The Bells I Hear

Before 8:30 AM, access to the computer labs require key access.  Two to three times a week, I'm usually in the labs five to ten minutes after 8:30, so that piece of information never concerned me.  Until today.  When I tried to push the door and it would not budge.  I just leaned on the door for about ten seconds, too tired to comprehend what was happening.  Then I tried pulling the door.  Then leaned in again.  All of this was witnessed by some kid I don't know coming out of the lab, who kindly opened the door for me.  Glad I could make your morning, kid.

In about four hours, my three finals of the day will be over (though the last exam won't be turned in until 1:30PM and class won't end until 3:30PM- oh yes, she's lecturing after the exam but it's OK, my brain shut down as of 9:25PM last night).  I have 0 clean clothes except what I'm wearing (timed it just right).  1 meal left in the fridge/cupboards.  And 2 urgently overdue emails.  Though really, my life isn't that much of a mess.  And I'm thinking I'll celebrate the end of school by going into work early tomorrow to prepare for a meeting I am otherwise unprepared for. 

Be back soon.

Under My Nose

I step out of the computer lab for two minutes to eat a few bites of my breakfast sandwich and when I return, my chair is gone.  My books and papers are still here, the monitor on, and the seat probably still warm.  Of all the chairs to steal in the lab (and there are plenty this morning), why steal one that you know someone is sitting in? I hope the butt grooves that I made prove uncomfortable for my chair thief.  That's probably unlikely.  I make such nice butt grooves.

Final Stretch

I have nothing to say to you until finals are over.

Three Letter Word

I remember taking archery at Camp Happy T Ranch one summer, our counselor JP (the subject of many crushes though I failed to see his appeal) intentionally mispronounced everyone's name during roll call.  He said that he knew he was bound to trip over someone's name, so he might as well mess up everybody's.  Until he got to mine.  "That sounds right," someone complained.  "Yeah, you try messing this one up."

Yet, the good people we are collaborating with at work have succeeded.  They have misspelled my name.  My first name.  Twice.  One that they finally corrected a few months ago.  (Doc Whitecastle didn't think I was important enough to correct them, though he made DocNice point out when they mispronounced his name)  And one that they made afresh yesterday.  Maybe they just hate me, but like kids who get less than 25% on 4-choice multiple choice questions- I just don't understand- it's possible, but the odds were completely against them. 

Blind Lunch

I had a birthday. Some presents. Some problem sets. Some sleep. No energy to debrief any of this.

I also had lunch with Professor Papa as part of a school event. As always the case with school, it was totally intense and if you didn't RSVP fast enough, the invitation was rescinded and given to someone else. Other than that though, we weren't given much information.

Prof Papa: What were you guys told about this event?

Student: They just said, do you want to eat with professors? We signed up via student news.

Moi: What did they tell you?

Prof Papa: They said, do you want to come to this lunch?

Mo: Hm. I was told we'd get A's in the class.

Prof Papa (considers proposition): That's fair. OK.

Best lunch moment, runner up (second to salmon): Learning about, then laughing as a table at, how doctors in one Chinese hospital wear helmets to work to protect themselves from patients.
...

Suck it, Hellasinki:

"If the dolphins say, "Don't kill us, that's not such a great policy,"- no, don't listen to them."
-- Professor Papa

Strange Indeed

School and I have a Dr. Jekyll type of relationship.  During the day when I'm going to classes and seeing people, we get along swimmingly.  When I hear the piano playing on my way to epi lab, I tend to forget that it's 8:30 in the morning on a Friday, or that the fifty thou I handed over would be a lot better spent on things that are not grand pianos in the cafeteria, and I smile, thinking of how nice it is that I go to school with such talented people and that we have a piano in our public space.  When the sun goes down, however, the cursing begins.  The problem sets.  The procrastination.  The studying.  The grades.  The stress.  They all tumble out at night, when I'm not listening to Doc Little Man's soothing voice or commenting on how Doc Tevye has really let her appearances go.  But it's still bright outside (at least it was when I started writing) and I just met with my adviser, who's super nice and at least pretended she knew who I was.  So, school, you're grand for now.

Foul Shots

(Sadly, these weren't the worst pictures of the night. )

In concept, chocolate wine didn't seem like a bad idea. I've had chocolate raspberry port. Ranwei has had chocolate raspberry brandy. And Marie and Amy (photographer and graphee) both like chocolate stout. And yet, as the night went on, though everyone but the un-peer-pressurable Ashley tried it, and all the other bottles were emptied, this remained stubbornly full. Amy must've passed her cup to half a dozen other people just to finish her tiny bit (it's OK, the alcohol kills the germs- plus, baby Amelia was vaccinated Friday). It came from Brunswick, looked like Yahoo, but tasted even worse.

