Date Line

I have a big exam tomorrow.  My parents vaguely know about it.  They heard all about the last one.  And yet, for reasons unclear, cannot seem to remember the date and time of this exam.  They are, however, very good at proposing their own dates and time.  Every conversation we have had, for the last two weeks, has gone something like this.  

Mother: I'm rooting for you.

Moi: Thank you.

Mother: It''ll all be over May 31st, at 1pm.

Moi: ... May 30th at 9am.

Mother: Right.

(It helps to know that May 31st is a Saturday)

It would not be so funny and frustrating if it had not happened 3 times this week.  With each parent.  

Deconstructed Memory

Daniel and Nancy went to Spain last week.  Daniel is a boy and Nancy is a girl.  When we asked Nancy how the trip was, she was articulate and told us about the pastry shop by their apartment in Barcelona, people watching in the plaza, and the wonderful train ride.  When we asked Daniel how the trip was, he kept taking out his phone to show pictures.  It was weird, but whatever.  We let him show us the pictures. And that was when we made an amazing discovery:

Years of saving tiny human lives has taken its toll on his mind and robbed Daniel of his memories.  The pictures were not just a way of sharing his vacation with us, it was the only way he could remember that he was even on a vacation.  This was especially evident when Daniel started showing us pictures from a fancy 10-course dinner they had-- the most memorable dinner from their trip.

Daniel: This was- a yellow shot.

Moi: I see that, but what is it?

Daniel: I don't know.  It was savory.  And here, this was a foam colored thing, and carrots.

Moi: Yes, I recognize carrots.  What was the foam thing?

Daniel: Um, and this was dessert.  You had a brown thing and a gelatin-

[according to Nancy, it was deconstructed apple pie.  "There was cava granita over the dessert and a nice contrast between hot and cold."]

On Second Thought

I made rhubarb-strawberry bars last night and brought them to school to share today.  I also did the same last week, but this was the new and improved batch, with 40% more bar and fresh strawberries.  I brought them with me to Liz's defense (Liz has a PhD now!), to my meeting with Who, and generally everywhere I went today.  And everywhere I went today, this exact same scene played out:

Moi: Would you like a rhubarb bar (say that 10 times fast)?

Professor Dubya: [skeptical look]  Well-

Moi: They're home made.

Professor Dubya: I guess I could try a little.  

[5 seconds later]

Professor Dubya: Oh my god, these are really good.

[everyone else grabs one]

I'm not feeding you poison, people, and I would imagine that history has shown that I make dang fine baked goods.  But alas, some people just like to be surprised.  

Kryptonite

(Yesterday just happened to be get-bad-feedback-day for Liz and me, but it's another morning so we're ready to get up and do this all over again.  At least we're trying to.)

Moi: I gave myself a "no self pity" talk.

Liz: You should give yourself a "superman" talk because in the middle of battle, he always looks like he may lose but then he triumphs, like you will.

Moi: So I'm basically telling myself I'm Superman?  That seems rather egoistical.

Liz: You have said bolder things.

Royal Adults

I did not put on pants yesterday.  It's that time of the year when I don't have to wear pants.  Instead, I put on my old-man-shorts and hobbled out to the farmer's market in an ankle wrap and plastic flip flops (turns out, it's hard to wear shoes with an ankle wrap).  Normally, I'd make a self-deprecating remark about my life and wardrobe choices but on Sunday, I stepped out with confidence that somewhere out there in my neighborhood, just a few blocks north, was someone else probably also not wearing pants, has a bum ankle, wears glasses, and is generally aging terribly.  They say misery loves company, misfits do as well.

(Special shout out to Ilene, who is aging gracefully, and Brian, who is not.)  

----

(at Ilene's birthday dinner, though it was not her birthday)

Ilene: We were getting ready to leave and these two would not put pants on.

Meghan: [looks aghast]

Moi: To clarify, we were not wearing pants in separate apartments.

Brian: And we were wearing shorts.  

Meghan: Gross.  I find shorts so uncomfortable.

Everyone: [looks aghast]

The War on Humor

It's no secret, Pretzels, that I like to goof around with my superiors.  I also like to joke around with my subordinates; it's just unfortunate that I don't have any.  I'd love for nothing better than to sit around all day cracking wise and doing public health research.  Oftentimes though, I refrain from punchlines I truly want to say because I don't want to offend my superiors by crossing some line.  Advisor Who, however, does not have this problem.

