Big Bliss

(The title is a Say Yes to the Dress shout out.  It's OK that I watch that show, because I balance it all out by getting a PhD)  

Remember how I used to have a blog?  And I would tell you about my life in amusing vignettes?  I hardly remember it.  The past couple of weeks have been a blur of work.  I've worked so hard that I haven't read every human interest story in the Times for weeks now, hardly kept up with royalty gossip (except they keep losing their clothes!), and haven't worked on perfecting my weigh-your-own fro-yo combo since classes started.  

But yesterday, Miss Sachini got married, so I pretended I wasn't coming down with a cold and completely clueless about how to do my econometrics homework, and had me some fun.  I keep saying this about my friends' weddings because they keep having awesome ones, but this was one of the happiest, loveliest, most ridiculous celebrations I've been a part of.  This one had the added bonus of everyone on both sides of the family being as genuine, chill, fun, and lefty as the happy couple themselves. 

One of the many highlights of the wedding last night was that B'more finally cooled down enough to warrant long sleeves.  The realization that I might need sleeves, and thus needed to coordinate an extra piece of clothing, dawned on me 4 minutes before departure time and led to a frantic gchat with Liz in which we discussed "Is it OK to wear a light white jacket to a wedding?"  After I explained to Liz that, yes, the bride was wearing white and no, the bridesmaids were not (a la Pippa... and old time folks), we decided that it all came down to this:  is the bride crazy?

Well, you can see how we both felt about that question.

 

Au Contraire My Tear

For one of my relatively new research projects (in which I predict when you will die), I am working on a group with both Advisor Who and Professor Fudge.  Mostly Professor Fudge.  I catch a glimpse of Advisor Who once every 12-16 days.  Whenever I do, he assures me that he is working hard on the project.  I am never convinced.

Professor Fudge is mild mannered, understanding, and takes himself absolutely seriously.  In short, he's the opposite of every mentor I have ever had (especially one whose name starts with W and ends in Hitecastle).  Working with him has been absolutely encouraging and bewildering at once.

Today, our meeting ended with me in tears.  I have left many offices in tears, but never because I was sad.  Today was no exception.  It's my stupid dry eyes.  Like (really inaccurate) clockwork, my eyes dry up in the late afternoon/early evening daily and I have a little cry.  Unfortunately, the cry today came moments after we discovered that I messed up my analysis and would have to redo a couple of days of work.

With any other professor, it would've been "too bad, suck it up, bring me the new results and we'll go from there."  Not Fudge.  He felt bad.  He told me a really long story about how these professional survey people at a prominent university messed up their analysis.  And it was sometime during this story that my eyes started tearing up.

With any other professor, I would've made a joke and that would've been that.  Not Fudge.  When I told Fudge my eyes were dry, it just sounded like I was covering up.  Being the earnest man that he is, he felt even worse.  He told me that mistakes were a part of the process.  The meeting ended as all our meetings do: awkward, and with me breaking into a near run.

Reader, I've never had a mentor who did not put me down.  Now in 20th grade, I don't know if I'm ready for one.

Darn Yankees

We don't take good pictures of ourselves.

I would be really impressed if you could tell where we were just by the picture above.  I would be equally impressed if you saw the pictures below and couldn't make out where we were.  Though for very different reasons.

(we were really high up for a few innings)

A couple of days ago, Rachael tried to rally a group of us for baseball.  Everyone else had commitments so in the end, it was just the two of us, the Orioles, and the Yankees.  

Things I Was Looking Forward To Before the Game: 

Being able to afford a Yankees ticket.

Some monstrous hot dog topped with mac n' cheese and crab 

(or pit beef BBQ, I would've been happy with either)

Chen Wei-Ying!  (i.e. watching a healthy, decent Taiwanese pitcher have a good game) 

How the Game Turned Out:

Chen had a great night... for about 3 innings.  

Settled for a polish sausage with all the works.  Less special, but still delicious.  

Hours later, really settled for limp fries and cheese sauce.  Even less special, still hit the spot.

The Yankees come to town (and win) and the park wasn't full of obnoxious machismo, drunken bros, and the feeling that a fight is about to break out?  I love this park.  I want to go every week.  

Unlike my last visit, people actually filled the seats and watched the game last night (this being September, tied for first last night, and playing the Yankees might have had something to do with it).  I had great, fun.  Sure, singing Sweet Caroline is special and all, but everything is so much less crowded here, the seats more comfortable, and the fans (and staff) so friendly that one lady even stopped me to tell me to not carry my bag behind me lest I get pick pocketed.  Then again, chances of being pick pocketed much lower in Boston...

