Bullfrog Days

(photo courtesy of Bowdoin College, via The Daily Beast)

The picture above accompanied this ranking by The Daily Beast  a few months back.  The feature named the Bo' the 4th "horniest college".   I have so many different reactions to this discovery.

1. Nearly 5 years out, they're still having the senior soc seminar with the same professor, in the same room that I had mine.  The same room that Hawthorne and Longfellow went to school in hundreds of years ago.  This excites the part of my brain that has forgotten every gripe I'd ever had against the Bo' and likes it unconditionally.  This was the room where I had my freshman seminar, my scary evenings with Walty, and where, 4 years later, I gave my honors project presentation.    

2. Getting back to the topic at hand--  This class.  This room.  This (wonderful) professor.  Is the antithesis of horny.  If this was the last class that remained on the planet.  Killing it with a boulder would be more right than labeling it the horniest class.  That's saying something.  Because I also took Modern European Jewish History with a (also wonderful) professor who wears fanny packs.  

3. This feature reminded me of that time I bumped into Professor Birdman Ecologist Extraordinaire the day before our field trip to his pond (to look at bullfrogs mate).

(as I remember, I had something in my teeth or chocolate on my face during this conversation and did not realize it until after I got back to my room)

Professor Bird: Are you excited for the field trip?

Moi : Yeah, sure-

Professor Bird: It'll make you wish you were a frog!

Moi: ... ...

Fellowship of the King

(see what I did there?  only works on 1.5 levels, but I'll take it)

This story comes courtesy of Jesse, and because it's a slow news day, it is easily my favorite story of the day.  Especially since it involves Jesus and misunderstandings, and I didn't have to be the misunderstood one.  You see, Jesse was at the Activities Fair of Accepted Students Day, and he was trying to help a 'religious friend' out.  He was looking for the group that he knew April, Faith, and I had been a part of, but couldn't remember the name, so he turned to Anne for help (as everyone should when they need help).

Anne: Is it that one over there, the Christian Student Fellowship?

Jesse: No, definitely not.  Joy and Faith didn't give out any money, so I don't think it was a fellowship.

Anne: You've been in academia too long.  Fellowship has other meanings. 

Jesse: (run away in embarrassment)

Opening Day

(photo credit goes to Eunice, who made us wait so she could make a facebook post)

This is why I cannot take pictures of food and chronicle my quotidian acts as often as my exhilarating life warrants: sooner or later, I'll get hungry.  I am not willing to wait around for the perfect shot when there are donuts to be had.  To be rummaging for the camera when there is a whole farmer's market to explore, with brownies to sample, lemonades to sip, and greens to leaf through (ba da chi).

Today was the season opener of the farmer's market under the bridge (that's how we roll in B'more). I went with Eunice and Lois and was surprised to find that I had enough friends in B'more to not only go with friends but bump into 2 more there.  That's 4 whole friends.  I try to go to the farmer's market here as often as I can because it reminds me of the SoWA markets that I left behind (still looking for my Gallows replacement though) but also has uniquely B'more charms.  Like affordability.  Demographics beyond the professional posh class.  And donuts.  Donuts that make me feel really, really good about where I am right now.    

One Tough Mutter

Last weekend, Lenny and I went to the Mutter Museum.  Because I have a love-hate relationship with medical museums.  And the contents of my stomach.  When I wasn't averting my gaze at all the gross forms of tuberculosis one could get or rifling through drawers of "Things Removed from People's Trachea," I was reminded of the museums of Eddie Bert and all the charms of haphazardly designed small museums.  At the Mutter, where I wandered around muttering "gross!" the displays would sometimes have captions.  And sometimes not.  There were whole display cases of unidentified bones.  Sometimes, there were special exhibits with lots of writings on the placards but not much to actually show for the narrative except for strips of cloth.  I was especially excited to see an exhibit called "the soap lady," because I thought that meant a lady who sells all different types of nice smelling soaps for me to smell (as my cohort discovered this week, I have been blessed with a keen nose).  I was sorely disappointed (and disgusted) to discover, however, that the  soap lady was really a mummified woman preserved by her own fat.  Gross.

(walking away from a dwarf display)
Moi: I just read a depressing story about a midget.

(a week later)
Lenny: I think "I just read a depressing story about a midget" should be the title of something- maybe your autobiography.

Grrr-eat

Earlier today, my lunch started with a cup of tomato basil soup and some potato chips.  But nobody noticed that.  They also didn't notice when I started on my pickle.  Then I started eating my sandwich. 

Julia: I love that you're having a pulled pork, mac' n' cheese grilled cheese sandwich.

Moi: I was hoping no one would notice.

[everyone talks about all that is in the sandwich]

Amber: [takes a picture of it]

Moi: It's on wheat bread.  Can't we talk about that?

Plus, I only ate half of it.  But people only see what they want to see.

The Puzzler

Courtesy of Will Shortz of the New York Times:

The name of what popular brand of medicine, when read backward, spells a phrase meaning ‘‘a forlorn informal shirt’’?

Doc Winner guessed Retaeb Efiw.  Close.  But not as good as:  Lonely T.

What the Philly Yo

If all goes well, I should be in Philly tomorrow, hanging with Lenny.  With her track record for disaster and mine for awkwardity, there's bound to be a story there somewhere.

I'll see you when I see you.

More or Less

While each glove finger, anklet, or undergarment was assigned a tracking serial number, it was also given a range of sizes-- from small and medium to large-- within which its astronaut-specific dimensions could be designated.  Once agreed upon, the only problem came with sizing the most intimate part of the suit assembly, the urinary collection device (UCD) the slid over the astronaut's penis.  After an "incident" with the first astronaut fitted for the device, the UCD's designations were changed from "Small, Medium, Large," to "Large," "Extra Large," and "Extra-Extra Large.  

-- from Spacesuit: Fashioning Apollo by Nicholas de Monchaux

Institutional Memory

It's spring break, y'alls.  And what better way to spend it than a roaring trip back to the famed Longwood Medical Area, seeing old professors, "colleagues," and meeting with Whitecastle.  Per usual, the visit was rushed; I ran late for everyone I tried to see (Sister Claire, I hope I'll swing around to your side one of these days).  Luckily, bruising my dignity only takes a few minutes.

(to start, Whitecastle first tried to convince me that working on his papers was worth more than getting good grades, then changed tactics to say that he can't be held responsible for my bad grades, and finally decided that I should learn to live with bad grades)

Whitecastle: Your parents will still love you if you get a B.  I promise they'll love you even if you get a C.

Moi: Maybe not a C.  Actually, my parents don't really follow the recent immigrant stereotype.  They don't demand high grades.

Whitecastle: Then they're to blame for your C's.  They set expectations too low.

Moi: But that's not how you're raising your kid, right?

Whitecastle: Of course, not.  Are you kidding me?  She better do well in everything.

(besides personal hits, there were also institutional gems)

Whitecastle: You just get a week off to do nothing?  What kind of second rate school is this?

Doc Winner: Maybe Hopkins students work so hard because they have to, just to keep up.

Moi: That's probably true.  No wait, I meant er, it's an excellent institution.

---
(regarding our new full professor)

Doc Winner: You know our biostatistician who looks like a civil war general?

Moi: No... wait, oh yeah.  He totally does.  A southern gentleman.

GenMod

Dear Pretzels, I have found a name for GenProf.  He shall be known as Prof Le Roy.  That is, until I forget about the name or come up with something better.  I didn't expect him to figure into our story.  But then I went into his office last week and he surprised me by remembering who I am.  Or at the very least, he remembered my allergy (which worries me, because it may also mean that he remembers that I never participated in his lectures, I was hoping to blend into the background).

Prof Le Roy: Are you here to see Prof Molten?

Moi: Yeah is-

Prof Le Roy: I have a llama in my office.  Is that going to be OK?

Not only is Le Roy funny.  He is perfectly in line with the recent trend in line crossing professors (see also, Advisor Who and the Case of the Roommate's Hands):

Prospective student: I'm allergic to dogs.

Prof Le Roy: That's not going to work then.  Now you can't come to my house to cook for me.

Moi: Did I miss- ?

Prof Le Roy: She was going to come over and teach me how to cook.

I don't know what the admission process is nowadays or what they discussed in the interview before I got there, but I am pretty sure that that was not OK.

