Canadian Christmas

Greetings from the Great White North- a land where garbage disposal units apparently don't exist yet they have their own word for them ("garburator"). Despite this nonsense, this land is absolutely lovely. Nik invited me to join her and a couple of friends to her home to celebrate Christmas and I'm so glad that I did. They have dim sum, nasi goreng, and an HGTV channel with shows I'd never seen. That, plus moose-shaped drinking paraphernalia-- what more could I ask for?  (They also have a quiet room where I can catch up on my work- and peace and quiet- but while that is wildly appreciated and totally allowing me to sleep better at night, it is hardly top on the list of reasons why Canada is aces. That list is pretty much Zwieps, food, and HGTV.)

Merry Christmas, y'all's. 

Ebenezer Screw

Last night at Nik's, Carly taught us an easy and fun card game that I wasn't half bad at (always a plus, though Nik seems to be dominating every card game under her roof- -kept challenging her to Bananagrams but she was too smart to fall for the trap), which made me want to teach it to other people when I get home.  I wasn't sure about the scoring details so I wanted to be able to look up the game:

Moi: What's this game called?

Carly: Screw Your Neighbor.  Or F the Dealer.  

Moi: This is going to be difficult to Google... better turn off image search.

(Except it totally wasn't!  Good job, Internet.)

For the Rest of Us

For years, I'd gotten by on the simple flattery: You look great today.  It has become such a part of my requests for help that Whitecastle calls me out on it when I don't compliment him on his tie.  Even via the phone.  Though that might be saying more about Whitecastle than it does about me.  

In a meeting with Advisor Who today, however, I was told that I needed to up my buttering skills.  His other students are laying it on thick and I could learn a few things from them.  And read me the most obsequious English letter I have ever heard, starting with "Dear and Respectable Doctor Who," and included well wishes not only for him but his family, and even students.  The letter mentioned his charm, his smile, and his intellect.  I would have thrown up if my body was not frozen in stupor.  

Once I came to, my body went through a range of emotions.  There was denial-- this can't be a real letter.  Anger-- how dare this student ruin it for the rest of us?  And finally, acceptance as I started jotting everything down furiously.  Oh yes, I intend to incorporate these into my own future white lies.  Imitation, they say, is the sincerest form of flattery.  

Different Strokes

Because V and I both work with Advisor Who, we both mentioned our Friday night dinner to him, though with very different perspectives.

Who: I hear you had dinner with someone I work with. 

Moi: Yeah, it was so bizarre and funny. 

Who: [Blank expression]

Moi: She didn't tell you about the show? We are talking about the same person?

Who: What show?

Moi: [Retell story of the most amazing dinner show surprise]

Who: She said you discussed the personality research. 

Moi: Oh yeah, that, too. 

Ordinary Pholks

(usual apologies for not posting lately)

I don't think I can adequately describe the shock V and I received last night. It had all started innocuously enough. We were grabbing a late Halloween dinner at the local Vietnamese place. I was wearing my Urkel get up which, sadly, was so close to my usual wardrobe that no one realized was a get up. One of the reasons I chose the place was because I knew the bars would be loud and crowded and this place wouldn't, however much I may have been craving garlic fries. Oh. I was so wrong. 

It all started innocuously enough. We were seated quickly. Ordered. Our food arrived. Chatter chatter. All good. Then a waiter in costume interrupted everyone and announced that the show was about to start. The show that'd been advertised in the store windows for two weeks that we knew nothing about. 

What show?  The drag show.

Music was cued. And out came one drag queen act. After that, another, then another, then another. (We had to leave before they ended, but it was at least an hour long). Each in wonderfully over the top costumes. The drag queens shared the same narrow pathway as waiters delivering hot soup.  Our server stopped by to check on us and whispered, apologetically, "I should've warned you this was about to happen."  Confusion and delight reigned on the faces of each new group of customers. There was also much laughter. The arrival of two cops- or two men in cop costumes?- added more to the juxtaposition. As did the Vietnamese grandmother watching on with a blank expression.  And all of us, trying to juggle eating, clapping, watching, and talking to each other.  I can't quite formulate a coherent overview because it was all so bizarre, unexpected, and fun. In other words, it was Baltimorean. 

Modest Yahoo

Sometimes you look back on decades-old family photos and come to the realization that your older brother was very pretty as a child, perhaps even prettier than you were.

