My dollar sweater from Salvation Army.
Sure the sweater is magically charming, but I wonder about the labor practices in Fairyland.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Tinker Toys
My dollar sweater from Salvation Army.
Sure the sweater is magically charming, but I wonder about the labor practices in Fairyland.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Corrections
Bobs has informed me that my weekly habit, SuperSnacks, is a singular noun, as in Super Snack. I'd like to inform Bobs that this is my blog, not his.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
The Color Purple
This is a story about feeling red and seeing blue.
Last night, because the Bo' is the most adorable small liberal arts college in the world, an etiquette dinner was hosted for members of the senior class. About sixty of us were to dress in interview attire and, as the Band Man put it, "increase our social capital," by learning the things to do and avoid at a formal dinner. A great chunk of us, myself included, will never have the opportunity for formal business lunches or interviews, but the free food and chance to hang out with everyone all dressed up, that had all of us sign up in a heartbeat. And oh, etiquette is trickier than you might expect. We were all forced to introduce ourselves and fake networking (though we all pretty much knew everyone else in the room, this being the Bo' and our senior year) during the opening reception. The tricky part was that we had to have something in our left hand during the opening reception (food or drink, not both). I chose the white wine, forgetting that a. I had not had anything to eat for quite awhile (and couldn't, now that I'd committed to the wine), b. the room was quite warm, and c. I look like a lobster when I drink. So there I was, just half a cup in, listening to the President's wife, our hostess, lecture about not drinking too much at these events, and already noticeably red. Very proper indeed. I had to give up my wine at that point, not wanting people to think I was sauced at the reception. Jackie did ask our hostess if all of us afflicted souls should avoid wine at such events and surprisingly, she said for us to just go ahead and drink. Most people, she said, should understand. So please understand, people, I have an enzyme deficiency.
Today, discussing the pretty encouraging election results in our soc seminar, Chris commented on how much he admired the Band Man for just speaking the facts about the election.
Band Man: You mean hiding my absolute joy?
Chris: Yeah.
Band Man then goes into a long discussion about being honest about his beliefs but at the same time, not wanting students to feel intimidated about bringing up dissenting ideas or supporting a different system.
Band Man: ... if you ever have conservative views, feel free to be open about them and speak up... (pause)... before I slap you down.
Last night, because the Bo' is the most adorable small liberal arts college in the world, an etiquette dinner was hosted for members of the senior class. About sixty of us were to dress in interview attire and, as the Band Man put it, "increase our social capital," by learning the things to do and avoid at a formal dinner. A great chunk of us, myself included, will never have the opportunity for formal business lunches or interviews, but the free food and chance to hang out with everyone all dressed up, that had all of us sign up in a heartbeat. And oh, etiquette is trickier than you might expect. We were all forced to introduce ourselves and fake networking (though we all pretty much knew everyone else in the room, this being the Bo' and our senior year) during the opening reception. The tricky part was that we had to have something in our left hand during the opening reception (food or drink, not both). I chose the white wine, forgetting that a. I had not had anything to eat for quite awhile (and couldn't, now that I'd committed to the wine), b. the room was quite warm, and c. I look like a lobster when I drink. So there I was, just half a cup in, listening to the President's wife, our hostess, lecture about not drinking too much at these events, and already noticeably red. Very proper indeed. I had to give up my wine at that point, not wanting people to think I was sauced at the reception. Jackie did ask our hostess if all of us afflicted souls should avoid wine at such events and surprisingly, she said for us to just go ahead and drink. Most people, she said, should understand. So please understand, people, I have an enzyme deficiency.
Today, discussing the pretty encouraging election results in our soc seminar, Chris commented on how much he admired the Band Man for just speaking the facts about the election.
Band Man: You mean hiding my absolute joy?
Chris: Yeah.
Band Man then goes into a long discussion about being honest about his beliefs but at the same time, not wanting students to feel intimidated about bringing up dissenting ideas or supporting a different system.
Band Man: ... if you ever have conservative views, feel free to be open about them and speak up... (pause)... before I slap you down.
Monday, November 06, 2006
A Dee Do Da
This morning, in an awkward roommate bonding moment, as Captain Kilowatt was unsucessfully helping me unzip a fleece jacket that was caught so high up the collar that I could neither see the snag nor fix it effectively:
Captain Kilowatt: [The Bo'] needs to make jackets for people who don't know how to use zippers.
Captain Kilowatt: [The Bo'] needs to make jackets for people who don't know how to use zippers.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
White Fight
How did I come to discover that I have such an unfortunate birthday? An insane woman held us hostage today.
This morning at church, a group of us usuals from the Bo' were just standing around after service, lamenting the absence of brownies at this week's refreshment table and how there are never enough bagel chips in the Chex Mix, when this lady came out of nowhere. She had seen 20/20's report on privilege in America and basically wanted us to admit to two things, that colleges are incredibly biased against poor people (to the point that they'd turn down a kid with a perfect SAT score, gasp!) and that colleges hate conservatives with passion. She also threw in some anecdote about the Bo' that I think speaks against affirmative action, but I can't be sure. She just spoke really aggressively, cornering us to agree with her. And basically, we stood around and listened politely, trying to answer when we could, until she dropped this bomb:
"They would never invite Ann Coulter to speak on campus, right? They would never let her come."
I tried really hard not to snicker up until that point. I was even going to be nice and concede that yes, crazy liberals are just as narrow minded as crazy conservatives, but when she said that, I had a really hard time keeping myself from shouting:
CRAZY, CRAZY WOMAN, WHO THE FREAK WOULD WANTS ANN COULTER? Who'd invite her!? Hsst. Hsst. Hsst. Away from me, crazy! AWAY!
But I couldn't. You never know what makes people click and what makes them crack. So I just frowned a little and put on a snide grin. And thank God, with a few more insults toward the Bo' and some loving words for the Reagan administration, the woman wrapped up her speech and pretty much just left without making anymore conversation.
When I returned from church, I naively thought that I needed to read up on Coulter before I could say nasty things about her. I turned to google, which presented me with the unfortunate birthday connection, but also reminded me that, oh yes, it's perfectly legit to hate Ann Coulter. It's been about twelve hours, but I still shudder just thinking about what transpired this morning.
This morning at church, a group of us usuals from the Bo' were just standing around after service, lamenting the absence of brownies at this week's refreshment table and how there are never enough bagel chips in the Chex Mix, when this lady came out of nowhere. She had seen 20/20's report on privilege in America and basically wanted us to admit to two things, that colleges are incredibly biased against poor people (to the point that they'd turn down a kid with a perfect SAT score, gasp!) and that colleges hate conservatives with passion. She also threw in some anecdote about the Bo' that I think speaks against affirmative action, but I can't be sure. She just spoke really aggressively, cornering us to agree with her. And basically, we stood around and listened politely, trying to answer when we could, until she dropped this bomb:
"They would never invite Ann Coulter to speak on campus, right? They would never let her come."
I tried really hard not to snicker up until that point. I was even going to be nice and concede that yes, crazy liberals are just as narrow minded as crazy conservatives, but when she said that, I had a really hard time keeping myself from shouting:
CRAZY, CRAZY WOMAN, WHO THE FREAK WOULD WANTS ANN COULTER? Who'd invite her!? Hsst. Hsst. Hsst. Away from me, crazy! AWAY!
But I couldn't. You never know what makes people click and what makes them crack. So I just frowned a little and put on a snide grin. And thank God, with a few more insults toward the Bo' and some loving words for the Reagan administration, the woman wrapped up her speech and pretty much just left without making anymore conversation.
When I returned from church, I naively thought that I needed to read up on Coulter before I could say nasty things about her. I turned to google, which presented me with the unfortunate birthday connection, but also reminded me that, oh yes, it's perfectly legit to hate Ann Coulter. It's been about twelve hours, but I still shudder just thinking about what transpired this morning.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
The Season On Everyone's Top Five
This evening, whilst riding my bike, I nearly lost my fingers to the cold. I now realize that I must carry gloves on me all the time if I am to ride the bicycle, and that thumb loops are poor substitutes for mittens. For the past few days, everyone has been talking about skin feeling dry, complaining about the harsh cold, and contemplating humidifiers and space heaters. Just today, I applied had to apply lotion three times to keep my skin intact.
In short, we are entering the winter of our year, and of our lives.
Healthy, strong, young people do not discuss humidifiers, ever. Nor do we talk about the race to the bottom at SuperSnacks. Nor should we act like Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me), whose highlight of the week comes when the new supermarket shopper comes out. Within these short weeks, all my friends and I have turned forty years old.
And so I make a list now, of more pleasant things to look forward to, sometime in the future. Not old-work=a=day-tired-grim future we are surely heading for, but a reckless-time-is-on-my-side-with-youth future. I am thinking warm sand on the beach, thick flannel blankets, a New Yorker with all the mailing cards inside already pulled out, tuna and yellowtail sashimi, spider rolls, salmon roe, avacado halves with soy sauce paste, and grass jelly. I am thinking serving meals at a shelter, and distributing toiletry items. I am thinking having a job so I can have more income to give away. I am thinking up things and I don't know when, if ever, they will come, but these thoughts are going to help me get through the winter. And if they don't, the thought of another Jenkins Family Reunion ought to.
Ah. Jenkins. With members like Cousin Vinny, Promiscuous Aunt Sally, Stoned Hippie Older Sister Summer, and Cousin Jane Who Doesn't Know She's Adopted or Asian (guess who that was), to name a few, we snatched the top prize at senior pub night easy. (They really had to give it to us, we represented one third of the people there. Plus, Sketchy Uncle Armand knows some people.) If you're good, I'll tell you about all this some day, but not right now. Your patience will be rewarded, young cockroach.
In short, we are entering the winter of our year, and of our lives.
Healthy, strong, young people do not discuss humidifiers, ever. Nor do we talk about the race to the bottom at SuperSnacks. Nor should we act like Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me), whose highlight of the week comes when the new supermarket shopper comes out. Within these short weeks, all my friends and I have turned forty years old.
