese, so when I asked her to take the picture, I asked her in Mandarin (which is good, since I don't speak Korean). She replied in Mandarin. But perhaps because of Ashley's presence, she also spoke to us in English and asked us to say "cheese," which we did. Her daughter or niece did not know that we spoke Mandarin and kept commenting that we look "really stupid" when we posed like that. That made me want to slap her. So I did.

Addendum to the Post:  When Mother heard the story, she said, "I like the kid.  She's like the kid in the Emperor's New Clothes."  Also, Koreans really like Teddy Bears.  Also, the woman at the Chinese restaurant (at a tourist hub no less) spoke neither English nor Chinese.  And insisted on speaking to me and not Ashley.  Her stubbornness  made ordering incredibly difficult.

Like Royalty

Yesterday, I had my first free meal by myself since coming to Seoul, and since I probably won't have too many free meals alone for another week or so, I took the chance to do what I'd often wanted to do when I'm in Asia but so rarely get to do: eat a convenience store meal. I love Asian processed foods. I prefer them over Asian fast food. And both of these, of course, rank above American and European food. For about $4, I got a bento box with chicken katsu, kimchi, side salad (which comes in a separate case so you can remove it before you microwave the rest of the tray- they think of everything), and a big bag of chips. That's pretty amazing considering how I could spend the same amount of money for a cup of coffee at the cafe next door. And it all tasted great. I wanted a dessert pastry to round things off but was much too full to eat anything else. And of course, I had it all with awesome yogurt drink. Drinking it every day at Ashley's is totally bringing back childhood memories... memories of drinking it every day.

Twice as High

Today, while strolling around a rose garden (as one does), we witnessed Hilarious Korean Scene #837: A boy wearing these cute butterfly balloon wings was beckoned into a picture a couple was taking (the man was taking the picture and the woman was posing).  The woman pulled the boy in, but made him turn around so that his back, and not face, was to the camera, so that only the wings and the woman's face were in the picture, and not the little boy.  Yet that wasn't the oddest part.  That came when she released the little boy.   And we realized that the boy did not belong to the woman.  She had just pulled a random child into the picture and turned him around to take a picture with his butterfly balloon wings.

Bon Chicken Bon Bon

Three things made me very happy today.

1. Awesome stroll and bike ride along the Han river today.  There was a lovely park and lovely company and most lovely of all, we had fried chicken for dinner.  And the chicken was delivered to the park.  How amazing is that?  Every major park in the world should have the option of fried chicken delivery.  Though I would just settle for fried chicken home delivery.  It's not fair how many fried chicken joints there are in this country.  They even have an abbreviated term -chimaek- for (fried) chicken and beer.  That's how common it is.  You've got to respect a country like that.

2. What do I love more than awkwardity?  More than pictures of foreign toilets?  Foreign toilet awkwardity.  I don't have a picture yet, but I learned today that what I thought was the overzealous, unnecessary emergency button in the metro bathroom stalls were actually equally unnecessary "courtesy buttons."  What are courtesy buttons?  They make a flush noise to disguise any other noises that you may be making that you want to disguise.  Except it sounds totally fake, so people will still know that you are doing something that warrants noise cover up.  Also, it doesn't make a lot of sense.  People will also know what you are doing by the length of time you are in the bathroom and of course, the smell.  Plus, the courtesy flush button doesn't actually flush.  So really, it announces to the whole world that you are peeing loudly, retching, or dropping a deuce.  Happy flushings!

3. I thought I'd left my anti-itch cream at home but I just found it and all is well with the world.  Except for the clear liquid oozing out of my mosquito bite (sorry, we already talked toilet stuff so I thought we could continue in this streak).  Finding the cream has actually been my happiest accomplishment today.  And I've had a really good day.  Because I am supposed to apply this cream 2 weeks out of each month.  And I am not supposed to eat that much fried chicken.

If I Were A Rich Man's Child

I have been in Seoul for a few days now, and tonight, I got to have Korean BBQ in Korea.  It was phenomenal.  It wasn't just the good meat (and it was good meat! I need to order pork BBQ more often), but the nice ventilation system they had (so I don't reek of smoke) and the fact that the wait staff went gaga over Amelia and pretty much babysat her and showered her with candies while we ate.  People of Korea, you are brilliant in many respects.

Yet the best story of this trip so far has nothing to do with Korea or Koreans.  It has to do with one very special birthday boy Mark, whose father had the most ingenious theories on discipline: The Two Hundred Dollar Cash Drawer.  In order to teach his three children responsibility, Pere Mark had a drawer that he stocked with two hundred dollars in cash.  If ever his children needed to use any money, they were to simply take the money out that they needed and write on the envelope how much they took and what they needed it for.  That was it.  The idea was to teach them accountability.  Because there is no better way to hold teenagers accountable for their actions than a bottomless drawer of cash.  The pure creativity and naivete of it all had me laughing for 5 straight minutes.

Of all the crazy parents in all the world, Lord, how did Mark get the good one?

Must See Thursday

Well, that was a fun way to spend an evening.
Let's go over things I have mastered: 2.4 languages, regression and analysis of variance, analysis of rates and proportions, theories on family change and culture, basic cooking techniques, walking, following movie plots- the list goes on and on. This afternoon, I added 'navigating the Seoul metro system' to that list.
Unfortunately, the list of things I haven't mastered is even longer. It includes: breathing while swimming (and ergo, swimming), not being awkward, blowing bubble gum, and most pressingly, reading digital watches.
That's right. I messed up reading my digital watch today (yes, digital, as in the kind with numbers and not hands) and thus totally missed meeting up with Jae. So instead of spending an evening catching up with Jae, I've spent it in the station and on the metro, questioning my own literacy. I've had worse Thursday nights.
Sent from my iPod

Use Your Hands

Am I going to start every entry talking about how chaotic life is?  If I am, what are you going to do about it?  Yesterday, I had a reprieve from the work work and the not-packing and spending time with family to brunch with Zvi and Susan. 

(talking about chem free dorms at the Bo')

Moi: It's too bad that the good kids are so often stuck with the weird kids.

Susan: Exactly (gestures to herself, then to Zvi and myself).

Moi: No- (I start to correct Susan, but since my mouth is full of delicious crepe, I gesture instead to myself, then point to Zvi and Susan).

Zvi: You guys are here gesturing like mad, and I'm the weird one?

Faculty Sandwich

As I have already mentioned, and will probably mention many times over, I commenced yesterday.  Just like I did four years ago (and hope to do again in 4-5 years), everyone believed in me and thought I could and then I went ahead and did.  All very anti-climactic stuff.  Mother seemed much more excited to be attending an H'bomb graduation than her daughter's graduation, and insisted we take a picture at every H sign.  At one point, she even put on my robe.  I wish I was making this up.

In the chaos of yesterday, I took some time to eat lunch in the courtyard, sandwiched between Prof Singer (there's no time for nicknames) and Prof Papa.  If Meredith wasn't already sitting there and talking with them, I probably would have avoided such a faculty fest, but she was, and so I sat, in total nerd glory, and gleaned some last bits of facetious Papa.

