Glee Club

Over the past few weeks, I have been, like many people, fascinated and perplexed by the debate surrounding health care reform. I understand why people would be passionate over such a personal issue, but the vitriol and ignorance have often been shocking. And not just from the cable news crazies. I've also had decent conversations with a few friends and been surprised at people's reluctance for a public option. So when the opportunity came this week, like the good health policy student that I am, I thought I'd see the action for myself go hear what the politicians and activists are saying as well as try to spot some crazies. I missed a couple of town hall meetings earlier in the week with senators, but managed to join a rally on the Commons this morning.

(for Nicole and Katy)

What I forgot, was that I live in Boston. Look up "Preaching to the Choir" in the dictionary and I'm sure you'll spot one of these pictures. There were no counter rallies. Nobody shouted about America. In the state that brought you MassHealth, there were no reservations about a public option, just frustration that there wouldn't be enough done to insure it (and of course, vague notions of what all this would entail). And while it's nice to find a crowd of people that sort of think like me on a few issues, the lack of crazies (for or against, I wasn't being picky), smooth rhetoric of politicians, and heartwarming tale of a janitor from the union... made the whole rally a dud. Way to be boring, democracy.

Expats on the Back

I don't know what is wrong with me. I can't seem to bring myself to finish my homework assignments and I keep falling in love with unavailable things. First, there was Airwave gum, which I first tasted on a trip back to the Motherland in 2001 and was dismayed to learn, upon my return, that we don't carry them in the States. It's available nearly everywhere else in Europe and Asia. And probably other continents, too (wouldn't bet on Antarctica though). The next time my folks went back to Taiwan, they lugged back a box for me. Ever since then, Airwaves and its supermentholated goodness have been my trick for staying awake in classes. Honestly could not have gotten through the Bo' without Airwaves. And a piece totally came in handy in econ just this Friday afternoon.



Next, Father opened my eyes to Pilot BPS pens late in my high school career and now I don't write with anything else. It's a pen whose virtues I've extolled for years, mostly here- where no one can beat me up. And once again, I discover that they're not sold in the States. Sure, I can order them from the UK at "cultpens.com" for $2.60 apiece (plus $16.40 S&H) but even fanaticism has its limits. I'll just have to wait for Father to buy my next batch from Taiwan again like a normal crazy person.

Tonight, tragedy struck again. Avoiding homework, I decided to look for Tangfastics- the Haribo sour gummy pack that was such a positive part of my time in Eddie Bert- and discovered that, horror of horrors, it's an UK-specific Haribo product not available anywhere else. I can't even have Father serve as my contraband mule. Not even weird British specialty places sell it. Though I could have sworn I spotted it at a Dollar Tree in Somerville once. For now, we'll just have to settle for the awesomely named Schneck Leckers (the interweb tells me that that somehow means foam sugar snails).


(photo courtesy of Amazon.com-- it sells dozens of Haribo packs. just not the one that I want. I hate that smug snail and its sneer)

Cinderella Story

When I first settled on my choice of grad school, I joked that it was the ugly stepchild of the Haaahvuhds because it seemed like the right, modest thing to say since I'd never heard anyone either impressed by or bragging about a school of public health education. Apparently, the rest of the University also considers it an ugly step child. Browsing the web for school-insignia presents for my generous and supportive grandfathers this morning (who both have random Bo' plates and mugs on display in their respective living rooms- and are the only people in the family to have them), I clicked on the "Grad Schools" link of the shop run by Haaaaahvuhd students and realized that I don't exist.

Smoke Signals

Tonight, avoiding homework (worked on first problem set of the year until 12:48am last night... wth, grad school? what is this, Physics 104? totally not cool. and no, let's not place the blame on how late I started the problem set...), Landlady Chang and I sat in the dark of the apartment (we pay bills, really) and talked. Just taking turns talking at each other about nothings and complaining about things as they come to our minds, the way that good landlord-tenants do. Landlady Chang is one of the best things about living in this place. Per usual, our conversation ended with something like this...

Landlady: That siren has been going off for awhile. I want to see where it's coming from.

Moi: I think it's from across the street. (open window) Oh. There it is. I smell smoke. And there go the firefighters.

