The Squeakel

I resolve to write more poems next year. And make Alvin Lau my friend. But only if that doesn't require too much effort. Stalking is becoming tiring.

I'd seen some of his poems a couple of years ago and lately, his Tiger Woods poem had been on my mind. I finally dug it up today:



And then I discovered this, and I had to go to the ER because my heart melted in its entirety:

Call Me Claus

How do I explain this in a way that interests you?

I am "working from home" this week. I thought I'd brought everything home that I'd need but I forgot one little detail: the super secure password and user name to a collaborative project. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time I'd done this. Last month, Jen had to search around for a half used Post-It on my desk while I anxiously sat in the computer lab. This time, Uzi was tasked with breaking into my work computer to find the emails which contained a time-sensitive link to a password. And scrambling around for that darn Post-It. It took a lot of sleuthing and inconveniencing Uzi to retrieve everything, but I was driven by a fear of having to explain to Whitecastle that I'd lost the new password and account name they'd just set up. Fear of Whitecastle is a powerful force. It can move mountains, it can move grown men to tears, and it got the work done.

Until he wrote back and asked if I could upload the files for him. He's out of town, you see, and left his password in the office.

Things that are Springing to Mind

It's 6PM, do you know where your second cousin once removed is? I know where mine is.

Yes, my grandfather's cousin's daughter, who I have met a total of one time (and my mother as well) is staying with us for a few days. Of course, I didn't recognize her. I couldn't even pick an Asian face I'd met two weeks before from a choir of twenty cherubic faces, did you really think I could remember a face from three years ago out of a billion?

I had Korean beef with Carol yesterday. And hot grass jelly that burnt my throat but warmed my heart. Best of all, however, we spotted a head. A statue head. In a random driveway in Chelmsford, in front of the inflatable snowman. We don't know anything about the family except that they live on a hill, but they've got the head of a Greek statue shrieking in pain and lying on the grass.

John Malkovich: When I was a child, we used to suck on pennies. You know what I'm saying? And it was a delight.

Latchkey Kid

I have just said goodbye for my parents for the week, my mother at least. She'd been busy all week with the Christmas services and preaching this morning, and now that that's all over, Mother just popped in the first disc of her Chinese soaps (there're 2 Korean sets waiting after that). I don't expect her to cook anything or acknowledge my presence until the 15th (which is too bad since I've had 0 motherly cooking since arriving last week, lots of fatherly meals though).

Father said that if Mother would only watch one episode tonight, he'd cook dinner for a year. After the first episode was over, she triumphantly stood up and declared that she wasn't cooking in 2010-- only to circle back to the couch a few minutes later and continue watching. Father seems to think she'll go to bed around 2AM. I'm not so optimistic. I'm guessing at least 3:30AM.

Tomato, Tomato

Up in the Air is the name of a movie currently playing. It is also a common phrase, meaning something is yet undecided. Chelsea understands one of these things. And has asked me what we're seeing tonight at least three different times ("how do you know what time we're watching if you don't know the movie?").

Whose Mother is This

Reason #493 Why Thanksgiving Is My Favorite Holiday: It doesn't make my mother as crazy.

I'm rinsing shampoo out of my hair when I hear Mother yelling and knocking outside. I can't make out what she's saying so I have no choice but to turn the water off and shiver.

Mother: Oh, were you taking a shower?

Moi: Yes. I am taking a shower right now.

Mother: I need to do that, too.

Moi: Yes, but I'm in the shower right now.

Mother: These presents you wrapped, which one-

Moi: I'm in the shower right now.

Dress for Success

When I'm home, I tend to moonlight as a lumberjack/small time con artist re-entering society.

Talking about the clothes we find in our closets at home-

Emily: That's why I've resisted skinny jeans for so long. I remember the trauma of being the only one wearing tapered jeans in middle school.

Moi: Pretty sure there were two of us.

Hill of Broken Dreams

We went sledding down the old town dump today. Just like we used to do when we were little. As in high school. We thought of doing something else, but we're all car-less and stuck in "Dub-City"- just like we used to when we were little. Sledding was just a short walk from our houses and required no other price except the indignity of walking by with sleds as high school kids sped by. Then again, we were used to that.

I always sled with one glove.

Happy Emily

Author and Perfecter

You've probably noticed already, but I was the fifth author of a paper in Alimentary Pharmacology & Therapeutics about half a year ago. Though the paper has been available online for a year, I was never informed of this and probably would never have noticed, until Jen's sharp eye spotted it this morning on someone else's CV.