Speaking of hygiene, nutritionist-in-training Lena here is eating a chip off of a stranger's plate. From a table crowded with empty cups and half eaten pie. "Whose chips are those?" Everyone asked of the abandoned nachos as they entered the kitchen. But no one knew. So we all abstained, however hard it was, since Havarti + chips + pineapple salsa = brilliance. Finally, Lena walked in and grabbed a chip. "Were those yours?" "No." "Oh. OK."

Amy's head is getting crushed as she indulges in decadent blueberry pie. How much do I need to explain? I've already given you the picture.

Yeah, it was a pretty awesome birthday party.

Left Behind

I go to school with crazies.  That's with a capital King Tut crunkers C.  Today, you see, marked the beginning of course registrations for the spring term.  When I learned this from Laura, who had visited the registrar's office on Monday to find out the exact hour registration would begin, I thought, "That's super, I will deal with this over the weekend."  But apparently, things get competitive.  And Laura was the 20th person to stop by the registrar's office that day.  So I wavered.  And yesterday, the intensity of all the in-class schedule comparing and Excel sheets made me realize that everyone else had their priorities set and I did not.  "I will join the crazies," I said to myself, "I will register for classes first thing Thursday morning."  It seemed perfectly reasonable, if not a bit zealous.  But while "a bit zealous" can get you far, far into the real world, it turns out that at school, my little bit of zealousness would have been better served learning "would you like fries with that?" in different languages ("Souhaitez-vous frites avec ça?").  By the time I got to campus at 8:35AM, everyone else had already registered for classes.  I was lucky I was to have gotten all my choices.  "The other policy class," Amy told me, "was full by 1AM."  How do people even know that?  I was sleeping at 1AM.  And si, yo quiero papas fritas con eso.

My Achy Breaky Pot

I had two WTH moments today.  I would think of a third for balance (does standing next to Atul Gwande for 5 seconds count?), but my judgment is rather clouded today.

Chance beyond chance today, I came across a paper in a prestigious cancer journal, written by an old, old friend from middle school.  It must have just come out.  It was a complete fluke, but now, the people who read her facebook wall will think that I regularly read important cancer journals.  I'm OK with that.
--
There are 2 Asian grocery stores down the street from me.  I usually prefer the farther one since the closer one attracts a fair number of drunks and/or belligerents.  (Then again, so does my entire neighborhood.)  Today, however, I didn't go the extra mile.  It turns out, I wasn't the only one skimping on quality.  The lady in front of me bought a tea pot and when she went to pay for it, the very helpful cashier asked, "Did you make sure that it doesn't leak?  We have a no refund policy."

"How do I check that it doesn't leak?"

"Put water in it."

"What?  How?  I don't have any water."

"You can get some water."

"Now?  Where?"

"There's water where you found the tea pot."

Apparently, the store has a vat of water by the pots where the customers can test the vessels for themselves.  Helpful, yes.  But, so are litmus strips for arsenic.  I like my stores better when they only sell non-leaking teapots.   

Public Servants

Professor Papa -- one man, so many facets. Teacher, economist, and shameless promoter:

Prof Papa: This book was written with your parents in mind, because it explains what public health is. You go home on break, your parents ask you what public health is, and even after a year, you still don't really know. Well, now I want you to say, "Here, read this book." It's only about $20 on Amazon.

And public health defender (summarizing his words):

Public health is a thankless field. No one who's ever rolled into a field after a car crash writes to thank you for removing the trees. Unlike medicine, there're no heroes. If you go to the medical school, or any of the hospitals here, every wing, every waiting room, every closet, is named after somebody. People are just throwing their money at these places. What about us? How many buildings do we have? Four. What are two of their names?

That's right. Building 1 and Building 2.

My Last Confession

Even though I spend my school days working out quantitative problem sets, playing with probabilities and risk ratios, we talk a lot about public hygiene. There is a sticker by every sink reminding us that hand washing is the cornerstone of public health (rather straight forward lesson for $50K, but who's counting?).

Which made what I did this morning all the more regrettable. The woman next to me in the church pew, I noticed almost right away, had the sniffles. The kind that required her to wipe her nose every 10 seconds, which she did with fast food napkins that must have felt so rough on her skin. She also had a cough. And did not abide by the elbow rule. As we drew closer and closer to the part of the service where we shook our neighbors' hands, I grew increasingly worried. I haven't learned much about health economics in the past few months, but I have learned to fear germs. Relief came, however, when about a minute before the greeting of neighbors, she pulled out her mini-Purell bottle. The sight of her rubbing her hands clean made me inordinately happy. Though the joy was short lived. Before the minute was up, she had to wipe her nose again. Then again. And she did not re-Purell.