(on how faculty caps are like the hats at the royal wedding)

Papa: Oh yeah? Did you go?

Moi: No, I had a biostat lab so I couldn't make it.

Papa: That's why I didn't see you.  It was a lovely ceremony.

(on his years as the guy who 'hooded' the doctoral students during commencement and his problems with not knowing how much he could touch the female students' hair to make room for the hood)

Moi: Did you give each of them a personalized message?

Papa: I whispered a haiku in all of their ears.

Moi: But you're not very good at haikus.

Papa: I just said, "one two three four five-" and counted the syllables.

And finally, some injury prevention tips (after informing me that I was going to the school with the "second best injury prevention center" in the United States-- the same week that the vice chief contemplated Baltimore and said, "well, everyone makes one mistake in their life")

Papa: Don't throw your cap in the air.  That's a safety hazard.

Today, I become a master.  Nothing has sunken in yet and a million things are in the air (including our flight tickets to Malaysia- insert pun at your own leisure).  The folks get here in about an hour and I'm sitting in a half packed room.  Which is why I have really been milking this graduation thing and dropping a few H bombs to have everyone be really nice and patient to me.  So much to get done before Tuesday!

Oh, did I not tell you about Tuesday?  I'm going away.  For a whole month.  Yikes.  That, and my mom's preference for pretending to date a friend rather than being friends to come in a few days.

Degrees of Separation

Doc Query: I never heard back from you about your title for the paper.

Moi: Really?  I'm pretty sure I emailed you.  Well, I graduate Thursday.

Doc Query: It's OK, I already put you down as an MPH.

Moi: But I'm getting an MS...

Doc Query: Oh well.  You can have both degrees.  Good job!

Riding in Cars with Boys

(my titles are on a movie streak) 

It appears that getting into an unmarked SUV has raised quite a bit of alarm.  Sister Claire offered gentle chiding, advice, and congrats (the best kind of alarm).  DBomb chose the "let-me-ask-you-a-rhetorical-question-to-point-out-your-idiocy" approach: 

DBomb: So your mom is freaking out about you traveling and civil unrest in Bangkok but here you are in Boston, getting into unmarked SUVs?

And Lenny?  To the point as always.

Lenny: I'm really losing faith in your ability to not die in Baltimore.

I promise to only ride in legit taxi cabs from now on.  

Date Day

I love Sunday dates.  I have a default Sunday date between May-September.  I've done it with Nik, Ash, Dwight, mom, as well as people without monosyllabic names.  It goes something like this: post-church brunch in the South End (preferably at a place with exposed wood beams.  And nettles).  Followed by a leisure stroll through the SOWA open markets.  With lots of free samples, lots of sarcasm, and perhaps the purchase of a few overpriced thank you cards or pretty trinkets.  The whole thing wraps up at a reasonable time so everyone goes home happy and in time for a nap (or homework- eck).  If I were to be profiled in the Times, this would be my Sunday routine. 

Are we friends?  Do we live in the same city?  If so, we're overdue for a Sunday date.

Things We Lost in the Fire

Confiscated by the TSA:

The Stonewall Kitchen blueberry preserves meant as a thank-you present for the Zack family.  When I arrived, all I had left to give them was a box of muffin mix and a blue spatula, loosely jostling in a now too-big bag. 

Not Confiscated by the TSA:

My Swiss Army knife.  I didn't even realize I had it until I started unpacking this morning.

The World Didn't End

I took a cab ride in a black SUV without a meter tonight.  Feeling lazy and tired after a flight from Ballymore, I decided to take only one bus from the airport instead of the usual two and get off at South Station for take out and a cab ride.  The Chinese place was still open, so for the second time in as many weeks, I got greasy, bad, Chinese take out and I ordered it all in English so as not to let people know that I am actually Chinese.  Because, yes, I am ashamed of myself every time I order terrible Chinese food.  But I've been an American for too long and sometimes, in the absence of good food, I crave some spring rolls with indiscernible vegetable fillings.  Within seconds of stepping out of South Station, I was approached by a man asking if I needed a cab.  I wasn't sure if he worked for the station or not but told him, yes, I did.  He asked where I was going.  I told him.  He asked if $15 was reasonable.  I had no idea and said sure.  He walked me to a cab.  The cabbie was gone.  And he asked if I wanted to go with him in his SUV.  There was no meter.  I didn't see a license.  I trusted that he would take me home.  It is not as shady as it all sounds.  I'm pretty sure he works for a limo service.  But I am also pretty sure it wasn't the best decision I'd made.  But hey, we had a great talk, a great ride, and other than the last bit where he pretended he didn't have change for my $20, we all got along very well.  His shady SUV smelled very nice.  And it's a much better story than taking a cab.

Retrospectus

In the end, it all turned out OK school-wise.  And in the end, I am optimistic that this Ballymore housing mess will all turn out OK as well. 

Things got hairy toward the end of the semester there (hence the lack of posts).  Pressed for time, and tired of how picky the graders were about homework assignments I clearly understood, I gave up on studying for a course and decided instead to happily settle for a B+.  Despite having taken a couple of mid-level biostat courses, the policy department's quantitative method course had my homework grades hovering around the average for 3 assignments (1 was even slightly below).  So I washed my hands of it all and decided to focus on my biostat course.  But I also ran out of time studying for that.  And braced myself for limping toward the finish line with 2 B's.  Who cares?  I kept telling myself.  Grades don't matter.  Then 10 minutes before the biostat final, on a morning when I already ran out of time to grab breakfast, I realized that I had left my laptop on the shuttle bus.  There was much frantic phone calling (and of course, my phone dying so I had to borrow Allison's) and rushing out of the classroom and asking Professor Bob if I could get a few extra minutes and being put on hold and perhaps tears shed in the bathroom as the exam began and I was still trying to get a hold of someone who might know about my laptop.  Those were the 15 worst minutes of grad school in my last 2 years.  But it's funny how finding out my grades for the course changes how I remember it all now, because it worked out OK.  I aced and aced-minused and passed my way to the end despite feeling like a failure in the moments just before (thank you, grading curves and grade inflation!).  A little less than a week from now, I expect everyone to address me as Master. 

Bananas

Even the most casual of readers (not that this blog has any) should know how much I like to win and how much of a nerd I am.  Put these two together, and you've got my love of word games.  Not anagrams.  I hate those.  But games along the Scrabble, Boggle, Bananagram variety.  My school friends did not know this (unlike my Bo' friends- I love playing Bananagram with Jenny and Karina!).  They just discovered that this past weekend when we had a pre-graduation retreat.  What started in the plans as a camping trip quickly became spending the weekend playing board games and reading in a really, really nice house on the water.  Exactly how I like it. 

