Elevator Speech

For the first time in my professional life, I am at a place where there are people whose job it is to facilitate my work.  It's a weird place to be- that after a decade of being in research support positions, of knowing what fonts Doc Whitecastle likes and how to work Doc Who's schedule, and managing research assistants, the roles have flipped.  There are people who help me now.  Even though this job has been a decade in the making (Lord, that's a long time), I still feel like it has caught me off guard.  And nearly a year into this position, I still feel like I'm merely playing grown up and that everyone knows it.

Especially when there are moments like Friday, when I'm having several conversations with colleagues about life and research throughout the day, in offices, hallways, and by elevators, and it starts to feel like we are true equals having serious exchanges of ideas and cordiality, and all that is disrupted by a question by Doc Bear,

Doc Bear:  Are you waiting for the elevator?  Because you need to push a button for it to go down.

So that's how things work in Indy.  It does explain why it took the elevator so long to arrive.

Ugly Duckling

Starting a new position is humbling in many ways-- I am the youngest and least experienced faculty member, so everyone has had more everything than I have.  But one perk of being the youngest is that no matter how ancient I feel with each passing day, no matter how many blank stares I get from my summer student because I referenced a show "before her time," I will always be young compared to other faculty members.

(Discussing the eclipse to come in a meeting)

Moi: But these eclipses happen not infrequently, right?  They've happened before and will happen again?

Mentor Boss: Yes.  The last one was in 1979.

Moi: (somewhat facetiously)  That's before I was born.

Doctor Angel (to Doctor Bear): Aw.  Joy is still a puppy!

Should Old Acquaintance

This weekend is a special weekend because I get to have not one, but three, throwback visitors from Baltimore staying at my place.  Jesse is here for Gen-Con, a large gathering of board game nerds from all over the nation, while Jamie and Greg are here because they are good friends who like to humor Jesse (and visit me!).

Though I haven't seen these guys in months-- in fact, it's been almost a year since I've seen Jamie, we soon fell into old patterns and habits.  And some patterns and habits are best left in the past and out of my one-bedroom apartment. 

Jesse: [burps loudly in succession]

Moi: Um.  Remember how I'm a woman?  And you want to pretend to be polite in front of me?

Jesse: We are too far gone.  It's too late for such things.

Pizza Party

For the last two months, summer interns have been swarming around the office.  I even got to have one of my own.  It made me feel very grown up.  Though I suppose grown ups are not supposed to feel as utterly unprepared and clueless as I felt "supervising" my student.  To thank her for all her efforts, I took her out to a light dinner on Thursday along with a couple of tremendous research coordinators we have.

I thought that was pretty good as far as nice supervisors go.  But Paige took it to another level.  First she designed a birthday scavenger hunt for her student.  And yesterday, her student got a sendoff pizza party that exposed certain deficiencies in our staff knowledge:

[Kathleen, on her upcoming second wedding anniversary]

Kathleen: My anniversary is either the 24th or 25th... I don't remember.

Nina: This is understandable because you've been married so long.

Kathleen: For some reason, dates above 10, I just can't remember.  I told my husband that when we were picking a date.

Moi: Wait.  Do you know when Christmas is?

Paige: I can never figure it out!  Is it 24th, 25th, or 26th?

Kathleen: I know Christmas is the 25th.

Paige: Oh good.  It was the middle one.

Everyone else: [Stunned hysterics]

I don't mind being upstaged on being nice to my summer student in a setting like this.  Junk food and inane logic is the exact kind of place where I thrive.

We Were on a Break

Today, after some light research chat with Dr. Dave.

Moi: I think this is the first time I've seen you without caffeine in hand.

Dr. Dave: Really?

Moi: Yeah, especially in the afternoon.

Dr. Dave: Actually, I was going to get something in about an hour.

They say that creeping on colleagues is the first step toward becoming good collaborators.  They do say that, right?