Ready for My Milk and Cookies

*Liz gets an (!) after her name because I gasp and hiccup every time I think of her.

Today was my first day of school. I made one new friend whose name I have already forgotten. I also bought a planner with a medical school seal on it. (I also clipped my toe nails, but that's irrelevant to the story.)

Amy: These calendars have the medical school seal.

Moi: Aren't they all the same?

Amy: No, see, they've got the lion.

Moi: But it says 've ri tas' on it. Don't we have the lion?

Amy: I think ours has a cross on it.

Oh. Apparently, the medical school also gets 50 more buildings than we do. All of my classes meet in the same 2 classrooms. And at the bookstore? All the school of public health books fit on one lonely shelf, whereas the other people get fancy sections like "Fiction by Doctors." Good for you, HMS, freakin' good for you. At least my professors have misguided confidence in me. They keep saying things like "when you sit on the board of directors, you will need to know this." "When you become a health minister in your own country." I'll work on those things when I find a sticker to cover up this lion crest?

Declaration of Indenture

Today is my last day of freedom. I celebrated by going into work and meeting my adviser. And tonight, I will go to church. Alas, there is more. I cooked. Roast eggplant + garlic + salt is a very happy combination. As is crisply roasted chicken skin + salt. And crisp chicken dripping croutons. I picked up a trick from the Times a few months ago (don't I always?) of putting a piece of bread under the roasting chicken, thereby making the bread delicious and the pan wonderfully clean. Of course, I should have remembered this while I was roasting the red pepper-- the pan is still a mess, but at least it's not from the chicken. Oh, that skin was so crisp. I want to bake up a whole tray of nothing but salt and pepper with skin. For the time being though, I'm free, and wonderfully content.

Josh: Did you get a new lunch bag?

Moi: Huh?

Josh: Every year at the start of school, I always got a new lunch bag.

Moi: I'm getting a new backpack.

Josh: I feel like we should send you off at the bus stop tomorrow. And take pictures.

Mandy: And give you apples to bring to school.

Thanks for the ceaseless moral support, Full Time Work. I'm sure going to miss you.

Sunday Best

(We got there pretty early- we don't mess around when it comes to kung fu)

How do I describe last night? My wall mirror fell and revealed just how much $7.99 can buy. I had a headache for most of the afternoon/evening. Bail outs abounded. Life was generally a mess. But then kung fu saved the day. Kung fu always saves the day. It all started with dinner in Chinatown with Liz (!) and Haley. Stinky tofu, dumplings, and noodles: cheap, meaty, and all tasty with a hint of shady- it was pretty much the best kind of meal money can buy.

After dinner, we headed to the Chinatown gate to watch Shaolin Soccer, stopping first at an empty lot and following some of the worst direction posters ever made. But it was a great event. Free movies shown outside. Reviving a Chinatown tradition. Empowering youths. A nice mix of little kids and old people from the neighborhood, normals, community organizers, and loners who like Asian things. Brilliant weather after a weekend of storming. Every piece of the evening was great. And oh, have I mentioned that we were watching Shaolin Soccer? I forgot how long the movie was. And also how absurd. Here's one of my favorite scenes:

After the movie, in the name of supporting community development, I got myself a glow in the dark t-shirt.

Not going to lie: dinner, friends, movie, laughs, kung fu, supporting community... all were great for sure, but this t-shirt takes the cake.

Lady Liberty

Went away to a retreat with the Jesus folks this weekend. Scenic Lake Winnipesaukee with all its natural charms and hurricane cold. The sermon this morning was on freedom: great for people struggling with control and guilt, terrible for people who are reminded of commercials at the sound of the word and want to yell "Freedom!" at every mention. (I think it was a Chase commercial, though I'm not having google luck tonight) The speaker said the word 43 times and I wanted to say "Freedom!" 43 times.

It was a fun and fast paced retreat. I'm feeling lazy about telling you what happened, but I will say this, Scrabble was played, and despite being barred from putting down "ab" and "hob" though they are both legitimate English and Scrabble-approved words, I did win handsomely. I will also say that my butt got very wet today, I did 30 minutes of homework, and came in 16th (out of 55) in the first poker tournament I've ever played in. Night, suckas.

