Those Who Do and Those Who Can't

Wednesday was a chaotic day.  It was less dramatic than the day before, which had me both wiping Mother's blood off of the kitchen floor and offending an eminent missionary family.  But it was tiring and busy, and I have a swollen mosquito bite because of it.  In my younger days, I used to be all about service.  I worked for the Center for the Common Good, built houses on weekends, and spent my vacations interning at non-profit organizations or leading service trips.  Nowadays, the staff meal at BP is my one piece of annual do-goodery left.  By that, I really mean, "trick D'Bomb into opening up his kitchen and spending his afternoon helping me cook for 25 people."  Which was exactly what I did on Wednesday.  I wouldn't say it was the best staff meal ever, but it sure beat the frozen beef patties we served with Nate a few years ago.  The blueberry cake was delicious, though.  Even if D'Bomb and I were the only 2 people who couldn't stop eating it (I even brought some leftovers home... the leftovers of the food I donated to BP).

Liz: We need to hang out (true- we do!).  You're always sneaking into town to hang out with this one (indicating D'Bomb).

Moi: That's only because he literally has no schedule.  Teachers and the unemployed: those are my summer friends.

Prospective Perspective

Ah, New York Times.  You were doing so well.  It has been almost a year since I last complained about the ridiculousness of your subjects.  But the good times couldn't last forever.  And well, here we go again:

Ms. von Sperling offers a Friday-to-Sunday intensive, for $8,000. One day is devoted to carrying yourself properly and the art of conversation. Treat rush, she says, as you would a job interview. Avoid politics and religion. “I teach them how to make interesting small talk: what you saw at the cinema, a trip to Europe. I don’t know too many 20-year-olds who are having a debate about economics.” Another day is for getting physically ready — hair, makeup and wardrobe. Ms. von Sperling organizes “outfits down to accessories, completely strategized.” Just in case a client forgets, outfits are photographed and placed in a style file.

Spending $8,000 on college consulting used to seem ridiculous.  But compared to spending $8,000 on a weekend consultation on getting into a club?  The figure seems respectable.  All those stories of helicopter parents and private flights for summer camps also seem almost sane compared to these mothers:

As rush grinds on, students often text their moms with frequent, sometimes tearful updates. “Drama Trauma Drama,” wrote one weary mother on a Greek chat forum. For some mothers, empathizing with the pain of peer rejection is excruciating.
“I lost six pounds that week,” recalls Julie Baselice, whose daughter Christina is now a Chi Omega at the University of Texas. “It was the most stressful experience of my life.” 

Nerds on the Beach

(this was my beach book)

This is how I like to vacation: comfortable bed, seeing nature without being in it, good food, quiet reading time, beach, and (beating everyone in) Bananagrams.  Being with my old H'Bomb friends this weekend, this was exactly how we rolled.  We got to the beach at a reasonable hour.  Applied sunscreen.  Joked around as we ate our lunches.  Then we all took out our respective books/Kindles for a couple of hours of quiet reading/napping.  This was followed by swimming, sunscreen reapplication, more lounging, and going home at another reasonable hour.  The only fuss to the whole weekend was when we tried to hunt down an ice cream shop I had recommended via Jenny.  Though we got lost a couple of times in search of it, the Cranberry Bog (craisins, dark chocolate chunks, walnut, and cranberry ice cream- aka genius) and well-constructed waffle cones were well worth the effort.  Skydiving will have to wait until next year.

(but Laura totally showed me up with hers)

It's Only Taken 3-5 Years

I have a public health blog now.  Because I'm so consistent about maintaining this one.  And the preachy posts go over so well.  I think Sister Claire came up with an idea for a college radio show once.  I don't have enough to fill 30 minutes of show time.  But I think I've gathered enough stories for a post a week for the next little while.  I hope you enjoy them.

Relatively Stupid

I regret telling Father that I sometimes quit when I play Sudoku and it takes too long to solve.  He is not impressed with my level of play.

Father: It's only Hard and you still can't solve it?

Like a Missing Child

I remember years ago, talking with Lenny about how we missed our lunch, only to have her very confused mother ask us why we didn't eat if we were hungry.  "Oh no," we said, "I didn't say I missed lunch.  I miss it.  It was a really good lunch."  Today, I found out, food longings may not run in Lenny's family, but it does in mine.

(on Thursday, Mother made tons of bamboo-wrapped sticky rice packets with a friend)

Moi: Are you going to have the pasta for lunch?

Mother: No.  I miss my sticky rice.  I'm going to have that.

Moi: Have you been away from it long?  Didn't you just make it?

Mother: I didn't have any yesterday.  Nor the day before.

Never Ending Story

I know these are cheap posts, but five years in, I still don't tire of a good Whitecastle-as-martinet quote.  These are not accurate portrayals of m'boss, but they sure are fun.

(overhearing Big Chief discussing his travel arrangements)

Moi: Everyone is leaving town.

Whitecastle: Yes.  But that doesn't mean that those who are staying can stop working.

Moi: I spent the weekend proofreading your CV*.

Whitecastle: As things should be.

*Not actual portrayal of me-- exaggerations go both ways in creative writing (speaking).  How fascinating.

My Father's Keeper

Father's Cardiologist: Your children, they're grown?  They support themselves?

Moi: Uh... what if they're starving grad students (and can't support the parents)?

Father's Cardiologist: (to father) That's not your problem.  That's theirs.

Smoking Gun

Mother is preparing for a short sermon on David and Goliath.  Her research has come up with some interesting results.

Mother: Goliath was about 9 feet tall, but fossil records have found giants as tall as 25 feet.

(after a long, silent gap from Father and me)

Moi: Where did you get this information?

Mother: It may have been a hoax.