New Mom and New Dad

It's been too long since I've written a blog post.  With the way the interweb is evolving, Facebook now gets the bulk of my workplace humiliations and silly thoughts of the day.  There was a moment at dinner last night, however, that felt it was ripe for a blog post.  

I live in a new land now, in the Midwest.  And after years of addressing mentors by the moniker Prof, I am now one myself.  Albeit an assistant prof.  And one without any students.  Being still fairly new to the area, I do not have many friends of my own (I can still count them on one hand), but I have many colleagues.  I invited a small blend of friends, colleagues, mentors, and spouses over for dinner last night because it was the Lunar New Year.  And one cannot celebrate the new year without dumplings.  

At one point in the night, with a vegetarian and vegan in the house (Lisa: Vegan?  This friendship will not last.), the subject of seitan came up while I was sitting in between New Mentor Boss and Mrs. New Mentor Boss.  

Sunshine: My kids like the seitan that I make.  

Mentor Boss: I don't think I've had seitan.

Mrs. Mentor Boss: I've made it before.  

Mentor Boss: Oh right, I didn't like it.  I didn't like the taste.

Sunshine: Well, the taste is however you flavor it, just like tofu.

Mentor Boss: ... 

Moi: I'm not sure I should still sit between you two.  This is getting uncomfortable.  

Philadelphia

Over the past year or so, Jesse's household of guys have become like the little brothers I never had, down to the loving way we talk to each other.

Isac: I really like your cardigan.  It's a very nice color.

Moi: Thank you.  Why can't you guys all be more like Isac?

Isac: It's the only thing I like about you.

Jamie: You were saying?

First is Worst and Second Dinner is Best

This last year has been one of the most enjoyable of my life so it's a pity that I have not written more.  But, these times, they are a changing, and this blog is one of those casualties.  Today though, I want to talk about the gluttony of last night (some things never change) and the joy of having similarly minded friends.

We had drinks and a late, light dinner at Bookmaker's last night.  It was expensive, very older Fed Hill, and not our usual scene.  The Brussels sprouts were amazing, thanks to the profusion of grease, cheese, and bacon, but nothing else in the evening particularly stood out-- until Jesse leaned over to Greg and asked if he wanted to grab fries afterward.

Naturally, we couldn't let the two of them have a secret hang to themselves (also, we wanted Greg to drive us home), and invited ourselves along.  Soon, we found ourselves scarfing down the food we had in front of us and peer pressuring Greg out of getting a second drink (he really should cut down anyway).  Lisa practically jumped up from the table the second she signed her check.  And we all* scrambled out of Bookmakers to our second dinner of fries and wings next door.  

I was pretty full at that point, but we still ordered two fries and two wings to share.  There was something particular about that moment last night, sitting on barstools and eating a second dinner immediately after a first dinner (and it wasn't even my idea!  someone else was the gluttonous genius), that was pure contentment.  

*Well, nearly all of us.  Cathy, who did not share our food and who ordered a salad to go with her dinner (we had fried Brussels sprouts), was repulsed by the thought of a second dinner and headed home to go to bed at a reasonable hour.  Like a grown up.

---

Later, in the car ride home.

Jesse: Wait, am I going to see you four days in a row?

Lisa: Are you tallying your social interactions?

Moi: I knew it!  I was asking Lisa if it was normal to do that because I was tallying our projected interactions this week but she said it wasn't normal.  But you do it.. oh wait, I hear how this sounds.  Right, this isn't normal.

Grown Ups, Too

I'm trying to become better about blogging again.  Tonight, this effort coincides with being in Boston and being able to catch up with just a few of the friends that I mean to see here.  More specifically, I had dinner with Dwighters.

