False Alarm

Maybe it's a sign of self obsession, though I'd like to think not, but walking by the school of public health and seeing the hordes of people pouring outside from within, my first thought was "Wait, they didn't tell me it's Orientation.  Maybe I'm supposed to be here."  Turns out, it was a fire alarm.

Go Shorty

My toe nail is cracked and bloody. I have no breakfast or lunch for tomorrow. There are markers all over my floor. I'm exhausted. But I just came from one of my favorite birthday parties (not mine) ever. I was definitely making-songs-up-as-I-walk happy as I skipped out of the party. Pictures and stories to come later, I half-heartedly promise.

It's Friday Afternoon, Can't We All Just Get Along

Crossing the street, spotted a man turn to a kid coming toward him and exhales smoke in his direction.  I would probably be more upset if the kid didn't look so annoying.

Just saw a physician, wearing a lab coat that presumably bears his name, get turned away from the medical library because he didn't have his hospital badge on him.  I say, good for you, medical library.  Just because a man comes out of the hospital to walk into the library wearing a lab coat, slacks, and tie, doesn't mean he's actually the doctor his coat says he is from the hospital he just came from and it certainly doesn't mean he has a right to be in the library.  I wonder how many people they have busted, surreptitiously reading through the scientific archive under an assumed lab coat.

Can we all get passed the bipartisan bickering on health and economics and agree that hipsters --pale, lanky, mustachioed hipsters lazily skate boarding through traffic-- should not be allowed to be shirtless?  Let's get some laws we can agree on before the recess.  (I know, my description of the hipster is totally redundant, like saying the giant was tall, or the Bo' grad brilliant, I do apologize.)

Lil' Gumshoe

Last night, we were sitting in a restaurant in the North End, laughing at Young Bo's many ridiculous stories of walking into elevator doors ("OK, so these elevators are like mirrors-" "You mean the golden doors?  You thought they were gold mirrors?"  "And that doesn't explain why you walked into them.  Do you often walk into mirrors?"), when Joel sauntered by, a pair of shoes in hand, and another pair on his feet.

As he placed his order, we began placing bets on why he had his shoes in hand.

Nik's theory was the most straight forward and both Matt and Joel thought it was the most plausible (though was as incorrect as the rest of ours):  He had left the shoes in his car and were now bringing them home.  (I think that raises more questions than answers- why did he have an extra pair in the car and why were they going home with him now?)

I posited that Joel had pried the shoes off of a dead man's feet.  (Perhaps discovered when he was checking out real estate.  Totally the most logical.)  And was summarily shot down.  I didn't stay down for long though, because Young Bo's earnest imagination was even more whack than mine, and she sold it with even more self-belief.

Young Bo': Joel had gone on a blind date and prepared two pairs of shoes, one with thicker soles than the other.  Thus, if a girl had turned up taller than expected, he could quickly go into the bathroom and change his shoes.  This was the first and most reasonable explanation that entered her mind.  Some people have to work hard at absurdity.  Some people are just born with it.

Not Stirred

This morning seemed a little off so I decided to get a scone to sort things out.  Scone and tea are always great for soothing rough spots.  Unless, of course, you get this girl as your server:

Moi: Could I please have a scone, toasted please?

(I know I said 'please' twice, it's an absolute curse.)

Café girl: Do you want me to just microwave it, or run it through the toaster?

Moi: Toaster, please.

Bat Crazy

O, Orinoco's bacon-wrapped date stuffed with almond, I shan't forget you. You will stay with me for a very long time.

In other news, Sister Claire is crazy. But crazy in the best possible sense.

(Discussing the awesome and remote possibility that she might get to throw the first pitch one day...)

Moi: What if there's a cancer kid there that day?

Sister Claire: There won't be a cancer kid. I'll make sure of it.

Moi: Oh yeah?

Sister Claire: Or I'll start shouting, "hey, I have cancer, too." "Look," (pulling on her own hair) "it falls off! I have cancer. Pick me!"

Disengaged and Overaged

Well into their "middle ages" my parents are having more and more trouble discerning what is appropriate for young people of certain ages.  Yesterday, my Father tried to tell a 15-year-old that all the cool kids wear extra-large t-shirts.  And today, Mother wanted to show a film about survivors of civil war atrocities to the church youth group...

(Discussing the movie War Dance, about young Ugandan refugees who have endured horrific conflicts and compete in a national dance competition)

Mother: Do you think this is a movie the youth group could watch?

Moi: Absolutely not.  A lot of them are too young.

Mother: What about Ginger's children?

(The 12-year-old boy and 5-year-old girl?)

Moi: They would be too young, yes. 

Soap Box

Coming home isn't always fun; there seems to be a ceaseless supply of strangers that my parents have me meet. The number of people they have met in their lives is truly astounding. But one thing that I do appreciate about going home is the opportunity to talk to my dad about things that I'd never get to talk to about anyone else. Like Chinese missionaries. He knows a lot about them. Of white men who went into China in the nineteenth and twentieth century, who dressed like the locals, who were as culturally sensitive as a white men were capable of at that time and age, who refused to go home in the face of war and uprisings, and died in China. Of Chinese men, who had the opportunity to study abroad, experience religious freedom, and still returned to their homeland so they could preach Jesus. Of martyrs and labor camps and all these things that seem so surreal. Yet they happened in the very near past and continue today.

I was a soc major. Cultural hegemony was my bread and butter. I know how missionaries ravaged cultures. For every great there were many, many not. Yet these folks-- it's because of their contributions to the Chinese church and their zealousness that my great grandfather and my grandparents ever came in contact with the church. Even if you think these men were crazy Christians, their stories are fascinating. And every time I hear my father tell these stories, stories that no one else in my life talks about, their passion arouses something in me out of dormancy (the characters' passion- not the story telling- my father says "and he died in prison camp" with the same steady tone he explains global oil prices). I remember that I'm Chinese. Christian. Casual writer. And these bits makes me want to tell stories.

Happy to See Me

(Debriefing Chris's BBQ)

Moi: … It was so weird.  Then Tom* saw me and he was all, "hey! How are you?"  Knew my name and everything.  I've never spoken to him before.

Zvi: No, he's a nice kid.

Moi: And Clarissa*?  She acted like she was so psyched to hear what I'm doing.  I'm pretty sure we never spoke at Bo' either.

Zvi: Maybe people are just glad to see you?

Moi: There's got to be a different explanation.

*Names modified to protect myself.  I'm not a good fighter.