But church is about welcoming people, no matter what state they're in, and really, even if I didn't believe in chicken-soup aphorisms, there was no avoiding shaking this lady's hand. So when the time came, I went for it. "Peace!" Then, figuring that I shouldn't flu alone, I shook the hands of everyone around me. Lord, have mercy on us all.

The Surfeit

While it is true that I ate my weight in starches and proteins on Thursday, and that I have more turkey than I know to do with, and there are cakes and cookies everywhere I turn in the apartment, Landlady Chang and I decided to ignore all these factors, as well as her own leftovers and the global recession, and host a hot pot party last night. With our very own dual-mala hot-and-clear-broth pot and everything.

That's all I wanted to share. My fingers are the only things I can lift anymore. And I'm about to have hot pot day-after soup for breakfast.

The Surrogate

This year, both Landlady Chang and I were orphaned for Thanksgiving. We considered hosting a meal but figured it was easier to get adopted instead. So she headed for Wayland and I for Watertown, because we're suckers for W's.

I spent the day with the Chaos, a true testament to their name. We did not pace ourselves wisely, and by 5pm were all lying on the couch wondering if we'd ever eat again (then again at 7pm). Though I doubt anyone regretted starting with the sticky rice. And pomelos. And the constant snacking on Jess's unfathomably dense cookies. By the time the turkey and tenderloin were done, I was halfway there as well. But we soldiered on. It took three walks around the block to pump up for dessert, dessert that outnumbered people 2-1. When you're in a situation like that, there's no choice but to eat and balance out the numbers.

When all was said and done, the Chao minivan dropped me off at home, like so many other Thanksgivings before, and I trudged upstairs to Landlady Chang, declaring that we didn't have to cook again until Christmas-- only to find her awash in a sea of cookies and leftovers of her own. Adoptions are messy, yes, but also incredibly awesome.

The Scooped

This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful that my project appeared in the Journal of the American Medical Association this week. Though it was unfortunate that I was not one of the co-authors. In fact, none of the docs I worked with were listed. Because we didn't write the paper. We had just been working on the same project since this spring, ignorant of their work, and about 6 months behind.

Whitecastle: It's the exact same study, they looked at the same fields, included about 240 in the analysis.

Moi: That's funny, we were looking at 240.

Whitecastle: Our study could've been published in JAMA.

Query (to me): At least we hadn't gotten to the analysis yet. So it's mostly your time that we've wasted.

Moi: This is hilarious.

Whitecastle: You could look at it that way, yes.

(we both laugh, loudly and at times uncomfortably)

Whitecastle: I'm glad you're laughing at this.

Moi: I'm afraid to stop.

A Thousand and Five

We were overdue for a Whitecastle cartoon.

The Week in Numbers

P(rain this morning) = 0.10
P(rain this morning | I am walking outside without a hood) = 1

(don't question me on the math, people)

Times I've said "I shouldn't be eating out again-": 6

Times I've finished that phrase with "but what's another __ ($10, $20, $50) when I'm already $100G* in debt?": 6

In short: 1 hungry mother.

Conversations I've had regarding God, afterlife, and the meaning of it all: 1

Conversations I've had about the tragedy of Michael Jackson: 2 (happy to have another)

Flowers TA has drawn on my exam as a sign of approval: 1

A's said TA has given me: 0

*Only $50G in debt thus far, hoping to make it $100G if I don't get kicked out of school.

After the Beep

"Burying the lede" is a journalism phrase that I reference a lot.  Because I like to sound like a journalist.  And because people are often making that mistake. 

 

My parents are currently in Asia, on a schedule 12 hours ahead of me.  As is my brother.  I haven't talked to them in about a week.  All of this is OK us, so long as nothing goes wrong.  Today in class, I receive a voice mail from a number I don't recognize.  Already antsy for Thanksgiving break to begin and sleep deprived, the unknown number distracts me through lecture until we're finally let out and I check my messages.  "Hello," she begins, "This is a friend of your mother's.  Please call me."  Long pause. 

 

Did something happen?  Are they OK?  Maybe she just needs me to drop something off or pass a message?

 

"I'd like to speak to you."  Another pause.  "When you call, just say your name after the machine message and I'll know it's you and pick up-"  What?  This is sounding serious and vague. 

 

"I just want to make sure you had somewhere to go for Thanksgiving."

 

Worst. Voicemail. Ever.