The Bicentennial

Yesterday, I returned to my desk from a meeting to find Doc Binks and Doc New-Office-Mate- Whose-Real-Name-I-Don't-Remember-So-I'm-Not-Going-to-Come-Up-with-a-Fake-One-Just-Yet discussing the relative merits of east coast cities and how none of them compare to the west coast.

Binks:  We decided that Baltimore was better than Philadelphia.

Moi: Are you kidding?  You can walk through 6 consecutive nice blocks in Philly.  You can't do that in Baltimore.

Binks: But Baltimore has more character.

We all agreed on that point.  B'more has quite a bit of character.  And I like it quite a bit.  I would have said "love," but Doc New-Office-Mate then decided to pull up some murder maps.  B'more has quite a bit of that, too.  It's true that it's no longer among the 5 deadliest cities in the country (it's 6th), but the homicide rate is still 3 times that of Boston.

Binks: Well, you'll always have the star spangled banner.

Glass Menagerie

I went into work work in Boston for the first time in 4 months and was surprised to find a package on my desk. I hadn't even had a desk for almost a year and even when I did have one, I'd never had a package. Yet there it was, addressed to me, and definitely a package. Things only got weirder when I tore off the UPS box to find a very nice grey box. And inside that, a glass plaque.  For an honorable mention from the NIHMC. 


"Congratulations- what'd you win?" my new office mate asked.  I wish I knew.  I was pretty sure that winning a glass trophy was something I'd remember.  But nothing came to mind. I searched through my emails over the past few months. Still nothing.  Finally, I sought the Source of All Knowledge and turned on the Google. Turns out, a paper I was 10th author on was favorably received. It was all Whitecastle's doing. And he'd won so many awards lately he'd forgotten to tell me about this.  Maybe that's why his was shattered in the mail but mine stayed intact; I do not take my awards for granted (he's sending for another one).

To make him feel better about his shattered award that he deserved, I shared the story of how my name was smaller than everyone else's on an award plaque. Per usual, stories of my indignities cheered him immensely.

Whitecastle:  Haha. As if being short wasn't enough. They had to sleight you with the mistake.

Name Dropping

At the conference, I was introduced to a lot of famous researchers by virtue of standing next to important people.  One morning, while waiting to meet Roommate Claude, I spotted Whitecastle in the lobby making deals, and Query next to him just hanging out.  By joining them on the couch, I got to meet an Important Young MD Researcher that just about every institution is trying to recruit.  I was pleased to be introduced because in addition to doing cool work, I knew that Meredith had worked with this guy, often raved about what a nice guy he is, and just recently published a paper with him.  With Whitecastle making the introduction and Meredith's name to grease the wheels, all seemed to be working in my networking favour.  

Just seconds later, however, I lost all the goodwill Meredith's name transpired by responding to Whitecastle's comments about me with "Wait, are you complimenting me?  This has never happened before."  After that comment, it probably won't again.  In retrospect, I should've talked about how much I liked Important Researcher (or Whitecastle's) work.  But in my defense, I slept very poorly for most of the weekend, was completely thrown by Whitecastle's uncharacteristic remarks, and being in an unfamiliar setting, my foot got lost walking around and accidentally ended up in my foot. 

ZZ Pass

I had been away at a conference the last few days.  That alone probably wouldn't have explain the silence the past week except I packed my computer without its adapter.  With the help of a patient roommate and $60 to the good people at the UPS, I am finally home home, reunited with adapter, and ready to sit at a computer and work all summer.  Just how much toll did this conference take on me?  Let me refer you to my activities yesterday:


Morning sessions: Said hi to a former professor after her presentation.  She high-fived me when I said I recognized her citations.  Then we ran out of things to talk about and I promptly walked away.

Lunch: Nachos and creamed spinach (hard to say who had the least healthy lunch-- Rachael had quiche + mac'n'cheese while Ilene went for meatball sub + fries).

Shuttle ride: Nap

Plane ride: Nap.

Car ride home: Resisted napping.  But refused all food and drink offers once I got home and went immediately to bed.  And slept for 10 more hours.

Still an American Doctor

Sometimes, Advisor Who and I sit down for a meeting and he thinks we're talking about one project when another is on the agenda.  Sometimes, Advisor Who sits down, opens up his notebook, and starts the same conversation topic we had months earlier.  None of this, however, deters him from being a smartcuss.

Advisor: I think The English Patient has subconsciously rubbed off on me.  I keep clipping things into my notebook.

Moi: I don't think the movie has a patent on notebook clipping.

Advisor: I'm pretty sure they do.  Though the statute of limitation on that may be running out.

DCup a Noodle

I trekked down to the capital (but not 'the Capitol') last night and met Sachini for a bowl of ramen. I went ready to hate the place-- a tiny, crammed, eatery with interminable waits whose reservations fill up at a pace faster than I accumulate debt.  Sachini and I only managed to get reservations by eating at 5:30pm on a Wednesday afternoon.  But the hype, I am almost sorry to say, was worth it.  Even if Toki Underground was really above ground.  Even if there was so signage except for the Chinese character for 'awake' on the door.  Even if the wait staff shouts "cookie!" every time someone orders cookies for dessert.  In spite of all that, I couldn't help but like the place, the delicious noodles, and the friendly bartender that served us (Sachini: Do you think he can come with us on every meal?").  The restaurant is a self-described as a Taiwanese-styled Japanese-ramen place. A description that is both obnoxious and spot-on.  And perhaps only obnoxious because people don't know that such places exist in Taiwan.

[Sorry, I just went off on a long mental tangent about Taiwanese food culture that I won't bore you with.  Except to tell you that I'm very hungry now.  And I've lost my train of thought.] ... Point is: beautiful walk, nice neighborhoods (Moi: This is only the 2nd liquor store I've seen in 1.3 miles!"), gentrification that reminded me of the South End, and excellent ramen-- sometimes I think I like B'more.  Then DC goes and twists my heart a little.