Dissed and Carded

Terrible, terrible things happen to me when I forget my hospital ID badge.  Yesterday, I was locked in the stairwell for a good five minutes before someone walked by and heard my pathetic knocks.  And today, the library security man that I'm pretty sure should recognize me by now (just wait until next year, buddy, I'll be there all the time) gave me a hard time.  Usually, I wave my hospital ID (or sometimes Jen's) and all is right with the world.  Sometimes I forget and have to use my library card.  Today, neither option worked:

Security: ID?

Moi: (wave my library card a second time-- he was talking to someone else the first time)

Security: Swipe it here, please.

Moi: (swipe.  though I never had to before.  it comes up red, which really shouldn't happen, but the card is old because the library is cheap even though my account is still good) It's not really expired.  Actually, I came to renew my card. 

Security: This card is expired.  You can't go in.

Moi: No, it isn't.  But I'm here to renew it anyway.  See, here's my application.

Security: Don't give it to me, you need to see the librarian.

Moi: I know.  That's what I'm trying to do. 

And this was after my delight this morning with the admission office.  They needed a transcript from my study abroad program.  So I paid for and requested one.  Yesterday, I get a letter from the program.  Thinking it's a receipt, I open it.  It was the transcript.  So I call up the admission office and ask if they've also received a copy.  And if not, when I could drop it off.  The reply?  "If the letter is unopened, you may drop it off on Monday."  I hate every bureaucrat right now.  Damn the man.  Let's start a revolution.

Soap Box

I cannot stop reading about the Uighurs. It's like watching movies like Titanic (except that I hated that movie). Tethering to reality, it's like watching the Burmese monks refuse offerings. I know how it will all end but I can't stop rooting for them (not the killings intrinsically tied to this event, their Queen of spades, but of the threat, the uprising, the attention). I know that they have no cards left, that the prolong any of this is to make life harder for themselves, their families, their ethnicity. I absorb news stories while knowing that each named source is going to face retribution. But it's hard not to root for these people and hope that this time, they will shake the hands of the giant enough. This time they will crack the gates. This time the damage will be bad enough that the government will learn to listen to prevent another. This time they will create enough little fissures that the collapse will come easier next time. (There won't be a collapse, I know. There may never be another. But we can hope for change.) And I, disconnected from these people, no more invested in their plight than anyone else, I can only offer well wishes and look to history for hope. Because oppression can't always win. Wrong will be proved so one day. One day.

Likely Heroes

Everyone was thinking it, so let me not bury the lede. The whiteboard was awesome today. Division Superlatives was the category and I had pictures and everything. Of course, some people, like Doc Binks, laugh at all the entries; it's the trickier ones who are the best rewards. Like Doc Fischer. If it's a good one, he'll just smile or put in a suggestion. Today's entry? He just looked at it and laughed. As with most entries though, there had to be that one voice of dissent. Doc "Most likely to Campaign for Most Likely to Succeed" Whitecastle.

Moi: If you're offended, let me just say that Young Bo' wrote all of this.

Whitecastle: She's not even in the building.

Moi: I know. Amazing.

Whitecastle: No, that's really funny. But it's just... you have way too much time.

Moi: I do spend my time working. (point to screen) Look at all these Kaplan Meier plots!

Whitecastle: But think of how much time you could have spent on the plots instead of on the board. Then they wouldn't look so ugly.

Doc Fischer: That's- ouch- that's harsh.

Whitecastle: Anyway, when do we fire you again?

Temporary Objects May Be More Permanent Than They Appear

On Canada Day, like the good sport and supporter of Canada's constitutional monarchy that I am, I decided to don a little flag tattoo (see above; I am so jacked). The tattoo, however, appeared to be temporary in name only. I showered for days, but short of painfully rubbing my skin (the way that's sure to get me welts for hours-- again, parents, thanks for the awesome genes!), nothing could remove the darn maple leaves. So there I was, on the 4th of July, with two little flags on my arm. And the entire world all decided to choose Independence Day to have keen eyes and observation. Every BBQ I went to and each friend I met had to start with "What's with the flag?" "Hey, Cananda, we don't accept your kind," "What're you trying to start; why do you hate your country?" And all along, I just wanted to win a trivia contest on a Wednesday then have some burgers and sparklers on Saturday. Like any good American, really. Moral of the story? No good ever comes from supporting Canadia.

Fall from Grace

Chimneys are great for watching fireworks. They're not so friendly to cell phones. One of these girls dropped her phone the long way down. Maybe one of the funniest parts of my 4th. Though it was equally amusing to watch her try to figure out her number in drunkeness, ask neighbors if a phone fell down their fireplace, and then have Redman Matt try to fish it out of the chimney- losing a $30 rod but gaining a pack of cigarettes and 2 empty beer cans in the process.

Bum Beach

I wish my Sunday was funnier.  Instead, it was just oddly perfect.  We all woke up early on Saturday, and for once, followed Matt's spreadsheet schedule to head down to Singing Beach (he's a great planner but terrible enforcer).  Everyone paid the fee to go onto the beach except Kev, Jo, and I; no one stopped us for contributions to Manchester-by-the-Sea and we were quite OK with it.  The sun was out, the beach was beautiful, the food was junk, and the company above the food.  The only thing that was remotely funny was Helsinki's lack of color despite hours of trying and Redman Matt.  Mr. "I'm-very-flexible-and-can-apply-sunscreen-by-myself," Mr. "don't-bother-getting-me-face-sunscreen-I'll-just-use-some-from-my-arms," and finally Mr. "let me lie here awhile with my t-shirt on and towels over me because it's barely 2pm and I am already beet burnt and it pains me to wear flip flops."  Oh, white people, you never cease to fascinate me.

Runners up for funny (it was a slow day in the humor factory) were Spoiler Jo-- we walked by a few girls chatting along the beach.  One was showing her friends the place and asked if they knew why the place was called Singing Beach.  It was obvious to me that the girl took great pride in the knowledge and wanted to share it with her visitor friends, but it was not obvious to Jo.  So she stepped in and said, "It's because of the way the sand sounds when you shuffle through."  Which earned her no gratitude, but a dirty look and "thank you," from the poor, thunderless girl.

And a conversation I had with a newly acquainted stranger that went something like this…

Moi: I work at [the hospital].

Girl: Oh, do you know Dr. Jennifer… Jennifer something?  She's an OB-GYN.

Moi: No, I don't.  How do you know her?

Girl: I've been trying to get her to be my OB-GYN for months, but she's really busy.

Moi: …

Lazy Sunday

I went to the beach today.

Find Out What It Means to Me

Happy two days after Canada Day, everyone. I am sad to inform you that I did not win the Canada Day trivia contest. Such an honor goes to Jo. I was tied for 2nd, and then beat the others for being able to name a few provincial capitals. Whitecastle, quite surprisingly, was pleased with how I placed.