After I won the third straight round of Bananagrams, they imposed a handicap on me.  (I also have a 4-letter handicap in Boggle.  I hate playing with equally competitive people who won't just let me win but have to make life difficult for me)  They may not have expected to be whupped in Bananagram (these, after all, are all very smart people with very high GPAs and expansive vocabulary), but they knew about my pitiful tolerance (for alcohol, not people of other cultures).  So they made me take a sip before I could say "peel" to get more letters.  Did it slow me down?  I did narrowly lose one round but then won 2 more.  However, within 15 minutes, I had also downed 2 glasses of wine.  Even if my awesome winning skills were not hampered, my face was beet red and the strategy was not sustainable.  We tried switching to eating Wheat Thins, but chewing crackers quickly while spelling words and shouting "peel" proved to be a choking hazard.  And I had to settle for retiring, knowing that I am the greatest Bananagrams player these H'bomb losers have ever seen.  

This Isn't Happening

This morning, during a break from biostatistics, I went upstairs for the free pancakes they have during finals week. I arrived too late and all the "strawberry compote" was gone.  Still, strawberry-less pancakes were better than strawberry-less nothings.  Especially since Prof Papa joined the table Louise and I were sharing, along with our conversation.  He was contemplating getting some pancakes.

We tried to dissuade him, arguing that it was for people who were taking finals, that it came out of our tuition, and that it was certainly not for people who give really hard finals at the end of the fall semester.  We also told him how we were onto his game and noticed that he stole pizzas from Louise's event last week.  He claimed that Prof Captain did the stealing and he was merely an accessory.  Likely story.  (no, seriously, likely story)  Then off he went, in search of pancakes.  At that point, my break nearly over, I had a choice between returning to a review lecture I did not understand, or hanging out with Prof Papa and Louise. 

It was the best decision I have made this month.

Because somewhere along the way, after Prof Papa returned, our conversation turned to haikus.  And later, when we all parted ways, we all shared injury/suicide prevention haikus via email.  I had to slap Louise a few times to make sure this was all happening.  Greatest. Emails. Ever.

My piece, on my final project:

Endings by hanging,
for Asians, not whites, nor blacks,
(it's the guns, stupid).

Hip in My Step

How hip was I today?  Let me count the ways.

Ironic church attendance?  Check.

(OK, that's not an actual thing and I didn't go ironically, but I wanted it in there.)

Brunch at gastro pub*?  Check.

Stroll through open-air market with  hand crafts, food trucks, and locally procured produce?  Check.

Afternoon coffee at sustainable bakery?  Check.

All done within 0.5 miles of my place?  In a gentrifying neighborhood?  Check, check, and check.   

 I would be disgusted with myself, but I just spent the evening editing papers and making a biostatistics study guide.  So I can sleep at night.

*OK, a little cooler if this was 2004, but whatever, not all of us eat in pop-up restaurants.

Confidence Man

It's finals season.  I am preparing to travel in a few weeks.  Between now and then, I need to grade papers, write papers, study, look for housing, conceptualize a thank you present for the class, organize two trips, book tickets and hostels, take finals, "relax in Maine," fly to Baltimore, graduate, pack, prepare projects to on my travels, etc., etc., and oh wait,

I just found out that I have a shot at getting my name in NEJM.

So never mind sleep and fun and farewell (not that that was ever an option), this weekend is going to get raw.  And by 'raw,' I mean Excel intensive.

Whitecastle: What I am about to show you is strictly confidential.  You can't tell your friends.  You can smile, but you can't tell people why you're smiling. 

Moi: OK.

Whitecastle: Actually, your friends probably don't matter.  You can tell them whatever you want.

Take Care

For Christmas this year, I'd like respect from my superiors.

Second Nancy: Your preceptor wrote a very nice evaluation for you.  I almost wrote back to make sure he had the right person.

(earlier today, there was a scheduling mix up and I stood Whitecastle up for a meeting, the first time in 4 years that has ever happened.  Even though it wasn't my fault that he misunderstood me, I wrote him to apologize for waiting.)

Whitecastle (the aforementioned preceptor): Are there any more evaluations I can fill out for you?

Ice Cold

It was been subtly chilly the last couple of days.  The sun has been out, but the wind has also been blowing, and the air cool.  It's the perfect weather to walk around, but feels especially brisk if instead of walking around, one chose to sit outside for 3 hours after the sun has set.

I went to Fenway last night with DBomb, Allison, and Marie.  But instead of getting 4 seats together, I got seats in 2 different rows.  Thanks to this, and the time I turned in her homework to the wrong TA and caused a weekend of confusion, Allison has barred me from handling all responsibilities.  I am OK with that.  Last night was not a great night for decision making.  Since DBomb and I had to entertain ourselves for the two thirds of the game when Allison and Marie (along with the extra warm pullover she had packed for me) had to sit in their proper seats, we made a lot of small talk about the food being flown around us.  We especially fixated our gaze on the swirls of soft serve ice cream served in little plastic helmets and after 7 innings, convinced ourselves that more than nachos, peanuts, Cracker Jack, and er, clam chowder (who buys clam chowder in the stands?), we both really wanted ice cream. 

(first sign of alarm, as I zipped up my jacket)

Moi: How cold do you think the ice cream will be?

DBomb: Uh.  Cold? 

(more brilliance)

DBomb: OK.  I scoped out the prices.  The helmet is $5.50.  The cup is $4.50.

Moi: You mean the price is as it says on that giant sign in front of us?

DBomb: Oh, what?  I did not see that.  I was really proud of my asking around.

(final verdict- shivering in the stands, sweatshirt hoods drawn, slurping down ice cream)

Moi: So if we were to do a cost benefit analysis of this experience-

DBomb: I've eaten a lot of ice cream and the benefits are generally worthwhile.

Moi: But I wish I had gotten all chocolate.  I just didn't want to seem like I preferred black over white.

DBomb: On second thought, I am freezing.  And I also wish I had gotten chocolate.

School Special

What kind of grad student forgets to write their name on their
homework? The kind that's going to be in school for 4.5 more years.
Good thing I was the only person who did that so the TA easily figured
out who was special.
Events the school turns on our TV for: the signing of the healthcare
bill, when speakers come talk at the school Forum, key
football/cricket matches.
Event the school does not turn on our TV for: the royal wedding.
Priorities, people.

Governator

So many posts in a week.  Could it be finals season?

The governor gave a speech at the school today.  And I got to sit in the second row behind the reserved seat big wigs and watch it all go down.   It was fun to watch one last big shot before I leave.  It was also fun to watch the governor give a talk about health care reform (Massachusetts, the next chapter) to a room of people who know much more about health care policy than he does.  He handled it with good grace.  And made me realize that I don't ever want to be governor if it means memorizing and learning a lot of things outside my area of expertise.  Unfortunately, not everyone is good outside their area of expertise:

(The governor and Prof. B(l)ender are chatting in the atrium, two girls walk by.  It may be helpful for this story to know that Prof. B(l)ender is a white man)

Girl 1: I think we just walked by the governor.

Girl 2: Which one?

Girl 1: Um, your governor, the governor of this state, Deval Patrick.

Girl 2: Duh, well, I know.  I meant which one was he?

(It may also be helpful for this story to know that Deval Patrick is not a white man.  I just googled "Maryland governor" to make sure this doesn't happen to me next year.)

