Of Brains and Brawns

(scanning the list of Canadians on our board today and in disbelief over William Shatner's nationality…)

Doc Binks: Who's Steve Nash?

Moi: A basketball player.

Doc Binks: Eric Gagne?

Moi: Famous pitcher. National League.

Doc Binks: And Rick Fox?

Moi: Another basketball player.

Doc Binks: I'm sensing a theme here.

And those were the only three athletes we put on the list. Doc Stat just asked me how my unmeasured confounding was doing today (he loved the "your unmeasured confounding is so big, it fell in love and broke it" epidemiology joke we had a couple of weeks ago). Heart possibly melting.

Lowdown

Note to Self: Skinny jeans are for people with skinny legs. Do not re-attempt.

PS. Buffalo! That's almost within travel distance. And where buffalo wings are from.

Thirty Three and Counting

Today, I did things right and as we're supposed to for once; our progress on the trial pleased Whitecastle. He turned to me and said, quite contently, "You're not getting fired today." I had all but forgotten about the firing business and assumed that my job would be safe for the remainder of my term. But it's good to know that Whitecastle hasn't forgoten. Every mistake can still be my last.

Park & Recreation

That is how I feel right now. Just came back from the opening of the Elmhurst Park and I don't know if you've been to any park openings, but it was just such a goodness-filled event. So many times, community work and non-profit work is of little victories and big setbacks but today was nothing but triumph- the thrill of watching the children cut the ribbon and run onto the playground- moments like that remind you what we work for. Like Glenna said, the park was about loving God and loving neighbors. And even though I'm more of a loose BP "affiliate" nowadays, I could sense the investment the neighborhood had poured into the lot. A lot that I've seen change in the last 10+ years. It was such an honor to witness the park opening, see old friends, eat rice and beans, and celebrate the hard work of the folks at The Boston Project Ministries (as well as many, many other people). I didn't have a camera with me, so the Paint picture will have to do, but green space + sunny Saturday + girls' night last night + Pringles for breakfast + mac n' cheese, sausages, jerk chicken... + BP friends new and old-- my weekend could end right here. I could go back to work this afternoon. And it still would have been the perfect weekend.

Friendly Neighbor in an Indeterminate Direction

Young Bo' and I were discussing famous Canadians to name for people to guess...

Young Bo': Oh!  Do the president.  Most people won't know that one.

Moi: You mean the prime minister?

Young Bo': Yeah, that one.

Moi: How are you Canadian!?

500 Days

Remember summer? No? Yeah, me neither.

July 1st will be next week. And July 1st, as we all know, is Canada Day. Nicole, being our friendly neighbor from the North, has gotten all of us excited for Canada Day for the past month. I can hardly contain my excitement in this final week. Nicole's having a party so there will be Canadian foods and games, dressing in red and white, and, quite disturbingly, Canadian trivia. I didn't know of the last aspect until last night and have decided, since they almost never publish stories of Canadia in the Times (and the Times is where I learn about everything in the world), that I best start seeking Canadian knowledge elsewhere. Young Bo', who's technically Canadian, tried to offer her services; I didn't bite.

Moi: But you don't even know who Stephen Harper is.

Young Bo': The book publisher?

Moi: No, the current Prime Minister.

Young Bo': Oh.

No. I needed someone more knowledgeable, someone educated by Canada's best. In this last week, I decided, I would learn a fact a day from Whitecastle.

Moi: So Whitecastle told me about Canadian sports.

Young Bo': How did you ask him? I'm more curious about that than the actual fact.

Moi: What do you mean? I just said, "can you give me a Canadian fact of the day?" It's a perfectly legitimate question.

Young Bo': Did he ask what it's for?

Moi: It's for the Canada Day trivia competition, of course. I just answered everything in as normal a tone as I could, and made it seem like he was the weird one... It almost worked.

Traffic

Dear Police Officer:
Thanks for waving the cars on while I was still crossing the street. My morning wasn't exciting enough until then.

Duly noted,

Ducking for Cover

Whatever It Takes

How much does it take to get over a rough meeting? About $8, it turns out. Had a meeting yesterday with Doc Whitecastle and Doc Query that was not awful, but not terribly fun, as everyone had decided that it was time now, instead of six weeks ago when the project had started and I had asked for input, to make drastic changes that I'd have to go back and implement. And it somehow sounded like my fault, too. Even though I knew that no one thought it was, and that this was just part of the life of a project; I was just the kid who had to put the little pieces together so the big picture folks can get to work. Afterward, as we were walking out of Whitecastle's office, I wondered if there was a research conference today. Research conferences on Tuesdays = free lunch in our division.