All is Bright

I hung out with Alice tonight and in doing so, we accidentally had a great date.  If one of us had been a boy, we'd probably be sharing the story of this night with our grandchildren.  The movie stretched over to dinner and drinks, which stretched into a short drive for gelato, a walk along the waterfront, and gazing at the starlit night.  During our walk, we saw an old guy with a giant telescope in the square.  Because this is Baltimore.  So of course, there was a guy hanging out in the park with a giant telescope, chatting up strangers.  He first showed us Venus (which looked like a half moon because of where it is now), and then Jupiter and its four moons (I only saw 3, but I believe that there are 4).  It was amazing to see such a faraway planet so close.  Even the belt on Jupiter was visible.  That one faraway speck we saw with our naked eyes became one big speck and 4 little specks in the telescope.  Many of my friends have different beliefs than I do when it comes to God or different beliefs in what a god does, and appreciate nature differently, but when I see something like Jupiter and its moons lined up neatly around it, when I think of the human ingenuity that allows me to see something so far away, and the superhuman ingenuity that made something so specific so far away, I get awestruck and giddy.  I can't help but see God everywhere.

Neighborhood Watched

My neighborhood in B'more is very different from my neighborhood in B'ton.  For starters, it's much less posh.  This means that when I stumble out of my apartment for bread in sweats, I no longer find skinny girls in stilettos in the foyer, off to bellini brunch (mimosas are so middle class).  I no longer have a foyer.  There are students all over the place and the only people that obsess over their outfits are the arty college kids (there are as many art schools here as there were homeless shelters in the South End), with their moleskines tucked just so into the back pockets of their skinny jeans.  Wandering about the neighborhood on lazy Saturdays, unshowered and un-exercised, I fit right into the landscape.  That is, of course, until I run into someone.  And there I am, standing, with nowhere to hide, no crowd to slink into:  A newly purchased bag of chips in hand.  Hair unwashed.  No real schedule to keep.  That's the trouble with being a student and living in a student neighborhood.  There are hazards everywhere.  Though of course, I should just stop leaving the house unkempt. 

Moments Like This

My distaste for finals is absolutely clear.  I hate the stress dreams.  The poor eating habits.  The hours upon hours spent typing stupid papers.  Even weeks like this that were relatively mild (sure, I slept less than usual, but more than the average final week) still felt awful.  They always do.

But they always come to an end.  The relief I am riding now is one of the precious few genuine joys I have left about taking classes.  It's my favorite feeling.  Some final weeks call for celebrations with friends and the airing of grievances.  Tonight was the opposite of that and utterly perfect.  Sure, my spring break will be spent working, because I always over promise when it comes to vacation plans, but tonight, all that is far off.  Tonight, there was very good Thai take out to go with the very good State of Play.  No talking.  No writing.  No numbers.  Just simple satisfaction.

True Lies

It is finals week.  I am eating poorly and performing even poorer in my biostat practice exams.  On the plus side, Whitecastle is goading me into doing work for him, because in his logic, publications are worth more than As (at least he assumes I can get As).  That logic probably rings true for him as senior author.  Not me as 71st author.  But hey, that beats being 72nd.

Lately, I've been having trouble telling sarcasm from honesty.  Nicolatte and I kept bantering about how good the Managed Care textbook was until I realized that unlike myself, he really did not loathe the giant volume and actually enjoyed it for all its detailed information.  It's good to know that there are still genuine people in the world.  I just don't like being the one to harsh all their earnestness.

Moi: What are you going to do when she's in Australia next week?
Juan: Oh, I'm going to be devastated.
Moi: Right, you're going to be so lost.
Juan: Why are you laughing?

(later, relaying the story to Amber)
Amber: Yeah, he asked me why you thought it was funny.  He said, "did she not believe that I would miss you?"

If you knew Amber, you'd find this unbelievable, too.

Wait, Wait

The trouble with going to parties with both friends and faculty is that professors could join your conversation at any point, often when you're talking about topics that are not appropriate for their ears, like when Professor Dub joined in as Becca and I discussed the exact age at which it becomes appropriate to crash college concerts (still debatable) or when Advisor Who joined in just as Ilene and I were discussing the possibility of discovering illegitimate siblings.  The other trouble with going to parties with both friends and faculty is that we start joking around and once the banter starts flowing, I have a hard time holding back barbs for propriety..  I am immensely proud of myself, however, for refraining from the following last night:

Ilene: ... she thought liking seltzer was a Jewish thing, which I had never heard of-

Moi: I'd never heard that either.  It's not like seltzer helps you make money or anything.
---
Advisor Who: [potty trained 4-year-old son often forgets to wear pants]

Moi: Maybe if you wore pants around the house more, that wouldn't be a problem.
---
Professor Dub:
(I forget my Dub story, though he's our program head.  I only remember how hard it was to not say things I wanted to, and how proud of myself I was for catching myself and realizing that he was talking to Dub before asking Juan how his night of debauchery was)

That is not to say, of course, that I left with my dignity intact:

(discussing Advisor's bootleg Linsanity shirt and how I think watching JLin is like staring into the mirror)

Liz: Well, if you're really good at basketball, maybe we could tag team, play other people, and make some money.

Moi; You mean hustling?  Yeah!

Liz et Moi: We could be hustlers!

(Advisor and Molly stand aghast)

Standard and Poor

I hung out with Amber and Sachini tonight, a fine friend pairing if I say so myself.  To be honest, I was skeptical when Sachini filled up the parking meter for 3 hours, but we went right past the mark and the night of talking, laughing (often at the expense of foreigners, and being foreigners in the US, which we could all relate to), and mocking flew by.

(talking about the drinking test international drivers have to take)

Moi: So I got my license much later than the average person-

Amber: Haven't you learned by now not to compare yourself to normal people?

I'd take that from normal people.  But this was from an Australian who until recently, identified herself with a laminated license, so no, I haven't learned.  I am far more average than one might think.  My biostat grade, for one, is certainly not above average.   

Straight Outta PRI

My new favorite quote:

"I thought we were having a successful business relationship. I thought the same thing with Suge Knight and Ira Glass. You guys are all alike."  -- Ava, from Up All Night

Pretty in Numbers

Dear Secret Hopes and Dreams,
  As you can tell by my lack of posts, this has been a very busy week, one that has been consumed by work, of all things.  It's probably not a viable strategy to focus on minimum-wage work and ignore academics the week before finals, but hey, it puts bread on the table and assuages the wrath of Whitecastle.  I've spent most of the week (OK, only 16 hours, but I sleep a lot, and go to school) playing with tables and figures for him.  It felt like a nice throwback to my first days out of college.  Except for the realization that I'm still doing the same type of work and getting similar pay for what I was doing before becoming a Grand Master.  This afternoon, I sat down for another few hours of work ahead of me only to discover that Whitecastle had done gone fixed most of what needed to done himself, saving me lots of time, and making everything look incredibly spiffy.  He even made a funny about 'making graphs pretty'.  Which makes me beam with pride because that's a phrase I use.  This is almost on par with the day he told me I could get a research assistant to do my work.

Moral of the story for Whitecastle: If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

Moral of the story for me: Unclear.  Maybe "God is merciful"?  I do know that the moral of next week will be that I should have been studying this week instead of working and blogging.  

---
(discussing Ashley's deep reflections on St. Teresa of Avila and visiting relics)

Moi: People get so tiny when they die.

Ash: Good reflection!  You should share that.

Take Off Your Clothes*

(relaying the day's events and phone losses to Lenny)

Lenny: You're a one-woman apocalypse.

Moi: Me?  A boulder hit your car.

Lenny: A TRUCK hit yours.

Moi: [You were in a plane that required] emergency landing!

Lenny: You got punched in the face.  By me!


That's Lenny: 0, Lenny's honesty: -1, Moi: 1,
U.S. Emergency Services: 8,870.


*I'm not being creepy, Interweb, it's just how we played Jinx in high school.

Phone Home

This is the story of 3 good Samaritans, 1 forgetful sloth, and 1 inattentive friend.  If you're pressed for time, let me tell you the moral of the story now: nothing good comes of exercising.

Quite uncharacteristically yesterday, I went to the 'gym' (is in quotes because the fitness center in our apartment complex is very small and sorry).  Quite characteristically, I left my phone there.  And did not realize it until 7 hours later.  I searched throughout my room for it.  Then I went back to the gym.  Logically, I knew that those were the only 2 places my phone could be.  But that did not stop me from checking the freezer, bathroom trash can, and under my bed.  We now know that sometime during the 7 hours, someone picked up my phone, texted Lois that it has been found and put into the closet in the gym, and put it there.  Unfortunately, Lois did not inform me of this right away.  Instead, she texted back, "hahaha, I think you have the wrong number."  Bad, Lois, bad.

Sometime after the first person texted Lois but before I realized my phone was gone, someone else discovered my phone.  And decided to take it from the closet.  I'm not sure why.  It made looking for my phone really difficult.  Especially since the person did not turn it into management immediately, or pick up any of my calls.  The person did, however, contact Ilene.  Twice.  We missed her the first time.  Which resulted in Ilene carrying the phone around her at every step.  Which resulted in said phone dropping into the toilet.  RIP, Ilene's iPhone.  24 hours later, Kind but Somewhat Dull Samaritan finally returned my phone to management.  They contact Roommate Claude.  She let me know.  And I was reunited with my phone.  We are living happily ever after.