And so I make a list now, of more pleasant things to look forward to, sometime in the future. Not old-work=a=day-tired-grim future we are surely heading for, but a reckless-time-is-on-my-side-with-youth future. I am thinking warm sand on the beach, thick flannel blankets, a New Yorker with all the mailing cards inside already pulled out, tuna and yellowtail sashimi, spider rolls, salmon roe, avacado halves with soy sauce paste, and grass jelly. I am thinking serving meals at a shelter, and distributing toiletry items. I am thinking having a job so I can have more income to give away. I am thinking up things and I don't know when, if ever, they will come, but these thoughts are going to help me get through the winter. And if they don't, the thought of another Jenkins Family Reunion ought to.
Ah. Jenkins. With members like Cousin Vinny, Promiscuous Aunt Sally, Stoned Hippie Older Sister Summer, and Cousin Jane Who Doesn't Know She's Adopted or Asian (guess who that was), to name a few, we snatched the top prize at senior pub night easy. (They really had to give it to us, we represented one third of the people there. Plus, Sketchy Uncle Armand knows some people.) If you're good, I'll tell you about all this some day, but not right now. Your patience will be rewarded, young cockroach.
Slackademics
A snippet from the morning's NYTimes on the vast amounts of money Division I universities are spending on academic centers for their athletes:
"Many universities have developed training and monitoring programs for tutors, and rules govern how much assistance they can provide. For example, tutors at Tennessee cannot type papers for athletes. Most universities make the tutors sign an integrity contract saying they will not perform work for athletes."
It tutors aren't allowed to type papers for athletes (after the athletes have hand-written the entire ten-page paper by hand, I presume), what are they allowed to do?
In other news, the Bo's much more studious student athletes made the news this week for a different reason. From Sports Illustrated's SI on Campus:
"Bowdoin College has enlisted the school's football team to help prevent dining hall theft. Once a week, football players will assist a dining hall employee to ensure that students present their ID cards. This may seem like a good idea, but considering that the team is 0-6 and has been outscored 127-13, they might not be able to protect a buffet any better than they protect the endzone."
The article fails to mention that these football players aren't just preventing 'dining hall theft,' they are protecting a sacred institution we call SuperSnacks.
"Many universities have developed training and monitoring programs for tutors, and rules govern how much assistance they can provide. For example, tutors at Tennessee cannot type papers for athletes. Most universities make the tutors sign an integrity contract saying they will not perform work for athletes."
It tutors aren't allowed to type papers for athletes (after the athletes have hand-written the entire ten-page paper by hand, I presume), what are they allowed to do?
In other news, the Bo's much more studious student athletes made the news this week for a different reason. From Sports Illustrated's SI on Campus:
"Bowdoin College has enlisted the school's football team to help prevent dining hall theft. Once a week, football players will assist a dining hall employee to ensure that students present their ID cards. This may seem like a good idea, but considering that the team is 0-6 and has been outscored 127-13, they might not be able to protect a buffet any better than they protect the endzone."
The article fails to mention that these football players aren't just preventing 'dining hall theft,' they are protecting a sacred institution we call SuperSnacks.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
She's A Sophisti-Cat
There are a lot of things we could say about Halloween. The ever increasing popularity and commercialization of Halloween (if it's possible to make a 'holiday' centered around candies and costumes even more commercial, that is), its occultic ties, the psychology behind assuming costumes and identities, we could debate these things for days. But we're not going to discuss any of that now.
Instead, we're going to 'awn' because one little girl is going to be rhubarb (rhubarb! that's precious!), a little boy is determined to be "ketchup with eyes," and the Band Man's kid was "big purple monster" last year.
And then, there're Martha's kids.
For those of you unaware, Martha is perhaps the best lab instructor in the universe. Not just this side of the Milky Way, but every side of the Milky Way. Even better than Baures, if you can imagine that. She's patient, not easily frazzled, but always quick to make fun of you.
This year, Martha's older daughter (who we'll call Progeny A) decided she wanted to be a witch. Not just any old, ugly, witch though, a glamour witch. (Maria: So she's a princess in black? Exactly.) Martha made Progeny A a very simple yet lovely costume, with a cool wig and cape and lots of shiney, pretty things. This made younger daughter, Progeny B, quite jealous. She had only planned on being a cat for Halloween, but that was before she knew of the pretty things. Now instead of being a cat, Progeny B will be a glamour cat, that is, a cat with a back story. She's not just feline, she's a cat that likes to go dancing and she's very well groomed.
Sometimes, I wish I could steal stories from Progeny B's childhood and make them mine. Oh wait, I just did.
Instead, we're going to 'awn' because one little girl is going to be rhubarb (rhubarb! that's precious!), a little boy is determined to be "ketchup with eyes," and the Band Man's kid was "big purple monster" last year.
And then, there're Martha's kids.
For those of you unaware, Martha is perhaps the best lab instructor in the universe. Not just this side of the Milky Way, but every side of the Milky Way. Even better than Baures, if you can imagine that. She's patient, not easily frazzled, but always quick to make fun of you.
This year, Martha's older daughter (who we'll call Progeny A) decided she wanted to be a witch. Not just any old, ugly, witch though, a glamour witch. (Maria: So she's a princess in black? Exactly.) Martha made Progeny A a very simple yet lovely costume, with a cool wig and cape and lots of shiney, pretty things. This made younger daughter, Progeny B, quite jealous. She had only planned on being a cat for Halloween, but that was before she knew of the pretty things. Now instead of being a cat, Progeny B will be a glamour cat, that is, a cat with a back story. She's not just feline, she's a cat that likes to go dancing and she's very well groomed.
Sometimes, I wish I could steal stories from Progeny B's childhood and make them mine. Oh wait, I just did.
No, no, no, Travis
Someone else in our junior/senior seminar misread the syllabus today. She didn't just write a paper she wasn't supposed to, she also did the wrong reading. That fact cheered me immensely. Someone was more stupid than I am.
Silly Kid: I'm sorry, I did the wrong reading for today.
Band Man: I'm going to have to shoot you.
(Moments later, backing down from his decision to kill)
Band Man: Actually, don't worry about it. Just BS your way through discussion.
Moi: That's what we do!
Band Man: Yeah? That's what you do? Right, couldn't tell.
Silly Kid: I'm sorry, I did the wrong reading for today.
Band Man: I'm going to have to shoot you.
(Moments later, backing down from his decision to kill)
Band Man: Actually, don't worry about it. Just BS your way through discussion.
Moi: That's what we do!
Band Man: Yeah? That's what you do? Right, couldn't tell.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
The Mask
So Creeps and Kate were contemplating stealing shoes from the shoe drive for shoeless children for their Halloween costume...
Creeps: What're you going to be for Halloween?
Moi: I don't know if I'm going to be anything. Maybe a ninja.
Kate: An Asian being a ninja, like no one has ever thought of that before.
Moi: But it's so expected that it's unexpected.
Creeps: That's right. I like that.
Moi: It was either that or go as kid who's really good at math.
Creeps: Spelling bee champ.
Kate: Poindexter.
Moi: It's mainly because instead of writing my paper, I found this website that teaches you how to make a mask out of a t-shirt.
Like this:
Creeps: What's so hard about that? You just cut a-
Moi: Without cutting the t-shirt.
Creeps: Oh!? I'm intrigued.
Moi: Yeah, it's a great mask for a ninja. Or a Muslim woman. I haven't decided.
Kate: Or both. A ninja under cover as a Muslim woman.
Creeps: What're you going to be for Halloween?
Moi: I don't know if I'm going to be anything. Maybe a ninja.
Kate: An Asian being a ninja, like no one has ever thought of that before.
Moi: But it's so expected that it's unexpected.
Creeps: That's right. I like that.
Moi: It was either that or go as kid who's really good at math.
Creeps: Spelling bee champ.
Kate: Poindexter.
Moi: It's mainly because instead of writing my paper, I found this website that teaches you how to make a mask out of a t-shirt.
Like this:
Creeps: What's so hard about that? You just cut a-
Moi: Without cutting the t-shirt.
Creeps: Oh!? I'm intrigued.
Moi: Yeah, it's a great mask for a ninja. Or a Muslim woman. I haven't decided.
Kate: Or both. A ninja under cover as a Muslim woman.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Nay, Nay, D’Orsay
Before I start, let me just say how much I appreciated my free flu shot. Wednesday was the first day of vaccinations and I thought that getting there a few minutes before opening would save me time in line, but no, these Bo' kids are serious about their flu shots. There were about ten kids already waiting, and a steady stream followed behind me. But come on, free flu shots plus a goody bag of candies and a toy? Life does not get better than that. Unless of course, you count grandfather being released from the hospital, brother finding a job, finally narrowing down my honors topic, cafe milkshakes (that're really frappes) and the prospect of homemade paella. Those are good things, too.
The Musee D’Orsay, up until a few days ago, was my favorite museum in the entire world. People, I don’t use that phrase lightly. I’m a retired Sri Lankan textiles worker and I have seen a lot of the world. (As my mother explains, I go to an expensive school, where I have learned to like expensive things because I think expensive = good.) My eyes have seen the ancient treasures of China in its millenniums-old palaces, and also the real treasures from those palaces stored safely in Taiwan. I have seen the the Met in NYC, the Smithsonian and the Museum of Natural History in DC, not to mention Boston’s smaller offerings. The were the numerous National Galleries throughout Great Britain, the Tate Modern, the Red Cross Museum in Geneva, and there was even that random one in Quebec. I have seen a lot of museums, people. And I chose Musee D’Orsay as my favorite.
That is, until I realized that they royally ripped me off.
Take a gander at this beautiful picture I have here from the museum gift shop, a copy of Piet Mondrian’s work. It’s small. It's cheap. No one will ever mistake it for the original. But it is still Mondrian and tasteful, an affordable piece of 'art' for say, a high school junior on her first trip to France.
Until, I took the picture out of its plastic wrappings last week, flipped the picture over and remove its cardboard backing that's not even attached. This is what I discovered:
A postcard!? Masking tape!? They couldn't have bothered to at least use clear tape? To print off reproductions instead of use a postcard? Even world class museums with all the money in the world isn't above ripping its patrons off.