The thing I love about Dwighters is that on the one hand, we're technically both Harvard graduates (ha), who have lived in Boston (and now Baltimore, for me) for years, who read books, and to an extent, have an affinity for culture.  On the other hand, all of it still feels like we're playacting.  Perhaps having jobs that technically pay but not a lot has something to do with this.  We react to the thought of me buying carafes or him infusing liqueurs in mason jars with laughter.  How bougie.  And sure, we went to a nice, new Italian restaurant, but we also rolled our eyes when the waitress tried to sell us on pickled radish seeds (seriously?  not just seeds, but pickled seeds?).  And one of us may not have known that the breadsticks were not for display.  My point is, even as we are all trying to act grown up, it's fun to make fun of each other for trying.  And for the world's failure to recognize our efforts.  Like when the waitress placed us at the farthest corner of the restaurant possible, with at least four empty tables between us and all the real patrons.  It's always nice to have low friends in high places.  

They Wouldn't Eat Wilson, Would They?

Lisa, upon seeing this picture: I thought we were going to eat this tomorrow night.  How can I eat this now that you've given him a name, a backstory, and a little sock bunny that depends on Paul?

Yes, now that my life is completely suave and well adjusted (remind me to tell you about the time my face blindness was so bad I didn't recognize my office mate- as in the one other person I share an office with), this blog has shifted its focus to Lisa and her absurdities, but that was the funniest comment I'd heard all day. 

First Rule of Fight Club

You can share your secret sadness, and people would offer to pray for you.  You can share the harsh words you did or didn't mean to say, and someone would tell them they've done the same.  Our Tuesday night Bible study (newly termed 'Mount Awesome') is generally a safe space of acceptance and support, a place without judgment or wrong answers-- that is, until you answer an ice breaker in a way that breaks from the norm.

Last night's ice breaker was "shark vs. bear vs. eagle, who would you rather fight?"  (there was also a serious one, I promise)  A lot of people used terrible logic to justify their choices.  Esther, for example, chose to fight a bear because "bears are cute" yet because Esther is sweet and new, no one pointed out the absurdity of her choice.  But somehow when I shared my answer (bear, because the fight would probably be shortest and I'd die a death relatively quicker than fighting an eagle or shark), the whole group turned against me for my defeatist attitude.  Apparently it "wasn't what the question asked," and I was "taking the easy way out."  It was the most hostile reception* I'd ever received at a Bible study.  These people took animal fighting and hypotheticals so seriously (just kidding, PETA,  we love all of God's creatures!) that they expected me to give it my all in a fake fight, even if that means having my eyes and entrails slowly pecked out by a hypothetical eagle.  I guess that's the type of attitude one picks up from having a lifetime of hypothetical friends and hypothetical pets**.


*a thousand times more hostile than the general stink eye Livid Lisa usually sends my way

**never seen Lisa*** with another friend, pet, or family member

***not sure when this blog devolved into a Lisa burn book, but I like this new direction

Burn After Reading

Apparently my poor note taking skills aren't limited to handwritten notes.  Electronic ones can be vague and confusing as well.  What is list of people and what do I want with them?

Et tu, Greg-eh?

There are conversation fault lines that everyone knows to avoid for the sake of friendship.  For some, it's politics.  Others, religion.  For still some others it's finances or childrearing.  Among my B'more group of Jesus friends, it's ice cream cake.

It's an issue that has staunchly divided the group along mostly regional lines (East Coast vs. West Coast, Carvel vs. Baskin-Robbins), and an issue we have spent countless hours arguing bitterly over.  Yet like bugs drawn to the lantern, we can't help ourselves.  Every few weeks, someone inevitably picks off the scab and each side would dig deeper into their beliefs.  Or rather, we did until last night.

The conversation started innocently enough-- I had mentioned to Stephanie and George, a sweet and lovely couple unmarred by our infighting, that we had ice cream and cake.  But Lisa, agitator that she was, saw an opportunity to bring up ice cream cake and drive a wedge through the dinner party.  At first, it looked like her plans would fail.  Stephanie and George, as sensible people, agreed that ice cream cake was best a la Carvel, meaning they agreed that ice cream cake was best as ice cream in the shape of a cake and not-- [spit on the ground]-- a mixture of ice cream and cake.  For a moment, this meant that Lisa was the only one on the wrong side of history last night.  Until suddenly, she wasn't.