Over Easy

I was going to insert a humorous dialogue I had with a friend here.  But I cannot recall what that was.  I am in a food coma, having consumed a lovely, lovely leftover torta of the Mexican variety.  It was basically a Mexican sloppy Joe.  And not the right thing to eat before co-leading a meeting last night.  I actually don't know all that went into it the sandwich.  There was a pork product in tomato sauce, avocados, jalepenos, tomatoes, lettuce, and maybe beans, on a grilled bread.  Tortas like these make me glad wonder about the whole world of delicious food items out there that I have not tried yet.  And like counting sheep, thinking of all these things make me very sleepy.  But in a wonderfully content way.

---

Moi: I was talking to a friend about watching the wedding.  But then she realized that it started at 4am and didn't want to get up so early.  So I have been tasked with finding a DVR for us.

Louise: Haha.  So you got suckered?

Moi: I guess I did.

Ye of Little Nerd

Discussing childhood traumas and nerdy games at lunch yesterday:

Moi: I used to love playing Odd or Even with my dad.  He'd pick up a pile of pebbles and I'd have to guess if there was an even number of them or odd.  Kept me occupied for hours.

Faith: We used to do something like that.  My dad would shout out a math problem, like twenty times seventeen divided by four plus three fifth or something, and we'd see who could solve them first.

Louise: And your friends were capable of solving this?

Moi: This was not like Odd or Even.  

Sun Rise

There I was, this Easter morning, sitting in the packed pews of church, wearing a flowery dress, and the happiest I've been all week.  Other than the egg hunt, I used to not like Easter at all.  It went with my general distaste for Christmas, the second most important holiday in the Christian tradition.  In my young mind, these two holidays were both associated with dressing up in clothes that I was not allowed to kick people in and interminable days in the church.  Now that I choose to go to church, now that I don't have to spend all day at church, now that I don't have to be well behaved and say hi to the grown ups, Easter is a joy.  It is a day on which I awake excited, remembering what the day means.  Plus, it really helps when the church welcome center has a special Easter spread, with all kinds of finger sandwiches and deviled eggs.  I got such a kick watching how pleased this old lady in front of me was with the sandwiches that I didn't even mind that she cut in front of me.

(earlier in the week, TChu and Jason, et al crashed our Good Friday service because their church didn't have one, this is an amalgam of our conversations)

Moi: What kind of church doesn't have a Good Friday service?
 
TChu: A fun one.  We're having a party on Easter.

Moi: Do y'alls even believe in Jesus?

Jason: Yeah, but we call him something else.

Thighs of Fire

For the past month, I have been engaged in a stair climbing competition at school.  I recruited 9 of my friends to form two teams (Mary Kate and Ashley, natch), and we've made bets with each other, as well as two other staff/faculty teams in the department, on who will prevail as the best team.  Naturally, smack talk ensued.  I love smack talk like empanadas.  I don't get the chance to enjoy either very often, but when I do, I enjoy it very much and people are always a little surprised (OK, fine, empanadas aren't a perfect analogy).

But alas, this post isn't about me.  It's about Marie the Machine.  Team Ashley Olson (sic) had the long legs.  They had the crazy intense folks.  We had the sweet, the mild mannered, and the vertically challenged.  While I emailed my team with encouragements every week about beating goals and taking others down, no one much cared.  Sure, we'd climb to the 10th floor in between class breaks, but there was no thirst for blood.  Everyone was under the impression that this was a "friendly competition."  Except for Marie.  She understood.  Marie humored me.  Marie climbed her soul out.  And yesterday afternoon, hours before the competition closed, when I calculated that we were down by 15 flights and everyone was already home (the flights had to be climbed in a work or school related building- no residential stairs), and everyone else was content to let it go (and when I felt especially bad because I skipped out on stairs to go to dim sum), Marie walked to school and climbed.  15.  20. 25. 35. 45.  The numbers kept rolling in.  In the end, she climbed 50 flights.  Alone.  On a Friday afternoon.  A quiet feat so selfless and appreciated that what Curt Schilling did in 2004 pales in comparison. 

In the end, the staff team that was ahead by 15 surged past us and still won by yet another 15 flights.  So we beat 2 teams and will be collecting baked goods from them, but we'll be paying up as well.  Life's narratives aren't neat.  But Marie's tenacity is the stuff of legends.

Champions

Dear School Cafeteria,
I thank you for your reliable stock of yogurts, granola, dried
fruit, and oatmeal every morning. But I am most grateful for your
egg-cheese-biscuit sandwiches fresh off the griddle. The exact, flaky,
warm, oozy pick up I needed to put me back into a coma first thing in
the morning. I'm going to miss you, Biscuit.

Sincerely,

Satisfied and Sleepy

Humility Pie

Ash and I created the "Harvard Humility Council" last year.  It started as a joke between us and has now spawned into a joke between us and about a dozen people.  I'm quite pleased with the results.  As Meredith will tell you, they also make great, albeit expensive, professor presents.  In the 7 or so months since the Council has gone public, I've met people who immediately "get it" and those who don't (like Doc Poppy's husband).  Those who get it talk as if they've been in the council for decades.

Prof Papa: So these t-shirts tell people how humble you are?

Moi: Exactly.  Because we're very modest about the Harvard name.

Prof Papa: So you say "I go to a school in Boston, I won't say which ones?"

Max: "But it's not Tufts."

You've got to say that. 

Dear IT Guy Who Thought the Soul Patch Might Be A Good Idea:

No.  Terrible, terrible, idea.  Please, Guy, no.

Sincerely,

Soul But Not a Soldier

Oh Goy

I do not claim to possess special knowledge of the Jewish people.  But growing up in the Massachusetts suburbs, reading the OT a handful of times, and of course, that time I crashed the town Hannukah party, I have picked up a few things.  Things that the couple behind me in the bakery have not picked up in their lifetime.

They had called about 30 minutes earlier to inquire whether the chocolate cake was flourless and been told that it was.  Unfortunately, they did not reserve the chocolate cake in the same phone conversation and arrived to find the cake had sold out.  That's when this conversation took place:

Guy: What about the carrot cake cupcake?

Girl: You can't have that. That has leavening?

Guy: Really?  

Girl: You're the one that's Jewish.  How am I a better Jew than you?

(fun to say, but as we'll soon find out, neither of them are good Jews)

As I waited for my order to be filled, they couple played a rousing round of "Spot the Flourless Items."  A game that they weren't very good at that, as the next 3 items they picked out were the fruit tart, homemade Oreos (delicious!), and bread pudding.  Did I mention that the name of the bakery is Flour?  All the while, there was a giant pile of coconut macaroons in front of them that neither they nor the staff noticed.  Clearly, all of these people could have benefited from the lesson of The Seder Plate Champion. 

(All the videos of the Itche Kadoozy show are pretty great.  I can't remember now why I know about this hilarious site for Jewish education.  It's just another one of those things I've picked up.)

Do No Harm

Lenny: Ah, I'm going to miss your nonsensical anger when I kill you.

Spoken like a true friend.