Backhand, Still Awaiting the Compliment

DocNice: How's orientation going?

Moi: Busy. Meeting lots of new people. Figuring out who to suck up to.

DocNice: Somehow I don't think that's going to be an issue for you.

Whitecastle: That's the least of your worries.

I have no idea what they're talking about...

but I do know that I totally whupped Doc Query in Scrabble this week. He had been leading the entire game with his Zs and "burqa" and all, "sorry, life is unfair." But last night, boo yah and I pulled up from behind. How do you like them apples, Query?

Thursday Slow Down

Orientation week had been absolutely hectic the past few days, so much so that I've run up a ridiculous bill paying for lunches and dinners without much of a chance to eat at home. I've got all sorts of nasty leftovers waiting for me next week- half a falafel wrap, 1.5 slices of pizza, bad Chinese truck food, and now some Indian as well. Not to mention a fridge of rotting veg.

I did finally get a breather today though, skipping out on my afternoon "Time Management" session and choosing instead to meet up with Amy, walk the neighborhood, stop at Flour for fruit tart and creme brulee, then going home to watch the Little League playoffs while Amy napped on the couch.

My boys of summer rewarded me for such loyalty and beat Caracao 5-2. I've been watching the event because Taiwan just made it to the international finals, but also because of how low pressure it all is. It's just kids. They're having fun no matter what. And the adults cheer crazily no matter what. I love the intense Taiwanese cheerleaders, their bats, banners, and flag t-shirts that say Taiwan (which isn't officially allowed). They almost make up for the complete ignorance of the ESPN360 staff, who haven't grasped the fact that while the Taiwanese team has to represent "Chinese Taipei" for the dumbest of political reasons, Chinese Taipei isn't actually a place, and therefore can't show up on any maps, or be referred to like a location. And also shouldn't be referred to as "China." Because that's the whole reason why it was called Chinese Taipei in the first place. Morons.

The Long Goodbye

Dear New York Times:
Did you edit the Kennedy obit at all? Because it's 7 pages long (much than MJ's). And we know that he died by the headline, so I'm not sure what the rest of it is for; US Weekly can probably convey his life's work in 32 words or less.

Sincerely,

People to See, Places to Be

Sophomore Blues

Orientation day II. There was a scavenger hunt. Oohing as we passed Atul Gwande's empty office. Too many people, too many names, and too many classes to take. We met the Department this afternoon and as the professors all went around saying what they teach and what their research interests were, the same old nerd senses came back tingling. Maybe school will be wonderful after all.

In the mean time, I keep saying "because they're snotty like that" but soon, I'll have to revise the phrase to because "we're snotty like that."

PS. I was not run over by a car yesterday. And the block outside 7-11 smells like dead fish for some mysterious reason.

Retread

How did the first day of orientation go? All's I'm saying is: my name tag has tire marks and grit on it.

Yellow Rage

Today is the first day of Orientation.  Actually, Orientation starts in about 25 minutes.  So far, all we've accomplished is checking in.  They blocked off 90 minutes for us to pick up a packet and name tags.  And, Haaaavuhd students, being the overachievers that they are, all managed to show up within the first 10 minutes.  Ridiculous.  (In my defense, I was there early so I could peace out and check in at work.  Which, I understand, doesn't make me sound any less nerdy.  But if I didn't have to meet with Whitecastle this morning, I wouldn't have shown up until 9:52am.) 

Speaking of ridiculous, my Little Leaguers beat the Canadians merciless yesterday.  8-0.  Whitecastle seemed to take this news well, until he started veering off track.

(Discussing collaborators we've never met)

Whitecastle: Her name doesn't look it, but she sounds like an Asian woman on the phone.  Very docile.

Moi: What!?  OK.  When you work on this [presentation I'm supposed to send over to him] on Wednesday night, you're going to find only 2 slides done.

Whitecastle: And you'll find your contract terminated on Thursday morning.

Always with the upperhand.

