Perspective

Heh.  From the Times baseball blog today:

Just remember that when telling your grandchildren about the Great Collapse of 2011, you must leave out the fact that you attended a Bruins Stanley Cup parade three months earlier. Or a Celtics parade two years before that. Or a Red Sox parade the year before that. And skip the three Patriots Super Bowl celebrations. They all get in the way of a good story.

Important Business

Remember how I wrote about witnessing "courtesy buttons" in a Korean public bathroom this summer? Not getting a picture of it was one of my biggest regrets from my travels. (The other being not buying more squishy toys from the night markets) My layover in Japan 2 weeks ago remedied that situation.  Plus, a bathroom bonus: deodorizing, nay, powerful deodorizing buttons.  People of Japan, I bow to your ingenuity.

Social Medicine

While eating dinner with my aunt and uncle a few weeks ago, Ah-Bei (as I call my eldest uncle) pulled out a bottle of wine.  (I drank more in that family weekend than I do on a normal weekend.)

Ah-Bei: So, tell us about the health benefits of wine.

Father: They're pretty general and obvious, right?  Good for your heart, anti-oxidants...

Ah-Bei: No, I want to hear it from her.  A Harvard-educated public health expert.

---

Later, debating the merits of animal fats.

Brother: True, they're saturated fats, but they are actually healthier-

Moi: I haven't read as much on it, but I don't think-

Ah-Bei: Hm.  The public health PhD has doubts about this.  I'm going to go with Harvard on this one.

Social Math

Oh that's unfortunate.  Only my fabulous new school friends ("cohort") will get the title joke.  But they will not read this.

Let's cut to the chase for this entry:  I am a winner.  Last night was no different.  A big group of us went to the school-sponsored happy hour for public health/Hopkins trivia yesterday.  Since the MPH program started a few months before us, and all of us were out of towners (except for Cass, our intrepid TA) we were perhaps the newest to the school and knew the least about public health/Hopkins.  It did not help that we did not submit any questions and there was nothing in our specialty (that being disseminating health policy issues in 1500 words or less).  Things did not look good.  We even forgot basic public health law questions we should have known.  Sensing imminent defeat, we were happy to just talk disruptively in the corner and let the night fade away.  Then the final round changed everything.  We discovered that, perhaps due to our careful listening, we had been calculating our points wrong (i.e. doubling them- and still not winning).  The MC corrected the misdeed for Round 3, but never caught it for Round 2.  So we went into the final question neck and neck with two other teams.  Then the first place team made a major tumble while we correctly wagered all of our points to double up the score.  In the end, our team in the corner, the one that that had never won a round, and didn't hear the question half the time, became the shady Cinderella and took home the grand prize.  They'll probably make an HBO special about our surprising comeback.  You should stay tuned.

Like Butter

I refuse to believe that I will never be suave.  So time after time, I allow optimism into my heart and come to believe that I am capable of executing life smoothly.  Take my biostat midterm this morning.  I was convinced that I was well prepared (oh how you proved me wrong, test) but even more, I was convinced that I could exit the test without much trouble.  After all, there was only 1 student to the left of me.  I just needed to pick up my backpack, tilt to the side, and scoot past him with my backpack lifted up, so as not to disturb him, and then I'd be all set.

If only.  If only.  If only.  Instead, I managed to step on my shoelaces for the first time in years, trip, and then miraculously catch my backpack on the handrail at the edge of the row, so I ended up tripping right in front of the guy I was trying not to disturb, and my backpack hung half on his desk and half on the banister.  Of course. 

Family Meal

It was an absurd moment in a surreal weekend.  There I was, sitting in a minibus in my nice black dress, trying to balance all that was going on.  My cousin had ordered bento boxes for lunch and I was trying to eat mine.  We were having bentos with fried chicken drumsticks that were actually packaged separately, because they don't fit in the box.  There was no way to properly wield the chicken except to use my hand and try not to get any greasy bits on my face or dress.  But I also had to hold the box, work my chopsticks, balance the rest of the box (which required suspending the drumstick so it wouldn't cover the rest of the food), and keep my drink in place as the driver hit every bump along the way.  As luck would have it, I only had 2 hands.  

Being a part of an extended family, to me, feels like wearing glasses.  Like the new or occasional glasses wearer, I am always acutely aware of being with my extended family because it happens so rarely.  I imagine the rest of them hardly notice the feeling.  For me, it takes some adjustment every time.  Whenever we have big gatherings, I catch myself thinking, "so this is what a big family, my family, feels like."  The feeling reached a crescendo a week ago, eating lunch en route to my grandfather's burial.  Since the cemetery was a long drive away (they are almost always in the mountains in Taiwan and the burial was only for family members), 17 of us packed into a mini-bus for the journey and shared the tragicomic moment..  All of us (eh, most of us) were in our Sunday bests, trying to balance the least fast-food-friendly-meal-ever, all the while passing straws, napkins, and drinks up and down the aisles.  Writers always think their families exceptional.  And I'm pretty sure my family drama is exceptional.  But at that moment-- bickering, joking, catching up (some with more ease than others)-- we were just like any other family.