The Musee D’Orsay, up until a few days ago, was my favorite museum in the entire world. People, I don’t use that phrase lightly. I’m a retired Sri Lankan textiles worker and I have seen a lot of the world. (As my mother explains, I go to an expensive school, where I have learned to like expensive things because I think expensive = good.) My eyes have seen the ancient treasures of China in its millenniums-old palaces, and also the real treasures from those palaces stored safely in Taiwan. I have seen the the Met in NYC, the Smithsonian and the Museum of Natural History in DC, not to mention Boston’s smaller offerings. The were the numerous National Galleries throughout Great Britain, the Tate Modern, the Red Cross Museum in Geneva, and there was even that random one in Quebec. I have seen a lot of museums, people. And I chose Musee D’Orsay as my favorite.
That is, until I realized that they royally ripped me off.
Take a gander at this beautiful picture I have here from the museum gift shop, a copy of Piet Mondrian’s work. It’s small. It's cheap. No one will ever mistake it for the original. But it is still Mondrian and tasteful, an affordable piece of 'art' for say, a high school junior on her first trip to France.
Until, I took the picture out of its plastic wrappings last week, flipped the picture over and remove its cardboard backing that's not even attached. This is what I discovered:
A postcard!? Masking tape!? They couldn't have bothered to at least use clear tape? To print off reproductions instead of use a postcard? Even world class museums with all the money in the world isn't above ripping its patrons off.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Night Light
On some weekday evenings, roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) moonlights as Captain Kilowatt, fearless leader of Team Tungsten, combatter against the dark forces and of course, always at the center of the spotlight.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Watt's in a Game
O Sweet, electrifying irony. Even Captain Kilowatt isn't immune to the shock of the world's greatest game, eXtreme Lightning Reaction.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
The Sunshine Band
It's been too long since we've had any direct mention of professors. They've been on such good behavior lately. And I have been so un-awkard. Here, finally, some recent highlights of the Band Man.
(In our junior and senior seminar, setting up a meeting time with the Band Man.)
Band Man: I'm free all day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and on Fridays.
Moi: That's a lot of free time.
Band Man: Well, yeah, I don't really do much. I've got a wet bar set up behind my desk and I just start drinking at noon. All by myself.
(Trying to find a spot at lunch)
Band Man: I try to sit as far from students as possible.
Moi: In the student dining hall?
Band Man: Yeah...
(Regarding our readings on tax reform...)
Band Man: What'd you guys think of the readings?
Class: (Lots of groans and mumbles)
Band Man: I apologize for assigning that. I don't know what I was thinking. The first time I read it, I thought it was ok, but going back this week, reading it gave me a rash.
(In our junior and senior seminar, setting up a meeting time with the Band Man.)
Band Man: I'm free all day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and on Fridays.
Moi: That's a lot of free time.
Band Man: Well, yeah, I don't really do much. I've got a wet bar set up behind my desk and I just start drinking at noon. All by myself.
(Trying to find a spot at lunch)
Band Man: I try to sit as far from students as possible.
Moi: In the student dining hall?
Band Man: Yeah...
(Regarding our readings on tax reform...)
Band Man: What'd you guys think of the readings?
Class: (Lots of groans and mumbles)
Band Man: I apologize for assigning that. I don't know what I was thinking. The first time I read it, I thought it was ok, but going back this week, reading it gave me a rash.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Inner Beauty
Bobs has too much time on his hands. I don't. I have many stories to tell, some vaguely amusing, some not so much, but I don't have the time to process them for you. Instead, I will share with you this delight from Bobs. Because he had time to urbanup the Bo' when he was bored. Because he had the time to be bored. Note the carefully placed arrows. His carefully placed arrows make my day. Please click on the image for the full, glorious page.
Honestly, I feel violated. Somebody took that entry straight out of my diary. But no, I will not get bitter at this characterization of my school because that's just being predictable, he expects me to get angry, so I won't. Because I have a great personality, unlike the ugly butthead that posted this.
Honestly, I feel violated. Somebody took that entry straight out of my diary. But no, I will not get bitter at this characterization of my school because that's just being predictable, he expects me to get angry, so I won't. Because I have a great personality, unlike the ugly butthead that posted this.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
The Wayback Machine's Cool Kicks
I am devoid of anecdotes. My life consists of work and not sleeping. I had lunch with the Band Man this week (when he asked me, for the fifth time, what my plans were for next year, because that's his natural small talk instinct, and oh God we're only in October) and there was not a single awkward moment I could take away to share. Except when, in a sweet reversal of fortune, we discussed the fact that he had no friends in college. And even then, it was less funny than just... odd?
And so we look to the glorious past in this entry, harken back to a time when life was simple, when my choices in food were between lamb and lamb, and my choices in companion were between distant aunt number one or distant second cousin number four- namely, we are going back to China.
This is a distant uncle I like to call "Vic," because his name means victory in Chinese. Seated next to Vic is his wife, who I like to abbreviate as "VW." As you can see from the picture, Vic has led and still lives a life of hard work. His arms are strong and his hands calloused. In his sixty-some years, Vic has been an accountant, a cart driver, and a farmer, but his time as a farmer far more surpasses his other careers. He has a mule, chickens, cows, a few kids (the goat kind) and a few kids (the human kind). Vic's life is simple, as is his dress. His older sister tells me that he never buys clothes for himself so she sometimes buys shirts for him. But despite all this, Vic has a very cool pair of sneakers.
Honestly, I wish I had my distant-farming-old-uncle's sneakers.
And so we look to the glorious past in this entry, harken back to a time when life was simple, when my choices in food were between lamb and lamb, and my choices in companion were between distant aunt number one or distant second cousin number four- namely, we are going back to China.
This is a distant uncle I like to call "Vic," because his name means victory in Chinese. Seated next to Vic is his wife, who I like to abbreviate as "VW." As you can see from the picture, Vic has led and still lives a life of hard work. His arms are strong and his hands calloused. In his sixty-some years, Vic has been an accountant, a cart driver, and a farmer, but his time as a farmer far more surpasses his other careers. He has a mule, chickens, cows, a few kids (the goat kind) and a few kids (the human kind). Vic's life is simple, as is his dress. His older sister tells me that he never buys clothes for himself so she sometimes buys shirts for him. But despite all this, Vic has a very cool pair of sneakers.
Honestly, I wish I had my distant-farming-old-uncle's sneakers.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Partridge and Au Pair Tree
When Neurobiologists Include A Video In Their Presentation, It Must Be Important
It's been awhile. That's because my life is busy and important. Tremble at my significance.
Last night, I found myself sitting on the floor of the trunk of a van with an au pair from Austria as our vehicle winded through the dark country roads of Massachusetts subrubia. When's the last time you did that, people? That's right. I have very important things to do.
Last week, much of my conversations with Vita-K revolved around the lecturer at the neuro talk we had to attend. And how intelligent and funny he was. (He showed us the clip above as part of a lecture on the olfactory bulb.) And how I found out he was our neurobio professor's boyfriend. And how much Vita-K now hated our professor.
Last weekend I was mistaken for the mother of my former roommate Rio.
Like I said, very busy and important. Now tremble, tremble at my significance.
It's been awhile. That's because my life is busy and important. Tremble at my significance.
Last night, I found myself sitting on the floor of the trunk of a van with an au pair from Austria as our vehicle winded through the dark country roads of Massachusetts subrubia. When's the last time you did that, people? That's right. I have very important things to do.
Last week, much of my conversations with Vita-K revolved around the lecturer at the neuro talk we had to attend. And how intelligent and funny he was. (He showed us the clip above as part of a lecture on the olfactory bulb.) And how I found out he was our neurobio professor's boyfriend. And how much Vita-K now hated our professor.
Last weekend I was mistaken for the mother of my former roommate Rio.
Like I said, very busy and important. Now tremble, tremble at my significance.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Coloured People
I never realized this until Maria, the CSRC's wonderful department coordinator, who never spots me on my way to the library, pointed this out today. And now I can't stop thinking and shaking my head about the office's paper recycle tray. It is racist. I am not allowed to use half of the papers in the tray.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Three Poeteers
It's the first Poeting meeting of the year, we're going around the circle playing a long and arduous alphabet game. It's Darren's turn and he has the letter X.
Darren: Xenophobic Darren.
I thought this was an interesting choice, especially given that Darren is the only white kid in the group. The rest are brown, black, or me.
Me: What!?
Tony: Xenophobic, one who is afraid of xenons.
Jonique: But she was a warrior princess!
Darren: Xenophobic Darren.
I thought this was an interesting choice, especially given that Darren is the only white kid in the group. The rest are brown, black, or me.
Me: What!?
Tony: Xenophobic, one who is afraid of xenons.
Jonique: But she was a warrior princess!
Friday, September 22, 2006
Three Little Letters
Dear Kid in the LIbrary Eating a Few Carrels From Me:
Now, I love sneaking food into the library as much as the next person, nay, perhaps even more, but there are limits to everything. And your food, my stealthy friend, is a too loud for my taste. Why not chicken noodle soup, man? Or breadsticks? Or maybe a nice thick milkshake? Personally, I would recommend the vanilla milkshake with a shot of espresso. Whatever alternatives you choose, the viscious crunching has got to stop. The crushing noises you make (what is it, peanut brittle? pretzels? the sound of your teeth shattering one by one?) disturb me.
Sincerely,
Distracted.
Dear Student With Barefeet Up on the Chair Before Him in Physics:
Boy, stop rubbing your nasty soles on the chair in front of you. Good people rest their heads on those chairs! Just nasty! And you wonder why there's a lice epidemic in the freshmen dorms.
Sincerely,
Disgusted.
Dear Girl Who Walked into Neurobio While Class Was Deep in Session and Didn't Realize that You Were in the Wrong Class Until Quite a Few Minutes After You Sat Down and then Silently Walked Out of the Class Again-
HA HA HA HA HA. You first years bring me joy.
Sincerely,
Delighted.
Now, I love sneaking food into the library as much as the next person, nay, perhaps even more, but there are limits to everything. And your food, my stealthy friend, is a too loud for my taste. Why not chicken noodle soup, man? Or breadsticks? Or maybe a nice thick milkshake? Personally, I would recommend the vanilla milkshake with a shot of espresso. Whatever alternatives you choose, the viscious crunching has got to stop. The crushing noises you make (what is it, peanut brittle? pretzels? the sound of your teeth shattering one by one?) disturb me.