Scout's Honor

I carry emergency socks in my backpack Yasu, along with quarters, fun
pens, and aspirin. I do so because I like to be prepared and all these
things come in handy more often than you might guess. In preparation
for a conference call today (I hate them almost as much as frozen
carrots and peas), I had a clear table outside the lab, a notebook,
pen, relevant print outs, my iPod, and of course, a phone. Since I
already sound less than intelligent to my collaborators, I figured
that I should at least sound unintelligent but well prepared. Per
custom, I dial in a minute early, so I'd be one of the first ones on
the call. That was when everything went terribly wrong. At first, the
phone didn't budge at all. It also wouldn't turn off. I took the
battery out and dialed again. It worked for a second. Then the keypad
stopped working and I couldn't sign in. Then the whole thing froze
again. Apparently, I should've practiced dialing in to anticipate
this. Battery in, battery out, but this time, it still wasn't working.
So, frantic, I rush into the computer lab and stop Casey, the first
person I see.

Moi: Will you be here in an hour?

Casey: No, why?

Moi: Uh- can I borrow your phone anyway? I'm late for a conference call.

Fortunately, Casey was kind enough to hand her phone over. I dialed in
late. I still sounded stupid. There was awkwardity. But at least I was
prepared for that.

Director's Cut, Pt 2

I would gladly show you the amateur production I made for the department, but it's currently embargoed. Which is just as well. I had so much fun with the script, shoot, and getting all these people together- students, staff, and faculty included (like I'd do this without trying to recruit Papa)- that I would've been happy doing all that without a finished product.  I wonder if filmmakers always get to have this much fun.  I wrote some funny lines, got my favorite people together, they happily did what I told them, then I got to futz around, make up prizes, and get a free lunch out of the whole ordeal.  And everyone laughed. 

At the screening, Papa was characteristically and comically cranky.  He and Captain, the two faux department rivals whose classes most people are required to take, bickered like the old couple that they are and we all took sides in our hearts depending on who we TA'ed for in the fall.

Marie: I don't know how you guys do it. I find Prof Papa so awkward to talk to.

Moi: Really?  I feel the exact same way about Captain. We never have anything to talk about.

---

Moi: By the way, I figured out who was behind the video spoof of your lectures.

Max: The one on Oliver's facebook page?

Papa: That's your great sleuthing technique?  You saw the post from his page?

Moi: What?  No, the link said it was anonymous.  I figured it out by ... asking Oliver.  

Director's Cut

About a month ago, I made a short video for the department to use during orientation.

Last Saturday, on a gorgeous sunny day, I spray painted some toys.

Mounted them onto cups (that I also spray painted).

And on Thursday, presented them at our video screening.

There are a few people missing, but these are some of my favorite H'Bombers.

The More Things Change

I know I'm about to graduate when professors start giving me a hard time for hanging out in the department office too much.

 

(standing in the hall, totally discussing my suicide prevention project with Prof Israel)

 

Prof Papa:  Don't you have classes to go to?  You just hang out here all day?

 

Prof Israel: Papa, you think I'd just idle in the hallways talking to a student?

 

Moi: I don't know what either of you are talking about.  We were discussing my final paper here and I'm a legit student.

 

At my subsequent meeting, I couldn't stop smiling over the deja vu.  I'm pretty sure I got yelled at by at least 2 different professors at the Bo' for loitering around the department office too much in senior year.  Although I guess I have come a long way since then.  At the Bo', I knew that if the front door was locked (because the office was closed and no one was there), I could always break in through the back door.  Here, I know that I better not leave anything in the office after 5:30pm because the doors lock automatically and my swipe card doesn't give me access.  That's an improvement. 

Google Reader

Google Reader doesn't delete posts that I had meant to delete.  Posts like my audio post attempt late last night that ended with nothing to show.

 

Gentle Reader, I really did mean to post something.  But now I'm late for a meeting on suicide (a surefire picker upper for a moody Monday) prevention.  We keep calling the class suicide when it's suicide prevention.  When I return, I'll tell you a story of about chronic illness.  But in a light hearted sort of way.

I Could Laugh or I Could Cry

(on Hopkins)

Moi: It's not a bad choice as a safety school.

Doc Binks: Unless you want safety. Then it's a bad choice.

Stand By Me

The Japanese students on campus have been hard at work raising money for the relief efforts ever since last week. I don't pretend to understand what they are going through or have a special claim to the country, but having grown up in a formerly Japanese occupied state, having experienced immigration first hand, and being human, my heart goes out to these studets. They have been doing a great job mobilizing together to do everything that they can to help the people back home. Though I have already contributed to the efforts online (as I suspect many at the school have), I have also tried to show my support in person, giving money and providing unintentional comic relief, thanks mostly to language barriers, a loud cafeteria, and our ever present friend awkwardity.

On Monday, I stopped by the table to chat with a first year in my program who was helping with the efforts. Rather than aggressively pounce on people for donations, the students running the table have been fairly successful by just standing there and having conversations. This is great in one sense. But it makes the actual transaction difficult. My encounter went something like this:

Moi: How much money have you guys raised?

Ry: My family are all OK, but I have not heard from my friends in the north so I do not know.

Moi: ... ... Wow. That is hard. Um. I am so sorry. (some more weak interstitials) Can I give you guys money?

Each donation is rewarded with a small Japanese snack and each $20 donation comes with a t-shirt (should the donor desire). Today, craving a little snack, I stopped by the table again with a $2 donation. The lady running the table was skeptical.

Lady (concerned): You already gave on Monday. I remember.

Moi: I know, I just wanted to see if I could get a little snack. Can I give you $2 for this?

Lady (incredulous): You want to give more money?

Moi: I just want a snack. Is that OK?

(confers with friend, both laugh in my face, hands me the snack, we all walk away happy)

Dress Thyself

Doctor Bill was in one of our classes last semester. He wasn't just a mid-career practicing physician going back to school, he was a dad with teenage daughters. And he wasn't just a surgeon, he was a neurosurgeon. We all liked him for what he contributed to the class and for not being an arrogant jerk like so many of his colleagues. Yet because it was very hard to compliment him without sounding like I was putting down his profession, I ended last semester with a vague comment to him that conveyed none of our appreciation but all of my awkwardness.

Last semester, Doctor Bill always showed up to class late and in scrubs, sometimes with a white coat. The uniform elicited eye rolls at first but gradually became part of his intrigue. He was fit. He was tanned. And he was in scrubs. Today, we saw him in civilian clothing for the first time. We also saw him without his charm and intrigue for the first time. Though I'm grateful that the sight of him was the sole force keeping me awake and amused for the 120 minute lecture this afternoon. It wasn't just the dad jeans, but that he wore them with an over sized orange shirt. And a sweater vest. An orange-green-red sweater vest. It prompted Amy to comment that she "only gets surgery from well-dressed people" and led to this awesome graph (I supplied the points), a graph that every patient should know:

Mad Matters

There they were, Father and Mother, a combined 5 master's degrees between them.

"It's 77 by 77."

"No, it's 3 sticks on one side, 3 and a half sticks the other."