(on jobs I could look into)

Who: You could work for the Syrian rebels.

Moi: Aw.  Syria is so sad now.

Who: Yeah, it is.

[I immediately think, "it'd be even darker if I say I'd work for the Nigerians instead," but I hold my tongue because it seems inappropriate.]

Who: If not the Syrians, you could work for the Nigerian kidnappers.

Moi: I used the hash tag #bringbackourgirls and they're not free yet.  I don't get what more I need to do.  

Crossing the Line

Reading my blog lately, it's easy to come away with the assumption that my world revolves around biscuits and my advisor/school.  I assure you that that's not true.  It only seems that way.  

Except last night really was all about the biscuit.  We faced endless obstacles, but Alice and I were determined to have dinner at blacksauce.  We both successfully resisted late afternoon snacks and remained faithful to dinner, but dinner kept getting farther and farther away.  There was terrible traffic, endless GPS rerouting, all in concert with torrential downpours.  We kept looping around small country roads with growling stomachs.  The blacksauce food is cooked in tents outside, and with the weather kept changing every two seconds and the GPS constantly telling us we were 3 minutes away, we kept wavering between excitement for food and anxiety that the rain would ruin everything and the realization that our destination was still just a little bit farther away.  But at long last, we pulled in to see that despite the rain, Damian and his team were still outside.  We ran out with our umbrellas:

Moi: Please tell me dinner is still on.

Damian: We ran out of food.  I'm sorry.

Moi: Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-

Damian: I'm just kidding.  We're only out of chicken.

Alice: That's a mean joke.

Damian: That was kinda mean.  I'm sorry.

Moi: It's a horrible joke.  Though I totally did the same thing to my friend on Sunday.  It's hilarious.

[On Sunday, whilst waiting in line, since I was 2 people ahead of Christine, I turned back to tell her that they were out of the fried chicken biscuit we waited so long for.  She told me that "there are some things you don't joke about.  This is one of them."  I didn't understand on Sunday.  But I understand now.]

Snowflake in the Crowd

The University has been in the process of unifying everyone's email addresses across multiple schools and institutions.  This means a new email alias for everyone.  And much consternation for those of us with common names.  I thought having an "86" follow my initials was bad at Partners.  The new system takes it to a whole other factor.

Moi: What's your number at JHU?  Or are you senior enough not to warrant a number?

[Advisor Who also has Common Asian Last Name, though not as common as mine]

Who: Well, it's one.  Isn't it the same for everyone?  Everyone gets a one after their name.

Moi: Not me.  The numbers can go much higher.

Who: Like 20?

Moi: That's nothing.  Try 3 digits.  Like 430. 

Who: [Laughs more uproariously than I have ever seen him laugh.]

 At least I'm bringing joy into the world.

The Merman

I'm home in Dub-ford for a quick visit, which means intense contact with Mother's particular brand of crazy.  Yesterday, discussing colleges ("I know you joke that we don't treat the Bo' with the same prestige as we do Harvard, but I never knew that you and your friends actually believed that the Bo' was a really elite school"), Mother mentioned that Brother had previously received admittance to Smith but ended up choosing UMass Amherst for financial reasons-- an account we vociferously denied on many counts.  Finally, Mother called Brother to set the record straight.  You don't even need to hear both sides of the call.  Just soak in the crazy. 

Mother: Help me settle a score with your sister and father.  Didn't you get into Smith College when you were applying?  They're saying you didn't.

[...]

Mother: I know it's a women's college.  I remember you'd gotten into one, which I thought was weird at the time.  What about Holyoke something?

[...]

Mother: Yes, I know Mt. Holyoke is a women's college.  I know you're not a woman.  So you didn't get into any women's colleges?  I really thought you did.  

One Down

I had my departmental preliminary exam today.  As everyone promised, it wasn't half as scary as I thought it would be, everyone there did want me to succeed, and I did pass. In fact, I probably had one of the shortest exams amongst all my peers (God is merciful). Though this did not mean that I found any of the jokes the faculty members made prior to my passing to be funny at all.  