Sincerely,
Distracted.
Dear Student With Barefeet Up on the Chair Before Him in Physics:
Boy, stop rubbing your nasty soles on the chair in front of you. Good people rest their heads on those chairs! Just nasty! And you wonder why there's a lice epidemic in the freshmen dorms.
Sincerely,
Disgusted.
Dear Girl Who Walked into Neurobio While Class Was Deep in Session and Didn't Realize that You Were in the Wrong Class Until Quite a Few Minutes After You Sat Down and then Silently Walked Out of the Class Again-
HA HA HA HA HA. You first years bring me joy.
Sincerely,
Delighted.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Hanging Low
My days as a suave senior have hit a new low. I mean, I've been a senior for many years, ever since I left Sri Lanka, but this year, I'm an academic senior and not as suave as I used to be.
I was the first kid in the library today. In fact, I was there two minutes early, and had to take a detour just to kill time until they opened their doors.
My only consolation is that it was H&L, and not the science library, but really, that's not much of a consolation.
(At breakfast, before this terrible deed happened)
Moi: So you guys are sure H&L is open? I don't want to go there only to find it locked. That's embarassing.
Tim & EB: Oh yeah, I've done that before.
Moi: That's not that comforting, actually.
EB: What? Being in the same boat as the dorkiest people you know?
Moi: You're not the geekiest person I know, EB, you're a gender studies minor. That's not just humanities, that's woo-whee humanities.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
The Band Plays On
I bumped into PuMan yesterday, a pleasant surprise on a beautiful day. He didn't call me by name but acted as if he still remembered me. There was a hug (but no awkward kiss a la Leash and PuWife, phew) and he told me that he thinks of me now, whenever he drives down 495. Yay Interstate!
Bumping into a famous professors you haven't seen in a long time is so much more fun than say, having to go to a professor's office every other second for petty things. For the past week, I have had to stop by the Soc/Anthro department every single day. Often more than once. We are at the point now when Lori, the department coordinator, questions if I actually go to classes, or if I just hang out at the department. Sometimes, I'm not quite so sure myself. Today, since the internet server was down and the Band Man is impossible to find in the phone directory, I had to go to his office to find out if a meeting we had with a community partner was pushed back or not...
Moi: Hey, look, I don't mean to come to your office every day-
Band Man: And yet you do.
Touche.
Oh. I'm also eating lunch with BSketch (who, it turns out, did not sketch the sketchy sketches) on Monday. The Band Man knows where I live (I pointed it out to him, we were right across the street). And Riles has a comment for every outfit I wear. I need a sabbatical from my professors.
Bumping into a famous professors you haven't seen in a long time is so much more fun than say, having to go to a professor's office every other second for petty things. For the past week, I have had to stop by the Soc/Anthro department every single day. Often more than once. We are at the point now when Lori, the department coordinator, questions if I actually go to classes, or if I just hang out at the department. Sometimes, I'm not quite so sure myself. Today, since the internet server was down and the Band Man is impossible to find in the phone directory, I had to go to his office to find out if a meeting we had with a community partner was pushed back or not...
Moi: Hey, look, I don't mean to come to your office every day-
Band Man: And yet you do.
Touche.
Oh. I'm also eating lunch with BSketch (who, it turns out, did not sketch the sketchy sketches) on Monday. The Band Man knows where I live (I pointed it out to him, we were right across the street). And Riles has a comment for every outfit I wear. I need a sabbatical from my professors.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Correction
We did not steal eight sandwiches from Common Good Day yesterday. After the roommates took out a couple for their road trip into Boston, there are still twelve sandwiches sitting in our fridge. Twelve delicious roasted eggplant and brie sandwiches. I can't wait for lunch tomorrow.
Not UnCommon Ground
Today was the Bo's annual Common Good Day, where once again, record numbers of student, faculty, staff, and friends signed up for a day of service in our local area. I'm actually pretty proud of my office for what they pulled of this year, 500 participants (we've only got 1677 kids total) and most impressively, sunshine on Common Good Day for the first time in four years. The weather was so good that we were actually at a loss for words, for actions, for anything. We've never seen sunshine like this in September. I just wanted to snap pictures so I could show you how ridiculously beautiful my tiny campus can be when it's not snowing. And when I'm not going to classes. Or doing any work. Oh, a it was a day of friends (some surprising, others not so much), service (I got to relive my BP glory days and lead a painting project), followed by free food. And if I hadn't spent the last three hours reading and doing school work, it really would have been the perfect day.
Quite possibly the best morsel of food from our 'Best in the Country' dining services. This eggplan brie sandwich, which I've only had on three separate Common Good Days, pretty much makes the Bo's skyrocketing tuition worthwhile. We may have stolen eight of them. And those eight may or may not be sitting in our fridge right now.
View from the registration table I was stationed at, looking onto a piece of our quad and the renovated chapel.
A pair of legs, a curious Emily, and a sturdy oak. What more do you need me to say? Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) is holding her breath as Mike prepares to fart on her.
After our all-you-can-eat dinner tonight, (not that every meal in the dining hall isn't all-you-can-eat, but this was a free meal at an outside restaurant, thus making it extra special.) new and old roommates are discussing my eating habits.
(old) Lisa: Yeah, I remember that you can really eat.
Moi: When did I eat a lot in front of you? I tried not to eat too much in public.
(old) Lisa: No, I've seen you eat a lot.
(new) Amy: You do!? We've got to have an eating contest.
Quite possibly the best morsel of food from our 'Best in the Country' dining services. This eggplan brie sandwich, which I've only had on three separate Common Good Days, pretty much makes the Bo's skyrocketing tuition worthwhile. We may have stolen eight of them. And those eight may or may not be sitting in our fridge right now.
View from the registration table I was stationed at, looking onto a piece of our quad and the renovated chapel.
A pair of legs, a curious Emily, and a sturdy oak. What more do you need me to say? Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) is holding her breath as Mike prepares to fart on her.
After our all-you-can-eat dinner tonight, (not that every meal in the dining hall isn't all-you-can-eat, but this was a free meal at an outside restaurant, thus making it extra special.) new and old roommates are discussing my eating habits.
(old) Lisa: Yeah, I remember that you can really eat.
Moi: When did I eat a lot in front of you? I tried not to eat too much in public.
(old) Lisa: No, I've seen you eat a lot.
(new) Amy: You do!? We've got to have an eating contest.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Yes, Dan
I hate it when I don't realize that there are crumbs to my lips until after I've applied my lip balm. Because then, when I try to lick the crumbs away, I just taste lip balm. Actually, wait, maybe that's not such a bad thing. This way tastes nice.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Wayback Machine Goes Back to School
A view outside of my aunt's apartment, from my first day in Ningxia.
The 'aunt,' her apartment is sandwiched between a middle school and an elementary school, ensuring that her walls always filled with echoes of the songs of sweet cherubs. This picture makes me glad that I am in my senior year at a ridiculously expensive private liberal arts college in New England instead of a public elementary school student in a communist country. No uniforms. Entrance exams. And most importantly, no gathering in the field at the same time every day, doing morning calisthenics to the same tired pop tunes day after day after day. A lot of big department stores and restaurants also like subject their employees to morning calisthenics, done collectively on the sidewalk, everyone in uniform, for all passerby to see. For all the sleepness lights and heavy course load this year, at least I'm not standing outside of any malls and there are no supervisors telling me told to put more spirit in my jumping jacks. That really makes college worthwhile.
The 'aunt,' her apartment is sandwiched between a middle school and an elementary school, ensuring that her walls always filled with echoes of the songs of sweet cherubs. This picture makes me glad that I am in my senior year at a ridiculously expensive private liberal arts college in New England instead of a public elementary school student in a communist country. No uniforms. Entrance exams. And most importantly, no gathering in the field at the same time every day, doing morning calisthenics to the same tired pop tunes day after day after day. A lot of big department stores and restaurants also like subject their employees to morning calisthenics, done collectively on the sidewalk, everyone in uniform, for all passerby to see. For all the sleepness lights and heavy course load this year, at least I'm not standing outside of any malls and there are no supervisors telling me told to put more spirit in my jumping jacks. That really makes college worthwhile.
Natural Selection
Today, before Band Man's seminar class, we're sitting around discussing physics. Or rather, I'm sharing how awful and draining Physics 104 is and Nuge is telling me that I should've taken Physics 50 instead. It's about music and not real physics.
Band Man: Who's teaching that?
(Conversation follows on how the professor that teaches it is nice and cool, and that not all physics professors are like that.)
Moi: Oh no, they're all nice professors. It's just the class that's evil.
Band Man: Who teaches your class?
Moi: [Na-coo-lick]
Band Man: Yeah, no, we don't like him.
Band Man: Who's teaching that?
(Conversation follows on how the professor that teaches it is nice and cool, and that not all physics professors are like that.)
Moi: Oh no, they're all nice professors. It's just the class that's evil.
Band Man: Who teaches your class?
Moi: [Na-coo-lick]
Band Man: Yeah, no, we don't like him.
And A Step to the Right
My question of the week: Favorite root vegetable?
Before you answer, remember that to qualify as a 'root vegetable,' the item must be both a root and a vegetable. Shallots, for instance, Tim's proud answer after many minutes of silent meditation, is a great example. Things that do not constitute as root vegetable (despite some ridiculous protests)? Peanut, pineapple, and pumpkin. Especially the pineapple, man, not even close.
It's been a crazy week. And the semester is just starting. The hours are just disappearing from me. I'm drastically cutting down on my updates. And life outside of work, classes, and physics problem sets in general.
Plus, my life is riddled with crises. There are too many freshmen for my little brain to wrap around. Mysterious hooks hang from my ceiling. And I have a new tendency to accidentally wear the same outfit as the people around me, most noticeably Roomate Amy (not to be confused with me) and of course, Vita-K.
On the plus side, I have yet to fall asleep reading in library this week. That may or may not be due to the fact that I haven't had the time to go to the library or do any of my readings this, but whatever. I'd like to focus on positive side.
Before you answer, remember that to qualify as a 'root vegetable,' the item must be both a root and a vegetable. Shallots, for instance, Tim's proud answer after many minutes of silent meditation, is a great example. Things that do not constitute as root vegetable (despite some ridiculous protests)? Peanut, pineapple, and pumpkin. Especially the pineapple, man, not even close.