"I think...," Greg started sheepishly.  It almost looked as if the poor, misguided soul was compelled by lecherous Lisa to speak, "I think I'm a convert to ice cream and cake."  And just like that, justice lost another member and the alliance of Lisa and Greg grew ever stronger.

It's hard to pin down, Dear Readers, just what part of Greg's conversion made for the greatest betrayal-- whether it was that Lisa's wiles had contaminated yet another friendship*, or the revolting realization that someone I once trusted could find the mismatch of melted ice cream and stale cake preferable to the harmony that is chocolate and vanilla ice cream nestling a sweet layer of chocolate crunchies.  All I can tell you is that they are two sides of the same coin, and each side cuts equally deep.  Grey's Anatomy once said that without forgiveness, old scores are never settled, old wounds never heal.  I guess that's why it takes a group committed to living like Jesus, to coming together week after week, to take on the topic of ice cream cake.  

*friendship may be too strong a word... "small group proximity associate?"  

Things I Didn't Master in School

One of these days, I will stop leaving (unintentionally) cryptic notes for myself. What exactly is huge?  Why did that warrant a note?  I may never know.

Barbershop

Getting a haircut used to be a straight forward experience, especially in Boston.  I'd make an appointment the week or day of, pop by, get a cut in silence interspersed with reluctant chit chat, and since I'm already in Chinatown, grab some food on my way out of the neighborhood.  Nice and easy.  Since moving to B'more, I tried Nancy's hairdresser a couple of times, but never loved the cut and found her too chatty.  At least I thought she was too chatty.

Then I hit upon Neal's-- convenient, affordable (in the pre-doc days), and convivial Neal's.  Every time I get a hair cut now, I brace myself for the boundless social energy.  It's not just my hairdresser-- who I like, and actually remembers me-- but her coworkers, who also remember me (so many names, so many faces, so many stresses).  Today, I was offered a peanut butter cookie, asked about my dating life, got the staff's take on the new tea house next door, and heard a earful about the various neighbors of the street.  On my way out, I noticed that everyone suddenly had snow cones in their hand.  Apparently, the lady complimenting my haircut and chatting with my hairdresser about dinner (she was about to throw some chicken on the grill) owned the art gallery/wellness studio across the street (as you do), but today, they were also selling snow cones on the sidewalk (again, as you do).  So I made like I was in Rome and got one as well.

Why was the "ice cream flavor" syrup clear?  And the egg custard orange? How can ice be so crunchy? These are questions only people who don't purchase shaved ice from their hairdresser's neighbor's nephew would ask.  

Infinite Jest

On Tuesday night, Crystal, Helen, and I were in Jesse's kitchen, chopping, roasting, and preparing for a last minute dinner with far more guests than we were all expecting.  At first, I thought the four of us were all working well in sync until suddenly, we weren't on the same page anymore.

Crystal: Why did you tell everyone to come?  Now we have too many people.

Moi: I didn't.  It was an obvious joke.

Helen and Jesse: That did not even cross my mind.

Being misunderstood was bad enough, especially when my joke was so hilarious, but then on Friday, I realized that Crystal (and possibly many others) misinterpreted not one, but two of my emails this week-- taking me to be serious when I had no intentions of being so.  It took Lisa, of all people, to restore my faith in sarcasm again this morning.

(chatting with Helen and Lisa)

Moi: You saw the email I sent about the BBQ, right-- how I said if you could only come to one BBQ this month?

Lisa: Right.  That was an obvious dig at Ted's BBQ.

Moi: Thank you!  

All I ever want is for people to know when I'm mocking other people (i.e. 72% of all my correspondences).  Is that so much to ask?