Saturday Night Trio

Tooth polish is my favorite part of a dental visit. It's painless, leaves my mouth minty fresh, and best of all, signifies the end of tooth cleaning. I went to the dentist today and for the first time since I can remember, the dentist's wife did not tell me that she has a daughter with the same name as me. Instead, we exchanged packages and messages at other people's behest, which made tooth cleaning weirder than usual.

Though not as weird as the position I found myself in tonight, sitting in the back of my dad's minivan. To the right of me was a near stranger. A friend of our visiting friends from Taiwan. A kid maybe a couple of years younger than I am. Perhaps bored by the car ride, he started humming quite loudly. And I wasn't sure what to do.

I also sent a bowl of pho back to the kitchen tonight. But the apologetic waiter took all the fun out of that experience. Way to go, Polite Man.

Of Right and Wonk

The more I read of my accounting textbook, the more fascinating tidbits I pick up.  Today's gemstone: 

Please do not peek.  If you look at the answers before writing your response, you will lose much of the education value.

Again, written in that morally superior yet English-challenged halting manner.  Who knew honesty would be such an asset or accounting such an amusing field?  I did.

Colored People

I learned a couple of things today. A. I need to stop checking my work email when I do not plan on working. B. If you take Mr. Rogers + the Beastie Boys, you get a group called Imagination Movers. They have a song about putting on sunblock. I wish my mother had played that song for me when I was young, because I would have remembered to put sunblock on my feet. Now I have these strangely browned feet while my legs are of a normal tan color. I got a lot of melanin this summer. So much so that little Tim kept rubbing my arms at lunch today and asking his mom why my arms were so dark. (He may also have used my hands to wipe his nose when we were walking together. But he's just too darn cute for anyone to do anything about it.) Between the dermatologist and Tim, my epidermis is having a great month.

Soaring, Tumbling, Freewheeling

So much has happened since yesterday. There is a new 200-m record. The temperature is finally cooling. And oh, I signed up for classes and learned that I have to finish a 250-page accounting work book before classes start. Accounting? I've never had enough money, or thought it might behoove me in the future, to account for anything. Goodbye, sunshine and freedom. It was nice knowing you.

I just cracked the book open and here is what I've learned so far:

Assets are resources owned by a company. Employees are not assets. (In the right hand margins of the book, it states: No one owns humans since the abolition of slavery.)

The statement appears comical in 2 different ways so far. Though I'm sure a third one will come along soon enough.

Meets the Eye

Korean fried chicken is delicious. And I had too many wings tonight. But that's fine as it may have to be my only consolation for awhile. Remember how I'm planning on going back to school? Turns out, school may not want to have me. Oh, I've paid my term bill and signed the loan notices, but apparently haven't been receiving the course, orientation, and student email information that everyone else has received. I don't know if this is a passive aggressive way of denying me admission, but you cashed those checks, people. I better be going somewhere next week.

In other news, 500 Days of Summer is a great, worthwhile movie that will make your heart warm and then pull a chunk of it out.

Beach II

Another day, another beach. This time, with much goofier looking people.

Jailbreak

My pinky toe nail is making a break for it.  Half of it, at least.  It's got a good head start and can probably make it through Trenton by the time I wake up tomorrow.  (Of course, it's going South.  Only lame-os flee to Canada.  Besides, I've got people all along the northeaster seaboard.)  Of all the biological signs that point to me being Taiwanese, I seem to have drawn all the short straws.  Single slit eye lid, alcohol intolerant, and funky cracked pinky toe nails that are sort of split into 2, thus making them prone to get knocked loose.  And making a run for it across state borders. 

 

No idea why I shared that with you except that it's 10PM and Mother is walking around the house asking us what her official first name is.  She has three names and can "never seem to remember" whether she has a twofer first name or a first, middle, and last name.  I wish I knew what to make of this. 

Beach I

My friends got backs.
(Missing here: Gak)

Vacation Land

(Tuesday)
(There is no record of Wednesday)

(Thursday)
(If Landlady Chang is reading, that is uh ... not your fruit plate)

(Friday)

Calling It In

This is my watch tan as it stood last month. I need to go to bed now so I can wake up early tomorrow to wait for Anthony at a Dunkin Donut, and though I do not mean to work on a tan (my people aren't big on that, we're more focused on things like surviving typhoons- pray for those people), I'm sure it will grow more dramatic. Tomorrow is Friday. Perfect for beach, Easy Mac Daddy, and all sorts of wonderfulness. So this isn't so much a blog entry as "na na na na na, my Friday will be better than yours."