"You cannot measure things with sticks! I have a tape measure right here, see 77 inches."

"Why won't you believe me?"

"Look at the hypotenuse, this is a square!"

These are the facts that we know: My parents' new mattress is 77 by 77 inches. Their bed is not. My mother fractured her sacrum in January and is on bed rest for 16 weeks.

As often seen in our political debates, there are facts, and there are people who refuse to believe them. Like Mother.

I came home home last night to discover a giant box in the drive way, one that I had the privilege of lugging upstairs with my dad. It was their new mattress. Mother helped the proceedings by not remaining in bed but commenting how the last time they did this, Father wasn't home (in Taiwan tending then comatose mother) and she did it "all by herself" ... after people lugged it upstairs for her.

Moi: Um... I was here. I helped you move it onto the bed.

Mother: Oh that's right, I did it by myself with you.

Because the bed is not 77 inches by 77 inches but the mattress is, it all looked a little funny at first. So Father and I rotated the mattress by 90 degrees. It looked slightly better. Then Mother insisted that it was "wrong" and asked us to move it another 90 degrees. To appease her, we did. We all agreed that it'd be the last time we'd move it. Then Mother realized that that looked "wrong." Do you sense a pattern here? I moved the mattress another 90 degrees.

That was Part I. The yell-y part came this morning, when, invigorated by a full night's rest, Mother focused on the mattress again (the mattress that we'd rotated to her specifications twice the night before). Father, being the engineer, took out the measuring tape and measured both bed and mattress to figure out where the discrepancies were. The mattress was square. The bed was not. No matter how you tilt it, there'd be a 4 inch gap lengthwise. Mother, being the pianist, took the stick she found on the floor. And you know the rest.

(Oh, you don't? It's a story as old as time itself. The patient on bed rest attempted to move the king size mattress herself. We reluctantly intervened. Thereby rotating the square mattress for the fourth time.)

For those of you keeping score at home, that's Crazy 1, Logic 0, Metric System 0, Father 0, Father's Engineering Degree 0, Mother 1.

Oops

Did anyone catch it when I accidentally posted a personal email here about weekend plans? Absolutely mortifying. I am still having tremors.

Eep

Emily and I didn't invent a secret language called Eep in middle school. We just pretended that we did. I don't remember if we ever had a discussion about the logistics of inventing a secret language and gave up on it, or if we were pragmatic about the whole thing right from the beginning. We just needed Melanie Kim to think that we had made up a language and that she was excluded from it. So Emily would say a few 'eeps' at recess and I'd pretend to laugh at what she said. I do remember that the satisfaction of leaving her out, or watching Melanie Kim 'eep' as she pretended she was in on a language that really wasn't, was never as satisfying as I had expected. And it was the kind of achievement we couldn't tell other people. Our classmates didn't care. And it seemed too mean of an act to brag to my friends.

That was always the problem. We hated Melanie Kim. But she thought we were her friends, if not from actual like than a social necessity. We were her only friends in sixth grade. I was practically a gift: an Asian girl who was new in town and who'd missed the first few days of school. Naturally, we were placed together and told to be friends. And Emily? Well, she became my friend, so Melanie scored a 2-for-1 deal with us. We were too nice to be outright mean. Or perhaps too cowardly. Too selfish. Too by-the-books good. Though it's entirely possible that we didn't talk too much of our disdain for Melanie. We were, when it comes downright to it, too nerdy to be full out mean. We were preoccupied with books and trying to impress each other and our hatred for Ms. Brady.

Whenever I look back at my middle school years, I am astounded by the misguided self confidence I had with me in those early days. I believed myself to be special and smarter than everyone and who cares about anything else? I think Emily and I worked well together because she believed the same thing. Seventh grade followed sixth grade, then eighth, then high school, and college. And every year, we didn't become smarter, but more knowledgeable. We quit math team. We listened to pop music. We became self aware. And we got friends who grew more interesting and more like us every year. Until finally we began to wear our confidence not as a shield, but a way to enjoy the world and became so cool that we didn't need to invent a fake language to feel superior. We already are.

Then again, that's what I had thought in the sixth grade.

Chips Ahoy

Yesterday, I wandered up and down Mass Ave. looking for old action figures.  Do you have old action figures?  They don't have to be in good condition.  They just need to be able to stand.  I need a dozen of them.  This journey led me to many different stores, where the clerks suggested still many other stores.  One of which was Pandemonium Toys & Games.  That sounds promising, no?  No.  This was the type of store that dealt in magic cards.  And had a room for game play.  Which I accidentally walked into.  But not the Yahtzee kind.  It was all very serious and uncomfortable.  And everyone there was very lanky.  Much like the people at the art store.  Except they were friendlier.  And I ended up buying 5 pirate figurines.

Yesterday, I also got to meet Riles for coffee, which caused former roommate Amy to go into a jealous fit and text Riles.  It was when we met up that I remembered that on my way to meet her, I had had a cookie.  But suddenly, I didn't see this cookie anymore.  Where was this cookie?  Not in my pocket.  Not in my other pocket.  I checked many pockets.  Then found it, shoved into my backpack.  Not even one of those small pockets.  Nope, I had just dumped it into the bag.  And retrieved the crumb-y cookie in front of my former advisor.  Because my life will never cease being a stream of smooth.

The One That Is For Rachel.

This is at least 7 kinds of nerdy, and not so much epi jokes as health services research jokes. A compilation of my proudest creations/collaborations in the past few weeks:

What do pirates die of?

hARGHt disease.

What are they prescribed for it?

ARBs.

Where do (research) pirates get their funding?

AHRQ. (Alternatively, RWJ)

Where do they publish?

Archives (of Internal Medicine).

Work a Day

I love/hate coming into work the day after exams.  I hate that I always sign up for it when I could be doing other things, such as sleeping, mending the holes in my shoes, or laundry.  But Pre-Exam Me isn't very bright and always overestimates my enthusiasm for work (heck, Exam Me isn't very smart either).  But I come and I work and in the silence of the office, I start to remember that I enjoy this stuff.  Then I stop by the board and see that people have added their own health services pirate jokes and it all helps the medicine go down.

Whitecastle: How's our paper coming?

Moi: Uh, well, it's- um, I had exams, so I had-

Whitecastle: This is going to be a good paper.

Moi: Is that the correct answer?

Whitecastle: "This will make you proud" would also have been acceptable.

El Guaco

Do you feel neglected, Dear Diary? It's finals season (the penultimate one before graduation) so my sleep schedule, fruit and vegetable intake, general well being, and school work quality, all feel neglected. Especially exercise regimen, but I've been neglecting that for two years, so what else is new? Last night, after our last class with Prof Papa, we went out for drinks, Papa included. Well, those of is with work ethic went home to work on finals, but I was not in that group.

Despite 35 years of working at the school, Papa had never been to the
bar we had chosen, one of only 2 restaurant/bars within a three minute walk from the school. Giving him directions for the place just down the street seemed impossible, so After much debate over whether it's perpendicular to T.G.I. Friday (nothing is), I sent Jesse to escort him over.