Whitecastle: Second-- that's not bad. Though I guess you studied.

Moi: That's the thing, everyone else studied, too!

Whitecastle: You hang out with a bunch of nerds.

Hello, Mr. Kettle, have you met Pot? The Pot is very black.

-----
As I've already alluded to, Wednesday was Young Bo's last day in our office. Starting next week, she'll be working off site, though still affiliated with our Division. On Tuesday, the RAs' plan for a small ice cream outing was butchered and turned into farewell ice cream cake for the entire office. All the faculty, but especially Whitecastle and DocQuery, enjoyed making fun of the ridiculousness of the occasion (and all the RAs made sure to laughed extra hard because we all agreed, had wanted to stop the ice cream cake spectacle, but was thwarted by people more powerful).

Whitecastle: With [Young Bo'] gone, there'll be a lot less giggling coming from between their cubicles.

Moi: Excuse me? I do not giggle. Young Bo' giggles.

Whitecastle: You don't giggle? That's right, you snarl.

DocQuery: And hiss.

This Office a-Rockin'

The Division office has 2 main doors.  A front door and a back door.  To walk through the front there and get to the RAs' desks, one must pass the Division secretary, our supervisor, and the Division manager.  Walking through the back door bypasses all these personalities, but requires a key.  This morning, coming back from our hush-hush one-hour-plus Young Bo' sendoff breakfast, we the RAs all decided it was best that we walk through the back door.  Except no one had a key.  A nose game quickly ensued and noble Jen volunteered to go through the front door for us as we waited for her by the back door.  As we were waiting, we spotted PhD Jen walking by the front door (she on the inside, we on the outside, just like that Sunday School song).  She passed us.  Turned around.  And let us in, beating RA Jen.  "How long have you been waiting there?"  "Um… not long."  "You guys know that we have 2 doors?"  "Oh yeah?  2 doors?" 

Famous Last Words

This is Young Bo's last day next to my cubicle (she's moving to another site but still working for the Division and will be back for our weekly conferences… which made her "going away" gathering yesterday just about the lamest excuse to have ice cream cake ever- which all the docs made sure to point it out, including our chief).  I wonder if I'll miss her…

(I'm sitting at my desk doing work and hear Young Bo' muttering "what are you doing!?" to herself)

Moi: Are you having a crisis?

Young Bo': No, but your face is.

Of Brains and Brawns

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

Doc Binks: Who's Steve Nash?

Moi: A basketball player.

Doc Binks: Eric Gagne?

Moi: Famous pitcher. National League.

Doc Binks: And Rick Fox?

Moi: Another basketball player.

Doc Binks: I'm sensing a theme here.

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

Lowdown

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

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

Thirty Three and Counting

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

Park & Recreation

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

Friendly Neighbor in an Indeterminate Direction

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

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

Moi: You mean the prime minister?

Young Bo': Yeah, that one.

Moi: How are you Canadian!?

500 Days

Remember summer? No? Yeah, me neither.

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

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

Young Bo': The book publisher?

Moi: No, the current Prime Minister.

Young Bo': Oh.

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

Moi: So Whitecastle told me about Canadian sports.

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

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

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

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

Traffic

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

Duly noted,

Ducking for Cover

Whatever It Takes

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

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

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

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

Father Time

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

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

Father: Son, when have I seen Hot Buzz?

Mother and Child: It's Hot FUZZ.

Father: What is that?

Mother: F-U! Fuzz!

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

Father: But I've seen it.

Brother: When?

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

Moi: (a thousand eye rolls)

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

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

Scooper Troopers

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

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

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

It's Inanimate

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

Father: This computer better last you through your doctorate.

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

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

Waste Not Want Now

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

Fools Gold

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

 

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

 

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

 

Marlene: Do you... like her?

TChu: You mean, do I love her?

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

To Sir

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

Lamentation

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

Scooper Duper

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

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

Moi: Because you killed our Jesus?

Zvi: It was a misunderstanding.

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

It's How She Cares

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

Mother: Would you like dumplings for lunch tomorrow?

Moi: Oh that sounds marvelous.

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

And Who Is My Neighbor?

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

Can't Go Home Again

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Working Hardly

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

Whitecastle: Are you actually working?

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

Young Bo': And I'm… supervising.

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

Words Do No Harm

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

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

Doc Vice: Anyone die today?

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


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

Doc Vice: Who tried to bribe you with chocolates?

Doc Query: One of my patients.

Edith: What did you prescribe her?

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

Spotted, She Wrote

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

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

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

Liz: Who is this boy?

Moi: Um…?

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

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

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

Moi: Wait, does he have glasses?

Liz: Yes.

Moi: Sort of tall?

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

Moi: I think it's John Mark.

Liz: Does he love Jesus?

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

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

Let This Plate Pass From Me

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

Touching Hands, Reaching Out

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

Er, that last bit sounded creepier than I intended.

Lazy Saturday

This happens every weekend I'm in town.  And yet I forget, every weekend.  I wake up on Saturday, feeling rested and lazy, relishing in my solace.  I pull on a pair of jeans too hole-y for polite company and an old t-shirt of the same comfort and quality.  Shunning decorum, seeking anomie, I head to the streets to run errands.  I don't want to see a single soul I know, but in case I do, I pull a nice pair of shades with me.  The errand today was finding cheese.  How perfectly yuppie, how apropos of the South End.  So I stroll out in my Saturday best- worn jeans, t-shirt, sunglasses, flip flops, thinking I look the part of a casual Saturday sidewalker.  I am, after all, looking for cheese.  But every weekend, I forget I'm in the South End.  The "casual brunch" crowd is immaculately clad.  It's nary 11am and there's a young woman outside of my building, talking on her blackberry, in three inch heels, skinny black pants, and a dressy "this only looks like I put no effort" top.  Saturday mornings are but an illusion of charm and relaxation.  Why of course.  And there I am, strolling with my log of chevre in hand, once again, feeling pretentious and underdressed at the same time, for the zillionth time.

Grow Fonder

Dear Blog:
  Remember how I used to keep a blog?  I hardly do.  Eh, what's been happening with my life?  Weekend in the White Mountains, way too much time spent photographying a dinosaur squeak toy, computer down for another week, saw Rove vs. Carville last night, came home to pound a giant lobster with a hammer, hosting a benefit on Saturday, expect some animal cruelty in my future, and oh yes, I am randomly sick.  That's life in a nutshell.  Way too much to tell you, but so little time, so little energy, and so many germs.

---
Doc Query:... so I found his email address and was able to contact him.

Moi: You out-googled me?

Doc Query: Yeah, I did.  I just wanted to rub that in.

Doc Whitecastle: You've got to put them in their place when they have a chance, you know?