Excellent Adventure

I had too much fun with 'Alex' over reunion weekend.


(rock climbing: I did not get very far)

(getting in a thinking session by our old honors carrels in Nat & Hank) 

(speeding away in our getaway golf cart post umbrella theft) 

Rocket Science Tuesday

The exams are finally behind me for the moment.  Instead, the next 2 months promise to be a thrilling combination of research work and moseying.  For the past few days, it's been more mosey than research.  I forgot that in order to do work, I have to coordinate with superiors so they can tell me what to do.  Right now, I'm sitting on my hands and waiting for green lights on several fronts.  This has led to 3 consecutive afternoons spent poolside.

Did I not mention that I have a pool now?  That's what happens when starving grad students live above their means.  Granted, it's small and outside and unheated, and I only get access for another week before I go home, but for someone who has never had a pool, it's the best I've ever had.  I'm only inside writing this note because it's raining.  And because I have a pizza to make for dinner.  Who said the good life would be easy?

POV

Sometimes, I wonder about my future, what comes after this program, and how my life will change if I ever make more than $20.  Then I reflect on my lifestyle choices and preferences and realize that I'm not cut out for the high life.

Favorite beverage: Water.

Favorite meal: Soy sauce, oil, and rice.

Favorite dessert: Lemon wedges and drenched in white sugar.

Favorite starter: Trick question-- just eat more of the main meal.

I Shrunk the (Minority) Kids

Tomorrow is the annual Hon Fest in B'more.  I'm not clear on what it is, except that there are a lot of middle aged ladies with beehive, blonde hair wearing pink sunglasses.  And a beauty-pageant type event for the "best hon."  I can't wait to go with my friend Sachini.

(discussing the event with Ian, a fellow immigrant of color, last night)

Moi: Do you think non-white people are allowed to enter the contest?

Ian: We're barely allowed to enter the festival.  Let's not push our luck.

To Err Is Human: Building a Safer Health System

To Err Is Human: Building a Safer Health System

The Institute of Medicine just asked me if I wanted to pin "To Err is Human" to pinterest, perhaps to a "downer landmark reports with pretty covers" board?  I don't know.  But I was amused.  And decided to post it here instead.

PS. What?  It didn't even include a cover picture.  What a ripoff, IOM.

Isn't It Ironic

 

Sachini and I caught up last night after some time away the past couple of weeks. She had gone off to her alma mater in sunny/rainy Berkeley and I was in sunny/rainy Maine. We came back to a B'more under a "cold spell" that has made the city lovely and temperate and still 10+ degrees warmer than it was in Maine over the weekend. The Orioles are holding on to their slim lead in the American League East. All seemed bright and wonderful. Then I found out that this happened.

Moi: To think I spent so much time telling people how much I like this city.

Sachini: I know.  It's not even a zombie story.  It's just a man eating a person.  That is not OK.

Moi: No, it's against the law.

Sachini: Did everyone [talking about B'more] ask you about The Wire?

Moi: Every single person.

Sharper Image

Hard to say which is the worse group picture.


 (unsatisfactory cold breakfast in the not-so-dark Dark Room)

(unsatisfactorily decorated belated birthday party for Jenny)

I keep posting about reunion because it was such a happy contrast to my present week, where I write and research all day long. A 5-day 20-pager take-home exam did not sound difficult last week. But it feels very difficult now. We spent a lot of time complaining about Bo' food over the weekend. It wasn't that the food was bad.  Breakfast did include oatmeal, porridge, an assortment of yogurt, fruit, cereals, and pastries. But it was continental breakfast.  In Moulton, of all places. That's not what we were used to.  Likewise with the outdoor reception with grilled chicken and steak strips.  It was tasty.  But cold.  (we're going to conveniently overlook the ice cream, snacks, and beer on standby all Saturday afternoon that only closed down for a couple of hours so they could set up for the lobster bake)

 (probably a bad picture, too, but hard to tell with the instagram styling, plus, it was in Thorne)

But on Sunday morning, we finally got to set foot in Thorne and have the classy jazz brunch we all remembered the Bo' to have.  There was lox, and smoked haddock (a little too salty for our tastes), omelets made to order, pancakes with Maine blueberries, maple syrup, and all the literal and figurative warmth we had craved all weekend.  Hoarse, tired, and sore, sitting at a round table with friends, and taking forever just to leave brunch because there were so many people to say hi to at so many other tables-- that's the Bo' I missed.  Yup, 5 years out, it all boils down to warm food and the illusion of having friends.

Mi Ella

(Mac and Gak: these princes of Maine had the audacity to pass on lobster at the Lobster Bake)

As I had previously alluded to, it was a rainy reunion weekend in Maine.  So at the end of the professor-led-80s-cover-band concert on Saturday (what, your school doesn't have one?), there was a  mad scramble for umbrellas and rain coats.  I don't know how it is at other schools, but we're very trusting children.  Everyone just tossed off their jackets and umbrellas onto the union chairs and assumed that they'd be there at the end of the night.  Many weren't.  Our class facebook page is now filled with "did you see my-" posts, much like our Student Digests were every Monday morning.  Alex was one such unfortunate soul who found herself umbrella-less at the end of the night.  So she did what any good Bo' Christian Fellowship alum would do: she asked for my help in "procuring" an umbrella.  In my defense, I thought I was just pointing to a Bo' umbrella and asking if that was hers.  It was not.  She picked up the polka dotted one instead and we made a run for it into the pouring rain.  Much to our delight, we were greeted at the door by a fleet of golf carts and undergrad attendants at our disposal.  Despite the wet seats, we hopped on one and said, "to the tower!  as fast as you can!"  And even though the golf cart negated the need for the umbrella, and even though we still got incredibly wet because of the ride, we greatly appreciated having a getaway car for our theft.  Alex even made the cart wait around so we could document the occasion with a proper picture.  