Moi: How come you were so pretty when you were little?

Brother: I was a very pretty child.

Sometimes you also look back and realize that your brother was also very self-confident, more so than you ever will be.

Hairspray

Mother and I have very different definitions of 'busy.'

(discussing picking me up from the airport)

Mother: Do you want to go to Chinatown for brunch? Or a haircut?

Moi: I don't know. I have a very busy day today, I don't know if I have time for a haircut. 

Mother: I figured you'd be busy, that's why I thought we'd go get a haircut.

Moi: ... ...

Freudian Slip

My Outlook autocorrect keeps changing "blogspot" to "bloodspot."  You know, that very common word in my vocabulary.  I should probably leave less of an email trail when I discuss moving bodies.  

The Hand That Gives

Pretzels, yesterday was Roommate Anna's birthday.  As a thoughtful roommate, I bought flowers for her at the farmer's market on Sunday.  Unfortunately, we bumped into Roommate Anna as I was getting the flowers, ruining the surprise.  Still, I was happy to give her flowers.  Yesterday morning, I added a card by the flowers and left it on the dining table for her to see, and found it strange that it was still there at the end of the day.

Finally, I brought it up over dinner.

Moi: Did you get a chance to see the Korean-soap post card I got you?

RA: No.

Moi: I left it by your flowers.

RA: Wait, those flowers really are for me?

Moi: Of course, they are.  I told you they were for your birthday!

RA: I thought you were joking.

This revelation led to some deep soul searching.  What are the choices I have made in my life, Pretzels, that would make my roommate doubt whether I'm nice enough to recognize her birthday?  To make someone think I would joke about giving them a birthday present?  That I would get flowers and a card on my roommate's birthday only to keep them for myself?  What sort of monster has graduate school made me out to be?  

Probably someone who also made a birthday cake from scratch for a different friend the day before and attended a different friend's birthday party instead of Anna's. Someone like that?  Though the way I see it, it just means I have a lot of friends, that I'm nice to all of them, and Anna has the worst sense of humor.

Drought Season

It has been almost a month since my last post.  This would be unacceptable if I wasn't simultaneously overwhelmed and procrastinating in my work.  And sharing the minutiae of my life on Facebook.

I will be back.  There will be anecdotes and indignations.  Like unexpectedly riding in a convertible with the top down on a highway (hint: I did not look glamorous.  It felt like being slapped in the face for an hour.)  I haven't forgotten.  This is just a very busy season.

Ending Suffrage

(discussing a new Advisor Who mentee who has moved into my neighborhood)

[Who describes the block]

Moi: Oh yeah?  She must be across the street from me then.

Who: You live in the Peabody library?

Moi: Yes.  Me and George.  We're roommates.  It's George, right?

Who: It's actually a woman.

Moi: No, I meant George Peabody, not the person who's coming.  

Who: Not many people know this but actually, George Peabody was also a woman.

Donut holes

I was in DC for a fantastic wedding last night and before leaving the city this morning, I decided to continue my new habit of picking up donuts and chicken biscuits from the deliciously delightful GBD in Dupont (no one is paying for this unnecessary endorsement- but I think GBD should).  

The last time I got donuts from there, I meant to share with Anna but ended up eating everything myself.  Today, I knew that if I did not bring the donuts to school, history would repeat itself.  And history mustn't repeat itself because I had already upped my biscuit order from 1 to 2.  I honestly would have made wedding favor candies and donuts my breakfast had Bryant not made a joke about candies not being public health and prompted internal balanced breakfast guilt.  So I had generic raisin bran for breakfast and brought two donuts to school.  

Moi: I brought donuts.

Advisor Who: You are a great student.

Because the donuts were large and frosted well, and both flavors were indulgent (chocolate cream with chocolate frosting and maple bacon), Who placed both donuts on a plate then, saying that he shouldn't have so much, he cut one into half.  Then quarters.  Then eighths. This decision made me secretly glad because thought I knew sharing was in my best interest, I wanted both donuts.  But as our meeting went on, one eighth disappeared, then another, then a quarter, and a half.  Until finally, the whole thing was gone.

Moi: I'm glad that portion control worked out for you.

Who: You should be glad that there's still one left.