The RidicuList

On the same day that Hopkins (OK, a Hopkins-affiliated institute) is being sued for sued for exposing poor black children to lead paint, I learn that the ol' H'Bomb (the Boston-based major H'Bomb) has gone in the other direction in taking on the public image.  Just check out this catalog listing: Oh, that's right.  It's a dog.  That you can use at the medical library.  But remember, just like that December 1813 issue of NEJM, you can use it in library, but you can't check it out.

The Accidental Scenester

Do you know what guabao is?  If you do, chances are, you are either Taiwanese or knowledgeable on foodie trends.  As part of the pork fad of the last decade and also the rise of less-known Asian food in the States (read: Korean tacos, Taiwanese, Chinese provincial specialties over pan-China classics), guabao has become trendy.  It's what's described as a "Taiwanese burger"- fatty braised pork belly sandwiched between soft, white bread pocket with cilantro, pickled cabbage, and the all important sweet peanut powder.  The perfect melding of crunch and softness, sweet and salty, greasy and dry.  I love me a guabao.  But I especially like that this esoteric trendy food item here that isn't served in every city (because how many of them have Taiwanese food?) nor every Taiwanese restaurant, is so common in Taiwan that I had this for breakfast at the airport.  I love that I come from a food history so rich that what is available here in the States is only a speck of what is available at home.  And that I can eat guabaos in peace in Taiwan, without food trucks or eating local.

It Is Happening

Is it here already?  It feels like it is too soon.  Is this what everyone feels like when the moment is upon them?  I am too young.  I am not ready.  But fashion and pop culture are now mining the 90's, the decade during which I grew up (I suppose I could still cling onto the 00's).  The decade that seems too recent and unremarkable to be emulating.  From today's New York Times

While the indie rock band Dinosaur Jr. played on Topshop’s sound system, Ms. Callis [17] noted that she approves of the ’90s, which fashion seems to be mining. “You couldn’t even tell what anyone’s bodies looked like,” she said approvingly, while eyeing a cocoon sweater that was “very Alexander Wang.”

The Children's Bread

A title with a theological allusion.  Kingdom points for that.

By now, you and I should be fairly acquainted with the opposites-attract approach to life that is my parents' marriage.  Yet the way it plays out in real life still surprises me.  My family and I are staying at my uncle's for the weekend.  Last night, they had already gone to bed when I found out that the guest bathroom didn't have any shampoo, so I went to the parents to see if they had any.

Mother: Do you have any soap?

Moi: Yeah, there's a new bar of soap in there.

Mother: Just use that for now on your hair.  They're all the same.

Father: I have a bottle of shampoo here and one of those hotel packets.  Why don't you take whichever one you want?

Stylus of Champions

A whole box of my favorite pen. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?

I'm going away again for a long weekend and coming back disoriented and jet lagged. Will tell you tales from the journey if I make it back sane and alive.

Audio 2: Childish Analogy

If I had to choose one piece of work that I am most proud of- one cupcake, one publication, one gesture, one anything- this may be it. So if you listen to it and like it, I'm sorry. There isn't more where this came from. This is the best that I can do. I wrote this my freshman year at the Bo' and it's been downhill ever since (for more things that have gone downhill since 2003, see also: this blog, physical shape, grasp of calculus etc., etc.).

Audio 1: Work in Progress

Haven't done this for forever and thought I'd share a piece I'm still working on.  It's long (2.5 min), so you have to really like the sound of my voice to sit through this.  I think I have the words down, but the timing is still a little off at parts, and I misspoke a line.  But I haven't done anything productive and creative like this for so long, I thought I'd share anyway.  We'll go back to awkward stories tomorrow.  Today, it's all vulnerable soul baring, all the time.

At Some Point, It's Just Lunch

I never thought I'd miss the food at Sebastian's but after six years of institutional coddling and excellent salad bars, I'm finally at a school without good food.  The cafe at Hampton House has great free iced water, wifi, and a very friendly staff, but I miss my "cheap" and healthy "Indian" food, surly cashiers, Heart Healthy entrees, and all those pictures of Walter Willet telling me that I should have oatmeal. 

What I don't miss about Boston, however, is having great brunch options within walking distance from my place.  I have that here.  Just came back from my first B'more brunch (with Sachini-- whose frames of reference include Boston, Harvard, Hopkins, B'more, California, Asia, and Beyonce's baby-to-be, which makes her perfect brunch company) and licked my plate clean.  How could I not, when it contained some of my favorite things?  Poached eggs (my brunch egg go-to), fried chicken, and biscuits.  I can't even think of anything more perfect and I certainly can't wait to brunch again. 