The Pumpkin

(on a girl we'd known growing up)

Moi: Have you seen her lately?  I think she's all slutty now.

Brother: Ha.  Do you know what she's studying?

Moi: Business or marketing, something along those lines.

Brother: Yeah.  Slutty majors.

300

(warning: long entry)

            I remember once, when I was in the third grade, we’d somehow come across a list of the weight of fat foreigners.  They may have been athletes, or a page from a Weekly World News type of tabloid, featuring obese people around the world.  I don’t remember.  It’s quite possible I never read the page myself.  My brother did.  I just remember laughing heartily and uproariously. The numbers blew my mind.  300 kilograms seemed unimaginable on a person.  It was such an absurd figure.  Later on, I remember that someone, maybe an adult we’d shown this to, maybe my brother himself, suggested that perhaps the weight was in pounds and not kilograms.  So the 300 kg man may be closer to 150 kg.         

            I accepted that information without understanding it.  In those days, I was used to being presented facts I did not read myself or know ahead of time, though that was about to change.  At school, I was both the most popular and smartest kid in my class (that, too, would change).  But at home, I was, as always, the youngest and least well read, who had no basic English skills, no knowledge of Chinese history, and did not know what pounds were.  Or American football (I think some of the fat people were football players).  I just found it hilarious that people could be so big.  I was only about 25 kg then myself.  The idea that someone would be 6 times my size (or 12!) was comically incredible.  The world out there was unimaginably big.

            My third grade year was my last in Taiwan.  So much of my world would change and expand following that year.  I would learn to refer to people as heavy and not fat.  Hungry for everything Chinese in our Massachusetts apartment, I would read every single book in my house, first exhausting mine, than my brother’s books, then moving onto my seminarian parents’ collection, learning along the way, more about marriage counseling and missionary history than any 9-year old should.  Of course, I would also learn what American football is along the way, and lacking English skills, become the opposite of the smartest and most popular kid in my 4^th grade class. 

            But when I think back on the explosive joy I had in learning of 300 pound people, and contrast that with the dull knowledge of pound, feet, and Fahrenheit conversions that came in the New England years afterward, I don’t begrudge growing up.  Nor the fading aura of awe that used to surround my parents and my brother whenever I lifted my eyes toward them.   I’m a big kid, now.  This comes with growing up.  But when I marvel at the size of 300 pound linemen and consider how much more of me there could be, it’s still an incredible thought.  

Retrospective Burn

Does a day in D.C. ever go the way it's planned?  No.  For one thing, it didn't snow in D.C. today.  My lovely brother came to the Mid-Atlantic region last night.  I discovered his plans via facebook.  We're tight like that.  The original plan was brunch with Alex, then meeting up with Brother, and if I was lucky, to watch him shoot (music video, not heroin, or people).  That then turned to lunch (Guatemalan) with Alex and Brother.  Followed by coffee with Marie.  The coffee part remained true.  And it was great that Marie understood the unpredictability of family (we did, after all, dash out of brunch to go see her brother's girlfriend's new puppy).  But in the end, after many arrangements and rearrangements and waiting on the vagaries of artists, I had lunch with Alex (Potbelly's, quite the opposite of Guatemalan), followed by coffee and dessert with Marie, during which I caved and got the 300+ calorie shortbread I had resisted earlier in the morning ("The 380 count was for shortbread that was half dipped in chocolate, but this doesn't have chocolate.  I bet that frosting had 300 calories, and the cookie was only 80."  "Plus, you're eating it after lunch, calories are always lighter after lunch."-- public health in action).  Then I met up with Brother but didn't get to see him work.  The plan went from ramen to Peruvian chicken to Chilean grill to finally, Vietnamese.  So yes, I have been eating all day.  The food hasn't been particularly great, but the company has been wonderful.  As much as I like to ogle at menus and obsess about where to eat, none of that actually matters when I'm with people I like.  In retrospect, that's probably why it was always important that MC TChu, Ranwei, and I ate at good restaurants whenever we hung out.

Innocence Found

Just minutes ago, I was stalking Sarah on facebook and came across a photo of her son, Aaron, smiling under a Superman umbrella, which I presume he got for his birthday.  The picture made me very happy, and I thought, "remember when an umbrella seemed like an awesome birthday present?  Oh childhood."  Then I looked into my backpack and discovered I had packed a snack for class.  Then got very excited about my crackers.  And was comforted by the fact that decades later (decades!?  I really am getting old), that simple joy (or simpleton Joy?) is still there.  Umbrellas are still very cool and crackers can make a whole morning.

Leap Day William

Did you celebrate leap day today?  I started the day started with a PB&J sandwich.  Because I ran out of milk a week ago and have no other breakfast food.  For lunch and dinner, I had some really nice salad.  Some kale.  Avocado.  Lots of greenery all around.  And then an incredible amount of chips, crackers, cheese, and chicken wings.  I can't wait for the next leap day to come so I can do this all over again.  Plus, it'd mean that I'd be that much closer to graduation.  (I just realized that if I finish in 4.5 years as expected, it'll be the longest I've ever been at one school, then I died a little inside.)

Out on the street today, I saw a lady befriend 2 old guys across the street because she admired their vintage car.  It was such a sweet and happy moment and made me totally in love with this city.  Until I walked another block and saw a man cussing at cars while he tried to jaywalk.  You can't count on strangers for everything.

Sons of Monarchy

(in recommending a restaurant to Amber, I used the phrase "modern American" to describe the food)

Amber: What does American cuisine even mean?  Are you trying to get me to believe you have some grand culture and culinary tradition?

Moi: Said the girl from Australia.

Amber: I didn't say we have any.  We don't pretend to be anything we're not.

So Not Mary

I am terrible with faces but great with pie.  So terrible that today when we were discussing upcoming lecturers who had first spoken to us during orientation, I drew a blank on every name.  I have no recollection of anyone who spoke to me at orientation.  I was just happy that I could pick out Roommate Claude from a crowd.  It was not until that Friday, 4 days after we had met, that I realized that Ilene was in my cohort.  And I only picked that up because she recognized me, which told me that I had met her before.  That was the first time I remember talking to her.

For as bad as I am with faces, I am excellent with food that has crossed my path.  So I was surprised this afternoon when DBomb (in town for a few hours) brought up a "really good bakery" we had gone to in Taiwan and I drew a complete blank.  I was in Asia for a little over a month last summer.  Off the top of my head, I can name at least 87% of the meals I had.  But I couldn't remember this one.  It didn't help that DBomb himself couldn't remember any details.  Was it the French coffee shop around the corner?  No.  The weird thing in the mall food court?  No.  The German bread place we took pictures of but didn't buy anything from?

"No, it wasn't around the corner; it was on the way to the T stop."

Suddenly, it clicked.

"Oh!  Cream puffs!?"

"Yeah!  Cream puffs!"

At this point, we are both yelling on the street corner.

"So good!"

"The cream was really cold and they sprinkled cocoa powder on top!"

I may have jumped up and down.

For the next two minutes, we remained at the street corner and exclaimed a variation of those words, squealing often at the memory of Laetitia's cream puffs (not to be confused with Lutetia's croissants-- there are a lot of bakeries in Taipei).  Seeing DBomb's was great and all, but recalling cream puffs?  That was my happiest moment of the day.  Though for the sake of what little dignity and grace I have in B'more, I hope whoever saw me is not good with faces.

Insurance is a Good Policy, Too

Honesty isn't always necessary.

(I'm hanging out in a tank top in the apartment)

Roommate Claude: Do you feel hot in here?  I'm a bit cold myself.

Moi: No, I'm just too lazy to change after I came back.

The Imitated

(the view from Walters)

B'more can be very charming when it wants to be (like when the cashier guys at the grocer ignore my cute outfit but compliment my G-Shock watch). Luckily, today was one such day.  Both Roommate Claude and I realized that we didn't have as much work as we thought we had and went on our own little adventures today.  I stayed local and went to the museum.  The Walters Art Museum is only a block from my place.  I think it's bigger than the Frick and Phillips collections, but not much more, and very manageable.  Despite all this, I've only been there thrice, and only once did I pay attention to the art.  Instead, I like to sit there and write.  If I was a professional writer-- a real one and not just a professional writer of papers-- I'd make my home there.  It's just the right amount of quiet, just the right amount of light, and I can sit there for as long as I want without overpaying for pastries or smelling like coffee grease.  Inspiration abounds there and I find that art erases the constraints of time and place in ways other mediums cannot.  I can hardly relate to the China today, to the rural hardships and poverty I've seen, to the rigid social structures, let alone the China of 50, 100, or 150 years ago (and what of the 1,500?).  But I found myself staring at a 500-year-old statue of guanyin today, an enlightened immortal I do not acknowledge, and sensing the beauty and lightness the artist wanted to convey.  And so it is.  In rooms of elephants and warriors I do not worship, stiff-lipped gentry I do not know, there for a snapshot, I think I get it, in 2012, and I'm charmed by what I see.