Reality Bites

(all ready for my first day of 20th grade this morning)

Today was a much more stressful first day of school than I had expected, despite the happy arrival of my new TV this afternoon, despite the delicious cherries I ate, and despite the sausage-leek-pasta I made tonight.  I don't know why, despite all these marvels, the day still produced an unsettling feeling.  That's why I am ending the evening reading about mosquito bites (abscesses in particular) and listening to rain noise.  Two of my favorite things to do to pass the time.  It was in all this googling about mosquito bites-

(Sidebar: Somehow, sleeping over Nish's immaculate, air-conditioned, 8th floor apartment in September, I managed to get 2 mosquito bites on my hands.  Needless to say, they are inconvenient, itchy, and abscess-y.  I haven't even scratched it.  The bites, being inconveniently placed, just keep brushing up against things that irritate.  So much so that I considered buying $70+ worth of herbal ointments from Hong Kong.)  

It was in all this googling about mosquito bites that I realized that I never told you about the Living Mosquito Bite that so marred my Malaysia trip last year.  I can't believe I never mentioned it. It only occupied 60% of my mind the entire trip.  Maybe Last Year Me didn't want to gross you out.  Present Me doesn't care.  

I won't show you any pictures.  What you imagine will probably be more horrifying.  I will say that my mosquito bite gone wrong reached such a point that when Dwight and I were touring the herbal garden, a woman who worked there pointed at it and animatedly discussed it with another man.  I thought she'd recommend some medicinal salve.  Instead, she just said, "You need to see a doctor."  

Malaysia: 0  Mosquito: 1  Moi: -3938

Office Space, Part 2

(discussing the office we are sharing, the one with only one chair and one computer)

Amber: So you're here, too?

Moi: Yeah, but don't worry, this is only temporary.

Amber: Me too.  I'll be moving into that space down the hall when it opens up in the fall.

Moi: Wait, that's what they told me, too.

Office Space

Number of professors who want me to have a work space on the 6th floor: 2

Advisor Who and another professor I'm working closely with for a project are both on the 6th floor.  To them, it made sense to have me right around the corner since questions will invariably come up as I play with data.

Number of offices I have on the 6th floor: 0

Number of offices I have on the 3rd floor: 2

Number of people I displaced to take over Room 304: 2

Ah, academic bureaucracy.

Surfer Gurl

Professor Molten is the nicest professor here at J'Hop. Professor Molten used to think of me as a Bostonian. But ever since we talked about tacos once a few months ago, Professor Molten has gotten into her head that I am from California. It is a hard habit to shake. Unless, that is, I try Alice's plan.

 Moi: ... and then she said, "that's the Californian in you." I just nodded. It was easier that way. 

Alice: You need to start talking about clam chowder.

 Moi: I had wicked good chowdah at Haaaaavuhd? Alice: Exactly.

Not Again

I'm running out of ways to say how proud I am of my brother. He went and debuted another music video (this time, he made it with Ben, who's practically a brother, ergo, practically my brother). In me news? I re-installed my toy sofa because I realized that I set up my backboard wrong the first time around. I nearly won a game in Scrabble (should be able to wrap it up soon). And I finally took out the trash. After decades of being the-sibling-with-the-grades, I'm starting to understand what it feels like to be the black sheep.

Bigger Inside than Outside

I often feel like I have to remind Advisor Who of my existence, and following that, prompt him on who I am and what I might need from him.  It's nothing against him; he's just very busy, even as he's very cheerful and willing to help.  Nevertheless, after a year here, I'm happy to wander the halls and be able to pop into an office for a quick hello (even if he wasn't entirely certain why I was there to do that).  I remember how it felt last fall, when all I wanted was to feel familiar again, to walk down the street and have someone to say hi to, some landmark I'd recognize, and someplace that made me feel like I belonged.  It's not that Boston ever felt homey, but it was a city I knew.  Longwood meant work and school and friends/colleagues/professors, even people-whose-faces-I-want-to-avoid.  At this time last year, B'more meant nothing except confusion and overwhelming newness.

Who: So, d'you have fun?

Moi: Well, no big fun.  I didn't do anything exciting, but there was little fun.

Who: We don't have to catalog all the little fun you had.

---
I've mentioned this before, but talking to Advisor Who and Doc Nice inevitably turn into a namedropping game that I can't win.  They're just way more important than I am.  This point was again driven in this week.

(on where we had tacos last week)

Moi: Tiny storefront in B'more.
DocNice: The White House

(on where we stayed at the Cape)

Moi: Marie's aunt's friend's house.
Advisor Who: The National Academy of Science compound.