The rest of his time with us (he had a tennis date later) was just as delightfully cranky as the beginning. He ordered "2 big sides of guacamole, just two big things, as fast as you can," to a confused waitress. "Do you want chips with that?". As Jesse later explained later, 30 minutes with Papa was just the perfect amount of time, before all his conversation topics have been exhausted and his true awkwardness comes out. isn't that true for all of is?

Things I Dreamt Last Night

Things I Dreamt Last Night

That I found Jason's chopsticks and I got a new MacBook with
Moviemaker as a present.

Then woke up to a cruel reality this morning that neither was true.
(but the weather was nice and it's still Sunday, so there's that)

Sent from my iPod

Chopsticks Duet

About a month ago, I celebrated the lunar new year by having a dumpling party. Because I invited more people over than my apartment and accessories could afford, people drank wine out of solo cups and I had Jason bring over his stash of chopsticks.

Since then, I've tried very hard to return Jason's chopsticks, but it's been a very difficult process. For starters, I couldn't find them. I could only reasonably pick out 2 pairs that I thought were his. The rest were jumbled in the cutlery drawer. But he said he was missing more and hadn't brought any home that night (which was what I had suspected), so I checked the drawer again.

But Landlady Chang insisted all the chopsticks in the drawers were hers. (And then I picked out the ones that obviously weren't and she relented.) But I was in a pickle. Where were those darn chopsticks? I checked and checked and no avail.

Until this morning. When Landlady Chang noted that the drawer seemed unusually full of chopsticks. "But you said they were all yours." "Oh. Maybe we have the same ones." Nearing an answer, I checked with Jason to see how many he was missing. Only to find out he wasn't missing that many. Maybe only the 2 that I first spotted.

So one month later. I've identified 2 pairs of chopsticks and 2 crazies. Happy new year.

Three's Company

On Monday, we gave a presentation on bed bugs to our cohort chock full
of cookies, information, and fun. The highlight of the whole thing
was a craft project in which we had everyone in class make a bed bug.
I'm proud of our presentation. And was excited to show my bed bug to
Edith and Doc Poppy. They were skeptical of the whole ordeal.

Doc Poppy: So this is what you're doing in school?

Edith: Don't you pay a lot of money to go to this school?

We sure do. Even though we have so few donors that only 2 of our 4
buildings are named. So we refer to 2 by name and 2 by number
(Kresge, FXB, Building 1 and Building 2). Even though all 4 are
technically numbered. This practice is not confusing at all. And
that was how we bumped into Prof Papa yesterday, wandering the halls
and asking "Which one is Building 3?" "I have no idea. Wait a
minute, didn't they just give you an award for being here for 30
years?" (It was apparently the building his office is housed in. Not
the building he was walking toward.)

How the Mighty

Made this as a weeknight dinner last week, two nights in a row. Polenta and corn. Onions and mushroom. And maple glazed apples and pork chop with candied pecans. All from scratch.

This week? I made comically hideous yet relatively tasty cupcakes. From a box. Though the ganache was homemade. These were my "Collapsible Steering Column Cakes" for Prof Papa's class. But the pastry tips were harder to use than I imagined so they turned out like Hostess squigglies. As I was distributing them in class, Prof Papa walked toward me. I asked him if he wanted one and without a smile, he nodded, took one, and just asked me for a napkin. As if it was the most natural thing to him that someone would make injury prevention cupcakes for his class and offer it to him so that he didn't need to consider or acknowledge any of this.

For dinner this week, I had take out leftovers 3 nights in a row. Finally cooked a tiny bit tonight but nothing like last week. I ate well last week. Whipped up a shrimp/chorizo/arugula sandwich tonight. I bought white sliced bread for the first time in years after I went grocery shopping rather than go to CVS like my to-do list said to-do. This also means that I haven't had loratadine in days. My skin really needs loratadine. But I really love white bread. It's soft and reminds me of Taiwan. I know it has no nutritional value. So I normally get guilted into buying either more expensive fancy bread or wheat toast. But not today. I'm going to enjoy my sandwiches for the next week.

The More Things Change

Yesterday, Louise and I had a spat about whose face smelled more like fruit or something along those lines. There was a lot of "you smell," "no, your face does," and other well articulated arguments. But it made Cashier Dorothy smile, which is OK by me. Following our public display of eloquence and intellect, we joined a greater discussion amongst our work group regarding whether people around us are getting dumber (our hypothesis) or if we are just getting smarter (unlikely). The debate reached a climax when I shouted "I think my shirt is on backwards" and ran into the rest rom to turn it around. Some days, it feels like I'm only seconds away from getting my BA revoked.

Papa Don't

Sometimes, I forget that not everyone in the world needs to constantly best the people around them. That is, sometimes I forget that not everyone is Doc Whitecastle.

Moi: I forgot to ask you a question.

Prof Papa: Oh look, my schedule is all booked. I can't do the video anymore.

Moi: You wouldn't want Howard to show you up.

Prof Papa: Howard is a better man than I am. He should have the glory.

If only that sounded more convincing, my faith in academics would be restored.

A Nerd in Three Acts

In high school, I remember vehemently making the distinction between geeks and nerds. For reasons I cannot now recall, I was confident that I was the former and not the latter. At this point in my life, I'm pretty comfortable with both. Though I still insist that labels aside, I am the coolest person ever.

Today, I spent four hours making a table for our informal lit review project for Prof Papa's class. Yes, the course where most people get A's. Because it was more fun to read the literature on the risk of injuries among lefties than work on my Health IT midterm. So I read through a dozen papers, abstracted the necessary info, and made a really pretty table. Just because.

Today, I sent Prof FAO my apologies for forgetting to send the grade distribution for her class (in another pretty Excel table) earlier. This was her reply: "I wasn't worried. I know you both are as compulsive as I am."

Today, per usual, I doodled all over my notebook during lecture. Feeling uninspired, I mostly stuck with squares and rectangles. One of these doodles happened to be 4 rectangular boxes lined up in increasing length.

Maxwell*: Did you just draw a graph in your notes? What a nerd. (this from a man about to publish a paper on baseball statistics)

Moi: No, I was just doodling. These are just rectangles.

Maxwell: Doodle graphs? That's even nerdier.


*Maxwell also picked on Sophie for getting a "very good" rather than "excellent" on our papers today, despite printing her graph with color, so he was on a bullying roll.

Fan the Flame

I can't stop thinking about my lunch/dinner/lunch-again-tomorrow-if-I-can-resist-eating-it-for-breakfast. I am very seriously contemplating going back again tomorrow. I know exactly what I'll order:

Medium curried goat with rice and beans. And a side of jerk wings. As someone who once loved lamb but now eats it cautiously thanks to 30 straight days of lamb in Chinar (maybe not every day, but at least 3 times a week), it's got to be a fine dish to warrant a 48-hour craving from me.