We'll Take Obama, Too

I met up with DocNice yesterday at his high level government job.  I spent a good 10 minutes getting acquainted with members of the security staff (and being mocked because no one was picking up my calls to come sign me in) before DocNice came by to get me.  As he signed me in, I was reminded of his handedness and Hebraic roots.

Moi: Did you know that half* of my cohort is made up of left-handed Jews**? 

DocNice: And how many people are in this program?  2?

Moi: We have 6 in my track.

DocNice: That's awesome.  You're like, "I know these people, I've worked with them for years," right?"  "I've so got this."

Exactly.

*It's actually 1/3 and not 1/2.  We're 1/2 left handed.  But only 1/3 are Jewish and left handed.

**Uh, probably should have said "people who are left handed and Jewish," bygones.

Not So Painless

It used to be so easy.  When Vita-K and I got stressed out at the Bo', we'd look longingly at the cars passing through the college perimeters and think, "if I get hit by one of these cars and break my arm, I probably won't have to take this exam for another few days.  I might even get a few extensions."

These days, I know that my chances of getting hit at the Bo' would be slim, what with the cautious drivers, good road design and safety features.  Plus, the odds were against me along.  The cars weren't speeding and I was neither intoxicated, nor walking between 2-4am. 

Five years out of the Bo' and still in school, this is how we discuss our work load now:

Moi: These classes make me want to shoot myself.  Except that that's irresponsible gun use and I don't even have a license for one.  Hanging seems painful but so few people succeed with pills. (literally going down the CDC's leading causes of suicides in my head as I say this)

Amber (she's Australian, and thus familiar with crime and death): I've heard poison is pretty effective.  No idea where one could access that though.  You wouldn't want to get it wrong.

Big and Little

(pardon the fb overlap) I plan on using mine as a floatation device. But really, the possibilities are endless when it comes to multi-purpose spoons.

Wild and Crazy Days

(explaining "secret fun" to Nick and his friends at brunch)

Moi: Speaking of secret fun, let me show you these socks!  (run off to get my Che socks-- guys, I will show you these socks one day)

Everyone: Socks?

Nick: Have I told you guys how wild she was in high school?  With the parties and the crazy socks?

Probably Much More Exciting for Me Than Anyone Reading This

What a flurry of posts this weekend.  Since I spent most of the weekend avoiding homework, I now have more work ahead of me than ever and have to work doubly hard at procrastination.  But where was I?  Ah, yes, the nerdtastic story.

Among the Asian American and/or Christian communities, or just Jeremy Lin fans (but really, aren't they synonymous?), this Times article has been spreading like the GI bug that befell Boston hospitals last month.  Most readers who connected with this probably thought, "wow, this articulates what I was feeling, gee thanks!"  I thought, "whoa, this reporter who penned that awesome series on gun control also articulated what I was feeling in a nuanced first-person point of view, gee thanks!"  So, as I told you, I wrote to him and even quoted him to wrap up one of my posts.

That quote, it turns out, also caught the eyes a gazillions others, and was tweeted and retweeted by folks no less than Spike Lee.  It was in investigating this last night (actually, in investigating how some poor lads stumbled upon this place by googling that quote) that I noticed something interesting: the original verse (see post below) mentions perseverance.  The article quote doesn't.  But it was in quotes and ostensibly attributed to the Bible.  Did JLin once misquote his favorite verse?  Did it get edited down for length?  Or style?  And why is Chapter 26 of my textbook so, so long?  My head swarmed with questions and at around 10pm on Sunday, I faced 2 choices: investigate this, or continue my reading.  Naturally, I chose veritas seeking, and emailed Role Model Journalist again. 
.
His response was quick and surprising: he messed up.  He's not sure how perseverance got left off.  And, best of all (for me, not Role Model Journalist), of all gazillion Christians who have contacted him regarding the article, I was the first one to point this out.  He hadn't noticed until I wrote him.  I expect my Sunday School to award me a post-attendance plaque for such diligence, spotting what no one else did (or pointing it out when everyone else had the good grace to look the other way),  And that, dear pretzels, is my Jeremy-Lin-NYT-reporter connection.

Hope Floats

(for the 3 people on google looking for the source)

Michael Luo's Times article on Jeremy Lin ends with the quote:

A Bible verse that he has cited as a favorite came to mind, encouraging believers that “suffering produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us.”

It's a Bible verse from Romans 5:3-5, but not quite (" because we know that suffering produces perseverance; ⁴ perseverance, character; and character, hope. ⁵ And hope does not disappoint us").  Perseverance is missing. I've got a nerdtastic story on that (see post above).  But first, I have to do some boring things, like showering and going to school.  And trying not to rip my jeans on the way out the door.

Simple Statistics

The post below is long.  It's all about my happy day today.  Here is a quick look at a fraction of the day, by the numbers.

Number of times it has snowed in DC since August, 2011: 3
Number of times I have been to DC since August, 2011: 3
Number of times it has snowed when I have been to DC since August, 2011: 3

All in all, a perfect yet horrendous record.

Number of times I have been to Kramerbooks in DC: 2
Number of times I have been seated for brunch at Kramberbooks in DC: 2
Number of times I have had 4 sips of complimentary orange juice then left without ordering anything at Kramerbooks: 2
Amount of apologetic tip left behind/number of sips I have had:  $0.50/sip

All in all, an imperfect but vitamin-rich record.

Open Content

Could this day get better, Pretzel?  Yes.  If my accumulating assignments were magically completely for me.  But short of that, and the hours of reading I have ahead of me tonight, this has been a fantastic day.  The kind of fun filled day I used to have in B'ton (with the Bo' and B'more, it was only natural that I shorten Boston), back when I had more friends and less homework. 

The morning started rough when I ripped my jeans at the knee when I bent down to tie my shoelaces (note to self: exercise trims fat) and got a little rougher when I got to DC and rode the metro the wrong way for 10 minutes.  But my jeans-putting-on efforts were richly rewarded with a fantastic brunch at Nick & Ellen's.  Followed by a round of Dixit, which I won.  Brunch and winning are quite possibly my favorite weekend activities, especially with huge sides of Grade B maple syrup and laughter.  What could follow such a great morning?  Chocolate espresso shortbread cookies and conversations about public health and the Bo' at a trendy tea house (with my brother's friend, who I'm claiming as a new friend-- the amazingly talented Wolf Larsen)  Again, it's as if someone drew random words out of a My Favorite Things bowl and came up with the afternoon.  If your mind isn't blown yet, you need to talk to Jenny F Wong.  She'll tell you how much I love shortbread. 

Did the good times end when I got home to B'more?  No.  Not when my New Yorker finally came in the mail (maybe receiving a magazine you subscribe to isn't a highlight for most people, but most people lead more exciting lives than I do).  Not when I discovered one of the first nuanced and likable pieces on Jeremy Lin was written by a reporter I already respected.  I wrote to him.  And he responded within the hour.  (then I possibly alienated him by my follow up email, but let's not mention that). 

After a rough start, not just to the day, but to the week, I'm content and grateful for today.  So let me end now by lazily cribbing an ending by a much better writer:

In the midst of his stellar run last week, I couldn’t help but reflect on Lin’s journey. A Bible verse that he has cited as a favorite came to mind, encouraging believers that “suffering produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us.”

Galentine's Day Miracle

(can you tell which is made in the USA?)

It felt like Christmas, pretzels, if Christmas morning in my household meant unwrapping highly anticipated presents (it doesn't). It felt like Amazon-package-arrival day today when I opened the mail slot and noticed a package from Pilot Pens.  If you haven't noticed, I love my Pilot pens.  And I love free things.  So when I read that one of my favorite comics Mitch Hedberg had written Uni-Ball and gotten a favorable response, I decided to write to Pilot.  I told them that I love their products but that unfortunately, none of my favorite pens are available in the U.S., and asked for their help.  They sent me 3 pens.  The American version of my day-to-day pen, the BPS (above), the American version of my new favorite, the Supergrip (below), and a pretty nice, fine G-Tec C3.  Unfortunately, my Christmas feeling lasted for about as long as it took for me to check the pens out.  But hey, that's 2 more minutes than this day would have had.  I still love Pilot.  Even more now that they indulged my pen nerdiness and gave me a pen catalog (what do people do with those?).  I still love the Pilot pens I bought in Taiwan.  But the American pens (with the exception of the G-Tec, but that's too fine for every day use) are ugly and uncomfortable (insert American joke here).  Next up: Dear Maserati? 