It's been a crazy week. And the semester is just starting. The hours are just disappearing from me. I'm drastically cutting down on my updates. And life outside of work, classes, and physics problem sets in general.
Plus, my life is riddled with crises. There are too many freshmen for my little brain to wrap around. Mysterious hooks hang from my ceiling. And I have a new tendency to accidentally wear the same outfit as the people around me, most noticeably Roomate Amy (not to be confused with me) and of course, Vita-K.
On the plus side, I have yet to fall asleep reading in library this week. That may or may not be due to the fact that I haven't had the time to go to the library or do any of my readings this, but whatever. I'd like to focus on positive side.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
My Chums, My Chums
Like you'll read about below, there was a BCF co-sponsored showing of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe tonight. Despite her semester in Australia, New Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) had difficulty understanding the English. And that made me suddenly miss my British friends. So we're going to learn about some American friends of mine.
This is Tim. The cotton candy he is holding is made from all the leftovers on the side. It is stiff and not fluffy and in appearances, it is not unlike wall insulation. But this picture is also the happiest I have ever seen Tim, so I guess he digs the candy.
Tim's also a little paranoid. So I introduce him to New Roommate Amy...
Amy: The name sounds familiar, I think you've mentioned him before.
Tim: You have? I always sound bad when you mention me in a story.
Next we have Mr. Editor-in-Chief himself. Here, he is not taking pictures of underclassmen girls with his gigantic camera. Or at least he's doing it in the name of official paper business. Bobs is so smart that he can tell you everything you'd ever want to know, like why Tony Snow is not the White House press secretary. That's just a random question I thought of, but I bet Bobs could answer it, and many, many more.
Lastly we have Megan. I haven't seen her much this year and we haven't hung out, but she's wearing adorable boots. And posing as if she had just spotted a genuine Baltimore Oriole. Despite her stubborn loyalties to Moulton over Thorne, she's a great kid and one of my favorite juniors. Her cotton candy was pink, light, and fluffy- just like her, and the antithesis of Tim and his cotton candy.
This is Tim. The cotton candy he is holding is made from all the leftovers on the side. It is stiff and not fluffy and in appearances, it is not unlike wall insulation. But this picture is also the happiest I have ever seen Tim, so I guess he digs the candy.Tim's also a little paranoid. So I introduce him to New Roommate Amy...
Amy: The name sounds familiar, I think you've mentioned him before.
Tim: You have? I always sound bad when you mention me in a story.
Next we have Mr. Editor-in-Chief himself. Here, he is not taking pictures of underclassmen girls with his gigantic camera. Or at least he's doing it in the name of official paper business. Bobs is so smart that he can tell you everything you'd ever want to know, like why Tony Snow is not the White House press secretary. That's just a random question I thought of, but I bet Bobs could answer it, and many, many more.
Lastly we have Megan. I haven't seen her much this year and we haven't hung out, but she's wearing adorable boots. And posing as if she had just spotted a genuine Baltimore Oriole. Despite her stubborn loyalties to Moulton over Thorne, she's a great kid and one of my favorite juniors. Her cotton candy was pink, light, and fluffy- just like her, and the antithesis of Tim and his cotton candy.
The Parting Glass
I have eaten a heart attack, people. Actually, a heart attack and a half. And that is why, before I go to bed tonight, I am writing you this entry. For if it falls unto my lot that you should rise and I should not, then I'll getnly rise and softly call, good night and joy be with you all.
It all started with brunch here, at Grand City Variety. Grand City is the diner/variety store in town where the elderly love to frequent.
I did not take this picture. Amazing Photographer Drew ('06) did, I just stole it from google. For brunch, I had egg over easy, some extremely buttery white toast, home fries, and my favorite diner food ever- corned beef hash. For dessert, there was homemade apple pie a la mode. There's good diner food, then there's Grand Variety. I think the pie is the only thing there they actually made from scratch.
Then there was dinner. To start off, the establishment I ate at is called Fat Boy's. It's a drive-in greasy spoon that's cheap and part of a long local tradition.
These pictures would have been more fun had Mac and I not been ditched by everyone on their planet and their mothers for dinner. It's hard not to look like a stalker when you're snapping pictures and there's only one other person beside you. That's why I quickly took these and started chomping. Plus, it started raining. I had fries and a fried clam cake sandwich slathered generously with mayo and butter. And the thickest coffee frappe this side of the Mississippi. Note the use of 'frappes' instead of 'milkshake.' We're in New England, baby.
As if those two meals were not bad enough, there was a BCF co-sponsored movie tonight, and with it, cotton candy, buttery popcorn, and hot cider. And I may have bought some Pringles to "balance out the sweetness." Honestly, I am not sure if my heart will be ok. But hey, if my heart does fail, I'd be excused from my physics problem sets. So really, whatever should happen, it's a win-win situation.
It all started with brunch here, at Grand City Variety. Grand City is the diner/variety store in town where the elderly love to frequent.
I did not take this picture. Amazing Photographer Drew ('06) did, I just stole it from google. For brunch, I had egg over easy, some extremely buttery white toast, home fries, and my favorite diner food ever- corned beef hash. For dessert, there was homemade apple pie a la mode. There's good diner food, then there's Grand Variety. I think the pie is the only thing there they actually made from scratch.
Then there was dinner. To start off, the establishment I ate at is called Fat Boy's. It's a drive-in greasy spoon that's cheap and part of a long local tradition.
These pictures would have been more fun had Mac and I not been ditched by everyone on their planet and their mothers for dinner. It's hard not to look like a stalker when you're snapping pictures and there's only one other person beside you. That's why I quickly took these and started chomping. Plus, it started raining. I had fries and a fried clam cake sandwich slathered generously with mayo and butter. And the thickest coffee frappe this side of the Mississippi. Note the use of 'frappes' instead of 'milkshake.' We're in New England, baby.
As if those two meals were not bad enough, there was a BCF co-sponsored movie tonight, and with it, cotton candy, buttery popcorn, and hot cider. And I may have bought some Pringles to "balance out the sweetness." Honestly, I am not sure if my heart will be ok. But hey, if my heart does fail, I'd be excused from my physics problem sets. So really, whatever should happen, it's a win-win situation.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Missing a Little Sunshine
National Weather Service, I'm putting you on probation. You didn't lie per se. And I wasn't wet today, so thank you. But you did say it'd be very warm, and only cloudy in the morning. And that's why I wore a short skirt today. It was warm for a minute, National Weather Service, then it was very cold for a very long time. I was cold for a very long time.
But really, it's ok. I had a very good day today. Great food, movie, music, friends, lost things found, and yes, maybe even a little nap in the library (I've got to stop doing that).
Oh, and 'Why Do These Things Happen To Me? Story #772'
Me: Hi, I'm calling to make changes to an order I had placed for balloons earlier this week.
Clerk: Balloons? We don't do balloons, this is Hannaford's.
Me: Um, I know. I called yesterday and placed an order.
Clerk: Like helium balloons? We don't do that at Hannaford's.
Me: But I've already placed the order yesterday. I was told that I could pick up at the service center, so could you maybe transfer me to the service center?
Clerk: This is the service center.
Me: Could you check your records then? Because somebody took my order and I ordered something yesterday.
(Many more minutes of arguing over the phone as I provide clerk with information on when I called, what I ordered, and how much everything was... the woman still had no idea what I was talking about and luckily for me, all of her managers were busy. And no one she asked knew anything about the balloons. Or any balloons of any sort. And this is why Tesco's is going to take over the world, and not Hannaford's.)
But really, it's ok. I had a very good day today. Great food, movie, music, friends, lost things found, and yes, maybe even a little nap in the library (I've got to stop doing that).
Oh, and 'Why Do These Things Happen To Me? Story #772'
Me: Hi, I'm calling to make changes to an order I had placed for balloons earlier this week.
Clerk: Balloons? We don't do balloons, this is Hannaford's.
Me: Um, I know. I called yesterday and placed an order.
Clerk: Like helium balloons? We don't do that at Hannaford's.
Me: But I've already placed the order yesterday. I was told that I could pick up at the service center, so could you maybe transfer me to the service center?
Clerk: This is the service center.
Me: Could you check your records then? Because somebody took my order and I ordered something yesterday.
(Many more minutes of arguing over the phone as I provide clerk with information on when I called, what I ordered, and how much everything was... the woman still had no idea what I was talking about and luckily for me, all of her managers were busy. And no one she asked knew anything about the balloons. Or any balloons of any sort. And this is why Tesco's is going to take over the world, and not Hannaford's.)
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Law & Order
At the science library, trying to check out a book on longitudes because Walty said so...
Librarian 1: It says here that this book is reserved by Professor Battle for 2000.
Moi: Does that mean we have to duke it out for the book?
Librarian 1: Yes, it does. You have to settle this with a fight.
Moi: Will there be mud involved?
Librarian 2: Well, we usually meet on Saturday afternoons in the back. It's a surprise medium every week, so sometimes it's mud, but it could also be jello or spaghetti sauce.
I love smart mouth librarian kids.
Later in the evening, at the BCF "speed dating" event, Tim is sitting there with two freshmen girls hanging on to almost all of his words...
Moi: So you guys are listening to Tim's advice on econ classes? That's so cute.
Tim: I'm probably the wrong person to ask.
Freshman Girl: What? You're interested in law enforcement? Like a cop?
Librarian 1: It says here that this book is reserved by Professor Battle for 2000.
Moi: Does that mean we have to duke it out for the book?
Librarian 1: Yes, it does. You have to settle this with a fight.
Moi: Will there be mud involved?
Librarian 2: Well, we usually meet on Saturday afternoons in the back. It's a surprise medium every week, so sometimes it's mud, but it could also be jello or spaghetti sauce.
I love smart mouth librarian kids.
Later in the evening, at the BCF "speed dating" event, Tim is sitting there with two freshmen girls hanging on to almost all of his words...
Moi: So you guys are listening to Tim's advice on econ classes? That's so cute.
Tim: I'm probably the wrong person to ask.
Freshman Girl: What? You're interested in law enforcement? Like a cop?