Moi: In case we're not lowly enough?

Doc Whitecastle: It's like making residents cry.

Doc Query: This is the season for it, June, July.  That's when you can still break their spirit.

Did I mention that we save lives for a living?  And change the world?  Do-gooders all around.

The SADD Life

I have given up drinking.  If I must, I will drink water.  But I am keeping the Nazarite vow (except for the head shaving part, and maybe the grave part) and abstaining from alcohol.  It's not that I've hit some debauchery low, blacked out, and regret my actions.  It's much more lame than that.  The last couple of times I've had very little alcohol (as in, 1-2 beers), I have turned very, very red.  It's much worse than I remember.  And I don't like to feel my arms and legs throbbing.  So I'm accepting the fact that I am the intolerant type of aldehyde dehydrogenase deficient, instead of the alcohol tolerant type who are at higher risk for throat cancer.  Probably should have had more beers when I was more tolerant.  And probably should have not picked tonight- the work happy hour- to be the day to stop drinking.  It was a small crowd today, and as the waiter went around the table and I apologized for being lame and asked for non-alcoholic mixed drink, the Chief and Whitecastle both scoffed.  "You're the ring leader in this and you're not going to drink?"  "I didn't think it was appropriate for me to turn really red."  "Oh, come on!"  I did, however, have a sip of Whitecastle's Cocoa Cochon-- bacon vodka and chocolate liquer, just because of how ridiculous it sounded.  "Let's all watch her turn red!"  He exclaimed as I took the tiniest of sips.  Thanks, Body.  As if my life wasn't lame enough.

$5 Tibet

Doc Binks is giving away a digital amplifier to anyone who wants it and has set it out by my cabinet.  For some reason, this act highly amused Doc Fisher.  Who wants to unload some old furniture onto Jen and me.

Doc Fisher: If you really wanted to unload it, you'd charge something so people know it works.  Well, you've taken the first right step.  Put it here between their cubes and not in your office.

Doc Binks: Actually, I offered to take it back if no one took it.

Doc Fisher: That's a mistake right there.  Your goal is to unload it.  You should embrace the entrepreneurial spirit.  Make a few bucks.

Doc Binks: But I just want to share the sterephonic love.

Doc Fisher: Now, perhaps if you put that up.  Advertise with a banner that said, "Sharing the Stereophonic Love."  That might work.

My Thai

This one is going in to the Annals of Good Ideas.  The first hot day in a long while.  Blankets.  Bo' friends.  Patch of grass by the swan boats.  Thai take-out around dinner time.  That's right.  Not to brag or anything, but I had a glorious Thai take out picnique last night (Joe was assigned to bring "Thai meat" and did so by calling up the restaurant and asking "Do you serve any meat?  I would like a meat.  And a vegetable.").  You were probably not invited.  If the Commons used to be the haven for derelicts, the Garden seems to be the place of choice for couples without a room.  They were everywhere last night, but Jenny shooed them away from our area at least, with a quick, stern, "Hey, hey, hey!"  She's going to be the best mom someday.

PS. I'm going to be MIA for awhile.  Because I'm Sri Lanka.  And because my computer died.

Sweet Sensations

I walked by Doc Binks's office today and overhear Doc Vice and him discussing a graph…

Doc Vice: What are these- yes, OK- but can we get rid of these sprinkles?

Doc Binks: Do you always see things in terms of dessert?

Potty Training

Discussing some methods controversy at the division meeting today, Doc Vice shared that apparently, a grad student had scribbled something in the SPH bathroom regarding a stance that Doc Vice agreed with. Noticing that I was stifling laughter, Doc Binks turns to me.

Doc Binks: You know you just signed on for two years of this.

Doc Fisher: Going to be spending a lot of times in those bathrooms.

The Chief notices the murmurs and snickers.

Doc Chief: Well, this was in the men's room wall, right? Not the women's?

Doc Vice: I assume that he didn't go into the ladies' room to read this.

Moi: Shucks.

Doc Chief: So if you want to read it, you'll have to go to the men's room.

(great thinking-on-foot, if I say so myself)

No, it wasn't weird at all, or uncomfortable the entire time Doc Chief was explaining which bathroom I would have to go to for the next two years the latest contentions in epi methods. For the next two years, I'm only going to stick with toilets I know. And avoid drinking anything at school.

Pillar of Salt

As we age and near death, our habits change.  Our bodies adapt.  We learn that the fittest survive and thus we ought to eat fruits and vegetables, no matter what we really think of their grossness agenda.  We learn to study, else we'd never pass tests, move on to the next grade, and get fulfilling jobs like research assisting.  And we learn to blog using the 'royal we' to give credence to our statements.  It's taken years of discipline to get to this point, with so much work still to be done, but my body has decided to rebel.  More specifically, I've relapsed- my body has had a taste of what it has been deprived of for so long, and now it can't wait to go back.  There were the chicken nuggets two months ago.  And this morning, I played a game of Snake.  Now all I want to do is sit in my bed, tray of chicken nuggets on one side (ranch, BBQ, honey dijon, and of course, ketchup for dipping), a cup of Mountain Dew in front of me, and play Snake.  Over and over again.  Followed by Tetris.  (I have no patience for Pong)  It is taking every ounce of self restraint I have to be working right now, sipping tea, and sitting obediently in front of my screen.  Soul. So. Full. Of. Anguish. 

Born to Run

This morning, the shuttle bus encountered four yellow lights.  Our stubborn and fearless driver decided to chase every single one of them.  And at all four times, he ended up running red lights.  He wasn't even close on any of the lights.  Yet his tenacity and persistence were almost inspiring.  He never seemed to learn his lesson.  And, driving a big shuttle bus, it wasn't like anyone was going to rush out and hit him (they'd end up hitting me) for blocking the road.  And so, on this grim Monday morning, let's all learn a lesson from shuttle bus driver- even when things aren't looking good, just keep running, running, and running. 

(Speaking of running, I decided a couple of weeks ago that I'd start running three times a week.  I have run zero times since then.  Though on Saturday night, Landlady Chang and I agreed that we'd do so on Sunday morning, only to wake up and discover it raining outside.  "You can't run in the rain," we said to each other, shrugged, and I started watching teevee instead.  But that was before my shuttle driver put my life in danger.  Now I know better.)

Soul Train

I'm mourning the loss of my black Pilot BPS-GP fine pen. If anyone can track one down for me, I'd be willing to pay $5. Don't tempt me. I just might pay $10.