Petit Chou Chou

Dear Pretzel:
  See how changed things up there, Reader?  I'm nickname testing.  According to Nicolatte, Pretzel is a perfectly good moniker (he tried to call Rachael that today) because "pretzels are tasty."  The logic may be flimsy, but it's slowly winning me over. The only trouble is, pretzels are much harder to rhyme, than say, HIV.

(trying to find a word that rhymed with Ilene's disease after I explained to her how Mac got his nickname because it's short for Hemophiliac Mac)

Ilene: Maybe I'll contract AIDS because that's easier to rhyme with. 

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is your quote of the week. 

It's Me, Margaret

It's been awhile since I've had a good Whitecastle story.  Because it's been awhile since I've seen Whitecastle.  That's what happens when one moves away to a different state, goes to school full time, and can only disappoint collaborate on a few small projects remotely.  Not that he has noticed.  It wasn't until I'd mentioned running into someone he knew at a party that he wondered if I was back in B'more.  I have been.  For about a month.  It's good to be missed. 

Sage, Words that Are

(does the context really matter here?)

Lenny: Did your parents actually ever feed you or were you more or less left to your own devices?

Network Down

Last night, as I had foreshadowed, I went to a party at Advisor Who's house (where it seemed like Advisor Who has advised just about everyone in B'more-- he really gets around).  Naturally, my pierogis electrified the party.  That is slightly overselling my handiwork, but I was looking for alternatives to "rocked" and "kicked ass," and with my limited vocabulary, "electrified" was the best that I can do.  Still, people ate them up.  The party was surprisingly, almost disappointingly, void of awkwardity.  Except from the professor I least expected to be awkward.  Professor Mr. Alan Alda Rogers.  He seemed like just the nicest professor ever, and we had all fallen in love with him when he spoke at one of our seminars last year.  Too bad that after a quick introduction last night and a couple exchanges of pleasantries, he promptly walked away from me to concentrate on chips.  I did enjoy, however, the chirpy Advisor's surprisingly deadpan humor last night.  We went back and forth exaggerating the number of schools cancelled in B'more tomorrow (actual number: 0), increasingly adding on school districts, even Hopkins, and also cancelling all homework in the process.  This completely befuddled his lesser, undergraduate advisees, which I particularly enjoyed.  Let that be a lesson to you kids.  Don't try to blend in with grown ups before your time.  It will only confuse you.  I should know. 

Shine and Polish

One of my favorite pictures from my semester in Eddie Bert was the sign outside a Middle Eastern deli that said "Polish Week."  It perfectly captured the randomness and absurdity of Eddie Bert.  I keep waiting for signs like that to capture in B'more.  But the humor here is much, much darker.  Bodies-found-in-garbage-chute kind of dark.  We have gotten a lot of miles out of that one.  Anyway, polish fusion week continued in my kitchen tonight:  Kielbasa and sauerkraut + sriracha.  I'm surprised more people don't sauerkraut it that way.  It's delicious.

But What Am I?

  I made short-cut pierogis tonight.  They were delicious.  I only had 2 and Roommate Claude had 2, but we liked them all.  The rest are for a potluck at my advisor's house later this week.  I have a feeling awkwardity will ensue.  I am bringing pierogis because I am tired of people wishing me a happy new year in February (though I can't decide if it's more obnoxious when non-Asians wish each other happy new year in February, or when they only do it to me).  And seeing dragon-themed cupcake competitions on my teevee.  It appears that my secret is out.  Everyone in B'more has noticed that I am Taiwanese.

  Eunice and I visited a new church today.  The very nice pastor did not wish us happy new year (praise the Lord).  But he did spend three minutes convincing us that he knew Asians (this is what happens, Eunice, when you make a joke about race to very polite people), and that he used to hang out with them all the time back west, and that he's not "used to congregations with so many white people."  Naturally, all this attention on my heritage made me want to come home and mash potatoes and sauerkraut together.  Which is exactly what I did.  Then I tucked them into store-bought dumpling wrappers from the Chinese grocery store.  And the rest, as you know, was delicious.

----

Ashley: Hahaha.  [I bet] he shows you how he can use chopsticks to prove his point.

Moi: And pulls up pictures of his Asian friends on his phone...  but it's really a poster of Harold and Kumar.

ADDENDUM:

(DBomb's reaction to the pastor story)

DBomb: Wow.  You should've given him an award.  Sounds like he wanted one.

Ages of Wisdom

Both Prof McGoofy and Ilene are going to be making frequent appearances here.  Though I have a feeling only one of them is trying to get in.

(in the rest room today, looking for something to ace, I noticed that I was out washing my hands before Ilene was, though we entered at the same time)

Moi: Aha, I beat you!

Ilene: I'll get you next time.  You were already smiling when you were talking, like you had planned this.

Moi: Well, I knew what I was going to say, because I'm the one saying it.  That's how it works.  I think, then I speak.

Ilene: Sometimes it doesn't seem like that with you.

I would be indignant, but apparently crossing my arms and pouting is "childish."  I am learning so much in PhD school.  Another nugget I picked up today?  That it is Justin Timberlake's birthday.

Professor McGoofy: Just because Justin Timberlake is 31 today and I'm 32, doesn't mean we can know who has higher cholesterol.  ... OK, that was a bad example.  You probably could figure it out.

Public Health, Things That Are

(asking Ash about her new job at a military hospital)

Moi: Do you teach your patients about firearm safety... while they are sleeping?  (obviously referring to the  public health classic While We Were Sleeping)

Ash: Why would they be sleeping during their pap smears?

Moi: Because that's when public health happens.

Ash: How could I forget?  (obviously remembering the public health classic While We Were Sleeping) Public health is like Inception.

It is indeed.  Affordable quality care.  Clean drinking waters.  Safe environments.  It is the stuff dreams are made of.

Excuse for Not Being on the Elliptical, #82

I was just about to talk myself into going to the gym-- things got so bad that I was using an economic evaluation homework assignment as an excuse not to work out-- when I realized that my iPod was nearly out of batteries.  I am pretty sure that people never exercised before the days of MP3* players.  After all, what would they have listened to? 

That's Academics: 1, Apple: 1, and Physical Health: -1,334

*Yeah, like people ran with Discmans.

Girls Rule

Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night and discovered that you've drooled so much that your collar and sleeve are soaked and you need a change of clothing?

No?

Neither have I.

Cold, Stone, Mushery

Figured I'd mark this while it was still fresh in my mind.

Talking about the rare circumstances when we cry at movies...

Moi: I don't normally cry, except when there's dead parent, or sometimes dead child, that just kills me.

Ilene: I'm that way, too, there's just something about that-

Alene: Exactly!  Or when people's feelings are hurt.

Ilene + Moi: No... that doesn't do it.

A Nerd's Best Friend

I love Professor Molten.  She is warm and kind, which sets her apart from most of my academic role models.  Like Whitecastle however, she is a staunch Mac supporter.  When I mentioned to her my own nerdy reason for wanting one ("they have this really need program that manages your PDF articles called papers... and uh... the design?"), she excitedly told me hers: conflict minerals.  In other words: one more thing to feel guilty about.  Conflict minerals are like blood diamonds.  But much more prevalent.  According to the Enough Project (Molten: That's E-N-O-U-G-H, for whatever reason, whenever I tell people about the organization, they think it's spelled with an F), Apple is one of the few companies that has agreed to stop using conflict minerals in their source supply chain. 

We could have stopped there, but I couldn't resist letting her walk off with the Conscience Prize.  Plus, talking about issues gets so exciting.  So I pointed out the Times' extensive series on Apple's unsafe manufacturing conditions, and how they were much worse than other PC producers.  Because really, that's what it comes down to, not living conditions or user preferences, but who can cite more liberal media content.

McGoofy Judy. And Ilene.

(a long entry to make up for all the days of silence)


I try very hard to be on the good side of every department administrator I have had to work with.  In college, Lori and I had a love-mock relationship, in which I was always really nice to her and she often made fun of me.  OK, that may be because I once went to both hers and Riles' office to see if I left a blue pen behind and that seemed a little too pen-possessive for her.  In my defense, it was a really good pen.  It all paid off in the Case of the Award Mix-Up and she got them to redo the award plaque and even add my middle name into the mix.  At DoPE, Young Bo' and I made valentines, was always super respectful, and smiled as much as we could to the executive assistants.  I'm not sure it has paid off.  But we did eat a lot of chocolates from Jolanda's candy tray.  And at the H'Bomb, Anne got me out of a $85 late fee.  And did not yell at me for many, many late forms.  And funded our screening lunch.  So here at H'Bomb II, I was shocked to discover last week that I had to live according to deadlines and that being sweet to administrators does not guarantee getting out of jams.  In fact, some administrators get quite annoyed if you register for classes late (what school shuts down registration a week before classes start?!).  I am now on Judy's bad side.  The same week I need her help getting into a class.  I am not used to being on a bad side.  It feels all tingly in my chest.