"Hm, I don't think so." Query replied.

Dang, I thought. Annoying meeting and then no lunch? "Are you hungry?" He asked. I refrained from saying that I was always hungry and simply replied, "Yes, I think so." "Want a burrito?" "Uh... OK?" "Come on, let's get a burrito." And that was that. Doc Query bought me a burrito and propelled himself high, high up on my Faculty Favorites list (it doesn't take much).

Now, it's the morning after. And I still have our project to sort out today. But Query's investment is paying off for him. It's Wednesday morning, I'm happy, ready to work, and remembering to direct any bitterness toward Whitecastle, not Query.

Father Time

Hot Fuzz and In Bruges are now two of my favorite movies. So much so that I might even change my facebook profile. Though probably not that much.

The thing about being old is that, every time my parents watch a movie, they get the uncanny feeling that they've seen the film before. It happened tonight with Hot Fuzz. Father sat through the movie claiming that he'd seen it, even though it was highly unlikely. To vindicate himself, he phoned Brother, who contributes the other 50% of Father's movie suggestions, while Mother and I looked on.

Father: Son, when have I seen Hot Buzz?

Mother and Child: It's Hot FUZZ.

Father: What is that?

Mother: F-U! Fuzz!

Brother: (on the other end of the phone, says something to the effect that he's never recommended the film to Father)

Father: But I've seen it.

Brother: When?

Father: Just now, I've seen the film just now.

Moi: (a thousand eye rolls)

Father: Seriously though, I've seen the movie. Not the whole thing, but bits. Maybe in Taiwan? Maybe on an airplane?

Because it's Father's Day, we're saying that it's not impossible that he's seen the film. Just highly unlikely.

Scooper Troopers

No, it wasn't freezing, it wasn't raining, and we weren't anywhere near hypothermia...

(Editor's Note: Matt was not a trooper. And most certainly not a Scooper Trooper. Although he did hold that umbrella over us for a very long time.)

(The Ten Scoops Club, minus Nicole. There were very strict rules regarding the Ten Scoop Club, rules that I may have not followed, such as the Lactose Intolerant Intolerant "Only 2 cups of sorbet may count" rule. I say, if they're different flavors from different brands, I can count as many of them as I want.)

It's Inanimate

Congratulations to myself. My new toy is finally here. After six years, a new computer. (Thank you, parents, for raising me well and bribing academic achievements with material goods. I know where my self worth lies.) Now soliciting names for this little beast. More updates and photos to come shortly. In the meantime, our prayers are with Dakota the Computer, who may or may not be salvaged.

Father: This computer better last you through your doctorate.

Moi: Uh... I'm only in a Master's program. What if I don't go for the PhD?

Father: Then you'll never have another new computer.

Waste Not Want Now

Dakota the Computer may or may not be dead, and I will not be seeing it and my new computer until Friday.  Until then, blogging is difficult, the computer I'm working with is old, and uploading pictures is out of the question. 

 

But I spotted this in the Times today, puked up a little in my mouth, swallowed it, only to puke it back up again.  So here it is.  And all I can say is, "Oh, Harvard.":

 

 Mr. Kushner noted that the college still asks scholarship students to contribute a few thousand dollars a year from summer and school-term jobs.

"I have friends who would spend 10 hours a week when they are not in class working at a coffee shop or in the dorms," said Mr. Kushner, 24, referring to time that he considered wasteful. "I think the most special thing about college is not just what you do in class, but what you do out of class."

Psht, working part time jobs.  What a tremendous waste of Harvard talent.  And now I've got Fiddler stuck in my head.  If I were a rich man...

Fools Gold

Group Fool:  Five black teenagers standing outside a restaurant in Chinatown, checking out the menu... "I don't think they should be serving barbecue at a Chinese restaurant."

 

Couple Fool: Two tourists zipping down Chinatown in helmets on Segways.

 

Single Fool: Marlene at lunch, who believed that MC TChu had done gotten himself an arranged marriage in China and was trying very hard to be supportive. 

 

Marlene: Do you... like her?

TChu: You mean, do I love her?