We had so much fun with the escapade that we were still laughing about it the next morning at brunch.  Until Lisa dampened our joy by saying that she was one of the unfortunate souls that lost an umbrella.  Then she turned on us.

Lisa: What did the one you stole look like?

Moi: I don't want to go first.  What did yours look like?

Lisa: What did you take?!

Moi: It was black... with white polka dots...

Lisa: That's my umbrella!  It was by the chairs.  Lauren told me to just take one but I said no, I will not perpetuate the cycle.

Moi: ... hey, I think I found your umbrella.  It's in Alex's room.

For Maria

In the midst of all the uncharacteristic things I did over reunion weekend: the staying up late and partying, rock climbing, and missing personal hero Taylor Mali to catch up with friends (Taylor Mali, if you find this through the interwebs, I am so sorry and meeting you 5 years ago was a formative experience), I also did very characteristic things.  Like going to H&L.  Making a Nat & Hank joke.  And properly citing Maria in the process.

Bygone Correspondence

(after the storm but before the rain)

I know it's hard to tell because we're all wearing shades in this picture and all look awesome, but my friend Linda is kindof a big deal.  She is the first one of us (and speaking strictly for myself here-- perhaps the last) to become a VP.  Naturally, we gave her a hard time for her success.  Just as these same people gave me a hard time for my ivy league education.  It's what friends do.  Friends also pick friends up from train stations. And airports.  And mess with their friends' heads.

While we waited for Linda at the Jetport on Friday, Nic came up with a brilliant yet devious plan.  When Linda texted that she had arrived and was ready to meet us, Nic instructed Jenny to play aloof.  "We're lying on the quad and can't wait for you to join us."  What followed were a tense couple of minutes, a terse "thought you were coming?" text, and lots of giggles on our end.  The whole episode was punctuated by our favorite line of the weekend-- an ever terser follow up text from Linda that said merely: "email yesterday".  

When the jig was up and we revealed that it was all a joke, Linda generated some comedy gold of her own.  By getting lost in the tiny Portland airport.  "Why didn't you just follow the other people on your flight?" we asked her.  "I did.  And got stuck in a parking garage."  So she wandered and wandered while we waited by the escalator, until she sought help from a man at the gate, asking "excuse me, is this Portland, Maine?"  It was.  And it was great to be back.

Ever After

(ah, the whispering pines)

This past weekend was my 5 year reunion and the most fun I've had in quite awhile.  Unfortunately, I did not capture any of the sights of the Bo' on the one day of sunshine we had.  The past two have been rainy, freezing, and uncomfortable, and at the end of it all, I am now sore, tired, hungry, confused, and voiceless.  But I got to have lobster, saw countless familiar faces, and got driven around in golf carts, so the weekend was a win.  More stories to come.

Republic of Panda

Malls and the food courts that reside in them is one of those few constants in America that marks the homogenizing effects of capitalism to the cynical and a comforting sign post and equalizer for the optimistic.  The high end and low end ones tend to follow the same recipe, in the last year, however, things have changed at our local food court.

The "Texas BBQ Factory" now serves Chinese food (and only Chinese food, though the menu says "brisket").  As does "Bourbon Street Cajun Cafe."  And "Wok USA."  Moreover, they all have the same prices.  $5.89 for 4 'entrees,' $5.49 for 3, and so on.  Mother said she asked about it a few months ago.  The stalls said they agreed on the prices to make it easier to do business.  All three stalls, of course, have set their prices lower than that of Sakura, the old food court staple.  I don't really know where they're all going with this plan.  But I can't wait for something to happen.  My hope is for a giant price war (as Prof Papa will say, "Cheating in price fixing is like having an affair-- sooner or later, somebody finds out.").  For now though, almost everyone at the local food court is having Chinese take out.

Bloods and LYF

This conversation happened in December, but I just thought of it today and it made me laugh.  I had a lot of time to think today because I spent much of it in suburbia, going from mall to plaza to mall, buying and returning things with Mother.  I lost most of my soul in those car rides.

(we're looking through old youth group pictures for Stephanie's shower and come upon one in which Lillian and Steph are both in baggy boy basketball shorts, pretending to look tough)

Moi: Do you remember what this was for?

Lillian: I think it was a dress up thing for a theme activity...

Moi: (look that says, "I can clearly see that)

Lillian: It was probably "gangster day?"

"Gangster day" was not a youth group sanctioned activity.

This recollection in turn, reminded me of when I visited Ash in Korea and we were perplexed by a concert video in which the guys in the group all wagged giant foam fingers around.  Finally, a Korean speaker, in the form of Wilson, showed up for Bible study early and we asked him to interpret.

Wilson: I think the gestures have something to do with the lyrics.

Ash et Moi: (the exact same looks I gave Lillian)

Sun Downing

(see the introduction for yesterday's post)

Discussing the Downton Abbey series-

Mother: Doesn't the family lose their fortunes?

Moi: The series hasn't ended yet.  It's still going on, so no, the family doesn't lose their fortune. This isn't based on a book or anything.

Mother: So the guy who wrote A Tale of Two Cities didn't write this?

Moi: Charles Dickens?  Did he predict the future and write about a family in the early 1910s and 20s?  No, he did not.

Mother: Yeah, I thought that that was strange.

Over and Out

Mother is a talented pianist, and (so I have been told) writer.  But movie watching is not among her talents.

(as the credits roll on a forgettable basic action-rom-com, especially light on the 'com')

Mother: So who killed the people?

Moi: The bad guy.

Mother: So the main character didn't-- it turned out that he was framed?

Moi: Yes.  That's what they've been showing us the entire movie.