Give thanks, with a grateful heart
give thanks to the holy one

On the train ride to Dorchester this morning, a couple of guys entered with Bibles in their hand and started singing call and response. Jesus, one man would start, and Jesus, the other would echo. Healer, he continued, and healer, he followed. A woman sitting nearby laughed. "What is this, church on the subway?" And they started talking. She goes to Hope Fellowship by Porter. Their church is in Dorchester. Midway through the ride, another lady entered, singing. She sat in the far corner, away from the harmonizing duo, and sang her own hymn. Give thanks because he's given Jesus Christ, his son. I couldn't help but mouth along. It was such a surreal experience. I know that non-Christians often feel that faith issues are being shoved down their throats, but as a life-long Christian, I often feel the opposite, that my faith is something I cannot talk about except with my Jesus friends. The words 'mainstream culture' are often used by the one group to refer to another- so this morning was a rare gift for me. These two guys were singing on one end, this lone woman on the other, and the handful of us quiet, taking it all in, nodding along in recognition-- coming as we are, sitting as we are, on Sunday morning.

and now, let the weak say I am strong
let the poor say I am rich
because of what the Lord has done for us
give thanks.

Friday

I was not looking forward to Friday. I got home late the night before, and the night before that, and knew Friday would be exhausting. There was a dinner I didn't especially want to go to (especially when Sarah called around 4:30 and said that they were breaking out the grill and invited me to join) though I knew it'd be good for me. Work was not terribly exciting. And I had to wake up early on Saturday morning.

But then everything worked out perfectly. We sat outside for an extra long lunch today, the four of us not saying much of anything, just lounging in the sun and sharing the occasional mouse story. In the afternoon, we had an ice cream break for Edith's birthday. Whitecastle was in a great mood- not uncharacteristic, but always a plus. And oh, dinner. Actually, on a scale of yellow to Lincoln, dinner was good, but it was that after dinner moment that I liked the best. It was the fellowship's monthly Welcome Dinner, but afterward, six of us headed over to Nicole's place- a place that's comforting and relaxing by looks alone. Sitting outside in the warm, mosquito-less night, goofing off with my 6 Jesus friends-- dim sum brunch, movie with mother, Indian dinner with Alex, drive with my dad, LOST finale in Dorchester, Animal Collective show, discovering new pho place-- of all those awesome nuggets of this crazy week, the hour at Nicole's backyard was the highlight.

Rocking Chair Good Time

Went to an Animal Collective show last night with Zvi, and -- thanks to Amy's complicated mind-- Jared and Jared's sister (while Amy waited at a bar outside and watched the Bruins).  Zvi made me grade the show "on a scale between yellow and Lincoln, yellow being the lowest."  I gave the show a great.5-- it was great, loved seeing My Girls live, really enjoyed it (hence the extra half point), but it wasn't spectacular.  Plus, it made us feel incredibly old.

Zvi: My neck hurts.  My knees hurt.

Moi: My knees are killing me, too.  Imagine what would've happened had we actually danced.  Plus, I keep looking around thinking, "how do these kids look so young?"  I don't like this feeling.

Jared: That's because you are older than these kids.  You're old. 

Shut up, Jared.  And way to go Grouper and Bruins, for being the biggest pump downs ever.

Laundry Room

Seems like everyone is trying to be quoted today, and I haven't even gotten to my uncomfortable bathroom story.

(This afternoon, I keep walking by Jen's desk to get to Whitecastle's office and turning back.  By the third time, she strikes up conversation.)

Jen: How you doing?

Moi: I keep trying to stalk Whitecastle, but he keeps talking to people.

Jen: The nerve!

Moi: I know.

Jen: You'll have to get him alone to kill him, you know.

Moi: … (start seeing Jen in surprising new light)

PS. A delayed cyber five for everyone who got the title

Working Hardly

(after reading another gem of a whiteboard entry today)

Whitecastle: This just confirms that we've got to find you more things to do.

Moi: What?  See?  I'm working on [editing and reformatting] your CV right now.

Whitecastle: Yeah, it was good how you flicked that window up right as I walked by.

(The real injustice is, I was actually working when all this transpired.  All my windows were work related.  That never happens.)

Proud and Confused

The great thing about living in a city, even one as small as Boston, is that once the snow melts away and the sun arrives, there is always something going on during the summer.  Today, Alex and I met up for dim sum and tea because she's all finished with school and on her way of representing our fine nation abroad (cannot be more proud of that girl).  We grabbed some tea and pastries and looked for a place to sit on the Commons.  That was when we spotted big white tents, a decent crowd, and heard live music.  Naturally, we walked toward the commotion.

Moi: Oh, hey, a fair!

Alex: Look at all the colorful balloons.

Moi: Yes... balloons of all different colors... and oh, those girls I saw in purple earlier... hm.

Alex: How's this spot?

(we sit under a tree at the edge of the event, one that grants us a full view of the tents and people and a giant banner)

Moi (reading from the banner): Gay- Straight- Youth- Pride- oh.

(later, Alex gets really into the music...)

Alex: Yeah!  Fight the power, fight the Man!

Moi:  I don't think it's that kind of rally...

Mustard, Grilled Onions and Pickles

Sometimes during our Bo' lunches, we lose track of who's just being flip and who we're actually mocking. In those circumstances, however, it's best to assume that our target is Young Bo'.

(This past week, I've been studying up in preparation of an Animal Collective concert next week. Zvi was kind enough to burn me a CD.)

Zvi: You knew who they were, right?

Moi: Yes. Though when I first agreed, I was thinking of the Eclectic Collective.

Zvi: Ah, no, that's not them. They're not the Animals either. Or Grizzly Bear.

Young Bo': You know who they remind me of? The Eclectic Collective. I like them.

(pause)

Zvi: I like the color blue.

Sort of a Big Deal

My friends are glamorous folks.

Young Bo' and I have a friendship on many levels. Colleague, alumni, Jesus friend, it's a relationship that we've discussed in many DTR talks. OK, that was a lie. But it definitely works on different levels. I fetch her water, proofread her drafts, she does the same for me, and we take co-ownership of cookies and ice cream tubs. Today, she made me go one step farther. I had to put a band aid on her, on a stupid little cut on her finger. As she held her finger out and I started wrapping the band aid around the little cut, Decision Scientist walked by and immediately broke out laughing.

Moi: (to Young Bo') I hate you.

Young Bo': What? You're saving a life. You should feel good.

And then Doc Query walked by. He also found it amusing.

Doc Query: So you get into Harvard School of Public Health and you think you can save lives now?

Moi: (to Young Bo') I hate you.