Marlene: Well, I understand love.  To some people love is more an action and not a feeling...

To Sir

Saw this note on the sidewalk today, it was in all caps, on an index card: "You left your sandwich behind.  I did not want you to forget it so I put it in your bag.  Enjoy it!"  Warmed my heart the entire walk home.

Lamentation

Is this what old age is like from now on?  Every time I run on little sleep for just 3 days, I start getting sick.  And 8+ hours sleep seems to be the only remedy.  Worst immune system ever.  How am I going to get through grad school?

Scooper Duper

Moi: We're going to go to church now.  I'm guessing you're not coming.

Zvi: Yeah, no, there's some bad blood between us.

Moi: Because you killed our Jesus?

Zvi: It was a misunderstanding.

Good Wednesday-after-Scooper-Bowl morning, everyone.  I'm feeling a little under the weather and extremely tired, unsure how I am going to get through the work day, but last night was glorious- 10 scoops of ice cream glorious.  It was the Jimmy Fund's annual Scooper Bowl fund raiser- $8 for all you can eat ice cream, and well, we ate.  In the freezing rain, with numb toes and fingers.  We ate.  And I don't think any of us threw up.  Though we sure did think about it a lot.  I'd share pictures, but Dakota the Computer is dead, the new one hasn't arrived, and the one I'm using in the meantime has no USB drive. 

It's How She Cares

Zvi calls this "the oldest trick in the book."  I got home last night, tired and starved, and was surprised to see Mother standing in the kitchen, offering me food.

Mother: Would you like dumplings for lunch tomorrow?

Moi: Oh that sounds marvelous.

Mother: Great.  I boiled some water for you.  Make them yourself. 

And Who Is My Neighbor?

Katy Helsinki likes to tell the story of her roommate from her BU days who grew up in New Jersey.  When they'd first met, Helsinki had asked, "So, are you from armpit New Jersey?  Or Bruce-Springsteen-is-my-neighbor-New Jersey?"  To which the roommate replied, "Actually, he is my neighbor."  Having heard the story so many times (that Helsinki is a talker) lately, it was fresh on my mind this morning when I rode in Laura's car (adventure stories to come later) and New Jersey came up.  So, I brought up Helsinki's story, all the way up to the big reveal, "Yeah, he really is my neighbor"-- to which Laura replied, "Hm.  I guess we're from the same town, because he really is my neighbor.  And I went to school with his sons."  Apparently, in New Jersey, The Boss is everyone's neighbor.  And now my NJ story trumps Helsinki's.  A win for everyone involved.

Can't Go Home Again

It's always fun to go home and notice that, no matter how short it's been since I'd been away (the slow death of Dakota the Computer has earned me many trips home the past month), there's always something new to notice- the drapes, a new type of cereal, and oh, yet another framed painting by a child that is not me.  My mom seems to be a collector, these days, of art by kids in the church which she then frames and displays in the house, alongside other prized framed objects such as my brother's diploma and a few favored paintings.  It's not that I don't think displaying diplomas is silly, but if it's going to go up on the wall along with kids' paintings, then I want my rightful place as well.  Heck, she could even display one of my paintings.

 

Moi: So er, Jeffrey's drawing, huh?  When exactly are my things going to be displayed?

 

Mother: Didn't I take you to buy frames, isn't that enough?

 

Moi: Oh yes, thanks for that trip to The Christmas Tree Shop-- we didn't actually buy enough frames. 

 

Mother: I don't remember where your things are.

 

Moi: In that pile of frames and awards in my room... very easy to spot.

 

Mother: It's not like they're pictures.  Maybe if you were adopted we'd hang them up.  Or younger.

 

Moi: They're only departmental awards.  I understand.

 

Mother: Maybe one of your old professors would like to adopt you.

Working Hardly

Whitecastle is just coming back from the office when he sees Young Bo' and I laughing by the copier.  (Laughing- because I'd be crying otherwise, given the copies I have to make for Doc Query).

Whitecastle: Are you actually working?

Moi: Yeah, I really am.  Look, I'm pressing buttons. 

Young Bo': And I'm… supervising.

Whitecastle (to Young Bo'): You're going to make a great attending physician one day.