Uphills Both Ways

On a car ride tonight, my father and I talked about fire flies and how we don't really see any in Massachusetts.  When I asked him whether he, as a child, caught any in glass jars, the way I'd heard of my friends doing as little kids, he looked at me as if that was a bizarre suggestion.  "Glass jars?  We didn't have glass jars.  I didn't even have a plastic bag to catch them with." 

Silly me and my hegemonic worldview, making wild assumptions like the availability of spare glass jars in a household (seriously, what?).  Every once in a while, talking to my father catches me completely off guard like that.  The man loves his Red Sox, has an iPad, and drives an SUV.  We've lived in the same house in the Massachusetts suburbs for years, yet that was my childhood, not his.  His was spent shooting rubber bands and running around barefoot on the edge of town in Chong Li.  

Snap, Crackle, Please Vacate Your Seats

On Friday night, I went to Camden Yard with Rachael, Jess, and Nancy. It was the most Oriole-y experience I've had yet, starting with crab mac'n cheese hot dogs and pit beef sandwich. There were fireworks galore that night, partly because the O's kept hitting home runs (first against poor Justin Masterson, who I was pleasantly surprised to see again, after hearing him speak at Park Street's 200th Anniversary, back when he was a young not-starter for the Red Sox and doing better than he did on Friday) and also because it was the team's 60th anniversary.  They brought out many Oriole greats, including, of course, Cal Ripken Jr., and the place, which was already a little nuts cheering for people I didn't know, predictably and collectively all lost its mind in euphoria when he came out.  The most Baltimore moment of the night, however, had to be the announcement that came in the 7th inning. Because the fireworks were going to be set by the scoreboard, a swath of the park, including our cheap seats, had to be evacuated. They asked us simply to move to a different section (where? anywhere that wasn't there). And that was how the 4 of us came to enjoy Orioles history is much better seats than we'd normally been able to afford, and welcomed in by our neighbors.  

Not Washing My Hair

One of my favorite forms of hanging out is eating carbs with friends who can clean up nice, but choose not to for the occasion.

Moi: I was dressed way nicer this morning but then I thought, "it's just Ilene."

Ilene: Don't worry.  I didn't shower today.  But I showered twice yesterday.

Well, that evens out.

Out on the Ledge

At Landlady Chang's reception last weekend (Jenny: Whose wedding are you going to? Moi: My previous landlord. Jenny: You mean, your good friend Sarah you lived with for 3 years? Moi: Ah yes, that's the one.), a series of mishaps led me to be seated next to one Mr. Lin. When we started talking about how we each knew Sarah, something suddenly clicked in my brain. 

Nowadays, I have such trouble remembering new people that I'm terrified of bumping into any of the 5 ladies Roommate Anna had over last week because I recall neither their faces nor names- even though they spent hours in my living room. But the second Mr. Lin said he was a neighbor, I immediately asked, "Sir, do you have 2 daughters, and is the eldest one Annie?  I  believe I was her Boston Project (a faith based service trip) counselor many years ago."

I didn't want to seem more creepy, or else I would have noted that I met his daughter precisely 10 years ago-- the same summer I met Dwighters, not-landlady Sarah (she came 3 years before), G-Pak, and everyone else. It astounds me that I could now have a friend for a decade- and that friendship would still be younger than most Bo' relationships and of course anything prior.  Decades are now passing the way weeks and months used to. 

I don't have anything particularly revelatory about spending the weekend with names that have been around since this blog (I also got to see Mac!). Or if I do, let me keep them close, and tell you instead about climbing out of Dwighter's window.

It was a split second decision. The window was open.  Dwighters was busy.   I noticed the very flat ledge and thought, "when else would I do this?" And climbed out for a view of the brahmin neighborhood.  Sure a lady down the street stared at me worriedly, but it was one of my best decisions of the weekend. I love a place with a good view. 

Moi: I was just out on your little roof. 

Dwighter: How'd you get out there?

Moi: The giant window that was open. 

Dwighter: You just climbed out? And it was stable?

Moi: That's insulting. It holds you, doesn't it?  Have you never been out there?

Dwighter: No. It's been a subject of much discussion. [The roommates] say I should put a chair out there but I thought that'd be too-

Moi: Creepy? 

Dwighters: I was going for hillbilly. I don't want to be the neighborhood hillbilly. 

Silly Dwighters, the Dot doesn't have hillbillies. Just shady folks and swanky folks. 

Is Heaven for Real?