South Ends and Bits

I've been living in the South End for almost a year now, but the gentrification thing still weirds me out sometimes. I've made peace with it, though not as much peace as Riles. When I confessed to being a gentrifier to my former soc prof and current soc idol last weekend, she said, "Well, who hasn't?" And then told me stories of her time in Philly, how she "got beat up a lot" and "always felt like I deserved it." Praying really hard that I neither get mugged nor feel like I deserve it any time soon.

On a slightly irrelevant neighborhood note, Taiwanese American chef Joanne Chang (who schooled Bobby Flay in a throwdown) has 2 establishments pretty much equidistant on either side of my place. And I hate Myers & Chang with as much passion as I love Flour Bakery & Cafe (much as I love-hate yuppies and their lifestyle). I went halfsies on 2 Flour sandwiches with Liz today (roast lamb with tomato chutney, arugula, and goat cheese; roast chicken with pickled jicama and avocado spread) and we both had the hardest time deciding which to eat first (I ended up alternating-- chicken, lamb, chicken, lamb) and last because they were equally heavenly. I might have shed a tear on the last bite. I might have prayed that Jesus hold off his return until I finished the sandwiches. It was so good that I want to write a couple more sentences just to make myself worthy of it. But who am I kidding? In the words of Billy Shakes, "You are not wood, you are not stones, but men. And being men, hearing the delicacies of Flour, it will inflame you, it will make you mad." Mad, but incredibly satisfied.

Roll Over

It is Vacation Day 2 (or 4? I don't really know) and I find myself incapable of sleeping late. I delivered cupcakes. Watched people at BP work a lot harder than I do. Watched a movie. And generally took things very easy while eating very good food (savory Chinese pancake, coconut shortbread, ridiculous Flour sandwiches, tortilla de espana, plus buss up roti with chicken and potatoes from Nikisha's roti-- I get tired just thinking of all the things I ate today). Yet even when I only work an hour out of my day, I still have time to look like a fool.

For the review I wrote and turned in this morning (Whitecastle: Young Grasshopper, you have much to learn from me. Moi: ...), I struggled between deeming it as a rejection or one that needed major revision. I first decided to reject it. Changed my mind. Then the struggle really came. Instead of undoing my answer, I checked both choices on the form. A few more clicks later, refreshing the page, logging in and out, and I had checked every option on the form. It got so ridiculous that I had to write an extra note to the editors explaining that the forms proved too difficult for me to master and what my choice really was. Yeah, they're really going to value my review now.

PS. Dusty- I had a 5 minute argument with Liz at BP today, over whether I knew one Mr. Abshire or not. She was adamant that I didn't. I think she may have won. I'm now questioning my entire past.

To the Scene of the Crime

I went back to work today after a long weekend and discovered that everything was just as I left it yet completely different. The most dramatic difference is that Uzi and I have switched desks. He now sits with the other RAs while I sit by the Division kitchenette, overhearing every coffee pour that goes throughout the day. The move has also placed me farther from most doctors' offices (except Doc Query's- I can now overhear every sneeze and social calendar arrangement that goes throughout the day).

Moi: My commute to your office has doubled.

Whitecastle: That's great. More exercise.

Moi: Right, I have to eat less now anyway.

Whitecastle: See? Now you can lose all that weight you've always wanted.

And there went the ego. On the bright side, that crush meant that there was nothing left for Doc Fisher to bruise later in the day...

Doc Fisher: Are you still allowed to sit there after we gave you a cake and everything?

Moi: Well, I'm not allowed in my old seat anymore.

Doc Fisher: I guess that's OK then. I see that you've started dressing like a student.

Because I wore a gray polo today? (Young Bo': He didn't want you to be confused for a boy.) I knew I shouldn't have worn those overalls...