"Is this you?"

"Well, a lot of people have these initials. And I have no idea what this paper is about-"

But we spent a good fifteen minutes digging, and alas, it really was me. Thanks for letting me know, docs. But thanks mostly for including me on a paper I really don't know anything about but still managed to pump some numbers out for. Just in time for Christmas.

Soon we will look back on this and laugh

I share a family phone plan with my parents. This usually works very well in that they share in my employee discount and I pay nothing. Because my parents love me. Or they did until this morning.

Just discovered that our cell service has been suspended. I'm assuming that this is because they were out of town for a month and forgot to pay a bill. (Seriously, ATT? Three days before Christmas?) But I could be wrong. Tim thinks it's a test of faith.

All's I know is, my dad said he'd either pick me up "before 2pm" today or "after 3pm." Do you know how many hours of the day fit that description? More than 20.

I'm trying to think of solutions to this dilemma, but they all seem to involve "call home." "Call Dad." "Call Mom." "Call Pete." Or some variation thereof...

The Loneliest Number

Three tales about one:

I got my annual TB screening today. And my H1N1 vaccine. Partly because I'm a good public health doobie but mostly because getting a shot was more fun than work. The nurse took my friendliness to be excessive enthusiasm and kept saying things like, "I've never seen anyone so excited for a shot," and "I bet you got the seasonal vaccine already." He also said that of the forty-some people he'd shot up thus far today, I was the first one to bleed. Here's to being number one.

After three failed attempts, I finally tracked Prof. Papa down today and got him to sign a book for my folks. "Feel free," I said, "to write 'your daughter is the greatest student I've ever had.'" With our graded exams sitting right next to us, he declined.

Our long-planned Cuban dinner tonight took a Mexican turn last night and when the restaurant was found closed today, we went Chinese instead. I vetoed Tim and Ranwei and insisted we get only half a Peking duck. It was the only suggestion they listened to but at least I had a voice. Not everyone was so lucky. Though now, three hours later, I'm wishing we had gone for the full instead.

Let's Roll

The ladies at the blue coffee house around the corner are very strong willed. I am not. Not when it comes to them at least. The coffee house isn't actually around the corner from me. And I doubt they serve coffee. It's in Chinatown but I don't know its name in either English or Chinese. I don't think anyone does. But everyone knows which one I'm taking about. It's the corner one with the blue awning that I think says 'Coffee House." It's an older shop, which means don't go there for delicate and pretty cakes and little pastries. But the custards are right on. Their meat baos are large and cheap. And best of all, I just discovered that they make mahn-to, my favorite bread rolls. (the list goes mahn-to, brioche, Taiwanese white bread, garlic ciabatta...)

Whenever I go in there, they're always trying to sell me items that I do not want and yesterday was no exception. "Two mahn-to, please." "Fresh or frozen?" "Fresh." "They're all out." "OK, frozen." "We don't sell them individually, you have to buy them in packs." "Uh..." "It's just $4 a pack." "Well, OK." So I bought eight instead. Total pushover.

Hickory Dickory Dock

I've known Lenny since the eighth grade. We've shared the same 4 friends through high school. Picked llama wool together. Traveled to France together. Done global warming presentations together. Yet she's always been a little different. For one thing, teachers always liked her better. (Then again, they liked Squeaky, too. And Punty. Emily. Everyone else.)

In fact, here is a list of things that Lenny has experienced that I have not:

Graduate near the top of the class. Lung collapse. Emergency plane landing. Hit by a boulder whilst driving. Commute a mouse to work.

As if I didn't have enough urban nightmares, that last one is all I can think about now. Lenny went to work this week, opened up her messenger bag, and discovered a half eaten lunch. Along with a mouse. A mouse that had gotten into her bag at the apartment and hitched a ride to work. Most traumatic container opening ever.

PS. List of things that I have experienced that Lenny has not: Ace Advanced Food & Nutrition with Mrs. Irwin.

Cheap Shots

I worked a full day at work today for the first time since this summer. It was a good day. I was shooed off of a project before I even expressed interest, but my lunch was delicious. Jen's having a girl. Josh is getting married. Sister Claire is discouraging me from working for tests and grades. And there is inter-office tension in the air that I'm not fully aware of but keep eavesdropping on. (I sit next to the kitchenette now. It's an absolute curse. I miss my old pre-student seat terribly) And oh. The boss called me a cheap date.

