Blue Crush

Now in my grad school application process for the second time, I'd like to thank everyone who keeps reminding me how great Harvard (and any other competitive program) is, as if letting me in on a special secret and my fate isn't up to an admission committee.

I just got off the phone with Grandfather, who is one of these voices of wisdom and once again extolled the virtues of Harvard. "It's not just the school, but the city, culture, and academic environment. Boston really is the best city in America." "I don't know, I quite like Seattle." "Seattle is a pretty city, no doubt, but culturally inferior." "... " Spoken like a true New Englander. Maybe I should have applied to the DAR after all.

Musty Thursday

Thursday was a mess of a day that started at 6:40AM. But it really started the night before, when Mother roused me from sleep (via phone) to ask if I had put myself on the do-not-call registry. For mothers? No. But there ought to be one.

There was breakfast spent looking out at hostile, honking cars, a treacherous commute through which ice splattered down as I walked and our bus backed up through 4 blocks and onto traffic, the classes, the strange, voluntary visit to the PhD core course, an additional 2-hour lecture on research methods to end the day. Luckily, the lecture, led by the head of the admissions committee, a bona fide Walty doppelganger, wasn't uncomfortable at all. Especially when he made a joke about admitting grad students on chance as Laura and me looked aghast. The day culminated with me bolting from the lecture early and a dramatic running through the icy cobblestones of Harvard Square at rush hour to make sure I could get to Esther's apartment in time for my phone interview.

But something strange happened once I got to Esther's. The place was toasty. I got there with just 2 minutes to spare but they had already set everything up, a glass of water, a nice notepad, a quiet panic room and land line. The talk went well and afterward, I invited myself for dinner. The mess of the day drained away and all that was left was good food, school talk, and easy laughs about man dates. A much better way to spend the day than watching depressing relationship drama in an arty theater. Especially the part where I get a free dinner by asking.

---

(on choosing grad students)

Doctoral student: At a certain point, there's only so much awesome you can be.

Walty-ganger: You'd be surprised.

Laura et moi: ... ... ...

Come Again

Came home home (to my folks' house) this weekend to find a bare bed in my bedroom. Where did my blankets and comforter go? And how might I get them back?

Jen: You and Your Office Street Interactions

I went to an art auction today. It was so classy that it makes up for the flannel I'm wearing now. I took a break from school and work and practicum today, slept late, and met up with Carol, who works at an auction house. On our way back from the cafe, we bumped into Whitecastle, halfway across town and office. It was wholly unexpected. Naturally, we exchanged stunned/awkward greetings and I made sure to tell him that I was working hard and not skipping work.

Light Lunch

Today was the second day of classes and already, it feels like March. On the bright side, I've gotten three consecutive free meals. I'm going to miss free food when I leave this place.

(At the research conference today, Doc Lemon, who was presenting had her thesis adviser sit in as a guest)

Doc Lemon: We're not going to spend too much time on the statistical approach-

Adviser: WHAT? (place goes silent and stares at her) What have these people done to you? It was so beautiful.

Doc Binks: But we do have cookies.

Yes, two kinds of cookies with the lunch. They were both delicious.

[Insert Title]

A bus went by the office today and Edith threw me under it. OK. She may have not meant to but I took her comments one way and before you know it, I was making fun of Herr Doctor Whitecastle (as I do). But he was not amused. His lack of amusement was also not amusing. So I offered up a story of how my aunt thought I was intellectually disabled as a conciliatory gift. He smiled.

(Speaking of disabled, I've had to read this one paper for work several times in the last and whenever I came upon the word 'disability,' I'd freeze and have to re-read it several times before my brain kicks in that it's not disease-ability.)

(counting the number of people in the office after Friday's delayed-start morning)

Whitecastle: Did you count her? She's short, but that should at least count as a half.

Moi: I'm at least 3 quarters of a person.

Accent Grave

All the Chinese speakers in the office compliment me on my Mandarin, tell me that my accent isn't as bad as I say it is... then speak to me in English.  I'll have you know that I'm a published poetry in Chinese (albeit published in a daily newspaper for children and I was 8 at the time)

Wayback Shuffle

Ate a piece of paper thinking it was a rice paper wrapper today and felt like I was four again.  

Then somebody called me Joyce and I felt like I was ten.

I thought I had an important call today but it's really tomorrow.  I really should use this time wisely and either go grocery shopping or get a hair cut.  But all I want is to go home, sip some cocoa (or better yet, tie guan ying), watch a movie, and sleep.  It's what I've been doing on and off for the past month.  And yet I'd still like more.