Sandcastles in the Sand

(A Punty and I Collaboration: City on a Hill)

Yesterday felt like three disjointed days somehow taped together on a reel. Three marvelous days at that. I woke up in Portland and watched Gilmore Girls with Seames and Megan while flipping through an old issue of Real Simple. Mornings don't get better or easier than that. Except that I also paid for a breakfast sandwich I didn't get to eat. That was a bummer. (Boo, Ohno Cafe and your slow service, boo.)

A few hours later, I was home. Organizing and cleaning (just a tiny bit) but mostly eating the food of my handiwork and watching Taiwanese game show reruns. Sometimes, Saturdays are great spent indoors.

The evening day started with falling asleep on the Red Line, included a dinner in JP,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, (sorry, I was distracted by fire truck sirens) and capped off with fire pit s'mores at Keith's. Which is just about the best way one can conclude a day (since getting yelled at for giving money to a crack addict on the commute home certainly wasn't the best way).

Feeling Special

On my first day of vacation, I went to the dermatologist, as one naturally does. And then headed up the coast to the great state of Maine. I didn't have any special reasons to go to the dermatologist, except that the PCP recommended it, it's fun to kick up health care costs and not pay too much for it while I still have good health insurance, and because I wanted to know, after all these years, why my skin welts so easily. I explained my condition to the doc. Intrigued, he lightly drew an X on my back. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a red X appeared on my skin. Doc was so tickled with the effect that he went and fetched the physician's assistant so she too, could get a look at my freak back. She didn't have anything to offer. He just wanted her to have a chance to see me. I love it when I doctors use me as examples.

Turns out, my condition is called dermatographism. Wikipedia says that 4-5% of the population has this, but I've never met 4-5 people with this condition. And I've met more than 100 people. Doc offered such helpful advice to me as "just don't get scratched" and "some people just have this." As well as the very specific and enlightening, "You could try taking OTC Claritin for it. Some people take it for the rest of their lives." First the Knorr soup people, now I'm expected to put the Claritins through school, too? Nice try, buddy.

A Man and His Pi

Today was my last day at work. But since I'll be back on Monday, nothing has really sunk in yet. I just feel like I'm taking a long weekend. It didn't help that I had to stay late and scramble to finish my work.

(stopping by my desk at 5pm)

Moi: I'm just trying to impress people by how hard I'm working on my last day.

Whitecastle: I'm impressed. Or- you could just be showing people how slow you work. I'm not impressed.

Today's Division meeting went on for so long that half way through, I looked up and realized I could not remember a time when I was not in the meeting. There were some nuggets of hilarity to help pass the time by though:

Doc Really Advanced Biostatistician: I just love how much he loves his equations.

Chief: And I love how much you love how much he loves his equations.

Doc Fisher: OK, this is going to get uncomfortable soon.

Sweet Sorrows

Yesterday was my surprise going away lunch at work (ask me about the surprise sometimes, it's my favorite story this week). As usual, farewells brought out the fondest memories and warmest wishes in everyone. Here's a sampling of the best:

Whitecastle: You could do to lose some weight.

Doc Query: Second rate Scrabble player.

(In my thanks, I said, "I mean, I can't imagine any other job where I get to just write on the white board without it being the daily specials.")

Doc Gollum: That might be your job after graduation.

And then there was the cheerful Doc Binks.

Binks: Does the Dean still begin convocation by saying that the school of public health is the only Harvard school where graduates leave with less earning power than before they started the program?

Decider: Is that taking into account the effect modification of graduates with prior degrees?

Moi: (sighs and head shakes)

But it's OK. Doc Binks gave me a parting gift of a conference tote bag. On the one side it says SPSS. On the other SAS. I'm going to be the coolest kid in nerd school.

Of My Domain

Top Chef Masters is like Top Chef without the reality drama.  Without the flops.  And with really, really good chefs who are generally modest and respectful of one another.  And now that I've found free episodes online, Top Chef Masters is like crack.

Mi Casa

I was at the grocery store today with Mother. Not only did she try to move a shopping cart that was not hers without realizing it, but the cart had a child in it.