Mother: Oh.

A&P

I am sharing this for no grander purpose than to give credit to the good people at JetBlue Airways.  As far as stories go, this isn't that exciting.  Sure, it involved a screw up on my behalf (buying a ticket for 7PM instead of 7AM), which in turn ruined a family trip, which involved a lot of phone calls and rescheduling on everyone's part, but in my defense, the letters A and P look very similar.  And I have messed up in more spectacular fashions before.  In fact, my struggle to make sense of the printed word gets me into trouble almost daily.  But this story is special because JetBlue flew in for the rescue.  They read my story of how I messed up because I booked the ticket while preparing for finals and the trip was meant as a nice short time with the family (and my 5 year reunion!) before I sink into the pit of despair that will be my Qualifying Exam, and they had compassion.  They helped me get on an earlier flight.  Without charge.  Without putting me on hold.  Without making me go through hoops.  Because there was no way I could afford the normal ticket changing process. 

It was all very kind of JetBlue.  And now I get to go home this weekend, take a trip with my mom, and rest before the pit of despair that will be my Qualifying Exam, so that I can continue on with some more years of schooling.  And learn the difference between A and P.

Strangers with Chicken

Ahhhhhhh, hello, World.  My 1st/19th year of classes is finally behind me.  I can't breathe a sigh of relief yet because I have a qualifying exam in 2 weeks, but I can at least watch a whole lot of TV for a week.  And do some work for fun/money instead of grades.

I played with strangers again yesterday.  I'm still trying to fight off a cold (different from the flu last week) and decided that the best way to do that was to go outside and play with a slightly different group of strangers than those I played with last time.  We went out to a park, had a little bit of food, and some kickball.  Well, I showed up in flip flops and did not play kickball.  But I was an awesome score keeper whose allegiances switched every half inning.  Turns out, it was smart of me not to play because kickball with grown ups in a non-regulation field can be very, very dangerous.  There was, for example, the giant hole that people kept falling in between 2nd and 3rd base until we finally marked it with orange cones.  Then there was poor Cory, who slipped, rolled his ankles, and when he sat down on the grass to rest, got stung by a bee.

Moral of the story, Children: Strangers?  Great.  Great outdoors?  Dangerous.

Off and Away

It is graduation season.  All over the interweb, there are pictures and updates from happy people excited to be done with school.  Even among those who are not graduating, many are celebrating the end of yet another school year.

Here at J'Hop (J'Ho?), graduation season is far, far, away.  Finals week is still in full swing.  Comprehensive exams are in two weeks.  And after that, we all get a fun summer of work, another year of classes, and several more years of dissertation-ing before even the idea of graduation season can become reality.  Needless to say, we're all a little bitter.  But as we all talked about this last week, Leila's retort made us immensely happy.  At first, I thought it was a little mean, but sweet, wonderful Betsy, hearing it second hand, approved, so I knew it was OK.  And now as I work, it has become a rallying cry:  Good luck getting a job in this economy!

Little Birdie

Despite, or perhaps because of, years of higher learning, there are just some basic skills and facts my head refuses to learn.  I still have to hum the alphabet song in my head to find books in the library, write out fractions when I convert rates to different units to figure out when to divide and multiply, and consult google for the differences between cold and flu symptoms whenever I get sick.  Currently, it appears that I have to flu.  Good thing I got that flu shot.

This being the second day of my illness (it came on suddenly on Sunday night- Roommate Claude found me sprawled on the couch and when she asked how I was, I said, "I can't tell if I'm hot or cold."), I decided that I felt well enough to head to school.  And was promptly sent home by Julia, Amber, and Liz.  Mostly Julia.  Amber was still deciding whether I was actually sick or not.  My stay was so short that I managed to catch the same bus home that I arrived in.  Before I got sick, Tuesday promised free lunch at school, ice cream party in the afternoon, and ramen in DC for dinner.  Now all those things are out of reach.  I also wanted to stop by the Korean stand by the school to pick up food for tomorrow.  But I could not in good public health conscience bring myself to go to a serve-yourself-buffet when I know that I have the flu.  Damn you, Public Health.  Damn you also, Private Lack-of-Health.

Friday-O

I have been having such a great couple of days of fun that my impending biostat project doom almost seems worth it.  Last night, I finally paid my first visit to Camden Yards.  I had felt bad about not going to a game until then but discovered that whenever I said that, people who've lived in B'more for years would reveal that they never watch baseball.  The game was between the top 2 teams in the A.L. East, teams that did not include the Red Sox or Yankees.  That was odd.  Other things I found odd?  That the stadium was so nice and the seats so wide and sturdy.  That nobody actually cheers for the players because no one really pays attention until there's a home run.  That there is a song about country boys.  And finally, that leaving the park is wonderfully calm and devoid of crowds.

I am sad to report, however, that I did not witness my favorite story of the night firsthand.  That was when Meghan was standing in line for beers and saw a 10 year old in front of her.  Naturally, she berated the kid for being obviously under 21 and made a crack about fake IDs.  The kid just looked appalled and scared.  Then Meghan realized that they were in the line for beer and hot dogs.  And she just became a public health authority yelling at kids.

A Study in Orange

I plan on going to the O's game tomorrow night.  But I may never get there.  I'm not speaking of all of life's surprises and tragicomedies that may keep me from the game between now and then.  Or the fact that I 1.5 booked and have a dinner planned earlier in the evening.  I may never get there because I don't have a ticket yet.