Oy Matey

Usually, when I go into the printer room (sidebar: I love that there is a separate room just for the printers. We did not have those at the Bo'. Perhaps my education is worthy of $50G), there are people already there, sorting through the stacks of print outs and cover sheets with our initials on it. We did not have cover sheets at the Bo' , so the experience is still jarring, but usually, a stranger will spot my initials, hand me my papers and say, "Is this yours?" Because I'm usually wearing a t-shirt that says "Insert Asian Last Name Here." Just as strangers approach me to speak Chinese on the street because I'm usually wearing a shirt that says "Ask me if I speak Chinese, because I can."

This morning, however, the girl in front of me glanced down at the piles and cover sheets, turned to me with a stack of papers and asked, "Are you A. Cohen?" No, I am not A. Cohen.

Tim: Was she white?

Moi: Of course, she was.

Fowl Play

There is an abundance of cakes in our apartment right now. But all the salty fries are gone.

If you ever go to Penang- the restaurant and not the city- and you'd like to make someone's day, you should order sticky rice duck. It gets the waitresses very excited. Ordering the duck casserole today, Dianah made the mistake of asking for sticking rice. This prompted our waitress to recommend sticky rice duck as vastly superior to duck casserole with sticky rice.

"Where is it on the menu?"
"It's not on the menu. It's a special item."

"What's in it?"
"Sticky rice. And duck."

"And the casserole- "
"No, the sticky rice duck is really good."

So we went for it, which made our waitress beam. Minutes later, another waitress stopped by and explained that the duck is special and cooked for five hours. They kept coming by to ask if we like the dish, laughed when we marveled at how big it was (we apparently ordered half a duck for the 2 of us), and repeating the five hour mantra. No one said anything about price...

Rehearsal Dinner

Every Bo' student knows that the 3 best meals of the school year come in the first semester.

• The lobster bake on the eve of the first day of classes. Not my favorite and always left me hungry, but I feel obligated to list it, what with the whole lobster and all.
• The giant Thanksgiving feast right before Thanksgiving, which always concludes with a giant ovation for the staff. Yes, almost every school does it, but was your school voted to have the best dining hall 3 out of the 4 years you were there? OK then.
• The holiday feast right before reading period*. Just about the only time of the year we get duck. And guests won't feel ripped off paying the $17 to eat in the dining halls.

Like all college traditions, these meals are steeped in memories of being with friends and so every November, I gather my Bo' people to capture my lost youth and we eat a pre-Thanksgiving meal. Naturally, we had Greek food this year. Then headed over JWo's for semi-homemade desserts. And some Michael Jackson circa 1992.

I double dare you to think of a better food, people, and entertainment combination.


*Also loved the dining extras during reading period/exams, like smoothies and popcorn and espresso. They don't do that in grad school.

Mind the Gap

Talking to my parents on the phone...

Moi: ... remember that project I did? It turned out that [Professor Papa's] undergrad thesis was on the topic I -

Mother: Does he have brains?

Father: What?

Mother: I mean, is he a man with brains?

Father: He's a Harvard professor. Of course, he has brains. Why would you-

Moi: ... and his research is fascinating- Hi. Are we still having this conversation?

Heal Thyself

Are you looking for a primary care physician?  Are you on a long waiting list for a specialist?  If that's the case, I have some bad news.  They're all too busy being at my school.

In addition to making money off of its poor sucker students, my school runs these physician leadership seminars to make money off of people who already have money.  Lots of money.  And they do it every other day.  The classrooms across the hall from my lecture hall (I say "my" because I have all 4 classes in the same classroom- even when we split up to take exams, I am always assigned to that one room.  It's all very Truman and I'm not even sure if there are other classrooms here.  But I sure pay for them!) always have tables set up full of forbidden fruit.  And forbidden yogurt.  Coffee.  Granola.  Sandwiches.  Cookies.  Sparkling water.  All sorts of other things we're not allowed to eat.  They put up signs that say "for physician leadership only."  And set up people whose sole jobs it is to shoo away hungry grad students. 

The way my econ class has taught me to see it is this:  we are not creating enough incentives for doctors to want to stay at their jobs and not come to these cushy seminars full of elitist food.  So you, dear patients, must give your physicians a reason to want to see you.  I implore you, people, make up exciting injuries, pay your doctors far, far beyond the $10 copay, and get yourselves a lower-cut shirt.  Restore peace to my school.  I get very hungry looking at scones.