Half Baked

Let's not bury the lede.  I had a baked Alaska last night.  I'd seen them on my teevee before and last night we all, for the first time, witnessed it in all its glory.  Tiller is moving to Alaska this afternoon and Sarah, being the ingenious and caring person that she is (the English adjective escapes me at the moment, but the Chinese word I'm thinking of means, literally, pasted-on-heart, to mean someone who's so intimately caring it's as if their heart is pressed against yours) thought to make a baked Alaska to send her off.  I don't care where you're heading off, a baked Alaska is always the perfect send off.  I can't even begin to pick a favorite part.  Chocolate cake.  Crushed Oreos center.  Chocolate ice cream.  A baked on meringue top reminiscent of s'mores.  And oh, that's right, fire, glorious fire, brought on by rum, glorious rum, blazing through the whole, glacial piece, like a scene straight out of An Inconvenient Truth.  It was a flawless presentation, with an all-too-eager Keith pouring flaming liqueur all over the pan and then back and forth between two cups as Sarah narrated the history of the dessert (it used to be called Alaska and Florida).  Seamless execution.  And I dare you to pick a high or low spot (no, the fire wasn't the winner because well, you can''t eat fire- you can eat crushed Oreos).  Jordan and Ewing have nothing on this dream team.

PS. My Chinese is on a roll this week.  First I help Father translate a phrase into Chinese (he was rather indignant that I came up with something better, considering how absolutely poor my skills are) and today, I can only think of the Chinese words I want, not English.  Maybe tomorrow I'll learn how to write properly.

Rose Colored Stained Glass Windows

I like my job. I can take joy in the grunt work and relish in the rare opportunities when I get to do some critical thinking. I know that that's what I'm good at. But once in awhile, I can just get lost designing posters. On some days, creating is so much more fun than analysis. Today was one of those days. This afternoon, I ran some fliers I'd made for the division happy hour by Whitecastle, to see which one would go up on his door.

Whitecastle: We've seriously got to find you more work.

Moi: I stayed late to make these!

Whitecastle: That one is too cynical for me.

Moi: What, 'cause you're just a ray of sunshine?

Whitecastle: I just call things as I see them.

(later, talking to Jen)

Moi: He said it was too cynical for him.

Jen: But that's impossible!

Waltz with Potatoes

Firstly, apologies for the worse-than-usual grammar of the last entry.  I seemed to have lost all punctuating capabilities last night.

The orange saga continues.  This past weekend, as I settled into my bunk bed, I looked up at the bookshelf and saw a pile of orange peel.  "Did you bring orange peel from home?"  I asked Nic, who had plenty of opportunities along his journey to throw out his orange remains.  "Yup, can't sleep without it actually."  It must have traveled with him from the ferry to the bus, to Joe's place for dinner, and then the car ride up through the scary woods of Maine, into a house with plenty of trash cans.  But some people have travel oranges and some people sleeping oranges. 

I, on the other hand, am suffering a case of missing oranges.  I have lost the ability to purchase produce.  For two days now, I have gone into Stop & Shop, picked out produce, put them in my basket, checked out, and gone home, only to discover that they were missing- two beautiful navel oranges on Monday, and a bunch of scallion yesterday.  The chips, salsa, cans, ham… all there.  But not the produce.  It's the strangest thing.  (An onion did make it home on Monday, but not my oranges.  I don't know why.)  I'm not sure what kind of sickness this is, and where I keep leaving my produce, but my body really needs some Vitamin C.

Crimson Pride

Yeesh, Dusty. Hold your horses.

Today at work, because Supervisor often doesn't remember, I announced to the Division, for maybe the third time what my plans are for next year. That I am going across the street to the School of Public Health. Concentration? Health policy. (Though I think it might be the quantitative track. Sometimes I forget what I've signed myself up for. Or that I'm even going to school). And everyone nicely humored me by smiling, though I believe we're all getting tired of (feigning) being happy for me. But work is one of the few places where I don't feel funny saying where I'm going in the fall, because nobody is impressed and nobody will give me a hard time. Quite simply: everyone there is better than I am.

This weekend was another story. Every other word that came from my friends' mouths (and there were a lot of them that gathered at the cabin) was Haaaaarvuhd. Is that why you're going to Harvard? How did you ever get into Harvard? I'm sorry I'm not fancy like Harvard. (This coming from future doctors and Kelso, who already has her master's and oh, works for a world renowned news organization) After explaining for the fortieth time that I was going to "fake Harvard" (it really is- it's the least pretentious degree possible), I've finally decided enough with the modesty. I have plenty of time for that in the fall, when I will literally be the least experienced and least smart kid in class, or after graduation, when I'll be even poorer than I am now, or heck, I have opportunities to be modest every single day at work, so yes, Dustin and the World, I am going to Harvard.

PS. Just as how I had to get hit by a truck the Monday I was supposed to randomize data, so out of all the collaborators and contractors we work with, and all the ways that one could possibly get hurt, it had to be our transcriptionist who broke her wrist this weekend. She's having surgery tomorrow. With all the busyness at work piling on and all the other extracurriculars that I'm behind on, whenever I needed a break today, I just thought about the poor girl, and smiled, and smiled, and smiled. That's not so wrong is it? Of course not, wrong doesn't get you into Harvard.

Missing Link

Spotted at the PolarBear Triathlon (thanks, Glenn Close!): Not a polar bear. Actually not quite sure whose mascot that is.

Does Security know about this?

Starting with ME

This morning, we got up and moved a car out of the ditch with our bare hands. And what did you do this morning? You probably had brunch. Turns out, cars are very heavy. Thanks for standing there, Belle, and thanks for taking the picture, Jenny.

This weekend was Linda's birthday and because she is crazy awesome, she decided to celebrate by running a triathlon and inviting her friends to cheer her on and share a cabin in Maine. And oh, we cheered. We made embarrassing posters ('will you marry me,' 'Hi, mom,' and others of that nature... I was prevented from penning a 'Get tested' poster) and screamed until my throat hurt- though that might be the swine flu.

The weekend was near flawless (apologies to the Mainers I didn't get to see, I was far off campus for the majority and pressed for time. Heck, I didn't even see Riles. That never happens.), though the same can't be said for Joe's logic. Joe was involved in a long Michael Jackson: Misunderstood vs. Creepy debate with Adam.

Jenny: I'm not even getting into this. Joe brings this up all the time and I always lose.

Adam: How can you lose!? This is the easiest argument to win. Name one thing that's harder to prove.

Bad Robot

US RoboCup Open. 2 May, 2009
(what did you do this weekend?)