Words Do No Harm

I used to think that no one at work was funny.  Then I discovered that (not very far) beneath the bow tie, Doc Query is the funniest doc I've ever met.  (It didn't so much take time to discover as take time for him to deign to talk to the new RAs)  Then Whitecastle seemed not so bad, though he still can't tell if I'm joking half the time and I think his threats are real half the time.  But maybe it's because Gak pointed out, or because I've been here nearly two years, or maybe it's just the weather warming up, but the office has been brimming with smart mouths lately, smart mouths that make me smirk, then worry what my health providers say behind my back...

(Whitecastle is "on service" this week, so he can often been seen coming to and from the hospital in his lab coat)

Doc Vice: Anyone die today?

Doc Whitecastle: No, not yet.  I try to save them.


(Doc Query shared a box of Lindt truffles with the division today)

Doc Vice: Who tried to bribe you with chocolates?

Doc Query: One of my patients.

Edith: What did you prescribe her?

Doc Vice: Was it oxycontin?  I bet it was oxycontin.

Spotted, She Wrote

Yesterday, I'm staying late at work (half accidentally) when I receive a call from Liz.  It goes something like this:

Liz: I'm at the Shawmut stop and I see an Asian boy in a Bo' t-shirt.

Moi: I'm going to need more information than that.

Liz: Who is this boy?

Moi: Um…?

Liz: I'm going to need more information than that.

Moi: Bo' people don't live in Dorchester. 

But of course, the Bo' only had 1700 people and I have one keen and shiney brain, so even with this paucity of clues (Liz wouldn't go talk to him, something about it being "embarrassing"), this mighty brain got to work and suddenly, an idea-

Moi: Wait, does he have glasses?

Liz: Yes.

Moi: Sort of tall?

Liz: Yes.  Sort of cute!  Do you know who this is?

Moi: I think it's John Mark.

Liz: Does he love Jesus?

Moi: He's moving to California, Liz.  Back off.

Mystery solved.  You're welcome.  If anyone's looking to hire, I'm also in the market of locating lost cats and untangling life's persistant enigmas. 

Let This Plate Pass From Me

On Sunday, I had a Park Street first.  (Can't be sure if it's a complete church first for me.  I vaguely remember ushering in high school).  I was summoned to collect the offering by one Sir Thomas, who likes to leave the surprise of assigning such a responsibility until the last minute (and also has trouble remembering to return glasses, though he is very powerful when he speaks of Kenyan orphans, and that's why we forgive him for everything).  I was climbing up the church steps when Katy announced, from Thomas's moving car, that I should stick close.  Given the task, I would have liked to obsess over every detail myself, but I had to instead assure Katy that everything would be fine.  "How could we possibly mes up," I asked her, "Everyone knows what to do.  You just pass the plate."  All the while, I imagined myself tripping down the aisle, plates on the ground, checks flying everywhere, and being escorted out the church by those ushers who have been 80 for the past 40 years.  My fears weren't allayed when we the offering time began and the two men in the first row, heavy in prayer, at first didn't notice me and my plate.  When they finally did, one man refused to play along and pased the plate in the wrong direction, completely messing up formation, got Katy off track, and led to copious confusion.  Though, let's be honest, there's confusion every week.  The greatest challenge of the whole ordeal, however, was in keeping a straight, solemn face, especially when we heard the loud clang of a dropped plate from the balcony.  My facial muscles twitched in a thousand directions trying to look grave- there was anxiety that I, too, might drop the plate, glee that someone else had messed up so ridiculously, and great pride that I hadn't dropped the plate and was almost done (though it didn't stop nicole from accusing us of causing the disturbance).  And yet, and yet, we managed.  Handed the money back (Thomas says my cut should arrive in the mail next week), and sat back in our pews.  Perhaps, after all, I'm capable of acting the role of a grown up.

Touching Hands, Reaching Out

O sweetness. Dakota the Computer is mine again. I don't know if you've ever been away from a computer for so long. In the five plus years since I've had it, we'd never been apart for more than 10 days. During that time, I'd been away from family, friends, my security pillow, my decade-old watch, from everything dear to me, for longer than that. But not Dakota the Computer. We're besties. We're an old couple, weary of each other (not wary), but can't imagine life apart, because while we've grown resentful and difficult, we've also grown comfortable. This is my favorite keyboard. These are the shortcuts and hums I know. One day soon, very soon, I will have a new computer. And we will be besties. But for now, Dakota is resting in my laps and I'm typing with my eyes closed. Just glad to be hearing the tapping of my fingers against it.

Er, that last bit sounded creepier than I intended.