I have the promise of a ticket.  The department had a handful of free ones to give out and I reserved one.  But picking up the ticket has proven more difficult than expected.  There was the forgetting, then the all day conference, and now a twist I do not yet understand.  Yesterday, I asked Liz to pick up my ticket when she picks hers up, since I had to leave campus early.  I then sent a note to the organizer saying that Liz would pick my ticket.  I naively believed, since they both happily agreed, that organizer would give Liz my ticket and Liz would pick it up.  That is not what happened.  It is not clear what happened.  Both Organizer and Liz speak fluent English and both agreed to my request and there really was no other room for complication.  But Liz did not pick up my ticket.  She thought the organizer mentioned a different friend picking up my ticket, though I specified her by name in my note.  Or that I needed a second ticket (that was the impression the Organizer gave).  I do not.  As for the organizer?  He has stopped replying to my emails.  He has probably left town.  I have a feeling Moriarty is behind this.

Mere Mortals

Yesterday, I saw the Cirque du Soleil Michael Jackson show with Rachael, Juan and Amber.  Per my diagrammed instructions, the first 2 sat on either side of me.  Naturally, we discussed code violations and safety hazards while waiting for the show to start (we were really, really high up).  Public health aside, the show was incredible.  It was very much like a Michael Jackson concert, with equally amazing dancers, pyrotechnics, and what-the-hell ballad moments about the earth and nature.  All that was missing were the fans fainting all over the place.  There was a break dancer on crutches (he only has one leg) that made me feel bad about the way I use my two legs.  As Amber pointed out, we were a cheap crowd-- the loudest applause at the end, other than those for amazing dancer on crutches, went to scantily-clad-pole-contortionist and slightly-more-clad-guitarist-in-leather, both women.  In the crowd's defense, it wasn't their fault that the male dancers were so well clad.  In my defense, I also clapped when I saw a little boy in red pants and a Thriller jacket.  He wasn't a part of the show, but he was adorable.

On the Wagon

I am a bandwagon jumper, a superficial sports fan and a fair weather friend.  I only follow the Bruins during the playoffs and the Knicks when Lin is in play.  I root for specific people and stories.  It's how I started watching baseball in high school.  Baseball is the one sport that I watch during the regular season.  The slow pace annoys many, but that's exactly what appeals to me.  It's the perfect sport to channel surf or procrastinate to, or to listen to in the background.  As my doctoral cohort will tell you, there's nothing I like better than to do something else while reading the paper.  Baseball allows me to do that.  This week, I was gripped by 2 stories in the news: this and this, both tales of dashed dreams and renewed hopes, ever changing by the hour.  Both have been great fodder for conversations between Father and Me.  China and baseball are our 2nd and 3rd favorite discussion topics.  The first, of course, is Taiwanese pro-athletes who compete in the U.S.  Here's looking at you, Wei-Yin Chen, and a speedy recovery to you, Chien-Ming Wang.  If your country was the size of Maryland, you'd be on their bandwagons, too.

Dress for Success

(for our health policy presentations, the master's students have to present to congressional staff members; the doctoral students present research proposals to upper level doctoral students)

TA: (to the master's students) [The staff] will be in suits, so maybe you should be, too.

Dan: And the PhD students?

TA: You can be as scruffy as you like.

It's sad, but true.  We are not slick people.

Prices and Choices

This might join gypsy cab ride in the Annals of Questionable Decisions that Worked Out.  It wasn't that I hung out with complete strangers tonight.  Or that I went to a complete stranger's house.  Where I did not know a single person there, including the hostess.  That part wasn't half as shady as getting into the back of a black SUV.  I joined couchsurfer.com last week (see also: shopping for hostels in Fiji; unrealistic vacation dreams) and in the process, found a group of happy strangers who didn't know each other who all wanted to play board games together.  That part actually worked surprisingly well.  It's just that I forgot that I also have a biostat exam tomorrow.  And when I did remember, I still chose to hang out with strangers instead.  Actually, that may not make it into the Annals of Questionable Decisions that Worked Out.  It may just be in the Annals of Questionable Decisions that Led to the C (see also: not understanding trigonometry; not reading chemistry textbook until it was too late).

Maine Plan

Do you see a pattern here, ciabattas?  Last night, with a paper still to edit and turn in, I looked up affordable hostels in Fiji.  This morning, rather than prep for my meeting with Advisor Who in an hour, my mind went to my 5th year reunion.  There are so many things to do in Maine.  And by Maine, I mean at the Bo': Fat Boy, Cote's, 5:15 dinners at Thorne (Gak seems confident that he can make early dinners a hipster thing- stay tuned), being cold at the beach, being cold at night, being cold, German dinner at Richard's, having more than 10 friends at one place at once... the possibilities are endless.  In a couple of hours, this stats lab will end, and in a couple of weeks, this academic school year will be, too.  My mind, however, is already long gone.

Summer Forecast

Remember summer jobs, brioches?  (I am co-opting Nicolatte's practice of addressing friends as tasty bread products.  Why limit myself to pretzels when there's a whole world out there of buns and rolls?)  Those sticky, long days spent scooping ice cream or folding khakis?  Or, in my case, sitting around in too-cold offices, pretending to look busy?  Now in the third decade of my life, I still have to have summer jobs.  Last week, Doc Nice offered me one.  It was very nice of him but for one problem: I already had a summer job.  With Doc Nice.  He'd offered me a different job weeks earlier.  Fortunately for you, the details of all this are not interesting and fortunately for you, they all got worked out earlier this week.  (Note to future important self: Pitch to funders before recruiting project staff.)  I should be in Boston for about half of my summer.  There will be no biscuits, but there'd better be literal lobster, and figurative brioches.

Away from Me, Doctor

Prof. Molten is one of the most wonderful professors I have ever had.  Considering how many professors I've had and how much I talk about them, this means a lot.  In addition to being kind and sharp, she is also a scone lover and tea snob.  Naturally, I had to recommend the biscuit stand at the farmer's market.  She tried it out last week and loved it.

Moi: I keep thinking though, I can't have biscuits every week.  At some point, I have to stop.