Up Do

Doc Whitecastle thinks that he has a stress fracture.  Sister Claire also thinks so.  But Doc Whitecastle missed two days of work this week and Sister Claire did not.  Because she's bad ass.  Or maybe because she doesn't have a stress fracture.  In fact, Whitecastle may not have one either.  He also might either have arthritis or a squash injury or both.  It's hard to tell what's right and what's wrong anymore in our post-modern, post-racial America.

(watching Whitecastle limp across the parking lot)

Sister Claire: Do you think he's doing that so we'll think he's hurt?

Moi: Doesn't look very convincing.

Sister Claire: You know, I was thinking that my foot hurt.  Then I thought, my whole body hurts.  And it's been this way for the past ten years.

The woman is a modern medical miracle.  Maybe her work, with all those codes, numbers, and tables, serves as a restorative against the pain.

Injured or not, Whitecastle has been incredibly generous to me the past couple of years and as a result, I've been able to get my name on a few publications.  Consequently, I've ended up in a couple of journal systems, one of which asked me to review an article.  You know, because I have a BA and all.  While editors may judge, their automated invitation systems don't.  Discussing the pros --I'll get to put this on my CV-- and cons --I don't know anything about medicine/health research/applying do-it-yourself lowlights (what?  I don't)-- of accepting the review with Whitecastle, he took the opportunity to remind me once again just how accomplished he is compared to me...

Whitecastle: When I first started reviewing, I was senior resident, so a little senior than where you are now.

Moi: Right, "a little" more senior.

Whitecastle: Well, I wasn't that much older. 

Thank you.  I had gone 2 days without being put in my place. 

Soaring on the Wings

Sometimes, life feels too good.  I get restless and reckless.  And I do something incredibly stupid.  I look up Taiwanese food shows on youtube and invariably end up with longing for culture and food that are not wholly mine, and that I cannot have.  It's like grocery shopping on an empty stomach after gastric bypass surgery knowing that you're also penniless.  Why would I subject myself to clips of night market stalls showing off snacks I crave, listening to an accent I no longer have, while wallowing in self pity of what is no longer mine?  Because I'm stupid, that's why.  And sometimes to have loved and lost is better than to never have loved at all.

Greasy Spoon

I made Hainan Chicken today.  For the past month, I've pretty much been a food bum, eating leftovers, pasta, pizza, whatever is easy to make, and more often than not, missing my daily 2-5.  But ever since I brought home Peruvian chicken leftovers last week to make chicken salad, something has clicked.  Since Monday, I've made pizza (not so different than earlier this month, but delicious), gotten garden vegetables for a pressed grilled vegetable sandwich (Ming Tsai inspired, with bean sauce and everything), more chicken salad with homemade peanut dressing, set aside my basil to freeze, and tonight, I made Hainan chicken (with rice), and with that, chicken broth.  Even though it's a classic Chinese/Southeast Asian dish, I started with Mark Bittman's The Minimalist recipe.  That's because Chinese recipes I read merely list the ingredients and say "stir fry" and "season."  Mark Bittman takes you step by step.  Although I must say, I cook like the Chinese recipes I hardly consult.  I don't actually follow Mark Bittman step by step.  And if I were to give you a recipe of how I made the chicken, it'd look like it, too:  poach chicken (but how?), add scallions, soy sauce, oil, sesame oil, and garlic to taste (even though I hate ginger, I knew this dish needed ginger-- mine's still delicious though).  Done.  But that's really what I did.  Poached chicken was much fattier than I expected.  In fact, the whole dish was.  But that was the beauty of the dish.  Salty, oily rice with strings of chicken, and some shredded lettuce to balance things out.  I can't wait to be hungry again. 

Just Add Salt

Burnt my index finger tonight.  And then got a cut on it.  Could this night get more awesome?  I hope so.

Leaps in Flame

I bear the fingers of electronic death.  I am seriously contemplating sending my hands in for radiation testing.  Within the past year, I have seen the demise of two watches, Dakota the Computer (twice-- in fact, it is still being fixed), and this morning, the laptop my father let me borrow refused to turn on.  Nay, it turns on, but the screen is black.  All the time.  It is either complete silent (off) or whirs for a few seconds and then turns silent (on).  I don't know what to do.  I always considered myself a good caretaker (Dakota the Computer lasted 6 years) but what does ginger care matter when I have the hands of death?  I'm almost afraid to get my new computer back now (it's being de-Vista'ed as we speak).  I'm thinking of calling it Cecil. 