Inexorable Decline

Yesterday, I received a Facebook friend request from someone who told me that we hadn't seen each other "in 25 years."  I'm used to getting random requests because I'm a very popular person (much more popular than Ted can ever hope to be) but it stopped me in my tracks to realize that such people can now exist in my life- people I hadn't seen for 25 years- because I have lived a very long life.  

All this was reinforced last night (as it often has been lately), when Victoria, Ted, and I hung out with Jamie and spent hours learning about Snapchat.  We didn't intend to learn Snapchat.  We intended to steal Jamie's phone for nefarious purposes (after a certain point of fatigue, we are all 12 years old).  But we quickly realized that we didn't really know how to use his phone for nefarious purposes because Snapchat was beyond our comprehension.  Even a Facebook hack proved difficult for Victoria- she slowly typed out a status post as Jamie patiently waited, then taught her how to tag herself in the post.  The education wasn't purely one way though. Earlier in the evening, a bunch of us nostalgia-watched Face/Off (doesn't hold up well- which makes it all the more fun to see) and tried to teach Jamie about floppy discs and other memories from our childhood.  Unfortunately, he was incredibly resistant to the lessons though and instead, Snapchatted his way through the movie.  Kids these days.  They're not as respectful as they were 25 years ago.

The Threepeat

I have no pictures of our dinner on Thursday night. I was too hungry by that point to want to capture the moment (or the glorious lambchetta) for prosperity. We'd waited first for any of the boys to arrive to know how much to order, then they all came within minutes of each other so that it seemed rude not to wait (ok, it didn't seem rude to me to start while Greg was still strolling down the road, but Jessica implied that it was). The trade off for all the delay the boys caused, however, was the special satisfaction of ordering not only one, two, but three of everything off the blacksauce menu that night. That's a special accomplishment I don't think we'll ever repeat. And almost made the company (which, for the record, I did not pay for) worthwhile. 

The Long Con

Being in school for over two decades, as I have, has very few perks.  The pay is terrible.  As are the hours.  And there's very rarely a sense of accomplishment.  Today, however, was a shining beacon.  Today was an accomplishment.

I spent the afternoon with Mother, wandering around a topiary garden.  And, as she is wont to do, picked on me for something I've already forgotten about- perhaps my inability to tell flowers apart.  But she used a phrase she used to say all the time- "[you] could have gotten into Harvard, if not for this."  Except this time, something clicked.  "Wait, a minute- I did get into Harvard!  And I graduated from Harvard."  And I did it without any knowledge of flowers.

It all seems like a blur now, and I can't seem to recall much of life before this PhD program, but I'm fairly certain that at some point, I attended a Harvard-affiliated university and obtained a graduate degree.  I have the debt to prove it.  

Better Than Your Heart's Desire

Is it "Happy Birthday!" or "Surprise!" or "Ah, it's your birthday!"?  You might think these are the spontaneous phrases one utters at a surprise birthday party but tonight, each word and phrase was hotly contested. Even as we were all crouched behind a couch, waiting for the honored guest to approach, we were all still whisper arguing, "Surprise. Jamie. Happy birthday."  "Wait, no scream?"  "Scream after happy birthday."  "Everybody shut up!" "When do we throw things?"  (That was Crystal, always egging us toward property destruction and violence. "Remember to aim for the face.").  The big surprise, when it finally did happen, went off swimmingly. Planning everything last minute really makes the surprise real. Jamie looked alternatively stunned, happy, and angry. And catching that expression almost made leaving my dinner tonight early and skipping dessert to catch the party worthwhile. It's still unclear, however, if it was worth the 'party animal' and hangover ribbing I got from Prof Tom et al for leaving dinner early. 

Actually, fine. I'll admit it was wholly worthwhile.  I hadn't laughed as hard as I did tonight in a long while, stifling giggles and whisper yelling in those 3 long minutes (candles burning, melting, blown out, relit, and flickering) behind the couch. Yes, these poor party planners may be idiots. But they're my Jesus idiots this spring. And I kinda love them.