When I'm Alone with You

Earlier this weekend, I was settling into my seat at the movie theater and about to text Lisa to let her know what I may be late to dinner when I realized that I had nothing to text her with. It was Saturday afternoon, and I was feeling culturally superior and relevant that Dwight and I had seen both "indie" movies that a loud girl on the T had wanted to see and were at the very theater she had talked about wanting to check out. But I had left my phone at Dwight's. He offered to drop it off after the movie, but I'd have no way of knowing when he was arriving or when I'd get home after dinner. ("People used to do this without cellphones, right?" "I don't know what you're talking about.) Finally, after an extra hour on the MBTA, a borrowed phone, and a ride from Dwight anyway, everything fell back into its natural order.

Until this morning. I paced around the apartment for a good 15 minutes looking for the remnants of my groceries run from last night. I'd refrigerated what needed to be frozen and thought I'd left my dried goods in the kitchen, or maybe foyer. But they were nowhere to be found. I thought I was going mad and was about to start accepting that misplaced items were going to be a fact of my life from now on when Landlady Chang put the pieces together. "Was there condensed milk in the bag?" "Yeah." "I think [Pam's boyfriend] took it home." "Why?" "He thought it was his." "He thought the bag of crackers, Asian mixed nuts, and condensed milk were his?" "I guess so?" While I feel for Pam that her boyfriend is absolutely insane, it's good to know that I'm not the crazy one.

Insane Clown Posse

None of these glasses actually belong to me.

Through out the past month, I've been seeing friends, taking my camera along, and forgetting to take pictures. This past Friday, I finally remembered to snap some while hanging out with the Humility Council.

We found Jacob Wirth (I have a weakness for German American establishments) to be packed and the site of some piano singalong. It began as the greatest charm about the place, but by the end of the night, we all agreed, "This was the perfect place for this... minus the piano and singing."

Soup's Up

Did I do any work today, particularly on the two papers I need to finish by the end of the week? No. But look at the soup I made. Beans, cabbage, chourico, and a soft poached egg on top. Because that's what you're supposed to do on snow days.

Great Latkes

(leftovers 'latkes')

Playing Anomia (new favorite game) on Sunday night, I had to name a lake, any lake, before Jenny could answer my category. "Uh- Home!" was my first response. Followed by "No, wait, E. Eurie? Erie? Great Lake!" Amazingly, I managed to get all that out before Jenny could give her response and got two points out of the whole affair.

Do you recall the three C's I shall not eat? Carrots, celery, and cilantro. I hate them. But I know that they are good for me. So about once a year, I buy a bag of carrots and spend the next 3 months hiding carrots in my food, as if I was a simple child. They're going to be in my soup tomorrow and on Sunday, I shredded them into my potato pancakes. Too bad I was working from matchstick carrots and nearly lost my fingers.

You know what food I don't hate? Potato pancakes. I'm quite fond of them. After dinner with Dwight on Saturday (at Russell House, where he got a cheese pizza and I got a burger, except the words on the menu were much fancier), I was left with a pile of cold fries. Fries are hard to reheat. But, a little onion, carrots, egg, blending and ingenuity, and I had crisp pancakes ready to go within 5 minutes. Brilliant, no? I should be getting my MacArthur any day now.

Greener Pastures

(Sometimes I forget that I have been walking for about 25 years.  I trip and fall into boxes.)

Moi: I'll just follow you... (trip) ... and not walk into any boxes.

Whitecastle (walking ahead of me): What?

Moi: Nothing.

Whitecastle: Are you really talking to yourself?

Moi: No.  I think your hearing is going.

---
Have you ever been to the Cantab?  If you have, it was probably on a Tuesday night, which is Bluegrass Night.  The place has live music 7 nights a week, but for whatever reason, everyone talks about Bluegrass Night yet nobody seems to go because of the bluegrass (not that there's anything wrong with bluegrass.  I like bluegrass and that one song they play).  It happened again last night with D-Bomb and Liz.

Moi: So when I was at the Cantab-

D-Bomb: That place with bluegrass?

Moi: Yeah, but it was all people you didn't expect to like bluegrass, right?  I certainly wasn't there for the bluegrass.

D-Bomb: I wasn't either.  (he was there to discuss the impact of Gordon S. Wood on American historical discourse)

Liz: The Cantab?  I've been to their bluegrass night.

Moi: Exactly!  And you weren't there for the bluegrass?

Liz: No, I was there for the music.