On Sunday morning, the Riddles and I engaged in a church-skipping loop for a long-long-long-overdue catch up.  Though I was sad to miss a rare visit to my B'ton church (would this be the Sunday that they hand out the secret password?), I was so glad for homemade eggs Benedict and precious stories of their lives.  Like how Aaron, their youngest, had recently started asking if stories were real or not real.  It has led to some interesting discussions in the household, like, "are giants real?"

Keith would have liked to opt for the simple "no, no, they're not."  But Sarah considered Goliath, Andre the Giant, basketball players, and a nuanced discussion on physical anomalies and went with "yes."  Which led to a week of nightmares.  Lesson learned: Always lie to your children.

Aaron also brought his new line of questioning to the community story time, where they heard a story about slaves, the underground railroad, and freedom.  So Aaron raised his hand to ask, "is freedom real?"  This blew the minds of every single volunteer there, who regarded Aaron as a magical, philosopher king.  "Excellent question, what is freedom?" They all asked each other.  While Aaron's mother rolled her eyes a thousand times.  

Revisions

I was in Boston this weekend, and happened to find my way today to my old work grounds for an annual check up with Whitecastle (if by 'check up,' you mean, 'enumerate what's wrong with my life plans').  It also came with a surprise chat with Doc Winner, who was uncharacteristically unsarcastic.

Doc Winner: I saw someone skipping and thought that had to be either you or one of the research assistants.

Moi: I can't wait to have research assistants!  (to Whitecastle) That's what I want to do when I graduate.  

Whitecastle: I hope they don't put you through what my RAs put me through.

Moi: You had excellent RAs.

Winner: That trial wouldn't have happened without your RA.

Moi: Exactly!  I even got hit by a car and still worked for you.

Winner: Oh my gosh, were you OK?

Moi: The car was totaled.

Winner: What?

Whitecastle: To clarify, she was in the car.  She didn't just stand still as a strong Asian woman to destroy the car.

Best Friends for Life

Contrary to whatever objections Ilene might have had, Liz has a beautiful, lovable dog named Athena.  The dog is sweet, beautiful, and wonderfully tempered.  And brilliant for having a fondness for me.  I'm not the only one who likes Athena.  Plenty of Liz's friends do.  And allegiance to her leads them to do crazy things.

Alene: I want to steal her and take her home.  

Brian: I will come hunt you down if you do that.

Alene: I will fight for her.  

[Let's pause for a second here so I can properly set the scene.  Brian does not own Athena.  Neither does Alene.  Speaking of Alene- she is one of the sweetest person I have ever met, almost freakishly so.  She is considerate to a fault, anti-violence, anti-guns, anti-oppression, and will often feel bad at even the thought of someone else's feelings being hurt.  She is also a good foot smaller than Brian.]

Brian: If you fight me, you will die.

Alene (truly giddy as she figures out these consequences): Then you'll spend your life in jail.  And Peter (Alene's husband) will get to have the dog!  That's perfect.

Moi: Except that you're dead, he's in jail, and Peter, who doesn't want a dog, will have Athena.  This is far from ideal.

Alene: Oh, we will go into witness protection with Athena then you won't be able to find us.

Brian: I don't think you understand how crime works.  You can't go into witness protection for stealing the dog.  You're the bad guy.

 

Humble Pie

(talking about undergrad campuses)

Christine: Her college had really good food.

Moi: Well, I liked it.  Rather than academics, it's one of the things we rank highly in.

Sarah: Yeah?  Mine, too!  

Moi: I didn't know that.

Sarah: Yeah, BC had really good food.  I think in the Princeton Review we were in the top 10 one year.  Sometimes for breakfast we'd have omelets made to order. 

Moi: Oh that's cute.  I was just being polite when I said "rank highly."  We're usually number 1 or 2 (There was one shameful year when we slipped to #3.  But we don't talk about that again.)

I can be modest indeed, but if you want to gloat about your school's superior food, you best come ready to play, and have more to show for than omelets.  Colby had omelet stations.  We had made-to-order omelets every day*.  Waffle irons with our school seal.  And don't even get me started on the apple farmers who came to visit.  According to Wikipedia, which is never wrong, we were ranked #1 by the Princeton Review in 6 of the last 10 years, including 2013, 2014, and 3 of my 4 years there- I'm probably an inspiration.

*In retrospect, a rather extravagant and perhaps poor use of staffing and resources.