Grammar Gestapo

Nish came to town today.  We had too much brunch then made our way toward the harbor where we found the cutest park in the city.  A park that emphasizes spelling is my kind of outdoor space.

Price of Doing Business

I went to my bathroom this morning and was startled to discover a blood stain on the door.  I don't remember stabbing anyone at my doorsteps.  The blood, it appears, came as a result of a cut on my thumb.  How it drifted and flowed all the way down to the foot of the door, I am not sure.  All I know is that furniture assembly is a dangerous business, even when it is something as innocuous as a small nightstand with but one drawer.  Such a process can take entire afternoons and lead to deep cuts and dramatic rivers of blood as one attempts to rip open a band aid one-handed (Band-Aid brand band aids don't come with easy-pull tabs anymore, which led to a great struggle).  And yes, furniture assembly becomes exponentially more difficult and dangerous when it is done with one hand/thumb elevated to prevent further bloodbaths.  Said Father, "See, your father is good for some things, right?"  He is greatly missed down here in B'more.

Busy Day Today

I made a couch today. Not exactly from scratch. But close enough. It's a very small couch.  I want to call it 'Tiny Dancer.'  I also want to nap on the couch because my arms are very sore. But alas, I must shower, put on presentable clothes, and head south to DC for dinner.

Strapped

Anyone who says that we live in a cashless society has not tried to actually live two weeks without cash. Granted, I was doing pretty well without cash for much of the month, until I tried to deposit a check and realized that my bank card expired. That made the check deposit really difficult. It also made obtaining cash really difficult. Which made commerce very difficult. Mostly commerce that involves food. That is to say, all the important commercial transactions in life. Bank cards expire all the time. Except my new one got sent to B'more. And I was not in B'more. I know, I live a hard life. But I live it as a cautionary tale for you.

If He Be Awesome

This is why all throughout school, I was known always as "Pete's sister."  My brother directed this.  He is all sorts of awesome.  See the whole NPR post here.

Hair's to Me

A hairdresser complimented my hair today.  Well, not the previous haircut ("bangs cut too short," which explains my new haircut "looks weird on the right, but will get better as the hair grows"), but my hair itself.  It is apparently "healthy."  After a lifetime of being yelled at by hairdressers for using both too much and too little conditioner and all sorts of other flaws, this is welcome news.  It is so unexpected, much like that one time I went to the dentist and did not have any cavities, that I am committing a whole blog entry to it to commemorate the event.  Happy healthy hair day, everyone.

Water Ice

This was an installation in the RISD museum in Providence.  Isn't it pretty?  Too bad this was all we could say about it.  This, and "I wish I could run through the glass."  This is all to say, the museum was mostly lost on us.

The More Things Change

I just had a phone conversation with Lenny that went something like this:

Lenny: I can't talk now, I'm in Chile.

Moi: Isn't this call super expensive then?  Why'd you even pick up?

Lenny: I thought it was an emergency.

Moi: (from me?) It's not.

I had decided to call Lenny because I'm clearing out my bedroom in my home home and had just come across an old planner.  In it, I found an entry that said "calc test" in Lenny's handwriting.  Then entry was crossed out.  Next to it, I had written "I hate Lenny."  Apparently, Lenny used to go through my planner adding phantom test dates.  This is why I'm OK running up her phone bill.

Fishy Tales

At lunch today, in a Chinese restaurant overlooking the Merrimack Valley in Dracut, we saw a couple of guys fishing in the waters and releasing their catch back into the water.  The Merrimack used to be a heavily polluted river because of all the factories in the area.  The fishermen prompted Mother to strike up conversation with the waiter about whether he'd ever fished there.  He said that, oh yes, the river was great for fishing.  The kitchen staff do it all the time and there are some large fish there, even bass.  They do it for fun, of course, not to eat.  The chef lost a fishing pole recently because the fish was so big.  They gather around the restaurant because of the food waste that goes into the river.  They were so plentiful that they didn't even need to fish with a real rod, just a string and stick.  They'd set them up, tie to a tree, and return every once in awhile to check on the lines.  The entire tale sounded fantastical.  We smiled and nodded at his story, taking it all in, until we left the restaurant and got into the car.

Mother: They're not supposed to dump food into the river, right?  That's illegal.

Father:  And no Chinese chef ever 'fishes for fun.'  Remember never to order fish at this place.