It was a gross morning yesterday, but putting on my still-wet socks to leave work yesterday, I had an idea. I called up Laura.

"Where are you and do you have my socks?"

Turns out, Laura was also leaving work early. She gave me a dry pair of socks at the T stop, I put them on in the train. Crisis averted.

Why did Laura have a day-saving pair of my socks on hand? It's because I once saved her day. One very hung over day a few months ago. She was running in Becca's relay triathlon and I was along for the ride with posters for everyone. (Terrible runner, great poster maker) But thanks to Laura, terrible directions, and her hung over state, we ran late. So late, in fact, that Becca had to register in her place. So late, in fact, that the bikes had already left when we arrived. All along the way, Laura said, "I have a terrible feeling I forgot my socks." "No, I'm sure you remembered. You packed when you were still clear headed last night." "You're right, I'm probably just paranoid." And when we did discover that her socks were not there, we said, "Oh, I'm sure someone else brought an extra pair. Somebody must've thought of it." But no. Nobody did. And no one else could part with theirs. They were all doing something worthwhile with ours, like run or bike. And then there was me... so my socks came off of my feet, onto Laura's, and on Friday, we completed the cycle. That pair of blue polka dotted socks- useful for every occasion.

PS. I just spent 5 minutes walking around my house with Mother, trying to locate her missing bowl of cereal. "Is it in the fridge?" "No, it's too crowded in here." "Where did you answer the phone?" "I was sitting right here." We checked both floors of the house. She even stepped outside. No dice. No bowl. "Are you sure you didn't finish it already?" "That's absurd. I'm not crazy." A few minutes later, "Wait a minute, I remember. I ate the cereal, washed the bowl, and put it away already!" A thousand head shakes could not take my 5 minutes back.

Lower Depth

(the present in motion)

Last night was not Matt's birthday. Which was why he was so surprised that it was the night of his birthday party. And why we were so surprised that Matt was not more perceptive-- he had no qualms about the 10 or so people that followed him home from church. He thought they were all "going to dinner". It was probably just as well because most of his other friends- those who were waiting in the apartment- weren't ready to yell "Surprise." In our defense, the conversation was enthralling.

Because young (OK, old) Matt became obsessed with fishing out his neighbor's friend's phone that dropped down the chimney a few weeks ago, we got him a present that would further the project: 5 broomsticks and two rolls of duct tape. Little did we know that halfway through the evening, Megan would drop her sunglasses on the roof of a shorter building next door. This gave a giddy Matt (and a few other boys at the party) the perfect excuse to grab his presents. Megan kept protesting that she was fine with losing the sunglasses but Ashley set her straight. "This isn't about you, Megan" he explained, "just let us do this." And so they tried. But we appeared to be just a couple of feet too short. So Matt decided to hop over the roof railing and see if he could lower himself down farther, prompting concerned cries from all over the rooftop ("It's just another year!" Patrick had cried, and then suggested we lower Helsinki down the side- a motion I heartily seconded). In the end, the sunglasses was miraculously retrieved (as in- I have no idea how it happened- as in, I had lost interest by then and moved on to other things at the party), despite all of us making it very clear to Matt that he was not to jump down to the neighboring roof. And a happy birthday was had by all. But mostly Matt.

(risking his life for shades)

I Choose Life

Sometimes, God drops a tiny, shiny gem into the work day, and I stumble upon something like this:

Rockville, MD -- February 14, 2008 – Sherwood Brands LLC is voluntarily recalling approximately 400,000 packages of Pokémon® branded "Valentine Cards and Pops™" (Item# 073964209109 and Item# 073964289804), because of reports that metal fragments were found in two lollipops purchased in Florida. There are no reports of injury. People who bite into or swallow a metal fragment could possibly be injured.

It's hard to pick a favorite bit.  But it's awesome that the company is actually named after its product, as in: "Pokémon is committed to consumer safety and we're working closely with our licensee, Sherwood Brands, to investigate this matter completely," said J.C. Smith, Pokémon USA's director of marketing.

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.