------
Professor McGoofy (edit: McGoofy replaces his nickname-for-a-week-Matthew.  this took awhile, but I think it's a better fit)  is my new biostat professor.  He is the most spazztastically wondrous biostat professor I have ever had.  He's not only visually entrancing (he and his hands never stop moving, though they often go in different directions), but funny as well.  A couple of gems from today's lecture:

"Confounding is like beauty.  It is in the eye of the beholder."

"You guys remember the distributive property fondly, right?  From Algebra 2?  We all remember junior high fondly.  (in sing song voice)  Best years of our lives!"

------
Oh right.  Ilene?  She's OK.

Is Bob Your Uncle?

I was super disciplined last night.  I ate my vegetables (and 4 cookies...), did work for Doc Whitecastle (ignored my readings), and did not watch too much TV (save the latest Downton).  More importantly, I managed to wrap everything up so that I would be in bed by 11pm.  I fell asleep about 15 minutes later.  Only to be woken up another 15 minutes later by my uncle.

He is in Vancouver for a few days and wanted to say hi. At 11:40PM.  I found it hard to believe that a man who frequently travels to both Vancouver and D.C. from Taiwan might not know about time zones.  Uncle also told me to feel free to call him with any problems at any time-- that is, anytime within the next 2 days he'll be in North America, on any issue that he would be better suited to handle than my parents, who actually live within my time zone.  I groggily thanked him for the offer, and when we hung up and I was once again wide awake, I shook my fist at the uncles of the day.

You see, earlier in the day, Prof Papa had told me a story of his daughter's Uncle Robert via email.  It was so random that both Lenny and Liz, separately, asked after his mental health status.  But no, he wasn't sundowning, uncles just tend to inspire weirdness.

Picture Day

Last week, we sat around swapping awkward professor stories, and because I always win, and I attract awkwardity like lint, I had more stories than everyone else.  These used to be all fun and games, but now professor stories bring moments of introspection and anxiety.  Are we going to be like them?  Are we already like them?  What is it about professors that make them so socially unacceptable?  I don't know.  But Prof Papa sent me a picture of his daughter today.  I'm pretty sure that that's not normal.  I really do miss that man and his repetitive but perspective-altering lectures. 

A New Hope

In about 12 hours, classes will resume and I will be a full time student again.  My evenings will be consumed by procrastination and the end of procrastination, which is homework.  Right now, my room is vacuumed, the laundry has been done, and the desk is as organized as it will ever be.  Here is to a new year. 

Grand Plan

I spent the day in D.C. yesterday, yet nothing went the way it was supposed to.  The past 48 hours has been a whirlwind of plans then renegotiated plans and modifications to said plans due to weather and human error.  First up: dinner.  It went from Sachini + burgers to Max + Marie at Eastern Market to Max + Marie + burgers - Sachini all within the span of a few hours.  The same applied to Saturday:  Tea + Brother's Friend Sarah became tea + lunch + Nick + Marie, which became new puppy + Marie's family - tea - Nick.  Not that I'm complaining.  Puppy > tea.  And what of Saturday evening?  It was originally Max + Marie + home cooked dinner, then Max + Marie + pizza, then drinks + Sachini, then party + Julia, and finally, when I got off the train and back into Baltimore, all else faded away except take out + sitcoms + 12 hour sleep.  Not what I had planned.  But much better than what I had imagined. 

Easy Peasy

Today was a lazy, comfortable day.  I took a day trip to Rockville with new friends Alice and Christy today.  There, we had Taiwanese food, stocked up on supplies at a Taiwanese grocer, and ended the day with bubble tea and fried chicken at a Taiwanese cafe.  It was a day spent with my people.  So now I know that they exist in this state, they're just far, far away in the suburbs.  Whenever I say "my people," Roommate Claudette asks for a clarification, "Jesus people or Chinese people?"  In this case, I mean Taiwanese people. 

Favorite Color

Similar idea as the last project, but with a lighthearted poem and, I think, a much better result (can you tell that I've been sick at home for days now?):


Favorite Color from Joy Lee on Vimeo.

Sort of Like a Wavin' Flag

Trying something a little different:  This is a work-in-progress in every sense of the term.

Stringer Belle

I know I led you on.  And I shouldn't have.  I ended the year with a flurry of posts and then:  silence.

I'm disappointed in myself.  But what can I say?  I just got to B'more tonight?  And just so happened to be on the same plane as Roommate Claude?  I could say that I almost got a 2nd MMR vaccine yesterday but was saved by electronic medical records at just the right time?  I could say that.  I could say that I am engaged in a battle of wills against the germs infecting my body and the pain creeping up my throat.  I will not get sick just as break gets fun.  I could say that I find returning to B'more oddly comforting, but probably not for the reasons I am supposed to:

Roommate Claude: What do you miss about B'more?

Moi: My room.  Having my own space. What do you miss?

Roommate Claude: Some of the people.  And even classes, I'm ready to be back.

Moi: Oh yeah, people.  Right.  I miss those, too?

But the room.  Oh, I have missed my walls, my stubbornly firm mattress, and my security pillow.  It's good to be back, B'more, here, and everywhere.

Cute Overload

This has nothing to do with anything.  I don't even like this lady's show.  But my heart keeps melting every time I watch this.  Granted, there isn't much of my heart left to dissolve into puddles since I've spent the day in my new flannel pajama pants listening to Adele, and after my heart breaks to tiny shards from her songs, I have been watching videos of that new polar bear cub everyone's been talking about to melt the tiny remnants.  It's a painstaking process, but hey, that's what vacations are for.

Back to the Past

There are certain immutable facts about me that suddenly become mutable once I am home home.  Facts like I am an early riser who doesn't like to sleep too late.  That I tend to eat at least 3 meals a day, around the same time each day.  Or facts even more basic than that.  Like how I am an independent being, a near grown-up, if you will, with my own free will. 

This afternoon, as it sometimes happens when I am home, I got stuck in Mother's vortex of chaos and bad ideas.  Mother, you see, has a history of complicating simple plans and of tricking me into joining her on errands I don't need to be involved in, which provides company for her but wastes a lot of time for me.  This afternoon, Mother convinced me to go out with her, ostensibly to watch a movie (I saw this ruse from a mile away, but that darn conscience always gets me when I try to say no to her), though first we stopped at her gym so she could pay for some classes.  And then she stopped at a different household, for your usual marital counseling.  Which was how it came to be that her friend had to come by and pick me up, because who knows how long the counseling would go on, and drop me off at Father's office at church.  Where I am currently killing time, eating his snacks, waiting for my mom, like I used to do when I was 12. 

Say Hello, Goodbye

I said goodbye to my grandfather this year.  I was glad that we got to have some semi-nice moments together this summer between his delusions to talk about his childhood, read psalms, even pray together.  Our last words were probably something along the lines of "I have to go now," "OK, go," but they sure beat the last words my grandmother ever said to me, which was something along the lines of "you have gained weight."  I didn't realize this before, but having dead grandparents (in the plural) means taking back everything we have ever given them, the photos and clothes and whatnot, because who else was going to hang out to those mementos now?  Consequently, a lot of Bo' and H'Bomb gear are now floating around our house.

Looking back, 2011 has been, fittingly, a year of 1sts.  Though it would have been more fitting if it was a year of 11ths.  But alas, my memories cannot count that high, so we'll focus on the firsts.  Like living south of the Mason Dixon for the first time.  Or visiting South Korea and Malaysia for the first time. There, I had take out delivered to a park and a giant abscess on my leg, respectively, both for the first time.  I graduated from my first grad school and entered my first doctoral program.  Neither were exciting moments in themselves, but they sound important when I tell other people.  I was commissioned to make a film for HPM orientation and write a poem for a wedding-- both firsts were highlights of the year because they blended words and friends together.  I also published in NEJM (perhaps the last?  let's hope this research career works out) though again, it didn't feel that special, it's just fun to tell med students who think they're smarter than I am.  Basically, I remember 2011 as a blur of mad studying and applications with spots of genuine goodness in between.  Nothing much to write home about, but not bad, not bad at all.

It's What's for Dinner

(we're all preparing to leave for the Christmas eve service, it's about 5:30pm and none of us has had anything to eat since lunch)

Father: So we're not having any dinner tonight?

Mother: Well, there's nothing to eat, so there's no supper.

Let me pause for a second so you can marvel at this clever, circular logic.  I am recording this here to remind myself in the future of this get-out-of-cooking excuse when I become responsible for feeding other souls.  If you don't cook dinner, there is no food to eat, and without food, dinner is moot. 