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Sleepless in Senior Year
In a meeting this morning, my professor asked if I was still asleep. It was a one-on-one meeting. He then broke out in laughter, presumably directed at me. And I'm not even in his class this semester. Oh, Walty. Just when one professor stops making fun of me, another steps right in.
In the library this afternoon, I dozed off many a times and tried to wake myself up by switching seats every few pages. There are a lot of comfortable chairs on the third floor (where my senior carrel is). And finally, I fell asleep on one of them until Tim walked by.
And all through out today, I just kept thinking, "No, today can't possibly be a bad day. I haven't even had a full week of classes. These things aren't really happening to me."
In other news, I cut through iron today.
(In the lab, miraculously, as a Lab Assistant)
Me: Do you have some wire cutters for these?
Martha (the lab instructor): I'll see if I can find some scissors for you.
Me: What, I can't just use my teeth?
Martha: No, you can't. (Then leans in to whisper) Ok, you can, just not in front of my students.
And that's why, despite the sleepless nights, I'm working in the lab.
In the library this afternoon, I dozed off many a times and tried to wake myself up by switching seats every few pages. There are a lot of comfortable chairs on the third floor (where my senior carrel is). And finally, I fell asleep on one of them until Tim walked by.
And all through out today, I just kept thinking, "No, today can't possibly be a bad day. I haven't even had a full week of classes. These things aren't really happening to me."
In other news, I cut through iron today.
(In the lab, miraculously, as a Lab Assistant)
Me: Do you have some wire cutters for these?
Martha (the lab instructor): I'll see if I can find some scissors for you.
Me: What, I can't just use my teeth?
Martha: No, you can't. (Then leans in to whisper) Ok, you can, just not in front of my students.
And that's why, despite the sleepless nights, I'm working in the lab.
To the Victor
Tonight, I put on the kettle (instead of microwaving water) and made some green tea. Then I pulled out my adorable pink thermos and unscrewed it for the first time since last December. Big mistake. Probably should have cleaned it out sooner. Because I had forgotten to take the tea bag out in all those months. The tea didn't actually go moldy, no, that was fine, but it was my British way of drinking it that got me in trouble. You know how milk smells sour after a few weeks? Yeah, try nine months.
Moi: When you were in Australia, did they use the kettle a lot?
Amy: Yeah! They loved it over there! I used it all the time.
What is it with these countries and the Queen and the kettle?
Moi: When you were in Australia, did they use the kettle a lot?
Amy: Yeah! They loved it over there! I used it all the time.
What is it with these countries and the Queen and the kettle?
Monday, September 04, 2006
Whether the Weather be Fine...
Weather.com, I go to you for a reason. For two reasons, actually. One, because weatherunderground has poor graphics and two, to know what the weather will be like. Like many people in this fair land, the weather affects me greatly. Not so much because I work the land, but because I ride a bike to classes and my bike has no mud guard. And, I decide whether to wear a raincoat or not depending on the weather. And let me just say, I am very disappointed in you. You promised no rain, yet I got caught wet with my bike two days running. You're the weather channel! It's your only job! Oh the empty promises and lies!
Sunday, September 03, 2006
BANG!
Sorry to have worried you guys. Even though I haven't updated for awhile, I am still alive. And indeed, I am up north now at the Bo', with the moose and the lobsters and the only Maine Street in the US of A. I have moved in, classes have started, but I am not completely unpacked. Already, I have bought the wrong text book and consequently did the wrong reading (Mac's response: "How do you buy a wrong textbook? Not even freshmen do that."), forgotten to send an attachment to a professor when I said I would, and asked for an extension on a report. I am right on track for being a suave senior. Also, I live in the Bat Cave. My bedroom has no windows. I wake up in darkness every single morning. But don't feel sorry for me, because my cave is quite big. Oh, and I may have had a dream that I was distantly related to Chien-Ming Wang and got to meet him, which made me very happy and would have made up for an entire summer of meeting incredibly random and non-baseball affliliated relatives had it not all been a dream.
It's busy. It's tiring. But it's also going to be an awesome senior year. Hope all's well on your end, and that those who are seeking are finding, that way, I'll have one more reason to be excited for seeing Boston when break comes.
It's busy. It's tiring. But it's also going to be an awesome senior year. Hope all's well on your end, and that those who are seeking are finding, that way, I'll have one more reason to be excited for seeing Boston when break comes.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Like It's Hot
We joke a lot about how studious Mac is. Give him a hard time for spending too much time with the books, ignoring his friends, and generally never having any fun. And now, this delicious story from Bobby, roommate of Mac two years running. Last year, their toilet was clogged for awhile. No one knew why. Well, there were many hypotheses but no one was sure. Until the plumber came. And removed a pencil from the toilet. Yes, someone had dropped a pencil into the john. It takes a brave man to face up to such an act, but a brave man he is. Mac admitted to doing his homework on the toilet, and maybe dropping in a pencil at the same time.
I missed so much last semester.
I missed so much last semester.
Monday, August 28, 2006
My Summer Pie
I am leaving the 'burbs for the 'Bo in about an hour. And I am still not completely packed yet, though I'm not sure what I've forgotten to pack. I guess I'll just have to be surprised when I get on campus. Hey, look, my TI-86. I think I need to pack that. But before I put that and Dakota the Computer away, some farewells.
Goodbye hard coffin bed of China, mosquitoes, and being woken up by phone calls from relatives every God-forsaken morning. Goodbye cousins, first, second, and third, aunts and uncles distant and near. Goodbye squatters square and oval, and grounds in the hole- I think I hate you. Goodbye Ningxia lamb, taxi rides, and lima bean porridge- only one of you will be fondly missed. Goodbye Chinese card games, magic tricks, junk food, and the folks I shared them with- you guys got me through the summer. And goodbye receipts- I have no reason to keep you.
Goodbye to my luxurious life at home- sleeping late, showers, and sudoku, feeling lethargic, eating leftovers, being lowkey. Air conditioning, softest bedding, very, very light reading.
Hello to endless hours transcribing, reading, writing, in the lab, on the computer, without sleep but among friends. Band Man, Riles, 104, and bio lab reports- I'm not ready, but here I come.
Goodbye hard coffin bed of China, mosquitoes, and being woken up by phone calls from relatives every God-forsaken morning. Goodbye cousins, first, second, and third, aunts and uncles distant and near. Goodbye squatters square and oval, and grounds in the hole- I think I hate you. Goodbye Ningxia lamb, taxi rides, and lima bean porridge- only one of you will be fondly missed. Goodbye Chinese card games, magic tricks, junk food, and the folks I shared them with- you guys got me through the summer. And goodbye receipts- I have no reason to keep you.
Goodbye to my luxurious life at home- sleeping late, showers, and sudoku, feeling lethargic, eating leftovers, being lowkey. Air conditioning, softest bedding, very, very light reading.
Hello to endless hours transcribing, reading, writing, in the lab, on the computer, without sleep but among friends. Band Man, Riles, 104, and bio lab reports- I'm not ready, but here I come.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
It's Not Easy
Sweet and sour ribs ain't easy. But Mother makes the best kind. Just as Dan's mother is queen supreme over cookies, so Mother makes the best sweet and sour ribs I know. They're not like the restaurant kind. Or the kind other moms make. They're dark, dark brown and wonderful. So this week, I asked Mother to make them. And today, she gave in, after letting us eat nothing but leftovers for one too many meals.
Her recipe is simple. Ribs, soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, and a bit of ketchup. Today, the bottle of normal ketchup (i.e. supermarket brand red ketchup) was mostly empty, so Mother tried something adventurous. She reached for the bottle of green Heinz ketchup I miraculously convinced her into buying a few years back, during a period in my life when I thought green ketchup was cool. ("But we've had that ketchup for years, I was still in high school!" I said. "So? Ketchup doesn't go bad.") Because my mother is freaking awesome and thought well, green ribs will taste the same anyway, and maybe the change will look cool.
Unfortunately, it didn't. And no amount of soy sauce or the last vestiges of normal ketchup could save it. The ribs tasted fine (a little off the A-game today, too much ketchup, but great nevertheless) but looking at it, I felt like I was eating rotten meat. Forgive me for being unimaginative, but that's the only other circumstance when I've seen green meat.
Her recipe is simple. Ribs, soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, and a bit of ketchup. Today, the bottle of normal ketchup (i.e. supermarket brand red ketchup) was mostly empty, so Mother tried something adventurous. She reached for the bottle of green Heinz ketchup I miraculously convinced her into buying a few years back, during a period in my life when I thought green ketchup was cool. ("But we've had that ketchup for years, I was still in high school!" I said. "So? Ketchup doesn't go bad.") Because my mother is freaking awesome and thought well, green ribs will taste the same anyway, and maybe the change will look cool.
Unfortunately, it didn't. And no amount of soy sauce or the last vestiges of normal ketchup could save it. The ribs tasted fine (a little off the A-game today, too much ketchup, but great nevertheless) but looking at it, I felt like I was eating rotten meat. Forgive me for being unimaginative, but that's the only other circumstance when I've seen green meat.
Peter Pockets
We have a ping pong table in the basement. In fact, my father cares about ping pong so much that he bought a ping pong server just so he can play against the machine instead of be disappointed with the poor athletic acumen of his offspring. We also have a washer and dryer in the basement. And because we don't care for ping pong as deeply as my father, we often dump the contents of our pockets there when we're about to do laundry. It's not uncommmon to find tissues, spare change, little plastic toys, and scraps of paper on the ping pong table after one of us has done laundry. I like to scoop up the change and keep it for myself.
This morning, I went downstairs to finally claim my clean clothes from the dryer after four days and discovered these items on the table. I think they belong to my brother:
An old hatchet. A plastic bag. An orange CD case in three pieces. An unopened envelope containing what is presumed to be a bill. And the top two tips of some decorative and harmless spear. A black leather belt. A fork. And a copy of WIRED magazine.
He must have really big pockets.
This morning, I went downstairs to finally claim my clean clothes from the dryer after four days and discovered these items on the table. I think they belong to my brother:
An old hatchet. A plastic bag. An orange CD case in three pieces. An unopened envelope containing what is presumed to be a bill. And the top two tips of some decorative and harmless spear. A black leather belt. A fork. And a copy of WIRED magazine.