(discussing, for the fortieth time, how we got scooped)

Moi: I'm sorry, those guys offered me a hundred bucks for the story. It seemed like a good idea.

Whitecastle: That's right, you're a cheap date.

Moi: Whoa. It was a hundred dollars plus two drinks.

Whitecastle: Oh yeah, that's all you can handle.

Of course, we have the same conversations every week about what classes I'm taking, where the projects are at, and what I studied in college, but drinks, he remembers.

Kissing Down

As a joke once, but only with three quarters seriousness, Prof Papa once suggested that his book would make great Christmas presents for our parents. And when I thought about it deeper, it really made sense as a Christmas present. So I ordered the book and hoped that he could sign it for my folks. It all seemed like a cute, brown-nosey thing to do, that would get me on the good student list. The idea seemed especially good since Marie mentioned that it was a good read. Then Louise. Then Laura. And everyone else.

Moi: You have it, too? Does everyone have his book?

Laura: It was on the syllabus.

Moi: Oh. So I probably shouldn't tell him that I just got this two days ago?

The Bells I Hear

Before 8:30 AM, access to the computer labs require key access.  Two to three times a week, I'm usually in the labs five to ten minutes after 8:30, so that piece of information never concerned me.  Until today.  When I tried to push the door and it would not budge.  I just leaned on the door for about ten seconds, too tired to comprehend what was happening.  Then I tried pulling the door.  Then leaned in again.  All of this was witnessed by some kid I don't know coming out of the lab, who kindly opened the door for me.  Glad I could make your morning, kid.

In about four hours, my three finals of the day will be over (though the last exam won't be turned in until 1:30PM and class won't end until 3:30PM- oh yes, she's lecturing after the exam but it's OK, my brain shut down as of 9:25PM last night).  I have 0 clean clothes except what I'm wearing (timed it just right).  1 meal left in the fridge/cupboards.  And 2 urgently overdue emails.  Though really, my life isn't that much of a mess.  And I'm thinking I'll celebrate the end of school by going into work early tomorrow to prepare for a meeting I am otherwise unprepared for. 

Be back soon.

Under My Nose

I step out of the computer lab for two minutes to eat a few bites of my breakfast sandwich and when I return, my chair is gone.  My books and papers are still here, the monitor on, and the seat probably still warm.  Of all the chairs to steal in the lab (and there are plenty this morning), why steal one that you know someone is sitting in? I hope the butt grooves that I made prove uncomfortable for my chair thief.  That's probably unlikely.  I make such nice butt grooves.

Final Stretch

I have nothing to say to you until finals are over.

Three Letter Word

I remember taking archery at Camp Happy T Ranch one summer, our counselor JP (the subject of many crushes though I failed to see his appeal) intentionally mispronounced everyone's name during roll call.  He said that he knew he was bound to trip over someone's name, so he might as well mess up everybody's.  Until he got to mine.  "That sounds right," someone complained.  "Yeah, you try messing this one up."

Yet, the good people we are collaborating with at work have succeeded.  They have misspelled my name.  My first name.  Twice.  One that they finally corrected a few months ago.  (Doc Whitecastle didn't think I was important enough to correct them, though he made DocNice point out when they mispronounced his name)  And one that they made afresh yesterday.  Maybe they just hate me, but like kids who get less than 25% on 4-choice multiple choice questions- I just don't understand- it's possible, but the odds were completely against them. 

Blind Lunch

I had a birthday. Some presents. Some problem sets. Some sleep. No energy to debrief any of this.

I also had lunch with Professor Papa as part of a school event. As always the case with school, it was totally intense and if you didn't RSVP fast enough, the invitation was rescinded and given to someone else. Other than that though, we weren't given much information.

Prof Papa: What were you guys told about this event?

Student: They just said, do you want to eat with professors? We signed up via student news.

Moi: What did they tell you?

Prof Papa: They said, do you want to come to this lunch?

Mo: Hm. I was told we'd get A's in the class.

Prof Papa (considers proposition): That's fair. OK.

Best lunch moment, runner up (second to salmon): Learning about, then laughing as a table at, how doctors in one Chinese hospital wear helmets to work to protect themselves from patients.
...