Little Man

Xiao is a tall kid, incredibly bright, and at least according to his parents, a bit of a chronic under achiever.  He'd always been one of my favorites at Father's church (though they were technically all my favorites), because even if he wasn't particularly well behaved, he was great at taking in sarcasm and had a quiet je-ne-sais-quois amused contentment around him (gosh, I hope he wasn't high).  Two days ago, Xiao went missing.  His dad called up his church friends and one by one, they all said that they thought Xiao was with someone else.  Until finally, Xiao himself called home.

What happened?  It was all quite  Jesus-at-the-temple, really, a perfect story for the season.  Xiao fell asleep at church during rehearsals for the Christmas pageant.  No one noticed.  It happens sometimes with well behaved children.  So everyone left and locked up.  He woke up about an hour later.  Found the church dark and empty and offices locked.  Having left his phone at home, he managed to walk about half a mile to the gas station in the dark, use the pay phone, and got his dad to pick him up.

I can sense that you want to congratulate the boy and his worried parents for their reunion, marvel at the boy's wits, and laugh at whatever friend's mom that left him behind, so perhaps I should mention something else about Xiao.  He's a freshman in college. 

The Movie, Or The Musical?

Merry Christmas, y'alls.  During a particularly brisk Christmas eve service tonight, I flipped through my notebook in the midst of the usual pageant mishaps (accidental solos by adorable children, broken heater, random Napoleon quotes during a performance) and found this gem from the fall:

(We were en route to church in Taiwan.  Father was telling Mother to ride with Aunt, while the rest of us would ride with Uncle)

Father: You two should ride together.  That way you guys can talk and catch up.

Mother: And what will we talk about?

Father: You know, hair and whatnot. 

See You When I See You

I met up with Amy on Wednesday.  I arrived at the Harvard T stop at the appointed time and called her to let her know which exit I was waiting at-- the one next to Out of Town News.  I tell you this as a way of setting an example.  A few minutes later, I learned via email from stolen Starbucks wifi that Amy had lost her phone and would be super late.  She would meet me, she said, if I ever get the message, "at the Dunkin Donuts near Harvard Square."  Which was a lot like saying "I'll meet you by the hospital in Longwood."  Or "the bookshelves in the library."

This was Massachusetts, after all, which part of Harvard Square, and just which Dunkin Donuts?  In fact, every time I have told this story, someone has named a different Dunkin Donut.  "The one near Grafton Street?"  "Thank God I didn't even think of that one."  "At least she didn't say Starbucks," Emily said (though Google reveals that there are slightly more Dunkins in the area).  I bumped into Emily en route to what I thought of as "the Dunkin near Harvard."  She convinced me to wait in the one inside the station.  That was, until I bumped into Christine, who convinced me to wait for the one by the IHOP (because the one in the station isn't technically near Harvard Square, it is in Harvard Station).  An hour, one hot chocolate, and many twists and turns around Cambridge later, I found Amy, who waited in blind faith in the one in the station for 15 minutes before I found her.  We ate a late lunch.  Then ate some more even when we weren't hungry, because that's what you do at an Indian buffet.  Then we had dessert even though we weren't hungry.  Because that's what you do with free birthday desserts from Finale.  Then we parted ways and had dinner even when we weren't hungry, because that's what you do with friends.

Party Down

Not that you can see their faces, but I don't actually know anyone in this picture. The whole scene was just so Christmas-y and cheerful though, that I could not resist snapping a picture.  I'm not a complete creepster.  I was with my friends, sitting on the couch between songs. This was how I spent my Saturday night. It was EB's wedding and we were in Vermont at a little inn. It was so cute and picturesque it was almost unbearable. Though the classiness of the 'after party'- with the double stuffed Oreos, pub cheese, and $3 wine did balance out some of it. What can I say, I get down with the best of them.

I'm Bach

Dear Diary and Assorted Friends and Cyber Friends,
  The com-poo-tah tells me that this month has been the least prolific I have been since this Dear Diary came into existence-- pretty astounding considering that I spent at least a couple of months in Chinar, where this site is blocked.  This means Grad School Part Deux has managed to stifle what Communism could not, namely, my steady stream of awkward encounters.  But have no fear, Gentle Reader, I am home on break now.  I went to a wedding last weekend (the most lovely and relaxed wedding weekend ever, and the most I have ever danced to a live country rock band), and will head to another this weekend.  I will also be heading into Boston to see friends and most likely, Old Work Work, and I can bet you $10,000 that awkwardity and hilarity will ensue at at least one of those encounters. 
  In the meantime, I am home, procrastinating from Whitecastle's work (why else did you think I was writing this).  I have a pot of carnitas sizzling on the stove top.  I had a breakfast of cheese and salamis.  And I may die of a heart attack before my next post.  But if I live through it all, I will be back here, ready to share.

All Grown Up

I keep forgetting to take pictures of my orzo because I keep eating it.  It is delicious.  On Monday, with too much food in the fridge before winter break (two days away and yet it seems much farther off), I decided to make "grown up" food.  Orzo with bail cream sauce, sauteed mushrooms and tomatoes.  And a side of sauteed broccolini.  Yeah.  That's how I roll now.  Of course, the act (and surely this is only an act) would be a lot more convincing if I did not have Digestive biscuits for breakfast, followed by cookies as a snack.  But hey, it's finals week and I'm fully entitled.

Present Value

Despite postponing my birthday dinner until February, Alene insisted on buying me a birthday drink today, which was super sweet, though it wasn't clear if I was actually on her mind.

Moi: Just a small mocha would be awesome.

Alene: Why not a large?  I want to get you a large.

Moi: I don't want to drink that much liquid.

(later, Alene returns with a generous size cup)

Moi: That's not a small, is it?

Alene: It's a medium.  We compromised. 

Thanks, Alene!  And thanks to the rest of my hungry cohort, who devoured all the brownies and gluten-free pound-cupcakes I brought, so that there isn't much to share with the Bible study folks tonight.  To be fair, Amber did most of the gluten-free damage-- even as she complained about the hard cheese in the cakes, she steadily kept at them, as if they don't have cakes in Australia. 

And Many More

Dear Blog,
  Oh, what else is new?  I have not updated in a week and I am aging precipitously.  Tomorrow, I will have aged a whole other year.  Though my actual birthday dinner/get-together will be postponed for 2 months.  Because my birthday, per usual, falls amidst finals preparations.  This means 3 classes tomorrow, plus 2 "LiveTalks" (basically conference calls for online courses, a quiz, and an assignment to turn in.  On the plus side, I won't be holed up in the library during my surprise birthday party, so it's a win, win, and an improvement over previous birthdays.  Plus, there will be jelly beans, brownies, and gluten-free cake.  (and, presumably, friends to share this with, though that's hardly important)

(I should know by now that passive aggression doesn't not work on my mother, but every year, I hope and try)

Moi: You guys realize that [Brother's] birthday is next Friday, right?  Are you getting him something?

Mother: Oh next Friday?  Already?

Moi: And you do realize that another birthday comes the day before that, right?  You have two children.

Mother: Doesn't ring a bell.  Son's birthday on Friday.  Got it.

Where's My Future?

I have been working on this for years, since freshman year of college.  I remember working for the CSRC at the Bo', long before it became the Center for the Common Good.  It was my first job and first time in college, and I remember thinking that I needed to work on not calling Big Boss (who's actually little) "dude."  I remember failing at that, and also calling the Band Man "dude."  I remember graduating from college, stepping into the real world, and working harder than ever to not call anyone "dude."  There was one particularly awful encounter when I tried to stop myself from saying "goodnight, dude," to Doc Whitecastle, so that what came out of my mouth sounded like "goodnight, you," which intensified the awkwardity at least four fold.  Tonight, all those years of striving toward professionalism proved vain once again on a call with Doc Nice from Boston.  He is sort of a big deal now and I'm trying to work with him in the future.  So naturally, I ended a call  to him with "later, dude."  Because that's how you talk to directors of government agencies you're trying to impress.  At least that's how I've done it for years.

Two Letter Words

Playing Scrabble with Amber, who's quite vocal and indignant about her losses*.

Amber: What is 'za'?

Moi: Well, what kind of word is 'phew'?

Amber: Phew is like (hand on forehead), oh phew!

Moi: (lift up hand) Oh za!

*That's optimistic.  We've just started playing.  But I hope it will be a loss.

At Least We Didn't Play the Race Card

I had lunch with Carol, Mrs. Cho, and their ever growing boys today (well, Jim is slimming, but he's more of a man than a boy).  These are people I associate with home, food, and laughing a lot.  Though I should also associate my future healthcare costs with them.  At Jim's urging, I had brisket, wings, and 3 donuts.  