Blue Blood, Blue Steel

Dear New York Times:
  Sometimes, I think you write incendiary articles for kicks and giggles.  I understand that I'm not your demographic, but seriously?  Seriously?  (Making me talk as if I'm in Grey's Anatomy circa 2006, that's another sin to add to your long list.)  The piece today started with a fair disclaimer, "Although we didn't work with a budget, we were strict with our choices; each piece had to be worth the money, as well as be age-appropriate."  Sensible enough.  This is, after all, the Fashion & Styles column.  Too bad it soon disintegrated, with one shopper confiding "To be honest, even though I say I would buy a T-shirt from Topshop, I'd prefer to buy one from James Perse" for about $80.  One boutique yielded "surprisingly affordable" pieces, like a $450 silk jumpsuit (WTH on all counts).  And finally, piece de resistance, the characterization of a store where most pieces they chose (except for a couple) were under $1500 as "reasonably kind to the purse."  If I spent $1500 on a shirt I'd have to eat it.  Then throw it up so I can eat it again and again for the next three months.  You're lucky that I only get my news from the liberal media (especially since that article in The Nation told me that the WSJ has lost its soul) or I'd leave you.  I would, too, but come September, I'll start my tenure as a member of the liberal elite, what else am I supposed to do?

Sincerely,

Derelicte

My Constants

Wednesday night at 9pm is a sacred time.  I've had my share of absences, but I generally trek south into Dorchester on Wednesday nights to watch Lost with my local BP affiliates.  Lost is currently my favorite show to hate.  It's pure donkey kong ridonculous.  But watching it with the BP affiliates, as we shout our allegiances and gasp over the latest twist, is as comforting and relaxing as drinking soup, because it's the best thing to be doing, best place to be setting, during cold, hectic weeks.  It's also a really funny bowl of soup.  Spicy, too, thanks to Jax's many ethnic flavors.  And then there are the real, non-soup snacks that Sarah provides.  Like the stupendous chicken nuggets last month (which also coincided with ice cream and Desmond beating Benjamin Linus into a fine pulp.  Best Wednesday ever).  My heart still expands with ecstasy when I think upon those nuggets.  I don't know when you last ate yours, but it had been too long since I had mine.  And now I want chicken nuggets for dinner every night.  Every. Single. Night.  This is why people shouldn't feed their children junk food.

Another Liz highlight from last night-- "I wish I had swine flu so I can take a week off of work."  The girl is precious.

Rule of Halves

After a long drought, someone has finally come back from somewhere and brought in chocolates to the office to share.  Someone else has left a half-eaten piece of chocolate on the counter.  Has swine flu hygiene taught us nothing, people?

I Do Declare

I guess I should come out and officially say this for the few of you out there who I never see. Come this fall, I'm leaving the little people behind and going back to school. That's right. Educated liberal elite? That's going to be me. (or starving grad student subsisting on Ramen, we'll see) This means that I'll be staying in town for a couple more years, with the folks I love, and yet completely out of my element at school. I'll be among the youngest and least experienced, with no idea what I'm going to do with my Master's when I'm done. In other words: funsies!

Watching Lost tonight...

Sarah: Do you know where you're going yet?

Moi: Yup, I'll be staying in Boston. Being snotty pants. Looking down on you guys.

Liz: (a suddenly very defensive Liz, mind you) Psssh. Not me. You'll be joining my ranks in the Ivy Leagues. That's how you have to say it- Ivy Leagues. And push your nose up, like this.

I've already started practicing in front of the mirror.

Shock Jock

For the past week, a sports trivia question has been the subject of our RA white board:

How many (sets of) professional athletes can you name who share the same nickname but play different sports?

I know.  Sports trivia from me?  (Though I did venture a couple of half correct guesses)  No, it was Sister Claire's idea.  Young Bo' and I haven't even contributed answers.  In fact, Doc Fisher has been having a hard time just discussing this with me.  But for Doc Fisher, Doc Query, and Sister Claire, this question has provided endless hours of entertainment and head scratching.  They discuss it, they mull, they love to hear about how the others are doing, and when the lightbulb flashes, they come by and write their answers down.  It's too bad that only three of them are enjoying this.  The rest of the office has been walking by, asking "WTF?"

Also, Dusty, every song in your mix CD (for Dwighters at least) sounds the same.  They all made me sleepy. 

Box Seat

Finding this toilet alone would have been worth the trip to New York, but this was only half of it. There was also hanging out with Karina and Jenny, lying in parks, browsing boutiques, sketchy art opening, and oh, food, wonderful food. We had donuts for breakfast, empanadas for dinner, and frozen yogurt in between. We also discovered that the three of us had surprisingly much in common, like having antiquated, non-text friendly phones, and never having smoked. Try finding three other Bo' grads like that. I dare you. (OK, I don't think it was any stretch of the imagination that I've never smoked, but the other two were surprising.) And now, all three of us are sun burnt, with right shoulders that are pink and tender, wishing for another weekend like the last.

Sound Judgment

In today's segment of "Are You Serious, World?"  (And by 'world' I mean self-righteous lawyers)

The lawyer for Carlos's adoptive parents, Joseph L. Hensley, said his clients had waited more than a year for Ms. Bail to demonstrate her commitment to Carlos, but the judge found that she had made no attempt to contact the baby or send financial support for him while she was incarcerated.

The full Times article here: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/23/us/23children.html

All the Children Above Average

We're in the midst of interviewing new RAs to replace me (sorry, have I not mentioned that I'm going to school in Boston in a few months? I am) and discovered yesterday that Whitecastle, perhaps because he cannot live outside the confines of academics (just as I cannot operate without kingdom points), grades every candidate he interviews. Naturally, we were curious for our grades when we interviewed...

Moi: So we heard that you grade everyone-

Whitecastle: Yes, I give each person a grade.

Moi: So all the RAs...?

Whitecastle: A pluses all around.

Moi: OK, I'll buy that lie.

Whitecastle: You think I'm stupid enough to answer that question?

Do you think I'm stupid enough to answer that?

Traveling Orange

This is not my traveling orange. My traveling orange perished somewhere outside of London, before I had a chance to take a picture. But before it gave itself for my nourishment, it traveled far with me. First from the store to the apartment. Then to New York City. I had intended it for the bus ride, but ended up sleeping the whole way through. And when I got to the City, I was too busy having amazing falafel and cupcake. So it went away with me to Jersey for Katie's wedding. Like I was going to pull out an orange then. So it patiently traveled to Pennsylvania, to Jackie's. Then back to Boston, via New York and Connecticut. Only to have me pack it the next morning and head off to London (I thought I'd have it at the airport). Where I still did not eat the stubborn orange. It was headed to Edinburgh, having arrived at the airport, made it through the checks, and onto the plane, when I decided finally, that I was thirsty, starved, and not about to spend three pounds on a bottle of water. And there on the runway, before we even took off, I finished my little travel orange.

For Gak

Portland Lighthouse.