He must have really big pockets.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Wayback Machine #12
These pictures come from my first day in Beijing, before I went into the northwest. My mother and I visited Tian Tan (the heavenly palace) and then the National Palace Museum. The first two pictures are from Tian Tan and I hardly took any pictures in the Museum. Mostly, I was just hot, tired, and sick of the paint fumes. I would have gladly traded the history lessons and the thousands-year-old artifacts for a nice cup of bubble tea and kept telling my mother that, but she wouldn't listen. Something about once-in-a-lifetime opportunities and appreciating your roots. I don't know. The last picture is from the People's Square, across from the Palace Museum. I had seen that image many times elsewhere, in movies, on TV, and in books and finally there I was, standing by the square. And it occured to me then, "I'm really in China." Then, a second later, I realized that being outside wasn't a quarter as nice as being in the AC'ed car and wanted back in. But no, we went to the Palace Museum instead.
Come On, Party People
I am not cut out for party planning. Last week, Tim and his Chu brothers (though we did not know all of them as that at the time) hosted a few Boston BCF'ers for a most excellent barbecue. By the way, spellcheck just wanted me to replace BCF'ers with bugbears. Awesome. Anyway, it was a great affair and our only regret was that it was too short and we didn't do enough catching up.
So, this week, with Tim finally out of the State, I suggested we all hang out again, this time to catch up some more and talk about the Chus. I, of course, don't actually live in Boston, so I came up with the grand idea of having Ranwei both host and cook for us. Because I am generous and great at planning like that.
Fastforward now, to the night of the event. Ranwei and I are sitting in her room, watching the Food Network and waiting for folks to arrive:
Ranwei: So who's coming? People got back to you, right?
Moi: Oh. I don't know. I assumed they'd tell you, since we're at your place.
Ranwei: I didn't call anybody. I thought you were organizing.
Moi: Oh.
In the end, our lovely get-together consisted of four whole people. And watching Lethal Weapon I on Spike TV. And listening to nerdy Greydon explain how Snakes on a Plane is more fun if you bring your own copy of the audience participation script with you and teach all you fellow theater patrons ahead of time. Did I mention that he works with computers? To salvage the night, Ranwei offered us peach crisp with hand-picked peaches from Outlook Farm. The crisp was splendiferous.
After all that poor planning, walking to the T-station, I just happened to see my roommate-to-be. Out of all the people and all the places in the greater Boston area, I bump into Amy. It was amazing. And once again, proof that God plans things a lot better than I do. Maybe from now on, I'll assign the party planning to Him.
So, this week, with Tim finally out of the State, I suggested we all hang out again, this time to catch up some more and talk about the Chus. I, of course, don't actually live in Boston, so I came up with the grand idea of having Ranwei both host and cook for us. Because I am generous and great at planning like that.
Fastforward now, to the night of the event. Ranwei and I are sitting in her room, watching the Food Network and waiting for folks to arrive:
Ranwei: So who's coming? People got back to you, right?
Moi: Oh. I don't know. I assumed they'd tell you, since we're at your place.
Ranwei: I didn't call anybody. I thought you were organizing.
Moi: Oh.
In the end, our lovely get-together consisted of four whole people. And watching Lethal Weapon I on Spike TV. And listening to nerdy Greydon explain how Snakes on a Plane is more fun if you bring your own copy of the audience participation script with you and teach all you fellow theater patrons ahead of time. Did I mention that he works with computers? To salvage the night, Ranwei offered us peach crisp with hand-picked peaches from Outlook Farm. The crisp was splendiferous.
After all that poor planning, walking to the T-station, I just happened to see my roommate-to-be. Out of all the people and all the places in the greater Boston area, I bump into Amy. It was amazing. And once again, proof that God plans things a lot better than I do. Maybe from now on, I'll assign the party planning to Him.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Laughter's Labor Lost
At dinner with family and Friends of Brother-
Friend O'Brother: In sewing class in middle school, we learned to make boxers and [I forget what she else said].
Moi: Yeah, I made boxers, too! I made boxers and a pillow.
Brother: When I was little, I sewed Nike sneakers at school. And on top of that, they paid me 14 cents a day. It was awesome.
Moi: That's 'cause you weren't good at math, or else they would have promoted you to the crack class. That's what I got to do.
Brother: Sweatshop jokes are funny.
Friend O'Brother: In sewing class in middle school, we learned to make boxers and [I forget what she else said].
Moi: Yeah, I made boxers, too! I made boxers and a pillow.
Brother: When I was little, I sewed Nike sneakers at school. And on top of that, they paid me 14 cents a day. It was awesome.
Moi: That's 'cause you weren't good at math, or else they would have promoted you to the crack class. That's what I got to do.
Brother: Sweatshop jokes are funny.
Wayback Machine #11
Beijing, China. Middle of June.
Chinese city-dwellers love parks and public squares. It's where they go to stroll, hang out, and cool off instead of turn on the freaking air conditioning. (To be fair, I had an aunt who was good about turning on the AC, but she was evil and made awful porridges so I still didn't like going to her house.) The parks can be quite crowded anytime past 6pm on a summer evening. The elderly especially like congregating in parks to dance, practice Tai-Chi, and socialize, early in the morning and/or at night. It's quite common, and always adorable, to see large groups of old women and men moving to music. Here, in Tian Tan, a slightly more sophisticated group (they've got fans) is striking a pose for me.
Chinese city-dwellers love parks and public squares. It's where they go to stroll, hang out, and cool off instead of turn on the freaking air conditioning. (To be fair, I had an aunt who was good about turning on the AC, but she was evil and made awful porridges so I still didn't like going to her house.) The parks can be quite crowded anytime past 6pm on a summer evening. The elderly especially like congregating in parks to dance, practice Tai-Chi, and socialize, early in the morning and/or at night. It's quite common, and always adorable, to see large groups of old women and men moving to music. Here, in Tian Tan, a slightly more sophisticated group (they've got fans) is striking a pose for me.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
"Suffer a Little, Save a Lot"
Not only does Building #19 sell 'slightly' expired foods at low costs, it also manufactures its own cereal. Cereal that my mother happily purchased. That's right, we are the proud owners of the breakfast of cheapskates. This Jerry-O box is actually the 'new and improved' version. The original had a topless Jerry which consumers complained about, and no random synchronized swimmers.Note how they put no effort into the re-drawing but simply scribbled some brown over the original naked body.
Sarah: Did your mom buy this as a joke?
Moi: Oh, I wish she did.
Monday, August 21, 2006
No Adspace Unturned
I snapped this in Shuzhou, China, about an hour's drive from Shanghai. That's classy, McDonald's, very classy. Advertising on tricycles.
Hairspray, Meet Gospell
This is my father's hair on a Sunday night, when the hair is at its messiest and my father at his most tired. The last time his hair was this long he was about my age, and thought the long hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and mustache looked good on him. I thank God daily that my mother was able to look past the ridiculous surface and marry him. He would have much preferred another picture, which showed a bit of his face and the Reader's Digest condensed novel he was reading, but hey, it's not his blog to decide. At this point on Sunday night, the radio reports on the Red Sox were still bringing comfort to his weary soul.
About three years ago, my father started a new church. Not a new church in the way of the Rev. Sun Jung Moon, but a plant church to the one he was pastoring at. The original church was in Massachusetts, and seeing the ever growing Chinese population across the border, my father felt called to establish a church in New Hampshire, the first Chinese church in the area.
Now, many moons have passed and it is time for the church to seek a building of its own instead of renting space from a local church. In fact, the church urgently needs a building of its own for growth and for the fact that the space they're using is to be torn down and renovated very, very soon. A few times these past months, they came close to finding their ideal church, but in the end, the deals always fell through. It has been some intense months of prayer for my parents and as a sign to his rather moderate congregation of how serious and committed he is about finding a church building, my father has announced that he is not getting a haircut until his church has a new, permanent home.
Styling tips and prayers welcomed.
Moi: So what do your congregants think about your hair?
Father: They're afraid to comment.
About three years ago, my father started a new church. Not a new church in the way of the Rev. Sun Jung Moon, but a plant church to the one he was pastoring at. The original church was in Massachusetts, and seeing the ever growing Chinese population across the border, my father felt called to establish a church in New Hampshire, the first Chinese church in the area.
Now, many moons have passed and it is time for the church to seek a building of its own instead of renting space from a local church. In fact, the church urgently needs a building of its own for growth and for the fact that the space they're using is to be torn down and renovated very, very soon. A few times these past months, they came close to finding their ideal church, but in the end, the deals always fell through. It has been some intense months of prayer for my parents and as a sign to his rather moderate congregation of how serious and committed he is about finding a church building, my father has announced that he is not getting a haircut until his church has a new, permanent home.
Styling tips and prayers welcomed.
Moi: So what do your congregants think about your hair?
Father: They're afraid to comment.
Lion's Mane
A shot of my mother's hair. It is black, almost always curled, and its colour changes by the day between gradients of brown, black, and gray. Her hair is among the shortest in my family, second only to me. She hates to be photographed and would rather be concentrating on the DVD of My Own Swordsman that I bought her.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Oh My Darlie
These toothpastes have long been known to, and made fun of by the Asian expat community the world over, or visitors to Asia. But for my sheltered friends, I bring you these pictures I snapped in Taiwan. Darlie Toothpaste. In Chinese, the brand translates to 'Black Man Toothpaste' (Hence the White Man ripoff below). In less PC times, the picture of the black man was more offensive, and Darlie was called Darkie. But we've moved on since then. And now, Darlie doesn't just come in the plain yellow tube it was offered in for decades, but all kinds of snazzy packaging and flavours, like herbal, special whitening, peroxide, and whatever the blue and gray box says.
White Man's Burden
Once upon a time, my brother gave Mother a book as a present. And now he's asking for it back, because she never reads it anyway and he'd like to. My mother, behaving in an equally classy manner, cannot locate the book, recall what it looked like, or even repeat the title. She's never even read the whole cover.
Oh, the picture. A ripoff of the well-established Darlie brand toothpaste, long-popular all over Asia. White men or dark men, the toothpastes are used by Taiwanese folks like me.