Suck it, Hellasinki:

"If the dolphins say, "Don't kill us, that's not such a great policy,"- no, don't listen to them."
-- Professor Papa

Strange Indeed

School and I have a Dr. Jekyll type of relationship.  During the day when I'm going to classes and seeing people, we get along swimmingly.  When I hear the piano playing on my way to epi lab, I tend to forget that it's 8:30 in the morning on a Friday, or that the fifty thou I handed over would be a lot better spent on things that are not grand pianos in the cafeteria, and I smile, thinking of how nice it is that I go to school with such talented people and that we have a piano in our public space.  When the sun goes down, however, the cursing begins.  The problem sets.  The procrastination.  The studying.  The grades.  The stress.  They all tumble out at night, when I'm not listening to Doc Little Man's soothing voice or commenting on how Doc Tevye has really let her appearances go.  But it's still bright outside (at least it was when I started writing) and I just met with my adviser, who's super nice and at least pretended she knew who I was.  So, school, you're grand for now.

Foul Shots

(Sadly, these weren't the worst pictures of the night. )

In concept, chocolate wine didn't seem like a bad idea. I've had chocolate raspberry port. Ranwei has had chocolate raspberry brandy. And Marie and Amy (photographer and graphee) both like chocolate stout. And yet, as the night went on, though everyone but the un-peer-pressurable Ashley tried it, and all the other bottles were emptied, this remained stubbornly full. Amy must've passed her cup to half a dozen other people just to finish her tiny bit (it's OK, the alcohol kills the germs- plus, baby Amelia was vaccinated Friday). It came from Brunswick, looked like Yahoo, but tasted even worse.

Speaking of hygiene, nutritionist-in-training Lena here is eating a chip off of a stranger's plate. From a table crowded with empty cups and half eaten pie. "Whose chips are those?" Everyone asked of the abandoned nachos as they entered the kitchen. But no one knew. So we all abstained, however hard it was, since Havarti + chips + pineapple salsa = brilliance. Finally, Lena walked in and grabbed a chip. "Were those yours?" "No." "Oh. OK."

Amy's head is getting crushed as she indulges in decadent blueberry pie. How much do I need to explain? I've already given you the picture.

Yeah, it was a pretty awesome birthday party.

Left Behind

I go to school with crazies.  That's with a capital King Tut crunkers C.  Today, you see, marked the beginning of course registrations for the spring term.  When I learned this from Laura, who had visited the registrar's office on Monday to find out the exact hour registration would begin, I thought, "That's super, I will deal with this over the weekend."  But apparently, things get competitive.  And Laura was the 20th person to stop by the registrar's office that day.  So I wavered.  And yesterday, the intensity of all the in-class schedule comparing and Excel sheets made me realize that everyone else had their priorities set and I did not.  "I will join the crazies," I said to myself, "I will register for classes first thing Thursday morning."  It seemed perfectly reasonable, if not a bit zealous.  But while "a bit zealous" can get you far, far into the real world, it turns out that at school, my little bit of zealousness would have been better served learning "would you like fries with that?" in different languages ("Souhaitez-vous frites avec ça?").  By the time I got to campus at 8:35AM, everyone else had already registered for classes.  I was lucky I was to have gotten all my choices.  "The other policy class," Amy told me, "was full by 1AM."  How do people even know that?  I was sleeping at 1AM.  And si, yo quiero papas fritas con eso.

My Achy Breaky Pot

I had two WTH moments today.  I would think of a third for balance (does standing next to Atul Gwande for 5 seconds count?), but my judgment is rather clouded today.

Chance beyond chance today, I came across a paper in a prestigious cancer journal, written by an old, old friend from middle school.  It must have just come out.  It was a complete fluke, but now, the people who read her facebook wall will think that I regularly read important cancer journals.  I'm OK with that.
--
There are 2 Asian grocery stores down the street from me.  I usually prefer the farther one since the closer one attracts a fair number of drunks and/or belligerents.  (Then again, so does my entire neighborhood.)  Today, however, I didn't go the extra mile.  It turns out, I wasn't the only one skimping on quality.  The lady in front of me bought a tea pot and when she went to pay for it, the very helpful cashier asked, "Did you make sure that it doesn't leak?  We have a no refund policy."

"How do I check that it doesn't leak?"

"Put water in it."

"What?  How?  I don't have any water."

"You can get some water."

"Now?  Where?"

"There's water where you found the tea pot."

Apparently, the store has a vat of water by the pots where the customers can test the vessels for themselves.  Helpful, yes.  But, so are litmus strips for arsenic.  I like my stores better when they only sell non-leaking teapots.