Near Miss

Yesterday was a near-perfect day in food.  If only I'd gotten dessert.  I went down to Providence for the day and sweated, ate, and repeated the two many times over.  The morning began with Gruyere croissants en route into the city.  We paused for some anthropology and art before "Lunch Part 1": seafood pancakes from a food truck.  Then there was the detour for lemonade/iced tea.  And "Lunch Part 2": half order eggs Benedict with pulled pork hash at a place we all likened to "Other Side Cafe in Boston, except with really good food.  And capable service."  Despite its hipster-dive atmosphere, I can't recommend Julian's enough.  It does vegan, vegetarian, and fatty meat all so well.  (Laura made sure of this.  "Just to make sure, the 'soy marinaded steak' is actual meat, right?")  To burn all this off, we slowly walked around a lake, only to circle back to town for early happy hour (Pacifico, hummus, corn fritters) as Z-the-Underaged watched.  He also got to compare restaurant notes with Laura.  Lesson learned?  Undergrad Boys and Grad School Women run in very different restaurant/bar scenes.  We learned that lesson again when we decamped to our next stop: an absurdly twee tapas bar where we had yet more food amid high ceilings, exposed beams, chalkboard menus, and a quirky waitress.

Like I said, a terribly trendy and wonderful food day.  My only regret was that we didn't have dessert (we were too full and lacked foresight).  Because miraculous as it sounds, by the time I got home around 11pm, I was hungry again.

Lola

There was a girl in a pink skirt yesterday and the whole train loved her.  She was first spotted as the train emerged onto street level.  As soon as she saw the train, she started running, and we started watching.  She almost caught up to the train at the stop.  But traffic didn't go her way and she couldn't cross the street in time to catch the train.  By the time we reached the next stop, however, she was there waiting for us.  She had run in her skirt and pretty sandals through the city blocks and beat the train.  The conductor suggested she join the Olympics.  People congratulated her.  Guys high-fived her as they exited.  It turned out that she didn't really need to hurry.  She had 30 minutes to pass two stops.

"But I didn't want to walk in the heat anymore."
"So you ran instead?"
"I didn't think about it very well."

Someone suggested that she ride all the way to the VA just to get her money's worth.  Her logic may have been faulty, but the running was great.  And it was wonderful, free entertainment for a Thursday morning.

Portion Control

(removing the tag off of my new jeans)

Mother: You don't need to tell everyone what size you are.

Moi: But I so rarely get to be such a small size.  I know that they keep altering the sizes-

Mother: Exactly.  This would be an extra large in China.

Thanks, Mother.

Jack of All Trades

That Jesus was right.  It is hard serving two masters.  (Or did he say you shouldn't serve 2 masters?  Semantics.)  It's taking a lot of brain power to barely maintain 1 blog.  Adding on another one, why, I can feel my cerebrospinal fluid drying out.  Not that you have missed out on much.  I did not take a spectacular fall during a softball game and shatter my hand to pieces, or trip and fall in the middle of the street a couple of weeks later.  I did not talk to a Times columnist about dog poop.  I have just been quietly working in the suburbs, only going into town for Whitecastle's disapproval.  My big project of the day?  Cleaning up my childhood room.  And figuring out why there are several feet of white nylon rope at the foot of my window.

Sheep Go to Heaven

I am in need of the help of a good five-year old.  I have used my fingers to count multiple times this morning.  I have been so flummoxed that I just emailed Whitecastle for help in reconciling the counting discrepancies in our review. We have been working with collaborators for about a year now on this project.  Between the five of us, there are 3 MDs, 2.25 PhDs. and 2 Masters of Science.  And yet we can't figure out if our review has 10 or 12 studies.  It shouldn't be this hard, but right now, it all feels just a little overwhelming.

Silent Alarm

Katy's alarm woke Nik up at 5:30 am today.  Nik wondered if Katy had pressed snooze and needed to be woken up.  Then, because it was 5:30, she fell back asleep.  Katy's alarm also woke me up at 5:30 am today.  I wondered if Katy had somehow gotten up without my notice.  Then, because it was 5:30, I fell back asleep.  

About an hour later, my alarm rang.  It woke me up.  I stirred and thought, "I guess she left and I didn't hear her."  Unfortunately, neither my alarm nor Katy's alarm woke Katy up.  And she had a flight to catch.  Five minutes later, Katy shot up in her bed and blurted.  "Oh sh*t!"  And that's how I ended up at the airport in my pajamas.  And how Nik and I managed to get back, change, go out for breakfast (and come up with a brilliant baking idea-- pumpkin bread with Raisinets) and return again, all by 9am.  It was a very productive morning.

Peer to Peer

Dear Reviewer 1:
  The feeling is mutual.

Sincerely,

Annoyed and Reviewed

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.