Prof. Molten: Why can't you have biscuits every week?

Moi: It's a bit excessive, no?  And probably not good for my health?

Prof. Molten: I don't think so.

Moi: Really?  If you say it's OK.  You're a public health authority (she really is).

Prof. Molten: You can have one a week.  And you walk to and from the market, right?

Moi: Yes.  Those 7 minutes of walking burns everything off.  I am so eating biscuits now.

With Molten's blessings, I went back to the biscuit stand this morning. I also may have had biscuits with brunch yesterday.  But it was in a restaurant and served on a plate, so that doesn't count.  Today's offering was a jerk steak biscuit sandwich.  I health-ified it my adding my own mixed greens.  It was a total public health overkill.

Blue Plate Special

You know my stomach has been feeling weird all week when I manage to lay off my food long enough to take a picture.  It's an even stranger week when I have such a well balanced meel.  Card deck sized proteins, fruit and veg and everything (portion control isn't for everyone-- was overcome by sudden hunger hours later and resorted to eating handfuls of trail mix before bed).  How can I not be proud of a meal like this?  Braised kale, polenta with mushroom and tomato sauce, and the piece-de-resistance, slow braised country back ribs that tasted almost like char siu.  If it wasn't for the stolen-leftover-school-cookies that I had for dessert, this could have been a grown up meal.

Bad Robot

Today felt like an off day.  It wasn't just me.  Everyone else around me felt it.  Maybe it was the weather.  Maybe it was the stress.  Maybe it's because my summer plans hang in mid-air.  But I felt off.  Was I hungry?  Sore?  Feverish?  A little bit of each.  Yet not at all.  In the face of all this, Roommate Claude and I decided to confront the malaise and funk the best way we knew how: a night of bad television.  The trick is to get the perfect mix of lowbrow reality shows with lowbrow scripted series that feature chiseled doctors in emotional situations.  Adding on ice cream and Oreos doesn't hurt.  I'm not saying I have the cure for cancer.  But I no longer think I have restless leg syndrome as I did three hours ago.  Little victories.

Design by Committee

There are some shortcuts in my mind that I know aren't right.  I know that, for example, the DRC does not stand for "Da Republic of Congo," but that's how I always think of it.  Similarly, the SCC cannot possibly stand for "the social chair committee," and yet that's how my mind perceives it.  Regardless of what the SCC stands for, I am now running unopposed for a seat in the SCC.  And we can all blame it on free lunch.

I was drawn to our quarterly lunch-with-the-chair by the promise of free lunch today.  You know who wasn't drawn by the premise?  The chair.  She literally phoned it in.  Or maybe Jess was  just really convincing at pretending to talk to her on the phone.  Either way, questions were taken, grievances aired, and updates provided.  With those 5 minutes out of the way, we had the rest of the hour to eat and gossip.  I should have left when I was ahead. I definitely should have left when the SCC chairs (Student Conduct Committee?) mentioned that there were still unfilled committee spots.  N-Pretzel and I discussed it among ourselves and somehow it was decided that he'd get the easy one that involved networking with faculty members and I'd get the one where I organize seminars.  I regret the decision already.  Here's hoping for write-in votes.

Three Shades of Me

Three favorite quotes from Saturday.

Faith: Most days, we call Charlotte "Joy" for short.

Lenny: You're a woman of confusion, that's for sure.

(Father was in China, en route to Taiwan, so I had to update him on the weekend series via email)

Father: It looks like every time you watch the Sox/Yankees games, [the games] turn over.  (implying that I should stop watching)

But now he's in Taiwan and can watch several games at once with breakfast if he so chooses.  That sweet combination of Taiwan's generous cable packages, 12-hour time difference, and delicious breakfast foods-- there's no better way to start a vacation morning.

Drake Amore

This is what I have been doing the past couple of days:

Wake up.  Skip breakfast.  Make pizza.  Eat pizza.  Count the hours until I get hungry again.  Eat pizza with renewed glee and abandon.  Count the hours until I get hungry again.  Wake up.  You get the point.

It's the first time I've made pizza with a crust I actually enjoy.  Per usual, there are no pictures.  Because you know what a pizza looks like.  And because I have no time for pictures where there are pizzas to be consumed.  I will, however, point you to where I got the recipe.  It's easy and straightforward and not unlike other recipes I've tried.  The only difference this time around is how much I cranked up the heat, and pre-baking just the oiled dough in a hot pan for a few minutes before adding the toppings on.

I'm not sure why I'm even telling you this about this pizza.  I don't care if you make one or not.  And there are more pressing matters at hand:  It's a gorgeous Saturday for being outside, but even a better one for some early baseball in front of the TV.
(Did you see this article, Sister Claire?  It made me sad.  Because I'm afraid it might be true.)

The American Doctor

Advisor Who: Watching The English Patient, I feel like I can really learn from, that in some ways I'm becoming like-

Moi: Because you were disfigured during the war?

Advisor Who: Yeah, but I have recovered pretty well.

Just for once, I'd like to have an advisor who isn't a smart mouth.

Gravy Boat

Roommate Claude believes that nothing tastes better post-work out than coconut water.  My grandfather used to have coconut trees in his backyard and would offer us fresh coconuts when we visited.  Still, I find Claude's claim preposterous.  Coconut water is gross.  Nothing tastes better post-work out than a biscuit with gravy.

Forget the farmer's market donuts, the smoked meats, and the jerk fish.  I have a new favorite stand:  the biscuit people (blacksauce kitchen).  I arrived too late (11am) for the brisket sandwich and the rosemary biscuits, but the mushroom gravy was a great substitute.  And the people who ran the stand so friendly.  I was so excited for the biscuit, I didn't even hang around the rest of the market.  I ran home*, only stopping along the way to chat with a stranger waiting at a bus shelter about how good the biscuit is.