Pin Points of Wonder

I noticed yesterday that the church got new pens in the pews, which was a terribly exciting discovery. Then I noticed that these new pens had erasers on the other end and I was terribly confused.

On the Eddie Bert Agenda

1. Mosque Curry.
Three pound fifty. Heaping plate. Mosque. Pigeons. Nothing better.

2. Arthur's Seat
I don't know why I subject myself to the climb each time. The wind was maddening.

3. Fried Snickers Bar.
We had to nix the fried pizza, but the walking into a chippy and getting a deep fried candy bar then eating its melted turd-looking goodness experience- that makes me happy every time.

PS. Turns out 'chippy' can also mean prostitute. Who knew?

Queen's English

I was under the impression that toilets were gender neutral, inanimate objects, but that's not how they roll in the UK. Male and female, He created them.

Quality You Can Count On

Moi: How are the sick people?

Whitecastle: Good, good. Sick as usual. Though no one has died in awhile.

(JenP and I look shocked and break out laughing)

Moi: Why are you surprised at this?

Whitecastle: Well, these things happen.

Our Mutual Friend

The Brits are the classiest of people. And of them, I count the classiest of them as friends. They begged me to take this picture. And I, with my American sense of propriety and duty, obediently complied.

At last, I have returned from my journey. I am simply exhausted and counting down the minutes until I can finally crash on my bed with my pillows. Perhaps stories and photos will come later. There's a small album on fbook at present. But other than that, all I can muster is fatigue.

Beggars and Choosers

I went to the beach this morning.  Smooth sand.  Quiet village.  Idyllic fishing boats.  Colorful houses.  All that good jazz plus pastries on the beach and sun beaming down on me.  What more could I ask for?  Warmth, perhaps.  Apparently the Atlantic Ocean is just as cold in Portugal as it is back home.  I was all ready to complain about the weather being in the 60s (instead of the 70s last week, I knew I shouldn't have checked the weather before I got here) but I just checked what it's like back home and well, there are worse things to be than a swinger of birches.  Like research assistants.

Universal Language

Greetings from Lisboa.  That's Portuguese for Lisbon, and one of the few words that I know in the language.  It's too bad that the Americans and Brits aren't doing as great a job of cultural imperialism as we'd like to believe and we're bumping into plenty of people who don't speak English.  Like our nice cab driver today.

 

Moi: Did he say that the buses were there? 

 

Emily: I don't know, I didn't really catch what he said.

 

Moi: But you kept nodding and saying 'Yes'!

 

Emily: That´s just because he´s an adorable old man.

 

-----

One thing we do understand, however, is how to navigate the streets. 

 

Moi: Perhaps we should wait a couple of hours in country before we start jaywalking.

 

Emily: Good idea.

 

(watch incredibly slow car row by as people stand idly at the crosswalk)

 

Moi: On second thought, it´s been two minutes.  Let´s jaywalk.

 

Emily: Sounds about right.

Gloating Glory

Yesterday, got up much later than expected (the watch mess that we've already discussed, which Hannah found inordinately amusing), and had breakfast of toast and tea with Emily, the sun shining on our backs as we looked into the garden.  Then we headed to Greenwich where I took pictures of the prime meridien.  And now, I'm in Edinburgh- sitting in Fiona's kitchen, a pile of toffee on my left (for the Paula Deen gooey toffee cake later), waiting for her to finish wrapping up her shampoo bar creations (I don't understand it either) so we can make chocolate truffles for dinner.  Oh, how has your day been? 

Earth Stood Still

Greetings from London, the capital of the world.  (By the by- British flush system, I do not miss thee.)

It appears that in my travels, I have lost the ability to do simple math.  Set all my alarms five hours behind instead of ahead (do you have any idea how hard it was to figure all this out last night, after barely any sleep?).  Now it is another day, still sleep deprived, but it's a vacation day, so who cares.  Not saving any lives today.  But I am anxious for my three watch alarms to go off in three and a half hours. 

Another Fortune

All right, kids, I'm peacing out for awhile, heading to the Motherland.

Tonight, had dinner with the parents, who dropped me off at the condo. We passed a trash heap outside the building...

Mother: Whoa, it's true what they say, rich people's trash don't even smell bad.

Moi: Please, Ma, rich people don't take their trash out. That belongs to the tapas bar [on the first floor]. Rich people use garbage chutes.

Dangerously Delicious

This morning, doc Binks gave an awesome talk to the RAs on propensity score. We really were honestly glad to learn and enjoyed his teaching style. It was amazing. Especially the part where he perfectly profiled me...

Doc Binks: Say for the exposure, you're a cheetos eater (pointing to Uzi) and you're not a cheetos eater (pointing to me)

(brief pause as he looks at us and considers the statement)

Doc Binks: Actually, nevermind, it'd be more likely that she's the cheetos eater (pointing to me) and you would be the unexposed non-eater.

I could go for some hot cheetos right now.

Sandwich Savant

  It's time to get rhapsodic about Savant sandwiches.  Very recently, the Savant Project's El Cubano has become synonymous with comfort food in my mind.  The sandwich is far from traditional (roast pork between bread is really where the similarities end, the meat isn't even cut the 'right' way), but it's delicious.  I was a late convert to the Savant Project, mostly because its tapas left me hungry after many, many bites, and its price is still a little steep for my taste (damn you, hipsters, how do you afford your lifestyle?).  But it has gradually grown from "likable enough" to a decent place I like to go with the Bo' crew.  The staff is wicked friendly and I'll be honest, their "economic crisis" lunch deals helped win me over.  (Lunch, fries, table service, and tip all for $6?  You can't beat that… and they couldn't either.  The deal has been subtly removed.)  But this isn't a restaurant review, so let's get back to the sandwich.
  Its allure lies in how simple it is.  Sliced roast pork.  Bacon.  Cheese.  Avocados.  Pressed between two pieces of toasty white bread.  Served with a side of nicely seasoned fries.  There's not a single flaw there.  How could you go wrong with those ingredients?  Warm, soft, crusty, meaty… comfort.  That's why it's one of my favorite sandwiches.  I'm not even willing to try other things on the menu anymore.  That fish taco looks fascinating and all, but what El Cubano and I have is a sure thing.  A savory and sure thing.  I'll be loyal and tied down to it as long as it stays as beautiful as it was the last time I had it. 

--
That I'm always eating this with Bo' kids during the work day doesn't hurt, either.  B*tching makes everything taste better.  We were in there last week and there was some confusion over their discount as we settled the check.  Laura tried her best, but they would only give us free drinks.  No more recession discounts…

Moi: If [Young Bo'] was here, I bet we'd get the discount.

Zvi: Please, if she was here, we could kill and get away with it.