Case Logic

frm Amy (not to be confused with me) was in town for a few glorious weeks and both of us got to have dinner with Prof Riles. She gave both of us presents and paid for dinner when really, the three of us eating dinner together was a present enough. If I ever have a daytime show in which I gave out my favorite things, this pencil case present will certainly be among the goods.

Last night, I dreamt that I was debating whether to go to a party at home of one of the Band Man's friends. We were all invited but the only people I'd know there would have been the Bands. I remember debating the fun vs. awkwardity of the situations (seems like a no-brainer in retrospect). And suddenly, we were at my gmom's funeral (and Eve found a squatter toilet but used it incorrectly). The imagination (and penchant for weird) of my unconscious scares me.

Practicum Magic

This has been a very male-academic-centric week of posts (better than nothing) so I figured I'd close the week with one more anecdote. It's either that or reveal something personal about myself and nobody wants that.

As a part of my program, we have a year-long course associated with a 16-week practicum that's supposed to include mentoring, regular progress reviews, and all sorts of professional development goodies to help us apply our learning. All but one other person in my cohort started their projects at least a month ago. Marie regular meets with the CEO of the local hospital monopoly. Max and Catherine are developing Vermont's healthcare plan. As for me? I went to Whitecastle yesterday afternoon.

Moi: Can you be my preceptor?

Whitecastle: Am I qualified?

Moi: Mm hmm. Just sign here. I'll fill out the rest.

Whitecastle: (glances over form, amazingly asks if I want to backtrack the date to make the form seem 'more real') So you're going to write about how I'm going to mentor you? And I'm paying you for this?

Moi: I guess so. I mean, I've already learned so much from you.

Whitecastle: It's all part of the plan. Teaching you how to fend for yourself.

I really hope I'm employable in a few months.

You Know My Methods

Every time I think I am vaguely getting smarter, I thank Doc Whitecastle for keeping me daft and grounded.

Thanks to BIO 211 (which I aceminused* despite a surprisingly difficult final), my ability to understand the methods sections of peer-reviewed health literature (but not economics**) has skyrocketed in recent months, along with my ability to understand the work that I have been contributing to for the last 3.5 years.  Makes me wonder what I have been doing for the past 3.5 years.  But no matter, just ask me what the Watson-Durbin statistic is. 

OK.  I can't tell you, but I can eagerly nod my head in recognition.  But then Whitecastle goes and pulls a Cox model (let's all pause for a minute now to snicker) on me:

Whitecastle: You do know what it is, right?

Moi: I've heard it... a lot...

Whitecastle (sigh): Have you taken BIO 230?  232?  Will you take it?

I'm only at 211, with 210 on the horizon.  Then graduation.  And so many more models to misunderstand.
_____

*Aceminus: n) a person who is good, but not excellent in a particular field; v) to earn a high grade but not quite the definitive A or A+ that usually earns bragging rights.  See also: Me- at life and Lenny's e-coli medium.

**I come across a particularly confusing paper for our review and hand it over to Whitecastle for assistance.  For once, I concur wholeheartedly with his assessment:

Whitecastle: This is going to be a difficult paper to understand.  Let's exclude it.

3 Kind Encounters

Doc Query tried to give me a random wicker basket today. He is also trying to bring the beard back. Right now, it just looks like he's bringing faint stubble back.

Doc Gollum, who I am convinced is one of the best mentors any budding researcher could have (and it's just unfortunate that he's not mine), asked if I'd see the article in the Times "about our paper." "Today's paper?" "No," he said with a laugh that let me know I was silly for asking, "not today. A couple of weeks ago." Since I: a) don't actually know what our paper is about b) never read the Business section of the Times ("that's where they always publish those kinds of stories," he said as if it was the most natural thing on earth-- I thought it'd be in the Health section) and c) I was working my way through my Watch Instantly queue on Netflix 2 weeks ago, it is safe to say that no, I had not seen the article.

(Article update: I just checked. Apparently, Doc Gollum was all over the news during finals week. A very big deal. Also, it was totally in the Health section.)

I tried to show Prof Papa a video today but the sound did not work on his computer. Undeterred, he tried his luck at youtube. "This is what I've been watching lately," he said as he typed out "christmas doggy video" with his finger tips. And I swore off trans fats right there and then because I thought I'd have a heart attack. He also recommended looking up videos of Australian car crashes (naturally, for injury prevention purposes and nothing else).

Access Denied

Discovered this a few days ago when I tried to cut through the park.

Here's to Our Prosperity

This is not the greatest video in the world. But it does combine two of my favorite things in the world: Fiddler on the Roof and dance flicks. Outside of food and friends (and coverage for the underinsured), it's difficult to find two other things that make me as happy as these. Happy New Year: