These Words Are Not Mine

Totally slipped today and yo'd Whitecastle, as in, "Have a goodnight, yo." I caught myself half way and sort of mumbled the end, so it sounded more like "Have a goodnight, you." I believe that makes it more awkward, not less. If only I could translate my awkwardity into a marketable skill. I'd swim in coins a la McDuck.

And that wasn't even the dumbest thing that I committed today. I was in the medical library today when all the sudden, two clicks came over the PA system-- the PA system that no one even knew the library had-- so everyone knew it had to be important. "Attention library patrons," and imagine my surprise when they announced my name. Well, almost my name. There was a "Doctor" before it (I must admit, it sounded very nice). They uttered the page twice. First, I thought it was a funny coincidence. Then I realized that they wanted me and started freaking out. What could be so important that I'd need to be paged to the front desk? Not email. Not cellphone. They had somehow tracked me down into the library? Then the librarian announced that my ID was at the Circulation Desk. All fears fled at that moment and mortification set in as I made the walk of shame down and everyone that saw me along the way smirked, knowing exactly who I was. Well, almost exactly. They think I'm a doctor. (It's because of my hospital badge, though anyone who actually works there would know with one glance that I'm staff, not doctor)

Magical Flute

Oh, Leon Leonwood. Your clothes are not cheap. And quite often, they're not very pretty. But they sure are sturdy (and they keep you warm in Maine, a magical land where there's no stigma attached to wearing winter coats). Whne they're not sturdy, L.L. Bean has just about the greatest customer service in the world. They'll mend, replace, or exchange items for you simply because they care. A couple of weeks ago, I had a raincoat that I love, one of those few things from the Bean that actually looks good, that needed some fixing. The waterproof material was stripping away on the hood, so I asked the good folks in Freeport to take a look. Sadly, they could not fix it, but offered me store credit to replace it. Actually, the guy offered me more than credit. I had bought the raincoat on sale at an outlet store, but he knowingly offered me full price so I could have an easier time finding a comparable coat. My knees buckled a little when he did that. In a world where I'm constantly put on hold trying to talk to a live person, it's refreshing that Leon and his descendants are so decent.

Taxi Driver

It happened again. I was walking out of the T station, at least three other East Asians in front of me, when I was pulled over by a lost old man. Do you speak Chinese, he asked. And well, I do. At least three others in front of me.

I later relayed this story to coworker Joyce (at a not-at-all-awkward work function), who sometimes receives my emails and vice versa, and she told me that she's never been asked that question, ever, in all her commuting days. Joyce is at least 10 years more Taiwanese than I am. People apparently think she's Japanese. Sensing my exasperation, Joyce tried to comfort me by saying that perhaps it's my friendly face that makes people ask me. And that she thinks I look more like an ABC. Neither of those tidbits were actually comforting.

Now for the last time, white people, I am proud of my heritage and happy with my looks. I am just puzzled as to why I look more Chinese than anyone I know. And extremely annoyed that my face seems to say "A Hearty Welcome to You and Your Family from Your Local Chinese Reception Committee Representative. "

One Day at a Time

Lately, I feel like I've been exclaiming "what the hell?" and "what is wrong with you?" a lot.  Neither are very original and I'm trying to cut the habit.  Last week, I only got to Monday without asking either of those two questions (Mack truck hitting your car does that to you).  And this week, with the long weekend, I managed to get to Tuesday before I asked those 2 questions many, many times.  Here's looking at a new week. 

Also, I'm driving and walking around fine, but cars freak me out a little now.  Funny how accidents do that to you.

Class Act

The BP staff has a bad habit of looking like college catalogs whenever they/we hang out. We didn't even do this on purpose. This post actually isn't about these folks, 3 of whom I'd met for the first time on Saturday night. This is about the before. When D-Bomb, Kat, and I attended to a wedding of another BP vet. We were dressed much classier than these folks and had an awesome time laughing at the wedding. Then came the reception and little plates of salad. Everyone around us, it seemed, ate theirs with ease. But we couldn't figure out how to eat the little cherry tomatoes. Well, we saw that Amy ate hers with her fingers. And her boyfriend Phillip, who we'd just met, awesomely reached over Amy to eat cucumbers off of D-bomb's plate. It was the funniest and most impudent moves I'd seen in a long time. Without a word to anyone, he just reached over while D-Bomb and Amy were talking and started eating cucumbers.

Moi: How did they all eat the tomatoes? She even cut hers.

D-Bomb: I think you scoop it? Or maybe stab it with a fork.

Moi: I tried to stab it, but it ended up shooting a cucumber off of my plate. It may have fallen into Kat's purse, 'cause I don't see it on the floor. But I don't see it there, either. I think it just disappeared.

(hours later)

Kat: Why is there a cucumber in my purse?

------
(A man after my own heart...)

Nithin: I grew up in the suburbs. I am token.

Moi: Me too! And I went to school in Maine.

Nithin: I went to Montana.

Moi: Then I studied abroad in Scotland.

Nithin: I went to northern Ireland.

Total Recall

Here's Hoping

After a moderate day of work, ever get the urge to just stand up in your cubicle and dance?  Having a hard time containing myself from doing an all-out-crazy-funk-lap-around-the-cube-victory dance right now.  Nothing to celebrate, except that the work day is almost done.

There Will Be Rain

For the past four days, the weather sites have been telling me that there is a chance of rain. Thus for the past four days, I have been wearing my new raincoat everywhere, including the wreckage of a car and the emergency room. So far, nothing. Rain is again expected for tomorrow so I shall don my raincoat again. But I'm really tired of being looked at as the crazy child with the rain gear when everyone else is out in t-shirts.

Proof of Life

I keep promising you posts but life keeps getting ahead of me. Exercise, insurance forms, relationships, GRE drills, oh crap, Friday night lessons... there are a lot of things I have to deal with right now. So all I can share with you was the warm welcome I got today, returning to work after my accident yesterday:

Nice Doc: Limbs all there. She looks fine to me.

Whitecastle: I know. Dump truck my ass.

Do Not Try This At Home

Earlier today, my car got hit by a truck and tonight, I helped my parents move their bed. They got a new one, so the old one went to the guest room and the guest room bed went downstairs to be given away. (I just squished a bug with my fingers, but when I went to flick it off of my fingers, I couldn't find it. Where did you go, bug?) All very complicated. In the midst of it though, my parents' old mattress was stripped and laid on the floor for about half an hour- perfect time for me to hop on and jump. Jump. Then jump some more. Until bursts of pain shot through my neck. Turns out, mattress jumping exacerbates neck sprain. Now we know.

Objects in Mirror

I don't know why this picture is fuzzy. This is not my picture. But this is very similar to the truck that hit me this morning.

Crushed

My car was hit by a truck this morning. And after everything was taken care of and we went out for brunch, they ran out of corned beef hash. Not sure what crushed me more. OK, fine, corned beef hash. Will tell you more about everything soon. In the meantime, I'm OK.

Drinking Time Together

Went up to Bo'. Came down. And I'll tell you all about it in the morning, but right now, I think spending the weekend there may have worsened my attitude toward work and nostalgia for Maine-- a nostalgia for careless sunny afternoons on the quad and all sorts of other things that don't happen on typical Bo' days, but whatever, memories are selective and stubborn. Bed, I'm ready for you.

That is the Question

Discussing who to eat dinner with…

Moi: What about Amos?

TC: Um, he has TB.

Moi: Wait, why is he still on campus?

TC: The question is, why is he still working at the café?

Moi: Don't all FOBs have that TB shot? (I have it!)  I thought he'd still be allowed to hang out.  Aye still saw people when he had TB.

TC: Yeah, he doesn't seem to know what he has or its implications, so we don't really know…

Oh, Amos.  It's been too long since we've had lunch.  Can't wait to go up.

Port is Near

Commencement is next week. Everyone who is anyone is going to be there, especially a sizable chunk of my class. Which is why I'm going up to the Bo' this weekend. Hooray for my inflexible schedule. The same flawless logic also led me to miss homecoming but hey, some Bo' is better than no Bo' at all. And next weekend will be so commencement-centric that I won't get to enjoy B-wick as much as I would this weekend (so I tell myself). Enjoying brunch after breakfast, relying on my friends to drive me around, being at a place I know inside out- where people say hi to you by name- it'll just be like the old times.

In other news, Dr. Bob shares an office with Dr. Tall. At least he did until today. When he decided to take up the empty cubicle next to me. Many people passed him in the hall today and said, oh why, Dr. Bob? Why are you out here with the plebeians? And Dr. Bob explained that he had a very nasty cold and did not want to get Dr. Tall sick. Which is why he chose instead of park his stuff next to my cubicle. Where there are no doors to keep away the germs. Thanks, Dr. Bob. You are a considerate soul.

Day by Day

Today, I spotted a little snake, was whacked on the head by a stranger, alienated half of the library with my squeaky sneakers, and killed a lot of trees. What did you do with your day, hotshot?

Enabler II

I just brushed my teeth and was about to go upstairs and prepare for bed when my dad came by and handed me a plate of sliced guava. And there's no way you can say no to that. Not those little pink things, either. I'm talking a real guava, almost like ones we have in Taiwan, big, white, and firm. $4.90/lb. Really no freaking way to say no.

PS. I love friends who IM facebook links so the two of us can make fun of a profile together. Thank God for this newfangled technology that brings people together.

5 W's and an H

From the Annals of WTF, Mate? A couple of stories that beg questions...

1. The express train I was riding on tonight did not feel very express. In fact, it was very, very slow because earlier this afternoon, some vandals had decided to steal some signaling wire.

2. Yesterday, we took mother out for a mother's day lunch. We were seated. Settled in. Said grace. Then went up to serve ourselves at the buffet. When we came back, we were very surprised to see people who were not us sitting at our table. The mistake would have been vaguely understandable had the hostess not seated us just 3 minutes earlier, and had my fleece not been on the back of my former chair. It astounds me how both hostess and patrons just accepted the presence of my jacket and sat down.

Mother of Invention

Why is it that other people's moms' irratic ways always seem funnier and less frustrating than mine?  Yesterday, I learned that Jen's mom takes gleans valuable lessons from Lifetime movies and applies them to her daughters' lives.

Jen: After she watched Not Without My Daughter she forbids us to date Iranian men.

Moi: That's hilarious.

Jen: No, it's really not.  It's awful. 

(So mother's day is coming up… any gift ideas that don't include brunch, flowers, or me doing chores that I don't like?)

So I Think I Can Work

Some days, work goes by so slowly and smoothly that there are not enough articles in either the Times or the Globe for me to read. Those days haven't happened in awhile. Some days, like yesterday, are crapfulistic maelstroms. On the best of days, work is challenging and worth it and I learn a lot in the process. Some days, however, are like today, when it just feels like I'm doing homework all day long. There was one tiny break in all of this, and that was when I got up to go to the restroom and saw our research fellow (is that her title? I don't know, she's a doctor of the Ph variety) doing the worm on the floor. It was just a bit puzzling.

A couple of minutes later, I was back, as was the decorum of the work place. Everyone was once again hard at work as if nothing had ever happened. Turns out, NiceDoc was bragging about dancing with his daughter and it came up that our Fellow could do the worm. He didn't believe her, so she proved it. And he got served. A dance challenge drama right in my hallway and I missed most of it! It was practically a dance off (albeit one-sided, but hey, how many dance offs happened at your work this week, huh?) and no one called me in to arbitrate. I'm practicing my moon walk in case NiceDoc ever calls on me for a challenge. Though knowing my streak, I'll probably miss it somehow.

My Bad

I messed up at work today. Badly. Rather, I messed up on March 24th and we didn't catch it until today. The discovery of the mistake definitely resulted in a personal record of faculty swears witnessed per minute (they're no chef or sailor, but I'm always startled to see 'grown ups' swear). It went something like this:

Whitecastle: %*$'in! *&$* hell, #^@* ()$#&! $#*, $#*, $#*! We're *$%#ed.

Moi: (silence)

Whitecastle: (flagging down NiceDoc) Hey, we have a problem [explain mistake]-

NiceDoc: Oh *$#&.

Expletives aside, however, they were very generous in not laying blame even though the mistake was very clearly my fault. They kept reassuring me that it was a fluke and that they responsible. I should not, they emphasized, feel bad about the whole thing.

Moi: So job safe?

Nice Doc: Job is definitely safe.

Whitecastle: Well, you could be fired tomorrow, but it'd be for something else. You're safe today.


Mother's first reaction to the story: Wow, you really messed up.

Mother's second reaction to the story: Canadians curse? Really?

Is it too late to enter her for some Mother of the Year contest?

The Pusher

Mother: Do you want some mochi ice cream?

Moi: No, [it's 10:3o], I'm going to bed.

Mother: Come on, there's only one left.

Moi: I'll have it tomorrow for breakfast.

Mother: You'll forget by then!

(earlier in the night)


Moi: I'm going to play a little ping-pong.

Mother: But dinner is ready. (she made pork chops)

Moi: You're asking me to eat instead of exercise? I'm going to die of heart disease at a young age.

Mother: You've got to die somehow, you know?

XOXO

Yesterday, while flipping through the channels, I came upon a PBS special on the Chinese American immigration experience and found myself unable to turn away. One hour into watching, I finally had to leave the couch to clean my room (it's now the cleanest it's been since 2005), but I went back to it later and must have easily watched 3 hours of the thing. I don't know when else that's going to happen in my life again that I'd spend an afternoon watching public television (who knew I still had the attention span?), but it was fascinating stuff. Y'all should check it out if you can. Sadly, this was one of the highlights of my weekend.

Of course, I had to even out all the culture capital I gained with PBS (can't put all your eggs in one basket) with other forms of entertainment, like Gossip Girl. I love the devious machinations of just about everyone on the show, but my mom had a very difficult time keeping up with the plots and characters...

Mother: Are you sure they're not sisters?

Moi: Um, no, they're best friends.

Mother: How do you know?

Moi: They don't look alike and they have different mothers.

Bloody Pie

My words will only detract from the beauty of this article, so I'll just give you the link straight up.

HeartAche-1

In Taiwanese steakhouses, entrees are always preceded by buttery rolls (literally, soft dinner rolls with melted butter on the inside- I loved those when I was a child because they were so salty, greasy, and limp- to the point that my parents would make it a point to save me theirs whenever they went out for dinners) and a bowl of creamed corn soup.  The soup was milky white, starchy, and did not taste of much except salt, kernels of corn, and cream, with an occasional dash of pepper.  But oh, I just had a sudden hankering for that simple soup.  A taste just came into my mouth to make me think of it and now I want no more of work (work that I actually like doing today), but just a simple ladle of soup, served in a white soup bowl with two handles resting atop a saucer, and perhaps a couple of those sinfully buttery rolls to dip in.  And I sure wouldn't holler if all that was followed by a Taiwanese steak as well (thin, and served on a sizzling platter with a side of pepper sauce). 

The Prodigy without a Face

   If it comes to pass that I am suddenly and mysteriously disfigured become either too emotionally or physically scarred, or both, to explain how my face was marred by a giant fireball, please alert the proper authorities and explain that my hair dryer is trying to kill me.  Oh, it's been uncooperative for some time now, refusing to retract its retractable cords, blowing out the fuse when you turn it to high, and refusing to blow cool air, but the dryer's evil machinations have really been coming together this past week and I fear for my life each morning I use it.  It's has started hissing and making crackling noises but I know that if I ever turn it toward me to study the machinery, something will pop out and burn my eyes off.  Like a very patient time bomb, it's just waiting for me to slip.  I don't know how much longer I can hold off. 
  To add a note of levity to this entry about my impending disfigurement, Leash has the greatest stories in the world, like how for 23 years, her grandparents had given her the same three cards for birthday, Christmas, and Chinese New Year, and her dad always took it from her drawer and returned the cards to her grandparents, who would dole out the same card at the appropriate occasion.  And for 23 years, our little genius did not notice. 
  Oh, and my job may not be as secure as I think.  So I'm walking and talking with NiceDoc (that's what magnates do, they walk and talk business at the same time) and he jokes that I should fire him (firing people instead of being fired, how refreshing for a change)...

Moi: That guy (pointing to Whitecastle) is always joking about threatening to fire me.  You should probably talk to him about it.

NiceDoc: Really?  I think he might be serious.

Moi: I should stop showing up?

NiceDoc: Well, he doesn't mess around. 

Got Journal?

I love library duty because other than the duty itself, almost everything about the library is awesome. There's the oddly protective security guards, the lack of adult supervision over me, and most importantly, the opportunity to browse through hundreds of academic journals. Never mind that many academic journals start with the word Annals, which is homonymous enough for at least a few giggles, but the library shelves are just filled with stacks upon stacks of oddly specific and morbidly funny titles. Some of my favorites, as I've already discussed, are Blood, Death Studies, and Placenta. Friday afternoon brought a new favorite: the Journal of Human Lactation.

It's so perfect a title I really have no other comments. So I'll move on to a story about how I defended Indiana's honor. It's true. During our weekly meeting on Friday, whilst discussing politics and whatnot, the intelligence and political leanings of the people of Indiana were called into question and I was all, "No, you didn't," and vigorously defended the state. (Did you know that there are more interstates per capita in Indiana than anywhere else in the Union? That's why it's the Crossroads of America!) Because as you know, we all ought to make judgments and generalizations about peoples and regions based upon what we know of a couple of examples. That's certainly what I do.

It's What's For Breakfast

This morning, like many mornings that came before it, I got up and didn't particularly feel like eating, though I knew I should. I looked around the kitchen and nothing seemed appetizing. Until I remembered a conversation with Father last night. And thought of Haagen-Daz chocolate ice cream. But of course, that's not very heart healthy. So I had Haagen-Daz chocolate ice cream with fresh strawberries for breakfast this morning. God, being an adult rocks.

(Be sure to check back next week when I start running again and regret all my poor dining choices. Or in two hours, when I suddenly get incredibly hungry. But for right now... loving it.)

View from the Window

I was at Priscilla and Leash's place last night when suddenly, this girl was kicked off of American Idol and then just as suddenly, the power went out in the building. And when it all went dark, they say, is when all the fun began. At Priscilla and Leash's apartment, it's apparently OK to lean out the window and shout at people below, in fact, it's down right encouraged and expected.

Priscilla, talking out one window: What's going on out here? Did somebody die again? I want something to happen!

Moi, talking out a different window: How come no one else is curious and leaning out the window like us? Don't they want to know?

Priscilla: Oh, there's a guy downstairs. I was talking to him.

Moi (look out window, see guy waving up): Hi, guy, how are you?

Guy: Hi!

It was the most fun I'd had in years. Especially with Leash's flashlight (kept in a special Ziploc bag) and hand cranked radio. Then later, all these fire engines and police motorbikes and OnStar vans came out, so we took a stroll to try to see what was happening. Priscilla practiced her line of "how am I supposed to get my car out now?" at least 3 times as we wandered around the block, trying to get closer to the police tape and figure out what exactly went on. But alas, the power came on just in time for Top Chef eliminations and we all went to sleep after that, completely forgetting about why the blackout happened in the first place. You know, I don't think we'd make very good detectives, or even survivors, but TV and screaming out windows sure are fun.

Wayback Machine Goes to the Silver Screen

While I was in Chinar, I visited a small provincial television studio. This was a view from their window.

Bevy of Ridiculousness

On the 1 to 8 scale of ridiculousness, Ms. Sonia is a bona fide 12. Last night, Sonia had a bunch of us over for cupcakes. That's right. Five different kinds of cupcakes. Plus cookies. Plus pound cake. Plus hot chocolate. All homemade and delicious. We even got little bags to take home. Though putting the cupcakes into the bags turned out to be a much bigger challenge than we had all anticipated. I know I've been using scissors for decades now, but they still get me every time. I think I'm going to start a list of ridiculous feminist domestic goddesses and start ranking all the ones that I know. Hannah and Sonia are on top of the list. I'm not sure who is better, but I do know that I fear Hannah's wrath more and thus I place her first.

Also ridiculous about last night were the GRE books that Sonia was giving away. Amy and I greedily took them (Moi: I got a book a month ago and so far I've only memorized 20 words. Amy: That's better than me. I got my book a month ago and I've only made it to chapter 1 section 2. Moi: But it was my new year's resolution to buy a book.) and right away, Amy started testing our vocab. Yes, it is completely socially acceptable to whip out vocab books and test your peers at Bo' gatherings. Though we were all surprised by how wrong we were on words we thought we knew, like bevy. This made those of us with yet uncertain futures panic... until we realized that our educations weren't wasted, just Amy's. She had read all the definitions wrong. A dyspeptic person really isn't all that tender and mellow.

Crab Apple

I'm being lazy about sharing my pictures. Perhaps I'll dig one up from the Wayback Machine later. Last week, I went down to New York with Jenny and Zvi. Once we got into the City, we split from Zvi because we try not to see the boy more than we have to. I think Zvi did some male bonding with his brother. We're not sure. We didn't care, we were going to Karina's!

The next morning, Karina, Jenny, and I were joined by Cait and Linda, and the five of us roamed through the city, representing good ol' Bo. Late Saturday night, as we were heading for some bar whose significance I never quite got, we spotted a familiar face in the distance. Family friend? High school friend? Yet another Bo' alum? No. In the city of eight million, of all the people we could have bumped into, all the people we knew were in New York, we had the good fortune of bumping into Zvi. What were the chances? I don't know. All's I know is that everyone was excited hugging and catching up but Jenny and I had nothing to say. We had just had a 4 hour bus ride with the boy the night before. Sometimes, even the greatest city in the world isn't quite great enough. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to water my front lawn.

Pie in the Sky

Dusty has recommended that I learn humility. Nonsense. Humility is for the losers and Pauls of this world. Plus, NiceDoc told me on Friday that he recently lost his two-week old phone and had to get another one. So I like the company I keep. (We'll ignore the part about how "company" means that he's my boss's boss and that he has more degrees than I have years of work experience.) And last night, I totally schooled my opponents in Monopoly. So what if one was still in middle school, he asked for it. And so what if Amy pointed out that I buttoned my jacket all wrong tonight. I'm on a hot streak. Maybe I'll try humility sometime when I'm not being completely awesome.

What Not to Do with Your New Phone

Dunk it in a cup of water, that's what.  Phone was so new I'd only told Jen about it.  And then it went berserk on me (to be fair to the phone, I was trying to balance it atop my cup-- I thought it'd make a nice stand for my headphones-- and that was entirely stupid).  Luckily, after a night of airing out (I wanted to dry it in a vat of rice, Father said that was unnecessary) as well as some vigorous vacuuming of all parts, the phone seems to have recovered.  Beat that, all those unhelpful sites that me to get a new phone!

Lost T pass, giant fall, wet phone... this has not been an easy week.

The Munchies

Got another package of 8 cookies today and even though we split the cost, Jen let me take the credit and share the love.

Moi: Want a cookie?  Look, you're not the last one!

Whitecastle: I've already told you.  I want to be first.

Moi: But you're not last!

Whitecastle: Do you think I got to where I am today by not being last?  I got here by being first.

Moi: You know, I considered it, but then thought I didn't want to give you the satisfaction.  It'd be too easy.

Whitecastle: I could not give you the satisfaction of having a job.

Most people just say thank you...

Hodge Podge

So many things to say...

Killer Heels
My shoes are on a blood thirsty rampage. First they break Father's toe and earlier this morning, I tripped over one. instead of recovering, however, I fell down a few steps, twisted some things, and landed flat on the cold concrete. Thank the Lord for my youthful agility so that after a moment of groaning and writing, I was able to get on my feet without too much damage. My knee hurts real though. I'll be walking like a haemophiliac in winter for awhile.

Regarding Dusty
Sorry you weren't snob enough. I guess I'll put away the Lacoste jacket I bought you. I'm pretty sure you're end up somewhere better. (Not in rankings or academic caliber, of course, but you know, better in other things)
Also, People Who Are Not My Facebook Friends-- why are we not friends? I don't get it.
And finally, it's cute, Dusty, that you think you'll get the rumor lines started. If we've learned anything from the McWonder years, it's that no one is paying attention. Except kids who google Tom Severo. It appears that they're often misled here. Sorry, stalkers, I just mentioned him once! (BTW- I haven't seen the show since its premiere- is he still around, anyone?)

Regarding Lucy
How odd that you found 4 for $1 dumplings. Karina kept talking about how she knew of a guy who knew a place for 6 for $1 dumplings but did not lead us to any. You know, I don't think she's the best hostess in the world. We went to a little stall-like place with a few window seats and no workers who spoke English. Or Mandarin, for that matter.

Spring Chicken
I was in a restaurant on Sunday night that advertised its chicken special as handmade. Which made me want to check the kitchen and bear witness to the fleet of robots preparing everything else, like my salt and pepper tenderloin. Or bear witness how they crafted a chicken out of nothing but their own hands. Now, 2 days later, the forgetful dyslexic in me is wondering if it said homemade. I'm pretty sure not, but that'd be ridiculous as well. Though sometimes I do wish more restaurants would carry Chik Fil A products.

No Rinse Put Asunder
As the late great once said (bonus points for reading thus far, then more bonus for naming the great!), 2 is not big enough for 1. That's why they made 2. My 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner tells me that for best results, I should follow with conditioner. It makes me want to return half the bottle.

I swear I'll tell you my great NYC story and post my measly pictures later.

Lost Soul

One of the few awesome things about having a cubicle is the sense of camaraderie among the cubes. It's the row of us against those with their own little offices and we protect our own. We talk over our walls. Doc Query summons people by shouting from his chair. And if you sneeze, I will shout a bless you over the walls. If Doc Query sneezes, however, we may not all stir. That's because Doc Query sneezes a lot.

Earlier yesterday, from our respective cubes...

Doc Query: [Booming sneeze!]

Moi: Bless you.

Doc Query: Somebody bless me.

Moi: I just did!

Doc Query: Oh. I expect to hear a chorus of at least six bless yous when I sneeze.

NY C- List

I just had a marvelous weekend in New York City. Why was it so marvelous? The reasons are manifold.

A. Dusty is old but not creepy. I was just suggesting that keeping in touch with your 7th grader is a little sketchy, though of course, that's not what happened.

B. I got to see a plethora of Bo' friends. Not just Bo' alums, but friends. That really made the weekend. We sat around a lot, talked, enjoyed sangria, missed who we were missing, but were happy with who was with us.

C. I just overheard a doctor say "hey, bro, how are you?" And had to pretend that work was so funny that it just made me chortle. It isn't.

D. We saw Topanga! (of Boy Meets World, though it's sad if you need the reference help) She had a whopping 3 paparazzi taking her picture and shouting at her (do they even know her name? does anyone?) and was entering the tapas bar as we were leaving. She may have even sat at our table.

E. "Imagine snakes on a plane." Greatest sermon line ever. (This did not happen in New York, but I felt that I should share)

F. Dumplings in Chinatown New York are 4 for $1. And I'm pretty sure, as delicious as they were, we shouldn't have been so happy at that price. It could have gone lower. We had a great filling lunch for a little less than $4, unnecessary tipping included.


I have had a long night being on hold with customer service, so pictures and stories of just how big the greatest city in the world is shall come later. Good night.

Stone Cold Dealer

I love it when I understand NEJM enough that it makes me laugh.  This is about a case of 8 young people who showed up with what seems like lead poisoning, but the health authorities could not identify the source of lead.  Until...

After 8 weeks, we detected a common pattern: the patients were young, were unemployed or were students, had a history of smoking, and had body piercings. On questioning, all the patients eventually conceded that they were regular users of marijuana smoked in "joint" form or with the use of a water pipe.

It's sad that someone tainted their marijuana, but I love that characterization of potheads.  The authorities were eventually able to track this whole thing down and treat lots of other people who got sick. 

A Little Unwell

Some people think that I have pretty absurd taste in food.  Those people haven't met my mother.

Mother: You know what's really good?  Cream of mushroom soup and cheerios.

Moi: Why would you even think of that combination?

Mother: I figured that soup is salty and cheerios are, too, so might as well have them together.

---
Perhaps it was early in the morning, perhaps it's old age, perhaps she's crazy, but this morning, as she was about to drive me to the commuter rail station, she saw my work outfit and freaked out.  "That's what you're wearing to New York?  Why don't you put on jeans or something more comfortable?"  "Um, I've packed other clothes in my backpack, but I need to wear this to work."  "Oh, that makes sense."

Not Unlike a Typical Day with BP

It's hard sometimes, to explain BP and the friendships that have been made there.  The '04 staff is easy, we worked together, but when you get to talking about landlady-to-be (church?  we worked at the same place different summers?  counselor?), Dusty (the creepiest of all- I was in 8th grade when he was on summer staff), and the Malkemeses (former counselors, bosses, brother's landlords, always role models), the exact origin of the relationships get more complicated.  And then there's Keith.  Counselor, boss, friend, or none of the above?  Who knows. 

Sarah (wife of Keith) invited me over for dinner last night.  Just as I was about to call Keith from the T stop, however, to ask if it was OK that I was going to be about 15-20 minutes early, I got a message from him explaining that due to a mix up, Sarah was actually going to be gone for dinner (to go to a focus group… on oranges).  My invitation was still open, he said, and could be rescheduled anytime.  Or I could go over anyway, and have pizza with him and the boys.  "Um, I'm already here."  So dinner with the boys it was.  A lot of the night went like this:

Keith: What do you want on your pizza?  You can have anything you like.  We've got onions, peppers, pepperoni, sausages…

Moi: Oh, that all sounds great.

(Keith checks fridge)

Keith: Um, what I actually meant was, do you want pepperoni or cheese on your pizza?

(later)

Keith: What do you want to drink?  Does coke sound good?

Moi: Yeah, I like coke.

(Keith checks coke)

Keith: Actually, it's flat coke, is that OK?

(still later)

Keith: Uh, how would you like to babysit for a few minutes while I go pick up Sarah?

But I loved the haphazard nature of the night.  Surprises are what BP is all about.  It also helped that Joseph and Timothy were hilarious.  Three-year-old pirate Joseph apparently has a brilliant strategy in which he does something bad, gets reprimanded, but then says, "It's OK, Mom, I was just pretending to be naughty."  And Timothy?  I think my favorite moment of the night was when we found him bent over, head on the floor, butt sticking up, each little baby hand clutching an ice cube, and unsure how to move.  He sort of had to just rest his heavy head for awhile.  Oh, and Sarah's brownies and tea were mighty fine, too.

The Specialist

Just when I think I can't heart Sister Claire Francis anymore, she says something better.  This morning, I'm trying to figure out the difference between PharmaCare and PharmaNet.  I don't know much about the two and Supervisor said that since Claire was the one who works with the data, she was the one to ask.

Sister: Someone explained it to me a long time ago, but it was really complicated.  And I figured I don't really need to know it to do my job, so I just never paid much attention.  I use the term interchangeably.  They're not interchangeable.  But no one really knows the difference.

Moi: So I should just group these two as one?

Sister: Yeah, no one's really going to care.

Spring Cheating

I hate it when I'm tricked into cleaning my room. Like tonight. Earlier today, my accountant, my "people"-- my father, informed me that he was missing my health insurance form for my taxes. I knew exactly the form he was referring to and could have sworn I had placed it amongst other important envelopes on my desk. So when I got home, I searched and searched and cleaned and weeded and nothing. So I searched some more, around my computer downstairs, around the shelves upstairs, all over my desk, the floor, the chests, etc, etc. (It's a decent sized room and it's a bit of a mess, so there was a lot to work with.) I cleared out a huge pile of paper yet still, no form. I even searched around my mom's desk. Finally, I went back to Father to double check if I had left it somewhere around his desk. He quickly shuffled through the envelopes I gave him. Wait, I said. What about that white one? The one with the blue cross and the blue shield on the front? That looks like it might be from my health insurance. And sure enough, he had the form on him the whole time. Which means that my mess of a system was right. And I didn't really need to clean my desk after all. Dang it.

And a Brain, Too

Jeremy says that it's not fair to anthropomorphize my computer, but I'm pretty sure that it hates me.  I've also taken to calling it Sparky.  Last Friday, I requested a standard update for both Whitecastle and me.  Yesterday, I recounted to you my troubles.  This morning, I discovered that the upgrade scheduled for last night did not in fact take place.  But Whitecastle's did.  His PC is working swimmingly.  As is his Macbook Air.  That means he has 2 more working work computers than I do.  He also has 2 more doctorates.  Life really isn't fair.  So I called IT (to their credit, our IT department is always uber friendly) and was told that someone would be contacting me shortly.  A couple of hours later someone did.  She told me that she's never seen an error message like the one that I have.  And that she's hesitant to even play with my computer remotely.  In fact, it's so messed up (how is that possible?  I don't rightly know) that she's just going to send someone in to rebuild the whole thing.  Maybe they'll throw in a heart when they're rebuilding it so Sparky will hate me less.

Office Needs Some Space

You know what's really hard to do office work without? Microsoft Office. Just putting that out there. (hey, Microsoft, want to buy me up? I won't be snotty!) This morning, whilst explain to Whitecastle yet another stupid mistake on my part, my computer all the sudden informed me that it was shutting down in 10 minutes and that I should save any work as soon as possible. Many questions ran through my mind at that moment, like why? Is this for reals? And Whitecastle, can you please stop laughing at me? The notice looked fishy, so I stopped it then rebooted my computer. Then I realized I couldn't check my email anymore. Or open any spreadsheets. And that basically all of Microsoft Office had stopped working for me. So I called the help desk. The tech guy was as confused as I was. I hate it when I stump the tech guy. Why am I always stumping them? My computer is scheduled for a shutdown and upgrade to Microsoft 2003 (because it's still running on 2000- do you know how long ago 2000 was? Of course, you do. The math is easy) tonight, but there's no reason why it should have started 9 hours early. Or why Whitecastle's computer, scheduled for the same upgrade, was perfectly fine and mine wasn't. The only thing to do, the tech guy explained, was to wait until tomorrow morning when the upgrade should be complete.

Moi: So, um, is there anything I can do now to fix this?

Tech Guy: No. I'd just not use the computer for today.

Moi: I sort of need it for my job.

Tech Guy: (annoyed) Isn't there a different computer you could use?

I don't know how things work in IT, but where I come from, we sort of have an unspoken, one-computer-per-person rule around here, guy.

Phantom Photobooth

It's a classic, even trite, question yet one that needs to be asked: Just how many Bo' grads does it take to operate a photo booth?

Today at the Diesel Cafe (which we patronized purely for its bathrooms and free water), Son, Leash, Lauren (soon to be Dr. Lauren to you) and I decided that we just couldn't pass the photo booth without going in. We each dug around for a dollar and put it into a machine. Then realized that all the pictures had no more than 2 people in it. But whatever, we were little women and determined to make things work. So in we piled. Then started reading the directions. Then found that we didn't know how to follow them. Then bright lights started flashing. We panicked. And the promised 5 minutes was over in seconds. Then we noticed that the machine had no buttons. So e just hung out by the booth hoping a picture would come out. It took awhile, but alas, our beautiful moment in front of the camera:

Shakespeare, continued

This afternoon, I bought a pack of 8 cookies to share at work because it's Friday and raining and half of the office isn't here and the other half need some encouragement.  Plus, buying 8 'gourmet' cookies from the grocery store is much more economical than one from JP Licks and we're heading into a recession (hey, how come they don't tell us it's patriotic to buy things anymore?).  I thought of what Whitecastle said and considered offering the cookies to him first, but two offices come before his and I just couldn't pass them in good conscience without sharing my bounty.  So, with 2 down and 6 more to give, I knocked on Whitecastle's door.

Moi: Want a cookie?  I'm working on my suck up game.

Whitecastle: (sighs, motions the open package) Clearly, you've offered it to other people already.

One day, one day soon, my efforts will be good enough.

Act III Scene 2

Mad props if you get that reference.  And then why I used it.  You're no nerd at all.

I give and give at work and still they ask for more...

Moi: Oh, everything I do for you is of the greatest priority.

Whitecastle: We've already discussed this.  Your sucking up skills have to be more believable.

Moi: But I'm saying the words!

Whitecastle: I'm not buying it though.  It has to sound more meaningful.  "Thank you for the scut work!  I love it!"  

Healthy Habits

Had a chance to stop by the Warren Anatomical Museum today. It's like the poor man's Museum of Surgery (O Eddie Bert museums, you'll always have a fond place in my heart) but it did the trick and once again made me so grateful that of all the periods the world has been through, I live in the very latest one. People back then just behaved... differently, as the matter-of-fact place cards described. There was, for example, one of the many spines Dr. Dwight apparently collected. Of course he did. And a model by this other physician who "started building paper mache anatomical models when he was 19 years old." So that's what life without facebook is like. Add that to all the lancets and surgical equipment with beautiful ivory handles that "did not stand to sterilization," the entire display was a mighty effective scared-straight-into-gratefulness exhibit. I will never again yearn for those days of yore.

O Canadia

The air is warm, the days are longer, and the doctors are feeling smug. Today during our research conference (aka weekly free lunch), just about everyone was making wise cracks, including one at the expense of dear sacred alma mater, who has never done anything to deserve such ridicule.

(on Scandinavian regulators)

Whitecastle: That's right, they don't have anything better to do. They're in Scandinavia.

Moi: Said the man from Canada.

Whitecastle: Hey, Canada is a very nice country. Plus, you went to school in Maine. That's even worse. What's in Maine?

Moi: Hey, we're a good six hours from the border! And we're a part of the United States.


(later, everyone is trying to decipher table abbreviations)

Doc Gollum: OP is probably outpatient, HO for hospitalization, HD for hospital death, I don't know what RI is.

Whitecastle: RI is Rhode Island.

Doc Gollum: Right, they got sent to Rhode Island.

Doc Query: That's worse than hospital death.

Conversion Factor

I heard a sweet little story tonight from my mom about how an old lady at her church became a Christian. People who aren't cool with Jesus, you don't have to read this story, but I don't really see why not. I'm not proselytizing, I just think it's a neat story.

Most old Chinese Christians at our church are recent converts who started coming to church because of their grown sons and daughters, who became Christians when they came abroad for graduate school. Communist China isn't the most conducive place to adopt a religion. This old lady, however, has been a Christian for decades, which I find fascinating. How did she hear about Christianity? How did she live through all these years?

When she was younger, she was a member of the communist party. Now, people, I don't know how well you understand these things, so I'm sorry if you already know this, but not everyone in China is a party member. In fact, not everyone can become a member. You have to be really hardcore and accomplished. People from problematic class backgrounds, for example, could not join the party. This lady joined the Communist Party at a young age, right when the People's Republic was developing and the Communist Party was beginning its work of shaping China. She really believed in the Party and was proud of her membership.

At the same time, there was a Christian man in her work unit and she noticed that he was a good man. He never took advantage of people and always worked very hard. This man, she thought, was so good that he deserved to be a communist. So she tried to get him to join the party and spent a lot of time trying to get to know him. And the more she learned about him, the more impressed she became. He was even better than a communist, she thought, because even they slacked off once in awhile and used their positions for their own good. But he never did. In fact, she thought the man was so good and upstanding that she stopped trying to convert him. He didn't need the party to keep him in line, she thought, he already had something. So instead, she tried to be like him. And that's how she converted. Later, they got married. Then the Communists started cracking down and started their different movements. And they both took a lot of crap for being Christians, especially during the Cultural Revolution. But they were also lucky because people trusted their goodness and they lived through the ordeals and persecutions. How strange and awesome a story is that?

I Know You Are, But What Am I?

White people: If one more person tells me about stuffwhitepeoplelike.com, heads are going to roll. And those heads aren't going to look like mine.

On a perhaps unrelated note: Does anyone know why I'm getting American Baby sent to me? I don't want to know what a fertility diet is.

Cryin's Not For Me

I just keep learning about umbrellas. The New England spring brought forth sleet today
and on our walk to lunch, I noticed that both Zvi and I were both reluctantly umbrella-less. And that was when he shared his umbrella story.

Zvi: I had an umbrella this morning but it wouldn't open.

Moi: What do you mean? Don't you just... open it?

Zvi: I know! It's an expensive one, too. But it won't open. I even used a screw driver.

Moi: Can't you just push the clicky thing on the rod then and pull it open?

Zvi: There's nothing there. It's just one button.

Moi: That is fancy.

Zvi: I told you, it's an upscale umbrella. It cost me $13.

Darling Idiots

Yet another round of "Dear Applicant" letters...

Dear Dressy:
"Front of the House Specialist?" I think you mean hostess. That's the word, hostess. And what the hell is a Graduation Leader? Do you mean a class marshal? Why do you avoid calling things as they are, Applicant? And when you say you were "responsible for measuring and installing cable as well as being capable of going into ceilings, basements, closets, and underground areas." I just don't know what to make of it. Does that just mean you're bendy? Jen doesn't want to make fun of you. She thinks it shows courage. I think that sounds almost as absurd as you.

Dear Ambitious:
"My ideal position would be one that allows for continual learning while fusing business, drug development, and people." I don't know if you can do that. That's a lot of fusing.

Dear Upper Middle Class White Boy:
Yes, you "have had the opportunity to interact and connect with people from various ethnic, cultural, and financial backgrounds." You have also made me gag.


Finally, a list of things that are not activities:

Psychology. Reading the newspaper. And "Hispanic culture enthusiast." I don't even know what that last one is, but it sounds vaguely fetishist.

Tax R Us Kid

Had a dream last night that my taxes were done. I considered it a pretty nice dream until I wondered, is this what adult life holds? Dreams about taxes? But of course not, silly child. Grown ups don't dream.

Fuzzy White Lies

It's been awhile, blog. Almost two whole days. I don't remember what's been happening, but I had such a great time with the youth group Sunday school yesterday, I thought I'd share with you.

We played Easter bunny balderdash yesterday and I had the kids write explanations of where the Easter egg came from, here's the cream of the crop:

There was a man on death row called Max Hurley. He was sentenced to death by gassing but as he was being gassed, a bunny was walking by the gassing machine and was sucked in. The bunny evaporated into gas and fused into Max Huxley to form Bunny Man. The bunny went from house to house on a bloodthirsty rampage until one day, God said to him, "Use your powers for good." Bunny Man saw his errors so he decided that he would help little children by hiding eggs... from that day forward, he was known as The Easter Bunny.

A slightly happier version:

... When Jesus was just a little boy, he loved eggs. He loved eating eggs, looking at eggs, and even talking to eggs. Sometimes he would actually preach to the eggs so they would go to heaven with him....

And, my personal favorite:

The Easter egg is actually a dragon, but implanted in a platypus, a surrogate mother to avoid suspicion. Each year, children eat these eggs. That's why dragons don't exist.

Lordy, Lordy Amherst

Lately, I don't quite have to wait one month for un-PC remarks from my co-workers. They've been coming at the rate of at least one a week.

(Talking about smallpox...)

Co-worker: Then why did they give the blankets to the Indians?

Moi: Erm, they weren't Indians.

Co-worker: Whatever. I'm just so used to using that term.

As we all know, boys and girls, it's OK to use improper terms if you're used to them.

El Duque

Some guy named 'duke' commented regarding Tommy Severo. Apparently, he went to WA, too. Good for you, duke? Thanks for that extra tidbit? I also went to high school with him (and thought I made that clear) and also think he acts the same?

Moving on, some more Dear Applicant letters...

Dear Whiz Applicant,
I was impressed by your "familiarity with fax and copy machines." However, you failed to say anything about the microwave-- is that within your capabilities?


Dear Monolingual Applicant,
For the last time, neither Advance French nor Fluent Russian are languages. And telling me that you have experience communicating (in English) with people who don't speak English does not impress me. It just makes me angry.


Dear Applicant Who Worked For a PBS Cooking Show and Had a Short Rib Recipe Published in a Magazine and Likes Board Games and Knows Her Wine,
I can't give you a job but can you be my best friend? Please?

Sincerely,

Your Rocking Recruiter

Numbers Game

From the Annals of Applicants Who Cannot Write...

"I have been thoroughly educated with a diverse number of studies..."

I love diverse numbers. Like 63 and 8 and 17. So much hotter than regular numbers.

Crunchy Without the Bite

Got an email a couple of nights ago, from (Former) Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) inviting me to a party at an independent bookstore with promises of "leftist party games" and "great dumpster dive food from Trader Joe's!" No one I talked to had ever heard of the place. In fact, the only one that knew anything was a friend of Amy's. And she had only met the person who invited her once the week before. Shady? Just a bit.

Yet, though the whole setup sounded deliciously sketch, like a potential hilarity goldmine, in actuality, the party was incredibly tame. Almost disappointingly so. The bookstore was well-lit. The food (mostly fruit, crackers, and cheese... these are upscale dumpster divers) did not smell of trash. And the leftist party games? Equally as lame as usual party games. Instead of "psychiatrist," they played "activist," in which the It had to guess what social issue he/she was advocating. The anarchists were all very sweet and earnest about how right they were and how evil capitalism was it was almost of cute. I sure won't be bff'ing any of them anytime soon or attending any more parties, but I had a nice time. Those folks last night reminded me of Eddie Bert and some of the kids I met there. They had that same innocent earnest and unwillingness to fit in.

(discussing the party beforehand)
Moi: I don't know what to bring for this potluck. I don't have any vegan food. I just have non-organic things I bought by participating in this capitalistic economy.

Amy: Well, the Band Man is a radical activist and he's not sketchy. He eats meat. Maybe they'll be like that.

Moi: Maybe he'll be at the party!

(He wasn't. Though we rated everything on a Band Man scale last night- are these kids nerdier than the Band Man? More awkward? More militant? Have the ladies that worked with the Mexico Solidarity Network heard of our great radical leader? ...He really should have shown up at the party.)

(discussing the party afterward)

Amy: See, they weren't so bad. Nobody was pretentious or obnoxious. In fact, they were all sort of nerdy...

Moi: Yeah, I definitely felt like I was cooler than most of them.

Wax Politic

It's time to get political. I usually regret political entries, so this might be gone in a few days. We'll see.

Don't know how much you've been reading, but this week marked the 49th anniversary of a Tibetan uprising against China and in honor of the event, monks had been pouring into the streets in protest. Which led Chinese officials to contain them. By way of killing. Official reports say that 10 are dead. Hundreds arrested. Some put the figure higher, at 32. And every time news like this hits, I shake at my head at China. And think about my own country. Because the international treatment of Tibet and Taiwan are so drastically different.

I'm not saying we shouldn't sympathize with Tibet. I do. It sucks that China is still a country where protests lead to officially sanctioned death. It really does. But every time Taiwan tries to move toward independence, instead of international sympathy, it gets slaps on the hand. "Nevertheless," a recent NYT article on the upcoming Taiwanese elections read, "American officials continue to warn Taiwan not to provoke China." Provoke- as in try to join the UN. As in think about independence. As in mess up a good thing for the US because she doesn't want to get between Taiwan and China. It boggles my mind how the US is cool that Kosovo is now a country despite being heavily dependent on foreign aid and foreign military support and not really independent. But when Taiwan- with its own currency, demo-freaking-cratic government, constitution, military, and stable economy- tries to claim international recognition, it is immediately chastised by the country that dropped it as an ally to make ties with communist China.

The issues surrounding Kosovo, Tibet, and Taiwan are all unique. And Taiwanese independence is a thorny issue that not everyone in Taiwan agrees with. And that's all OK. What's not OK is the hypocrisy to which Taiwan seems to be subject to from the international community. It's a small, stable, democratic country with an open, liberal economy. And yet whenever it tries to promote itself, it is scolded by the US who instead favors China- a country where even in 2008, monks are being shot to death for protesting oppression.

The Chosen

I never noticed that Facebook ads were targeted until recently. I used to think they were just stupid, randomly selling t-shirts and rings and such. And then I started playing scrabulous with Zvi. And Jewish dating sites kept popping up. It's weird that not all the Hebrews I've played had such precise targeting. I guess Zvi is just extra-chosen.

Somebody get Gak, quick- I think his idol has been leaving comments on my blog.

Somebody get Susie, quick- I think her VISTA (there's a * somewhere, I always forget where) is delusional and believes himself to be Brian Williams.

Another month, another ignorant co-worker story, this one more egregious than all the others. I'd like to get through just one month during which someone in the division does not make a well-meaning but ultimately offensively ignorant comment about race, class, and/or ethnicity. But Santa probably isn't listening. It's far from Christmas. Plus, Santa only answers the wishes of good Christian children. And I can't possibly be one- just look at me. If I see you, I'll probably tell you the story.

Can of Worms

My life is now ridiculous to a point that I go to bed after my parents, which wouldn't sting so bad if I didn't live with them.  But I do.  And it all feels like middle school again, when they got to stay up to watch the shows and I had to go to bed early for school, right down to the part where my family has no respect for the sanctity of sleep and I'm awakened every five minutes once I go to bed.  All night long, I serve as the good daughter and talk with them and nothing ever comes up.  But once I bid everyone goodnight and get into bed...

(Last night, 1 hour into sleep)

Mother: (this time she even knocked) There's a letter for you from the IRS.

Moi: I know.  Can I go back to bed?

Mother: You didn't open it.  It says it's very urgent.

Moi: I think it can wait until tomorrow.  I was sleeping.

Mother: It's about the economic stimulus plan.  Do you want me to open it?

Je ne said quoi

Dear Applicant:
Advanced French is not a language.

Sincerely,

Advanced Intellect

---
Tonight at dinner, Father used American Idol in an analogy. I was talked about the unimpressive applications we were getting, and he said, "It's just like on American Idol last night, you can't just be good, because everyone is good. You have to be different to impress." Eat, drink, and be merry, folks. Father is citing American Idol. The world is coming to an end.

Trust the Man

This morning, the water in the rest room sinks was suddenly very cold.

Sister Claire Francis: They think that just because the calendar says it's spring, they think they can turn off the heat.

Moi: That's crazy because this is New England. The calendar can be very deceptive.

Sister Claire Francis: That's why I don't trust calendars. I still think it's February.

... and that's why Claire's my favorite programmer ever.

---
Today Whitecastle received his MacBook Air. It truly is a sexy beast- which is why he pulled it out to show pretty much anyone that passed by. He grinned proudly when I exclaimed that it was "sick." I love working in an academic research office- no matter how lame I am, I'm always the coolest kid in the division. They think I talk "hip." They make me sad.

Whitecastle told me that if I work hard and stay in school, I too, can get fancy computers when I grow up. (Something to do with doing research and getting grants... I didn't pay attention to the details.) He was also kind enough to say, "I'll let you play with it later," but we all know that that's not going to happen. Especially after this encounter:

Edith: Even the box is pretty. Look at how nice the box is-

Whitecastle: You can't have it.

(Obviously never won any kingdom points in Sunday School)

Bonjour

To everyone I spoke to about Beauty and the Geek last night:

I was right! I was on the train while the episode air but according to Vannie, the Beauties were immediately suspicious of Tom Severo's lack of social awkwardness and he almost got eliminated. That's probably because, sweater vests aside, I can think of many more geeks than Tom. (I think he was on student council? Geeks do not run track and join student council in high school. Then again, geeks also do not ski and get elected as class president... so maybe WA was some sort of bizarro school where geek dreams come true). Props to him then for playing with the show. I hope he does well. If all the challenges are about pop culture, social situations, and physical tests as they used to be, then I don't see any reason why he wouldn't do well. Unless there are other faux-geeks in the midst, of course.

Shakers and Movers

Dear Whole Wheat Bagels:
Stop moving my bowels. They're fine as they are.

Cheers,

More than Regular

(Are toilet anecdotes one of those things I have to give up for growing up? Should I be concerned that employers could see this?)

BTW, supposed to give a shout out to the beautiful Priscilla. Hi, Priscilla.

Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies

Master Dustin finally showed his face tonight. And it was good to see him. Almost as good as seeing the sun at 6PM. Almost as good as seeing curry fries. Though the Irish waitress at Emmet's was not impressed by my order for chips, instead she asked, "you mean, fries?"

At Emmet's, I also bumped into a high school friend who informed me that fellow alum Tommy Severo (maybe I'll get some google hits) is now on the CW's Beauty and the Geek. Naturally, with an hour to kill before the train, I went over to Mac's to watch the show. Mac, being a real living geek, was watching Jeopardy when I arrived... one of the clues involved Michael Crichton.

Moi: Oh, I read The Sphere when I was in middle school. I was going through my nerd phase.

(Much laughter from Vannie and Mac)

Mac: What phase? You're still going through it.

Vannie: And there's no exit sign in sight.

(To the two of them I say, Pot, Kettle, examine thy selves.)

Bumbershoot

I lost an umbrella on the train yesterday (shh... don't tell my mom, I'm hoping she never finds out) so today, I went to the lost and found in search of it.

Moi: I lost a black umbrella.

Lost and Found Man: What did it look like?

Moi: It's um, black... it's a black umbrella.

Lost and Found Man: Ma'am, I get lots of umbrellas (complete lie, he later pulls out exactly 1 umbrella that fit my description). Can you tell me anything else?

Moi: It might have a brown handle. It's compact- a very normal looking umbrella?

Nosy Lady: You don't know the name of it?

Moi: No.

"The name of it?" Umbrellas have names? Aren't they all the same? (When I asked the lady that, she just stared at me, then shook her head in disgust.) Am I really the idiot they're making me out to be? Because no one ever told me about umbrella classification. But if I were to name mine, I'd call it Dexter.

On the Dot

Dusty came to town this weekend. Dwight and I had long been ready because Dusty told us to get ready a good month ahead of his arrival. There was a flurry of emails and calls ahead of his arrival. Then he arrived. And I saw him for fifteen seconds on Friday (hi, Dusty).

And then Dusty shunned us for his "interviews" and "BSU friends," forcing Dwight and I to hang out by ourselves. Which is always awkward. So we invited ourselves over Katie and Jackie's. They made things less awkward. They even cooked for us. And let me sleep over. (Dwight likes to hang around the BP house despite no longer being employed by BP- he likes receiving the glory and attention without any of the work) It was a mighty fine night with mighty fine chicken piccata. And some Jordanian jokes that were mighty difficult to follow. Followed by a leisurely Sunday morning with church, Midwesterners (sturdy folks), and a long, BP-gossip-and-carb-filled lunch. Really can't ask for anything more. Except Dusty, I guess.

I have more stories to tell you. But I keep putting them off in favor of things like going out and sleeping. My 4-month-old bruise has started hurting again tonight. I hope I don't lose a leg.

If Tomorrow All The Things Were Gone...

 

Check it. My mother is adorable and she's an American.

The Streets Are About Love

So many things to talk about. So many people to catch up with. So much going on at work. But I just got home from seeing Step Up II and I don't want to do anything now except watch people dance crazy all day long. Some of the most atrocious acting I have seen (and I have seen a lot, including other bad dance movies) but whatever, the dancing was nasty.

Gak Would Smack You

Attention All Applicants:
The smart ones of you who worked in labs and earned prestigious internships at every opportunity should take a cue from the lazy ones and learn how to write a proper cover letter. The lazy ones of you who wrote convincing letters should have spent your summers doing research instead of waiting tables by the seaside. If you two could just learn from each other and either learn to write a letter or smarten up and get some credentials, that'd just rock my world. Thanks.

Sincerely Unimpressed.



Attention One Particular Applicant:
Dear Big Red Dumbass-
(I don't use the term lightly, you know how I feel about swears and pseudo-swears)
If you are going to congratulate yourself on your "meticulous editorial skills" and "superior writing" and act like the pompous Ivy Leaguer that you are, it might help if you didn't have three misspelled words in your résumés. It'd also help if you didn't use words out of context. Go read a dictionary, English Major. No wonder you had to be an editor of a magazine you made up. I wouldn't have let you edit anything either. You should thank me for being merciful and not letting Gak see your stuff. Gak does not make enough money to cover your hospital fees.

Sincerely Insulted


(So I'm printing a few résumés I've received, and Claire the Programmer AKA Sister Claire Francis, AKA Claire the Awesome, spots the materials)

Claire: Are you looking for jobs under a different name? That is so weird.

Beantown Blessing

I am the friendly face of Boston. I must be. Why else would strangers keep coming up to me tonight asking for directions and taking their tourist pictures? I'm just so darn non-threatening, knowledgeable and of course, adorable.

Bell Tolls

Lisa, Jess, and I are apparently an island onto ourselves. This morning, I received a cover letter with a sentence so badly written I found it hilarious. I believe I compared it to "manna that does not rot the next day." Jess and Lisa agreed. Everyone else in the world, however, failed to see the humor. Lisa even took a poll at work. Nobody else thought the sentence was stupid silly. Everyone else saw it as just a stupid punctuation error. I'll let you decide which camp you fall under (let me know, I may have to reconsider some friendships):

"I also, enjoy working with women and children."

I can't believe I have to interview someone who would write that. But I've been told that I am "too harsh a critic" of the applicants' writing (Gak, it will hurt your eyes to look at them). Nothing the CPC has taught me is holding true in this job search. Maybe the Bo' did turn me into a snob...

365 Days Wiser

It's now part of my job to screen applicants for a new research assistant position. Reading through scores of résumés makes me feel elitist. I don't mean to be excessively judgmental, but I really don't know how kids get so dumb. It makes me sad that I did not get this job because I was special, I just got it because I was not the dumbest one. The one extra year I have on most of them must make all the difference. They taught differently when I was in school.


Mother got back on Taiwan and kept talking about eating healthy, what with the white meat and cooking with less grease, but I should've known not to worry. She made meatballs tonight, nicely pan fried in oil.

Two Letters

Dear Flu Shot:
  You are dead to me.
  (Though it'll soon be the other way around.  My immune system really sucks.)

Sincerely,

Ungrateful Barely Living



Dear Self-Assured Globe Writer:
  "There are many things we do well in New England. Clams fried and chowdered, lobsters rolled and boiled, Fenway franks, roast beef sandwiches, the foods of Portugal, Vietnam, Brazil."
 
  Clearly, you are not from Portugal, Vietnam, or Brazil.

Sincerely,

Also Not From Portugal, Vietnam, or Brazil

The End is Nigh

Room is spinning. World is shattering. Constants fare ailing. And as usual, I'm feeling like a fool.

Does everyone else know that the Mason-Dixon line which demarcates North and South starts all the way up in Pennsylvania? Doesn't that seem a little high up? For years now, seriously, years- I've talked about how I've never crossed the Mason-Dixon line, how I've never been to the South, except for Florida (which doesn't count) and how I'd really like to cross it one day. And tonight I'm planning a road trip to Memphis and see that oh wait, I've already crossed that line forty bazillion times. The South is right there! You could accidentally walk over and not know it. Apparently, our nation's capital is also in the South. Who knew? I realize how ignorant I'm sounding here, but I'm willing to make myself vulnerable to educate others because I don't believe we talk about this line enough. People deserve to know that the South is not all the way down there the way you might think it ought to be, the way its name suggests. It's right up here below Pennsylfreakingvania. And crossing that line isn't exciting at all. There's no confetti. No welcoming party with pecan pie and hush puppies. No, it's pretty much the same highway scenery as the North.

(mock me how you will, but Lenny, who knew about the line, shares in my shock, and she's the smartest young person I know)

Moi: I didn't know the Mason Dixon line was so high up!

Lenny: It's mind blowing

Moi: Are you mocking me with the mind blowing? Because I'm actually surprised I'd crossed it without realizing it.

Lenny: No, I'm serious. I'm amazed that the south starts so high up.

And Eat It, Too

Nothing quite says humble thyself as effectively as little boys. After Sunday service today, I went over to my dad's church to wait for the parents. Since they still had things going on, I sat with some four and five year olds during their Sunday school hour. They were cute little boys I hadn't seen in awhile but who were always adorable and lovely when they were younger. I at first talked with Elise, who warmed up to me after I helped her draw her balloon. Feeling confident, I turned to the boys around us and that was when little David remarked, "You're an old man." Little Jeffrey, who was sweet, quiet, shy little Jeffrey the last time I saw him, also found it hilarious and repeated the claim. And then Timothy joined in, too. But I hung in there and by the end of the hour, I had the boys eating out of my hands. But not literally. Because that's sort of gross.

Humbling pie, of course, can be dealt by grown ups, too. Like Pastor Paul. He decided he wanted to pick on Lenny today (he of the bald head rub, I think), but when he realized that Lenny had not yet come, he had the entire congregation rehearse shouting "Lenny was late" on his command. And when poor Lenny finally arrived, he was dealt two embarrassments, one for tardiness, and one for something about his truck. Pastor Paul's humor scares me.

I'd Rather Be PC

My palm is sore like I'm a freaking hemophiliac.

Labor #11

Add this to my list of tragic hero traits: Extraordinary strength.

(For those keeping tally, that's noble birth, moral character, and destined for greatness... we're ignoring the flaw for now, though awkwardity will probably kill me.)

It never ceases to amaze me how I rise to certain occasions when the alternative seems too much trouble. It snowed again last night, a good four to five inches, and the snow has to be cleared somehow. Father, perhaps sensing the long winter still ahead, hurt his toe to get out of shoveling for the rest of the season. House Guest is conveniently absent. And due to the ridiculous amount of snow we've been having, all the gasoline has been used up, thus putting the snow blower out of commission. Father proposed that I call either House Guest to come pick up containers (I would walk them down to the end of the driveway for her), buy gasoline, drop it back off here where I would use the snow blower, or that I shovel the driveway just enough to get one car out to go buy gasoline for the blower. They both seemed too complicated so I chose the alternative: shovel the entire monster by myself. All five inches of wet snow (fluffy, dry texture my foot, bloody meteorologist) on our long, hilly driveway, and that extra little patch on the side. I can't quite feel my arms anymore, but whatever, it's not like I need them for anything.

December, 1963

A lot went down last night. To start off, I got a hair cut in Chinatown and overtipped. Then called mother to see if she wanted me to pick up some pastries. "Um, pastries sound good, but could you bring dinner? And pick up some groceries, too?" So I gave all that I had, every bit of cash and soul left in me, to Chinatown. For $60 I got: a hair cut, generous tip, 2 dinner boxes, 1 sandwich, 1 bok choy, 6 small custards (dan-ta), 3 pieces of bread, and 1 cup of milk tea with pearls. Then I went home. Ate dinner. And was scolded by my mom for not putting my sneakers away like I should. Then to really teach me a lesson, Father hurt his toe trying to avoid them. He actually fractured one. At the inopportune hour of 10:30PM. The break garnered a trip to the ER in slick snow. There in the ER, we saw a group of BU students with four separate cases of skiing and snowboard injuries among them. All within a span of an hour. Which led me to believe that what those BC kids say about them is true. Or maybe it's the other way around. I forget. I just like looking down at people. Though that's becoming very hard because I'm le tired and having trouble keeping my eyes open at all.

Calvin Klein

Most people take the fonts that they're given in life and use it without complaint. (Except some ASB leaders last year who decreed Times New Roman to be "so 1990's.") Most people have better things to occupy their minds than word processing fonts. I am not like most people. I've always preferred Garamond, also a favorite of Mac and the Band Man, whose emails and hand outs were almost always in Garamond. It just looks so classy. And lets you get away with going over the word limit.

Yesterday, I discovered that Whitecastle is also not like most people. Indeed, not only does he have a preferred font, he takes things to a whole new level.

Moi: How can Century Gothic be your favorite font? It's so cartoony.

Whitecastle: You think it's too bubbly? Well, Helvetica is actually my favorite. Then Century Gothic.

Moi: I like Garamond.

Whitecastle: That's too old school for me. If you don't like them, use Arial [for my figures]. It's Helvetica, Century Gothic, then Arial.

(later)
Jen (summarizing for the rest of you): It's not just that he has a hierarchy of three favorite fonts, but he actually has opinions about fonts he dislikes as well? That's so-

Obsessive. It's just a leetle bit obsessive.

And the Bandits as Well

Dear Smokers Lined Outside the Station:
My lung hates you.
(But my heart hopes that you are staying warm in the cold.)

Sincerely,

Second Hand

Crest Fallen

Claire says that when she comes home from the UK she buys Crest toothpaste. There's something about Crest that other toothpastes can't replicate. Crest, please sponsor me. I'm in a sell-out mood today. Earlier, I suggested we go to Big Gulp and Subway for sponsorship so we could get more heart attack people in our study.

I like to talk to drunk people about my Scottish heritage, because it's funny when they follow. When I talk to sober people about my Scottish heritage, it just makes me feel sad when they look at me with earnest eyes. The facts of the case are these: (1) The people I work with know that I am Taiwanese (well, one still thinks I'm from China). (2) That I used to live in Taiwan and went back to visit in October. (3) That I was not an American citizen until recently. (4) That my grandparents live in Taiwan. (5) Lee is a very common name.

You would think that the people I work with would be able to piece these together, along with my (apparently) extremely Chinese face, to know that I am indeed not descended from a warrior clan of Scottish highlanders, despite my key chain with a Lee crest. You would be incredibly wrong. My key chain came up in conversation today but after 10 minutes of going on about "my heritage," I had to pull the plug and shut the whole thing down myself. There was just no fun in it for me when people are so wholehearted convinced that I'm Scottish. Tomorrow, I tell everyone I'm an archery champ who bumped Geena Davis out of the Olympics in 1999. And that I make films under the name Alan Smithee.

Tuesday's Child

For every hilarious story of a little boy up to no good, well-behaved little girl that sits next to me in church, and every video of his son Doc Query puts on youtube, for every Christopher, Jeffrey, Nora, Max, Elise, Ava, and James- there's riding on the same train on a snowy Friday afternoon with hundreds of parents and children after High School Musical 2 On Ice has just been let out, going to the supermarket on a Saturday afternoon, and well- that's about all I need, to remind me that no, no no no, and phew. Kids and me, we can keep our distance for quite awhile.