(Jim laments how he now laughs at laugh-track jokes in sitcoms and worries his humor is waning)

Moi: Well, yes, but you did just make a joke about bestiality and Sunday school three minutes ago.

Jim: I guess I still have my edge.

Mrs. Cho is always talking about how I like to challenge kids to Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble, so I'm pretty sure there were also a couple of blind children jokes tossed in there (not by me!) for good measure.  Wholly inappropriate, yes, but it harkened back to countless other chain restaurant meals before this one, out in the suburbs, with these people I love, and isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about?

How to Succeed without Really Trying

Here is what I love about professors:  Other than the fact that they are awkward and nerdy (are those words not synonymous?), if you just show a sliver of interest in their topics of expertise, they get all excited and start handing out references.  And that beats doing research.  Mentioned to Prof Papa that I was stealing one of his illustrations for a presentation and he wrote back with 2 citations.  Naturally. 

To Catch a Virus

I was in Boston for under 24 hours Tuesday-Wednesday.  When I first arrived, I joked with Dwighters that I was trying to catch the flu because I had a day of zooming through the MBTA ahead of me and was heading to the airport later in the afternoon (to meet up with Father, arriving back from Chinar).  On the busiest travel day of the year.  Despite having just arrived in town via plane/bus/subway.  Little did I know that I would indeed do all that, plus visit two hospitals, and ride in a cab. To ensure full germification, I also visited a mall food court, hung out with 3 teachers from 3 different schools, and walked in the rain without an umbrella. There was also a handshake with an 11-year-old boy somewhere in there.

Now it's a day later, Thanksgiving is over, I'm exhausted, feel like I had barely seen anyone I had meant to, and I feel a cold coming on.  I don't even know where to begin to pinpoint the sickness.  It could have been anywhere during my dash around town.  Or tonight, when I went to Logan for the 3rd time in 3 days (to pick up Mother- it's complicated).  Or dinner afterward in a crowded restaurant in Chinatown.  Good thing I'm not Gwyneth Paltrow, or else I'm pretty sure the world would end in 5-7 days.

Are Too, Brute?

In this season of Thanksgiving and flu-catching, I stopped by my old haunts to say hello, and naturally, bicker with Whitecastle (well, "bicker", or "define workplace boundaries"-- tomatoes, tomahtoes).  I thought I was stopping by the office to say hello, but Whitecastle gave me a 30 minute window and set it up as a work meeting.  So we discussed future projects-- even though I live in a different state now and go to a different school.  The worst part was, I want to do the project and it was a good idea to schedule an exact time.

Moi: Are you going to make some poor research assistants (RA) decorate your office again?

Whitecastle: All I did was ask for a little help, if anyone wanted to-

Moi: So we volunteered to help you move.

Whitecastle: I set these new monitors up by myself.  I'm down underneath my desk fixing things way more than the RAs.

Moi: I'm pretty sure no RA should ever be underneath your desk.

Hill Street Blues

A few days ago, when Eunice dropped me off, Jae saw my apartment complex for the first time, he said it was very "bougie."  I couldn't help but smile.  It reminded me of Boston.  And living in a Howard-like condo.  And all that razzing that came with being posh in the South End, all the farmer's markets and brunch spots and $10,000 flame retardant furniture in the common space.  Even as pictures from my window kept popping up in places like the Harvard Public Health Review to inform me that I was living in a food desert.  It happened against yesterday, reading the New York Times (natch).  The article was about a high school student from one of the "poorer sections" of Boston trying to get into college.  I had that de ja vu feeling again.  The accompanying photo collage of her rough neighborhood showed scenes from my commute for 3 years.  That was my CVS.  I walked the rough streets of Boston.  And now I'm doing it in B'more. 

Carrot Stickler

If you invite me over for dinner and served me a plate of carrots.  I will gamely swallow it without chewing.  I will not tell you that I hate cilantro, celery, and carrots almost as much as I do social injustice.  I try to keep my prickly food habits as unobtrusive and as private as possible (except, of course, when I announce it publicly here- but this is pretty much as private and low-traffic as the interweb gets).  Today, however, the truth came out.  And as always, this led to much disbelief and shaken heads.  Which was why I try to keep this secret in the first place.

Amber: How do you not like carrots?

Liz: You love food!  You go all the way to DC for special soup noodles, but not eat basic food that every child is given?

Moi: I'm not proud of it.

Amber: This is absurd.  I don't believe it.

And yet it's true.  I can't stand them.  When I discovered that the "Maryland crab soup" that I bought on Tuesday was just broth, carrots, celery, corn, and peas.  I drank the broth.  Tried to pick out as much of whatever else I could.  Then closed the soup and tossed out the rest of the vegetables.  It was all pretty tricky, because I did this in class, in front of Prof. Who, and was trying my best to look like a grown up.  But I managed.  I always do.

In Which I Only Understand Class Materials In Relation to Science Fiction

(the biostatistics professor reveals a 3-D graph)

Chris: Whoa.

Moi: This is trippy.  Like The Matrix.

Chris: Yeah.  Or Puss in Boots 3-D.

(advisor/prof got oddly philosophical during our patient outcomes course)

Prof Who: Some people say that all time are happening now, at the same time.

Moi (whisper to Julia): Whoa, like Lost.

Julia: Exactly like Lost.

Unproductive, Things That Are

Let's file this under "Things That I Should Not Be Doing Because I Have 3 Midterms To Prepare For, Nay, 4":  researching Pilot pens online, checking their availability in the U.S., then lamenting the dearth of good writing pens sold in the States.  Even though: I barely even take notes by hand anymore, I still have 10 unopened pens from my summer trip, waiting to be used, and did I mention the 4 midterms? 

Sweet Potato Fry

OK. You caught me. I'm just taking pictures of random objects and passing them off as posts. But I was especially proud of these fries tonight since I've had a hard time with fries in the past. They always took too long or were too burnt or soggy. But not tonight. I ate this plate (essentially one sweet potato) in minutes. Then immediately got hungry again and started rummaging through the fridge. In fact, I'm still hungry now. I'm not sure if I'll ever be full again. (Yes, that's my red yarn in the back. Sachini and I pretended we knew how to knit and went yarn shopping on Saturday. We got into the store, started looking through different weights and materials and numbers. Asked each other what our instructor had taught us. Then turned to the clerk for help. Because we have no retention capabilities.)

Palate Spectrum

Carnitas. I love carnitas. Yesterday, after a week of craving non-white people food, from katsu don on Monday to curry goat on Friday,
I finally got to satisfy my craving. (Don't get all uppity, White People, I crave your food, too. That's why Sachini and I sought out pierogies for brunch yesterday, only to be greatly disappointed.) I got the tacos to go and was pleasantly surprised to discover sides and sauces neatly packaged in little containers so my carnitas would not get soggy. I didn't understand how a city could be both less white and less ethnically diverse than the Bean Town until I got to B'more. But last night, I had these tacos to fill the Flour/Penang/Flames II/Bon Chon/Pho 88 shaped hole in my heart.

Conflict Resolution

 

Found these 2 signs outside the hospital, just a few feet apart.

Transformers

Sincere apologies for the gaps in postings, Gentle Reader. I have been preoccupied with procrastination. It takes a lot of time. Thought I'd present these pictures to show how funny Ballymore is. Every time I think I like it for what I see, I learn these quirks that just makes everything funnier. It can be so pretty on the outside, until you learn that the white statue in the back (the lesser Washington Monument) used to be open to the public to climb to the top for a view of the city. Why did they close it? Security reasons. Not terrorists, but too many muggings in the statue (it's quite genius when you think about it). And the picture below? Inside an elementary school in a preppy neighborhood. Doubtful that this is public health.

It Was the E-Coli

I went through middle school and high school in a strange town.  It didn't feel strange at the time.  It looked and felt like other well-to-do Massachusetts, well-to-do but not as tony as the old money towns with their obsessive academics and strict zoning rules.  We were small-time enough that when Wendy's opened up sophomore year, it became the coolest place to hang out for years.  And yet, it was a school where, at least when I was there, no smart kid was ever picked on (probably because we were so cool), there was no identifiable 'popular clique' (according to Nish, there were the "good preppy kids" and "the preppy kids who actually did things" and no one thought either was something to strive toward) and where the greatest slackers I knew also had the highest GPAs.

(on stalking people from high school on facebook)

Moi: He has two kids... and is politically conservative.

Chels: Whoa.  Politically conservative!?

Moi:  I did not expect that.  We always had the Jesus thing in common, but I thought his weird friends would have rubbed off on him.

Chels: Weird friends, yes.  But [our town] is kind of yuppy.

Moi: I keep forgetting that because of our weird friends.  We had an Animal Rights League.  (of which I may have been vice president, at least according to college applications)