Oh, the picture. A ripoff of the well-established Darlie brand toothpaste, long-popular all over Asia. White men or dark men, the toothpastes are used by Taiwanese folks like me.
Rock-a-bye Ranwei
"Yeah, Tim likes older women."
Said Ranwei, referring to herself, Ellie, and me. Tim's brother had innocently asked if we'd all graduated (Tim hasn't), and out came Ranwei's reply, followed by awkward chuckles all around.
Best inappropriate line of the summer.
Said Ranwei, referring to herself, Ellie, and me. Tim's brother had innocently asked if we'd all graduated (Tim hasn't), and out came Ranwei's reply, followed by awkward chuckles all around.
Best inappropriate line of the summer.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
The Last Supper
The night before I left for home, in those last wee hours of the darkness, the mosquitoes of Beijing feasted on my body and blood one last time before we parted ways. No one knows the hour I'd return again, not even me. That had a certain blasphemous ring to it. I'm sorry. But I digress. It wasn't just one last sumptuous for the gang of mosquitoes, there was a show as well. The Itchy & Scratchy Show. Which kept me up for most of the night, so that I was only really asleep for three hours tops. That, however, was time aplenty for them to partake of my blood.
Here are some of the damage:
Three on the right forearm.
And three on the left back arm.
Plus one to the right elbow, one to the left forearm (they're symmetrical, you see), one on the back of each hand, five on the fingers, and three on the palms. And just so the legs don't feel left out, one on each thigh. These were not just mosquitoes at work, they must have been operating in conjunction with some other bugs. I mean, who bites the palms of the hands?! Oh, and these were not normal insects we were dealing with, in case you couldn't figure out by the twenty-one bites in three hours, but they're special action movie terrorist bugs. Because they either flew in through the window at nine floors high, or came in through the air ducts of the air conditioning that never worked (hence the plethora of bugs), either way, very cunning of the bugs. And either way, I've been in miserable itching pain for the past three days.
In other news, the old and infested hotel-dormitory that I stayed at the last night was my cousin's place (I got the place to myself because she was gone for the weekend, which meant that I alone suffered through the bugs) and she had the tiniest roll of toilet paper I'd ever seen. It was adorable. And soft. And made me feel like I was wiping with gauze bandages.
Here are some of the damage:
Three on the right forearm.
And three on the left back arm.
Plus one to the right elbow, one to the left forearm (they're symmetrical, you see), one on the back of each hand, five on the fingers, and three on the palms. And just so the legs don't feel left out, one on each thigh. These were not just mosquitoes at work, they must have been operating in conjunction with some other bugs. I mean, who bites the palms of the hands?! Oh, and these were not normal insects we were dealing with, in case you couldn't figure out by the twenty-one bites in three hours, but they're special action movie terrorist bugs. Because they either flew in through the window at nine floors high, or came in through the air ducts of the air conditioning that never worked (hence the plethora of bugs), either way, very cunning of the bugs. And either way, I've been in miserable itching pain for the past three days.
In other news, the old and infested hotel-dormitory that I stayed at the last night was my cousin's place (I got the place to myself because she was gone for the weekend, which meant that I alone suffered through the bugs) and she had the tiniest roll of toilet paper I'd ever seen. It was adorable. And soft. And made me feel like I was wiping with gauze bandages.
Sticking It To The Cat
Finally, some pictures from Chinar. Eventually, I hope to post a lot more here, when the wireless signal at home doesn't fail me every other second. And I'll post even more on my flickr site. What? Didn't know I had a flickr account? Oops.
This is my boy Pamn. He is my grandfather's late sister's great grandson. Or my mother's cousin's grandson. I don't know what that makes him and me. Second cousins? I always forget what a second cousin actually is, and just label whoever I can't think of a second cousin. I've only met him twice, but both times he was very well-behaved adorable and wearing this shirt. I like it. Pamn. It's got attitude, challenging the authority of all the so-called 'legitimate' brands. A curse to them and a knockoff all in one. PAMN!
This is Pamn's great uncle to the left and the headless body to the right is Pamn's grandfather. And that's a whole lamb in the middle, that they brought when the whole group of them came to visit. And conveniently split right in the kitchen so the lamb would fit into the fridge. And that's blood you see, dripping on our kitchen floor. The whole splitting of the meat took less than ten minutes. These people are really, really good at their butchering. It was just one of many, many, many whole dead lambs I saw in my time in Chinar.
This is my boy Pamn. He is my grandfather's late sister's great grandson. Or my mother's cousin's grandson. I don't know what that makes him and me. Second cousins? I always forget what a second cousin actually is, and just label whoever I can't think of a second cousin. I've only met him twice, but both times he was very well-behaved adorable and wearing this shirt. I like it. Pamn. It's got attitude, challenging the authority of all the so-called 'legitimate' brands. A curse to them and a knockoff all in one. PAMN!
This is Pamn's great uncle to the left and the headless body to the right is Pamn's grandfather. And that's a whole lamb in the middle, that they brought when the whole group of them came to visit. And conveniently split right in the kitchen so the lamb would fit into the fridge. And that's blood you see, dripping on our kitchen floor. The whole splitting of the meat took less than ten minutes. These people are really, really good at their butchering. It was just one of many, many, many whole dead lambs I saw in my time in Chinar.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Welcome Back, Blogger
I heart Japan. And its tolerant government that allows me to see my blog for the first time in over two months as I try to kill time during my layover. Hooray sketchy wireless network that allows me to not use the pricey* Narita Airport connection. O, the risks I go to for you, blogger.
*I'm not actually sure if it's pricey or not. I don't know the exchange rate. I just assume that it is, since we're in Japan. And I buy things from airport cafes and boutiques with reckless abandon, just guessing at the prices until it's printed for me on my credit card receipt. I. Love. Grants.
in other news, I'm pretty sure these are my last few hours in a squatter country and I'm pretty psyched all around. I'll catch you on the flush, I mean, flip side of the globe.
*I'm not actually sure if it's pricey or not. I don't know the exchange rate. I just assume that it is, since we're in Japan. And I buy things from airport cafes and boutiques with reckless abandon, just guessing at the prices until it's printed for me on my credit card receipt. I. Love. Grants.
in other news, I'm pretty sure these are my last few hours in a squatter country and I'm pretty psyched all around. I'll catch you on the flush, I mean, flip side of the globe.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Fisher of Men
When I say that this is a godless country, I do not mean it as an insult. I am not intoning anything else. Godless country. No public and free faiths or religions. Especially in an isolated region like here, most people have very little encounter with religions.
And so when I pulled out my dad's card to show my two nephews (adorable twins entering seventh grade), they got a bit confused. They had been excited to examine all the contents of my wallet, to go through the ID cards and paper bits, and to find that my dad's name card was in two laguages.
"Pastor?" They read the Chinese portion aloud. "He's a pastor?!" They asked again. Just like it is in English, the Chinese word for pastor has roots from the word 'pastoral.' Thus, making the connections in their own heads, they asked in a slightly disappointed voice, as if they had bigger hopes for Father, "Well, what does he herd, sheep or cattle?"
"No, no. A pastor takes care of people, not cattle."
And so when I pulled out my dad's card to show my two nephews (adorable twins entering seventh grade), they got a bit confused. They had been excited to examine all the contents of my wallet, to go through the ID cards and paper bits, and to find that my dad's name card was in two laguages.
"Pastor?" They read the Chinese portion aloud. "He's a pastor?!" They asked again. Just like it is in English, the Chinese word for pastor has roots from the word 'pastoral.' Thus, making the connections in their own heads, they asked in a slightly disappointed voice, as if they had bigger hopes for Father, "Well, what does he herd, sheep or cattle?"
"No, no. A pastor takes care of people, not cattle."
Shining Shimmering Splendor
I think I'm ready to go home to the States (T-3 days), then I check my email and read a story like this in the NY Times. And I think 'Huh? What country or planet are these people from?' (May have to sign-in for the link- so it's for pretentious readers only.) I forget sometimes that the Times don't actually talk about real people. Oh, and Israel? Lebanon? Lieberman? What? The only news heavily discussed here is the ever-lowering price of watermelons. Really, these may be the cheapest watermelons anywhere in the world. It's too bad that I chose watermelons as my least favorite fruit. I have to disappoint people by turning down their watermelon slices, chunks, and halves at least four times a day.
In other news: I am so done with squatters. And countries with weak flush systems (that means you too, UK). Just 3 more days.
In other news: I am so done with squatters. And countries with weak flush systems (that means you too, UK). Just 3 more days.
Monday, August 07, 2006
No Room for Proctor
You know all that crap you hear about how the Chinese people value their families a lot? I know Mr. Duffet liked to talk about it, and always turned to me expectantly and asked for me to concur. I think he half-expected me to bow when I said yes. You know what my relatives do when they get together? Gamble and drink. That pretty much sums it up. Sometimes, they throw in some karaoke, but gambling and drinking covers most of it. Sometimes, there is food. But have I mentioned gambling and drinking? Chinese families are not very suitable for young children.
And how have I adjusted to all this? I am fed a lot of beer. And I turn down even more cups of beer, though I manage to slip off the hook when it comes to the vile spirits that they drink. And yes, even in China, people like to laugh when your face turns red after a few sips of beer. I do not play mah-jongg, because I'd lose too much that way, but have learned a couple of popular games with playing cards that I manage to be halfway decent with. And I always pretend I don't understand what they're talking about when they start mentioning playing for money.
In other news, I saw an authentic, traditional Chinese wedding in the farmlands, a badminton competition, and lots of people burning incense in hopes of receiving a son, but not all at once.
And how have I adjusted to all this? I am fed a lot of beer. And I turn down even more cups of beer, though I manage to slip off the hook when it comes to the vile spirits that they drink. And yes, even in China, people like to laugh when your face turns red after a few sips of beer. I do not play mah-jongg, because I'd lose too much that way, but have learned a couple of popular games with playing cards that I manage to be halfway decent with. And I always pretend I don't understand what they're talking about when they start mentioning playing for money.
In other news, I saw an authentic, traditional Chinese wedding in the farmlands, a badminton competition, and lots of people burning incense in hopes of receiving a son, but not all at once.
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