Three Things That Have Nothing To Do With Each Other:

1. A giant trap.

Moi: He's probably in his thirties? Like you-ish?

Nice Doc: You think I'm in my thirties?

Moi: ...yes? No? Everyone over 25 is pretty much old and the same in my book.

(And in I went through the hole, though Nice Doc already dug most of it for me. And turns out, he totally is in his thirties. Less nice doc than sneaky bastard in that encounter...)

2. A critique.

Regarding Doc Stat's three-year-old daughter's make-believe hero, Broccoli Lucky, Doc-to-Be said: That's just silly. You should've told her that that's redundant. A broccoli is already lucky.

3. A thought.

Moi: If I was simultaneously smart and Britney Spears, I'd do things so differently. [I unveil brilliant real estate plan.]

Lisa: I think that's an oxymoron. (too easy, but whatever)

If I Did They'd Have a Samurai

It's been a week of sparse entries (due mostly to return of parental units and me falling under the addiction of websudoku, which is like crack, but much less rewarding) but certainly not dull moments. For one thing, I got my first journal rejection! From JAMA, of all places (we're working our way day). Surprisingly, the whole process makes me feel smart and legit. Whitecastle, being the first author and one who has had dozens more publications, does not feel that way. He has a few choice words for the editors. I'm just happy that this wasn't in our rejection letter. Someone else in the division got this:

"...Although the reviewers and editors [FILL IN SOMETHING POSITIVE], we regret to inform you that the manuscript cannot be considered further for publication in the journal."

My proudest moment of the week: An email from Doc Query that said simply "I also like creamed corn." I'd snuck in a few random lines among the hundreds of pages of literature (some from as far as Tehran) I'd scanned for him- a picture of Albi, the racist dragon*; the prediction "you will find love on Flag Day*," and my favorite, a blank page that said "I like creamed corn." I wasn't sure if it was kosher to do so, but I guess it's OK.

And because Newton's Third Law says that every proud moment has to be yanked down, and trampled, not-so-encouraging moment of the week:

Supervisor: (explaining how she divides projects between Jen and me) It depends on commitments, interests, nature of the request, all sorts of things. And sometimes, I lose track and assign it to the wrong person.

Moi: But there are only two of us!

Supervisor: I know.

*Props for allusion recognition, you little nerds.

Through the Looking Glass

I look Chinese. I'm not being facetious when I say this. But I look very much Chinese. Bear with me, white people, let me speak in your terms. You know how sometimes just by looks you can tell if someone is European, especially eastern European? It's like that. And apparently, I exude Chineseness. Much more so than other people in my family.

Pretty much everywhere my mother has traveled, people have gone up to her and started speaking Korean, assuming that she too, is Korean. And my brother? Even when we were growing up in Taiwan, something about his penchant for dancing, singing, and talking made people ask, "Is he American?" As for me? Chinese. I'm not upset by this because I am Chinese and damn proud to be Taiwanese. But you have no idea how often people come up to me and start asking in Chinese if I'm Chinese. It happened again tonight. And no, white people, this does not happen to every Asian. This doesn't even happen to my parents (Dad: On the China Airline flight home, they kept speaking to me in English. They spoke to everyone around me in Chinese, and even after I responded in Chinese, they kept on speaking English to me. Isn't that the strangest thing? Moi: What? They always speak to me in Chinese. They'd speak to all the other kids in English but speak to me in Chinese!) There is something about the way I dress or carry myself that says Chinese instead of America-born-Chinese. If someone could point out what that something is, I'd be glad to know.

Can of Worms

Parents are now home for the first time in six months.  Stayed up late last night to greet them and as result, am very tired this morning.  So tired that I tried to put mouthwash in my hair.  Can't believe I'm allowed to drive in this condition.

Also, Mother may have bought me the greatest shirt ever.  Perhaps pictures shall come later, but for now, know that it has the words Double Cheeseburger. 

Dental Notes

The few of you that know me well in this world know that I abhor dentists. It's beyond dislike. It's a visceral instinct of Pavlovian fear and loathing built over my entire child and early adulthood. I have the scars on my teeth to show for it. And the copious notes that the dentists leave to themselves. In six months, however, this may all change.

I have a new dentist, Dr. Ted Lee. I've been in his practice for years, but for years I had an evil doctor that detested me almost as much as I her, which is unfair because despite my sensitive gag reflex, my teeth probably put her kid through four years at a private college. Dr. Lee, on the other hand, is much nicer. Despite the fact that I share the same name with her daughter and that that fact has been commented on every single time I've been to his practice for the past seven years. For one thing, he has not told me that I've had a cavity and I've seen him twice. He also really takes care of poor pastors. And pretends to believe me when I say I floss every night. Today, he talked about an art exhibit he saw in my town as he poked at me with sharp instruments and spoke to me in Chinglish, my preferred language. I'm not quite ready to say that the bad blood between dentists and me are over just because I had two good visits, but check back with me at my next appointment in six months, we'll see how things go from there.

Here's to You, George Washington

Today is President's Day and my parents are coming back tomorrow. Before the end of the day I have to pick up groceries, toiletries, flowers, new linens, and have my teeth cleaned at the dentist. Then come home to cook, clean, then clean some more, then clean a lot more because I've really let the house go. You could call this The Worst day Ever.

As I'm typing all this, my house mate is watching daytime television. I guess she watches it pretty often. There's a lot of over enunciating on daytime TV. And a lot of screaming from the audience.

Hey, did you know that Morning Edition and All Things Considered are the 2nd and 4th most listened to radio shows in the US? Despite all the screaming women on TV, there's hope for us yet.

Nerd Like Me

I've been a geek long enough to know that there are some friends with whom it's not OK to talk about NPR, or that if we do, it'd be a one-ended discussion. There are some friends who you share word plays with, some you quote Simpsons with, and some you don't do either with, because they're too cool for all that and in general, too cool for me. I still remember a clashing-of-worlds moment awhile ago, when Leash and I were talking about scrabble, boggle, and Trivia Pursuit. I turned to Alex and asked "What nerdy games do you play?" And she said, in the most gentle manner possible, "We... don't play any of that. We go out dancing." And it's because of the awkward silence that followed that I generally police my own geekitude. But sometimes, things just slip out...

At dinner, Alex brings up that the Chronicles of Narnia sequel is coming out this summer and Jared comments that it'll coincide with the much more with the exciting Indiana Jones sequel (trailer now out! Not that I watched it or anything)...

Moi: Yeah, that's also when X-files 2 is coming out. Wait, was that geeky of me? You guys probably don't watch that, huh?

Jared: X-files? Like Mulder, and Scully?"

Moi: Yeah... I mean, not that I know or anything...

Alex: Mulder and Scully are coming back!?

Jared: The first one was so good!

Moi: Wait, you watch it, too? And you-?

(much squealing and excited rambling on the part of both Jared and Alex)

Alex: Oh my God, we have to see that, all of us! Together!


And suddenly, I pitied their excitement. It all seemed so eager... so needy. I don't know. I think I might be too cool for them.

Wicked Pisser

I had a perfect night last night. The plan was to grab a leisurely dinner and a movie with friends, but we never made it to the movie. Alex, despite having lived in many cities, despite her knowledge of many countries, and despite the fact that she's going to single handedly bring about world peace in a few years, had trouble navigating the streets of Boston. I called her at least thirty times in a span of as many minutes, trying to figure out just why it took her so long to get from the Park Street to Boylston stops. (It's a straight line, if you walked it, you'd get there in a minute and wouldn't cross any streets.) But alas, we all made it to Dong Khanh in one frozen piece, where we ate, lingered, then lingered some more. Alex made me order for the table, then gamely ate everything. Jared ate nothing. It's not really his fault, though. Cheap food can kill Jared. Afterward dinner, we caught a Chinese cafe as it was about to close. The ladies there were eager to sell off what still remained and kept pushing buns and rolls toward us. Every second we hesitated made them think we were driving a hard bargain, so that Alex walked away with two mini-mooncakes, four coconut rolls, and some other random piece of bread, all for $3.

I've got lots of things going on to stress about now, lots of things to think about, lots of things to do, but last night, just slowly eating with a couple of good friends, rolling with whatever surprises came up, was just perfect.

Plus, the apparently remarkable speed with which I pee was once again noted and commented upon, which was as odd as it was edifying. I may be shorter and more stupid than you are, but by God, I will pee faster than you, anytime, anywhere.

Time and Place

Today's entry- a comic strip! Without the humor! Or the graphic drama. It's entitled "I Got Told." Or "Put in Place." Or some variant of your choosing.

Scone Scorned

Ranwei Ranwei Ranwei.  (that was for kicks.  Hi, Ranwei.)

More often than not, if something tastes moldy, it's because it is moldy.  Was eating my morning scone this morning when I thought something was amiss.  For some reason I chose to attribute that to the lemon rinds in the scone because I couldn't figure out why else it would taste moldy.  Until I looked down and saw mold.  Oh. 

On the bright side, I marched into Stop & Shop and got my money back without hassel.  (I'd bought the scones a couple of days ago but its sell by date is today).  I even made a penny in the process because they figured it was easier to give $4.00 back than $3.99.  Which also means that I ate the first few scones for free.  Another bright spot: Doc Nice assured me that I would not die.  Ever.  Fine, he said I wouldn't die from mold, whatever.  On the downside, I have to start buying the expensive JP Licks scones again instead of the cheap surpermarket kind.  And Doc Nice's name doesn't fit like a glove. 

Thin Red Line

Ignorant. Racist. Or a mixture of both. It's always a damn fine line. How am I supposed to tell what people are?