Fifteen minutes before the exam, as I was about to make last minute preparations, Prof Dubya (? I forget his nickname), who is not on my committee, comes by for some friendly, last-minute advice.  It was very kind of him to do.  Unfortunately, it sent me into all sorts of last minute panic of problems I did not even consider.

Dubya (sees Doc Khaleesi in the hallway): I'm just giving her some last minute advice.  You shouldn't listen, you're on her committee.

Khaleesi: Oh, I'm ready.  I have a long list of questions.

---  

(regarding the homemade cookies that I brought to the exam)

Doc Who: There should be some sort of an arms race to see who can furnish the most elaborate meals at these exams.

Moi: Oh, I heart some professors didn't want it to seem like a bribe.  Otherwise, I would've catered lunch.

Doc Who: Some professors appreciate bribes.  I once had a student who brought sushi.

Khaleesi: You have 5 minutes.  There's still time [to impress us.]

---

Best question of the whole exam (courtesy of Doc Normandie):  Which 2 popular American companies were founded in Quincy, Massachusetts?

Most horrifying question (courtesy of Doc Who, natch): Should I just tweet these exam notes to you?  Or would you prefer Facebook?

Biscuithead

Le Pretzels, biscuit season is once again among us, which means the addition of 2-3 servings of simple carbohydrates into my weekly diet. 

In my roughly 2 years of biscuit eating in Bmore, my achievements are as follows: discover biscuits, buy so many biscuits as to have the biscuit crew learn my name (there was a brief winter hiatus after which name was forgotten then quickly relearned), and have Biscuit Boss express disappointment when I didn't choose the special of the day. Today, after a winter hiatus during which my name wasn't forgotten, I add a new achievement to the list: cashier knew that I hadn't yet tried the pork sandwich because I hadn't visited the 2 other times they'd had it. I hope that one day, as the ultimate reward of my faithfulness, they visit me in the hospital when I eventually have my heart attack. 

Cohort Study

I don't know if you knew that tonight was the series finale of How I Met Your Mother. I knew it. So did Liz. And Alene. And Julia. And Ilene. Yet instead of watching it live, these friends (and more!) chose to watch me give a practice talk on my dissertation proposal. Then spent over an hour coaching me and testing me. Then at the end of it all, they complimented me and thanked them for having them over. 

This is how kind and generous my cohort it is. It is humbling and scary and annoying. Whenever they succeed, I get incredibly proud of them. Then I think, "oh crap, they've set the bar that much higher again, now I have to be just as nice and just as smart or I'll look like a failure."  Good thing I'm used to all kinds of failure. 

Conformity

Peer pressure can make all of us do stupid things, like impulsively buying 2 pints of Ben & Jerry ice cream on a rainy afternoon because we had to try the new flavors with the fudgey cores (verdict: hazelnut fudge, let's promise never to part ways).  Yes, Nancy, Heeyoung, and I each had to buy our own.  And even though each pint was $3.50 (more expensive than Jon had gotten at Safeway), once we saw the sign for "2 for $7," we decided that we all had to get 2 pints.  We just had to.  

On Thursday night, though, I was in desperate need of peer pressure.  There was a guest speaker in town and Advisor Who took us to dinner.  You all know how I love free food, especially as this was free food at fancy restaurant with Liz next to me.  And Who telling outrageous stories.  (The speaker's stories of cryptography and his son of many tongues, weren't too shabby either.)  It was all pretty good, actually, except that part where the waitress came to take orders for dessert and so I ordered, then no one else did.  And so yes, I was that kid, that ate the most free food Who had to offer.  And who everyone had to wait for.  I'm never ordering first again.

Liz (to me): Maybe Who will get dessert and you won't be alone.

Who (to waitress): Could I get an espresso?  But could you make it look like a dessert so she won't feel left out?

Moi: [mortified.  mortified.  mortified.]

Gradual Student

"Graduate student" is such a deceptive job title because I am so far from graduating.  Yesterday, I went to the bookstore to pick up index cards to make for studying. Like I've done countless times. I had the realization then that it was probably something most of my friends can't relate to anymore. Can you still remember back to the last time you made flash cards to study?  Yet for me, it was yesterday. Using the exact same trick I'd learned in middle school.

(This is how I feel about studying. Though I know I shouldn't whine because a. I haven't studied that hard this far and b. it's my 3rd to last exam ever!)