Which Side Are You

I had dinner with Sharon tonight, in what appears to be the only Vietnamese restaurant in the great city of B'more.  It was lovely.  Until we tried to leave.  Sharon kept turning the knob and the door wasn't opening.  "Am I missing something here?"  She asked, then turned to let me have a try.  The apparatus seemed simple enough, so I turned the knob.  Still nothing.  Then I noticed that the latch wasn't moving no matter how we turned the knob.  Soon the owner came over.  "Are we doing something wrong?"  We asked.  "No, I think we may be locked in."

The latch still firmly in place, the owner went scavenging and came back with a screw driver.  Still no luck.  (All this while Sharon and I just stood there next to the door, a table of people still eating behind us, because the place was so small and there was nowhere else to be.)  He went back again and returned with an electric drill.  Now we were getting somewhere.  Finally, with some assistance from customers arriving from the other side of the door, another customer trying to leave who had apparently had some experience with this, and that customer's credit card, we were released.  I'd like to go back there again sometime.  But I'm afraid I'd never get home.  And I'd like to get home some day.  If only for all the good Vietnamese food that awaits me in Boston and Lowell.

It's Still August, No?

I'm more sorry than usual to be neglecting you, Lonesome Reader, but life without the interweb has been difficult.  I've spent many afternoons standing in the park across the street from my new apartment, stealing free internet and pretending I'm waiting for someone as I conduct my business with my iPod.  Which is fine and good.  Except I end up looking slightly creepy.  Or just like I've been stood up too many times.  Needless to say, such experiences make for interesting stories but are not conducive to posting entries.  Just how out of it am I?  I wore my shirt inside out today and did not notice until Roommate pointed it out to me.  Unfortunately, we were already out of the house by then, and in fact, off of the bus.  I guess I'm not what you call "detail-oriented."  I'll be back soon, y'all, I promise.

Aloha

For years, my away message (remember those) said "I am a tragicomic hero."  I was reminded of this phrase again and again this week as I settled into a new city and having a new advisor.  One who reached out his hand during the orientation happy hour, amidst the sunshine and drinks and shouting over crowds of people, to say "I'm sorry about your family."  Which, while appreciated, really brought a halt to the proceedings.  Not to be outdone, our Section Chair also offered his condolences for my grandfather's passing.  Being a student of awkwardity myself, I said "It's OK," because I was so caught off guard.  In the next sentence, I mentioned I was going to Taiwan for the service in a couple of weeks.  And because we were at a crowded happy hour social, someone immediately joined the circle to say "Taiwan?  Are you Taiwanese!?" 

And of course, when I emailed my new advisor with my travel schedule and when I'd be missing classes, he wrote back with a chirpy "Bon voyage!"  A much nicer man than Whitecastle, yes, but much more socially inappropriate.  More stories to come once I have interweb access.  Fingers crossed that the hurricane doesn't ruin everything. 

Under Study

It's been a lovely last week, nay, last month, in Boston.  I've been dining with people who like to go halfsies, discovering lunch specials, spreading my love of office work,  and laughing a whole lot along the way. 

On the curious case of the woman with the too-short 'dress' who kept walking past our restaurant window:

Moi: How does she sit down?

Sarah: Maybe she forgot to wear pants.

Faith: Maybe she's wearing shorts underneath so it's OK.

DBomb: Really, really short shorts?

Sarah: Really short, flesh colored shorts that we can't see?  We call that underwear.

Pay Attention in Class, Mrs. Cho

Father and I have spent a lot of quality time together this week.  We drove down to B'more, unloaded, bought new furniture, assembled, and drove back up in the span of 3 days.  Within this span, we've talked, eaten in a few food courts, and discovered what an absolute time drain IKEA is.  A time drain with the worst instructional manuals ever.

Father:  The only thing we didn't have to assemble were the bed springs.  I'm surprised that they even came coiled.

(when I decided to have fried chicken for lunch while he chose a tasteful salad)

Father: So public health people don't actually eat healthy?

----
Once in a rare while, Mother asks a piercing yet insightful question regarding fields she knows little about, spurred on by her fresh perspective.   Tonight was not one of those nights.

(discussing Mariano Rivera's recent pitching woes)

Mother: If he's so good and they let him play so much, why didn't we see him [when we went to the game]?

Moi: Well, for starters, we didn't watch his team play. 

Stickler

At the Hillsong concert in Seoul, Mark went out to find food and drinks. He asked what I wanted. "Anything on a stick." He obliged and brought back fried chicken on a stick with ketchup. Along with some rice cake in spicy sauce and gatorade for Ash and himself. Now do you understand why I love Asian convenience stores?