Farmer's market under a bridge, biscuit, and talking to strangers-- this sure isn't the South End anymore, and I can't wait for next Sunday.

*Let's not kid ourselves, I walked home at a comfortable pace.

Oh Snaps

(on the strikingly tall and red-headed couple next to us at the cafe)

Moi: I've never seen such a ginger couple.  You get one here or there, but hardly ever together like that.

Alice: It makes you wonder about their gene interrelatedness. 

Moi: Just because there are fewer red heads doesn't make those people related.

Alice: I'm just saying, the ginger gene pool is very limited.

Try, Try Again

I don't know why, but I have felt much more like a junior student, like a kid just starting out, this week than I have in quite awhile.  And the awkwardity keeps piling up in ways that I don't even mean to.  Because I am a perfectly normal person, smooth in all social circumstances.

Yesterday in the cafeteria (yup, I sit with my friends in the cafeteria, just as I have been doing since I have 9-- we didn't have cafeterias in Old Country, we just ate at our desks), I spotted Advisor Who in line.  Being naturally friendly, I gave a wave, but then realized he wasn't looking my way, and had to semi disguise it as a natural shifting of the hand.  Minutes later, he looked toward my table again as he was leaving, I thought we'd made eye contact, so I waved, except he didn't register, and just left.

Julia: That was awkward.

Moi: You saw that?  I was hoping it'd be OK if no one saw that just now.

Liz:  What happened?

Julia:  It would've been fine if he didn't see it at all.  But as he was leaving, he turned back a little and sort of saw that, but then kept on walking.

But then Julia told me a story of her professional crush and her friend.  Prof Professional Crush does interventions with firehouses, including one Julia's friend works at.  So Julia excitedly told Prof PC that she knows her friend at the firehouse.  PC's reply?  "I don't know who that is, but yes, I do work with that firehouse."  Julia told her friend, who then emailed PC directly.  "Hey PC, it's me!  I can't believe you told my friend Julia that you don't know me.  See you Thursday."  PC's reply?  "I still don't know who you are.  But I'll see you on Thursday."  This story made me feel awesome about my two failed waves. 

Worlds Apart

I've been meeting weekly with Doc/Advisor Who.  And talking with Doc Nice.  Because they're both so nice and approachable, I often forget that they're important.  Then we have conversations like this.

Moi: How was dinner?

Doc Nice: [something about a fancy foundation, representing the government, people sucking up to him because they think he controls government money]  How was yours?

Moi: Great!  (it involved eating in front of the TV and a dessert of peanut butter a la jar)
---

Doc/Advisor Who's: I went to a dinner last night.  Yeah, at my table there was [the president of the hospital, 2 soon-to-be Nobel prize recipients, someone else important, and the guy the evening was for who won the award that I nominated him for].  It was fun.  How are you?

Moi:  Great!  (I ate peanut butter from the jar.  Again.  I really like peanut butter from the jar.)

It Doesn't Get Better

Yesterday morning, in an exploratory meeting with someone per Advisor Who's recommendation, I was reminded once again of how painful and awkward meeting strangers can be, or maybe just how painful and awkward words that come out of my mouth can be.  I've been around the professor-meeting-networking circuit for awhile now, and usually, they're all too happy to talk about themselves that conversation takes care of itself.  Yesterday, since I was going to someone with a research proposal with a good word from Advisor, I thought it would all flow naturally.  Instead, it was a lot of hemming and hawing and silent gaps.  Then there was the matter of the ringing phone.  As I was talking, my supposedly silent phone started buzzing.  They ought to make silent modes quieter.  I tried ignoring it and playing through, but then this happened:

Collaborator: Is that your phone or mine?  I think it's yours.

Moi: Uh, yeah, sorry... (reach down to end call while still talking about research)

Collaborator: Mine buzzes, too.  But I think it's yours.

Moi: Yeah, it's OK.  (think: why can't we just drop this?)

Stuff Inappropriate Biostat Professors Say

(on asking for his permission to leave during exams to use the rest room)

Prof Timberfake: What am I going to say?  No?  Just because I use Depends doesn't mean that everyone else has to.  I use the slim fits kind.  This announcement is brought to you by Depends. 

Stuff Biostat Professors Say

I have had four biostat professors in the past academic year, at the rate of 2 a month (5 if we're looking at calendar years).  It has been a difficult year for the brain.  There are only so many nicknames I can make up.  That's why I have delayed talking about Prof Timberfake until now.  But oh, there is so much to talk about.  Unlike Prof McGoofy, who exhibited unbridled joy and good humor, Prof Timberfake is dark, cynical, and self effacing.  Naturally, he is hilarious.  Yet his hilarity also inspires fear.  I have seen the way he berates himself.  I do not want to see how he berates others.  Namely me.  (Whitecastle, on the other hand, never berates himself publicly, but is funny in berating others.)

(a sample monologue)

Prof Timberfake: Biostatisticians have great imaginary lives because we are very mild and boring in actuality.  I'm surprised we've survived this long.  Can you imagine what we were doing in the caves?  Counting rocks?  Counting teeth?

Words I Wish I Could Tell You

On Thursday night, I hung out with a few doctoral students from other departments.  The entire table ordered burgers because the burgers at Alewife were that good.  Though the duck fat fries just tasted like fries.  I still haven't had duck fat fries that taste like they're worth the trouble and price tag.  I was going to relay a funny conversation we had about roofies that got ruined when one guy decided to be serious and bring up his clinical experience, but then realized that writing about that was at least thee types of wrong.  Maybe four.  So I guess all that is left to say is happy Easter.  It's been a great day of church, friends, farmer's market and Korean food.  Just between the three of us though, the last 30 minutes of semi-napping in front of my computer and eating peanut butter from the jar has been my favorite part of the weekend.

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.