Significant Others

Today was Liz's Fun Day, and what a fun day it was.  There was a rope course (which brought back bad memories of Project Adventure- I was a much better sport in my younger days), there was Taboo, and there were equally generous servings of snack taking and smack talking.  It's no wonder that I love Liz.  Those are all of my favorite things (just kidding, I hate ropes, but today's ropes were great).  I just wish Liz portrayed me better to her friends.  

(after hearing a description of the day ahead from our guide)

Moi: I don't know if I want to be mentally and physically challenged.

Liz: But think of all the fun things you can tell Al that you did today!

Moi (to Liz's non-school friends): I should clarify.  Al is not my boyfriend-- he is my academic advisor. He will not hear about what I did today.

Kali: I don't know.  You guys were talking about scheduling orals with Al and I got very confused.

For future reference, Pretzels, "Orals" = comprehensive (departmental or school-wide) exam.  I clearly need more men in my life.

Beef and Turf

In academia, so much of getting through the program depends on our mentors- formal and informal- that we (well, Liz and I) can get a little possessive and petty over them.  The mentor may or may not be our favorite, but we better be on the mentor's favorite list.  This could be a difficult feat, however, when your mentor is Advisor Who and has scores of mentees all over the medical institution.

(a little after Liz told me about a journalist-turned-medical-student-wunderkind who Who often praises and who I'd never heard of until today, and immediately after I suggested we "destroy" said student)

Liz: You are taking this way worse than I thought you would.

A Pack of Crows

Is mass murder a hobby?  The question came up during a particularly divisive round of Scattergories Categories this past weekend, one that revealed the worst in just about every team.  Lisa and I are firmly in the 'yes' camp.  Some teams found it only palatable to give us the point on murder, but not mass.  Others, like Tiff and Michael, were more lenient.  "A hobby is anything you do for fun that's not your job."  Exactly.  (They may have been just protecting their behinds, their "two-timing" double points were potentially under threat depending on the ruling).  

In the end, Tuna, the great conscience, swayed enough nays for us to lose the points.  It cost us both the round and the game in a particularly tight race.  Which is a sad one to close out a night that began so promising, with Lisa and I in early dominations.  If one had to pinpoint where it all went downhill, it was probably when we got the category "Things that are above us" and decided to shoot for the moon with a long list of dead people.  The jury would only give us one.  Not even Martin Luther King Jr. could sway their stone cold hearts. "He's not above us because he's dead, but because he's morally superior," I argued between fits of hysterics, but all Priscilla would do was stare, shake her head, and say "One dead person."  

While I'm Sleeping

On sharing bunk beds as adults...

Moi (top bunk): Just so you know, I have a tendency to shake and hop up and down in my sleep. 

Lisa (bottom bunk): Just so you know, I have a tendency to suffocate other people in my sleep. 

Touché. 

Dear John

One of my favorite comebacks after someone has said “I love you,” or even, “I like you,” in a non-romantic context is to reply with, “Yes, but I think we should still see other people.”  I almost never pull it off.  But it’s a stupid joke I love to say.

 

Sometimes, my emails with Doc Nice are cordial, respectful, and right on business, because I am a professional.  Other times, they are a little goofy because Doc Nice is not just the nicest, he’s also a little goofy. Yesterday, as we traded emails to set up a call, I tried goofy.  I mentioned that I’d appreciate talking to him on the phone because I needed his guidance, but also because I like him— though we should see other people.  He responded in one all-business sentence specifying the time for our call.  Nothing else.

 

So I was a little startled by our conversation today:

 

Moi: Hello?  Sorry, I missed your call by a second-

 

Doc Nice: Did you get my voicemail?

 

Moi: No, I just saw that I missed-

 

Doc Nice: I cannot believe you’d tell me over email that you think we should see other people.

 

Moi: Wha?  Well- uh- I know it wasn't the best medium-

 

Doc Nice: Over email!  Not even a phone call.  I did not see it coming.  I thought things were going so well.

 

Apologizing for a faux break-up with a mentor probably crosses a few boundaries, but it also made my day.  Especially thinking of how he was carrying on this whole conversation inside a cab.  Nicely played, Nice Doc.  Nicely played.

Sights from the Motherland

We had a lot of fun with graffiti. 

Old school: Making my sandals right on the spot. 

Father is incredibly fond of finger guns.