I'd gone to Flames II a few times before, but was usually too busy shoving a patty with cocoa bread in my mouth to consider much else. Something clicked today. Maybe it was the hunger. Maybe it was the company. Maybe I was finally smart enough to show up at lunch and not dinner (pretty sure lunch and dinner are cooked at the same time). But my goat was melty and rich, the rice and beans redolent with coconut milk, and the jerk wings both tender and just too-spicy enough to hook you in, numb your mouth, and make you go back to the rice and goat until the process repeats again. Jo, Faith, and I could not stop talking about our lunch. Then Jesse heard that we'd went there and we talked about the goat again for ten minutes. Then I went home and ate it again.

Ballers Pt. 2

All fancied up at the Ball.

Some of us are fancier than others. Then again, some of us are better at biostat than others. This is my policy-biostat support group:

I know. We'd gone through so long without a toilet picture. Just when you thought I was going proper on you, I throw one in here.

My point is that this toilet is completely plain. The Harvard Club on Comm Ave: All fancy and exclusive on the outside, completely ordinary on the inside. Much like the school itself*.

*I kid, I kid, School. You are worthy of the world's adulation.

Ballers Pt. 1

It was our grad school prom ("Winter Ball") this weekend. Whoever came up with the concept of Winter Ball has obviously never walked through the Boston snow banks with bare legs in open toed (but pretty) shoes. Before the festivities began, we gathered at Laura's for dinner.

I love pictures of people just hanging out, enjoying themselves without noticing the camera.

But this completely posed one makes me smile three ways:

Consumed

The South End is full of great restaurants and a few cool bars. In short, an independent eater's paradise (if paradise required a lot of money and self-congratulatory elitism). There are row after row of eateries serving Thai, Indian, Ethiopian, French, American, Italian, Spanish, Peruvian, Venezuelan food (unfortunately, no Chinese, but Chinatown is next door). So naturally, D-Bomb and I hung out at the local Starbucks on Friday night.

We did try. We tried very hard. We supported local business with dinner at Don Ricardo, where service was lovely and attentive until we tried to get the check. After dinner, we naively tried to go to Picco's for ice cream and beer. Like it was possible on a Friday night. It was packed. Along with every other restaurant on the stretch. And bar. (Well, Don's wasn't. But we weren't going to stoop that low. Though I'd really like to try his flan. Right now.) And everyone everywhere looked chic and impressive and in love. Except for us. Hence the near empty Starbucks.

Instead, we sipped sugary caffeine and talked about middle school and what Starbucks meant to us then. At a South End coffee shop on a Friday night, we were living what our high school selves aspired to (discussing books amidst brownstones- if only 16 year old me could see it now!), yet still feeling like we were on the outside, looking in.

Little White Lies

The board is back. People who know me know that the little white board at work is my prized possession. It's a little place on which I get to be goofy and rally the office together. It was how I got to know Doc Firewall and I miss him. The board had been on hiatus since the end of the summer. Too many things got in the way and in the meantime, seven babies have been born in the office. I had three myself. But Jen inspired me this week and I brought it all back with an entry on pronouncing Doc Winner's name (Winner? Whiner? Winnay?)

Per usual, it garnered the type of banter and distraction that make me love my white board creations. And as per usual, this gladness was followed by immense pressure and anxiety about living up to the entry again next week. Since I was also in the midst of trying to wrap up a paper for Doc Whitecastle, I tagged on a note for him not to yell at me, because colorful board aside, I really am working hard. Not that he appreciated it.

(on my way out of the office for the weekend)

Moi: In case you missed it, there's a note for you on the white board..

Whitecastle: Which board?

Moi: The little one that has just been resurrected. Have a nice weekend. (start heading home)

Whitecastle (shouting behind me): Are you running away before I get a chance to read it? That's cowardly!

Moi: I can't hear you.

The Streak Ends Now

I felt very much like a graduate student today. Days like today make me think that I can do this whole doctoral thing. Though I know that days like today are absolute flukes. But I had all the buzz words. Morning check in with adviser. Work on manuscript. Meeting with Whitecastle. Networked with a Hopkins alum (or a "call with Hopkins"). Did some more work. Went to class. Dinner reunion with econ TAs. Came home. Graded papers. Very uncharacteristically productive. Now if I can only resist the urge to slack off or watch TV for five more years...

(updating Prof Papa on my school admittance status)

Moi: ... I got into two so far, rejected from Harvard, still waiting on a couple... so you must have said something right in your letter. Thanks.

Prof Papa: That's exactly what I told them- please admit her, except for Harvard.

Poppy Daycare

Doc Poppy's 9-month old is in daycare. Doc Poppy gets weekly progress reports on her daughter's progress, including reports of some early bullying tendencies. The progress reports tell of the wonderful crafts she's done all week, the songs she sang, the projects she's completed. Oddly enough, Baby Poppy never does any of these activities at home. Either because she regresses whenever she's home. She's shy and hiding her true talents. She's leading a baby spy double life. Or because she's only 9 months old and these are heavily embellished reports. If only we could figure out which reason it is...

An Accountant and Pirate Walk into a Bar

I'm chatting with Jen in the lab when Laura walks by...

Laura: Howard is in.  And he has a pirate eye patch we can use.

Moi: (turn to Jen, start to explain)

Laura: It's OK.  I'm not going to ask. 

Supersize This

After a few days of celebrating my heritage and eating all the right lunar new year foodstuffs, got a sudden hankering for a burger last night. Sausage + pork patty (homemade, natch), barbeque mushrooms and onions, fried egg, bacon, arugula, cheddar + gouda.

I found out this week that I won't be staying in Boston next year (sorry, Sister Claire- and no, I can't wait for the fun awkwardness that'll hang around whenever I head over DPM now). Not sure where I'll be yet, but Baltimore, Seattle, and Providence are the main contenders. I'll be relieved when all the decisions have been made and the elbow patch cardigans purchased. And of course, tell you all about it. In the meantime, there are burgers to be enjoyed.

Sons of Menarche

Today in my biostat course, Prof/Doc Bob* (it's always weird when worlds converge and a Doc becomes a Prof- thank God that Whitecastle is not public health faculty) said 'menarche' at least 13 times.

Moi: I like that [boy] scientists came up with a word so they can avoid saying period or menstruation.

Laura: It even rhymes with patriarchy.


*I know, he needs a better name.  It's harder than it looks, OK?

My Favorite Things (February 2011 Edition)

We are long overdue for a three'fer list:

1. PubGet. I know I'm late to the party (it's always humbling when
Whitecastle is ahead of me in trends) but this service is amazing for
anyone whose job is nerdy enough (lucky enough?) to heavily rely on
PubMed. Can't rave about it enough because it saves me 1-2 steps when I find PDFs.

2. Since I'm just shamelessly shilling services now, how about the
"Caramel Delight" Light & Fit yogurt I had for breakfast? I love fake
healthy yogurts that are really desserts in disguise. I know it's
unnatural and too sweet, but if something is marked as Light & Fit, it
must be good for me, no?

3. Good news from schools. Wish I had more of them, but have 2 good choices so far, and there may be another 1 or 2 on the way. Actually, this is tied with new year dumpling making with friends. That hasn't even happened yet, but the anticipation alone is making me tingly.