Left Behind

On a precious few Tuesdays, when there are no problem sets to go over, nothing to finish up at work, and no review sessions to attend, I get to leave campus early. It takes so much out of me, though, I wonder if it's worth it. No matter what time class ends (3:15, 3:20, 3:22), or what I do after class- head straight out, parting chatter, or, like this week- stop by the locker (I have a locker! it's like a real school), check my mail, bid my farewells, apologize for leading someone down the wrong path on a test question- I always see the bus pulling up the minute I step outside, still a good block away from the stop. Much like the good Lord, the shuttle bus schedule is mysterious and beyond comprehension. And the buses do not tarry. So I run for it. Have you ever 'run' down a sidewalk outside an academic hospital during the day? Do you know how many wheelchairs and trees and waddling old people in canes there are to delicately dodge (because courtesy always comes first)? I feel like I'm in a Jackie Chan market chase scene every single time. And do you know how embarrassing it is to be the only person who's out of breath and panting on the bus? I do.

Chairs! The Musical

When I grow up, I'd like to work at a place where we don't run out of chairs.  A place where, if people did steal our chairs, we would notice.  Then get the chairs back.  And dart the thieves to show them we're serious.  Apparently, I do not work at such a place.  Filing into the conference room for a lunch presentation today, someone pointed out that the room seemed empty.  It was true.  We were missing a lot of chairs.  Left in their place were many, many questions.  Like oh, where are our chairs?  There are rumors that it may have been those petty Women's Health people.  But their conference was at least a week ago.  Which means that it's either taken us at least a week to realize the loss, or it wasn't them.  And even if it was them, how did they take out so many chairs without anyone's notice?  What are they doing with them?  How did they even get into the office?  Whatever the answers, this is what we know: I work for a supposedly world-class hospital, in what is supposedly one of the premier research institutions in the country, and we're missing our chairs.

Moi: Where are those people keeping our chairs?

Young Bo': At the chair factory.

Why, of course.

Things I Have Made This Weekend

PB & cranberry J.

Roast soy chicken. (on bread, natch)

Corn and black bean pancakes.

Stir-fried bok choy.

Scallion beef stir-fry.

Spinach and mushroom pizza.

Country-fried steak egg sandwich extravaganza.

What can I say, I'm a great procrastinator. Plus, 15 years from now, epidemiology can't feed a family of four. But roast chicken can.

---
Speaking of my bete noire, an oldie but a goodie-

Prof Little Man: The only time you should use this estimation if you're discussing this at a cocktail party and you don't have a calculator handy. Having a calculator would just be too nerdy.

Friday Flashback

I have been exiled in my room the past couple of days, studying biostats and preparing myself for defeat. So I'd appreciate it if we didn't dwell on the present (or the grim future).

Let's instead look back to Friday, a time before I'd realized how little I knew of biostatistics, a day when Grant (that's Doc McDarty to the rest of you) 'darted' a patient for the first time, thereby shooting him high up on my list of fascinating peoples of 2009 (two can play at this game, Barb). Take a moment now and let the significance of that sink in: Stuck a tranquilizer. Into another person. Stealthily. Like a ninja. Or a zookeeper. As a part of his day job. As a part of my day job, I graph things in Excel and use my TI-86.

But I digress. Freaky Friday. The best part wasn't even Grant, but getting my econ test back. Not because I'm an econ rock star (or even did well), but because I have the best TAs ever. In my test booklet, I had written pleadingly for them to grade mercifully "not for me, but do it for Grandmama Lee." When I got the booklet back, on the one question that I had gotten full credit, a TA wrote "Well done! G-mama Lee will be proud." Best education moment. Ever.

Sweet

My neighborhood is full of fancy cafes. And galleries. Condos. Boutiques. Etc. Unfortunately, overpriced baked goods is the only one I can afford. Just barely at that. I usually have the wherewithal to resist South End Buttery, Appleton Cafe, and even Flour. But I can't resist Haley House. Despite my heart and resolve of steel, I'm still human- powerless to resist their coconut shortbread cookies. Plus, their whole operation is volunteer run, with proceeds going to the adjacent soup kitchen. Food that alleviates hunger, that's just bloody brilliant. Yesterday, remembering that Meghan the Rock had the "best cupcake of her life" there, I picked one up after work and skipped all the way home.

"Are you sitting down?" I asked Landlady Chang as I kicked off my shoes.
"Yes."
"You better stay that way, we're having do-gooder cupcake."

And so we both sat down, each with half a coconut cupcake on our plates, on opposite ends of the dining room table. It was great, and the passion fruit layer really kicked it up a notch, but I wouldn't say best ever. Just top 8. We ate. We listened to Kiss-108. And we talked about Thanksgiving. Pretty good for a Wednesday afternoon.

Occam's Razor

Mother just phoned me to ask if I had made my bed before I had left home this past weekend.  Because she found my room in a mess (totally being dramatic- all's I did was not make the bed, leave a shirt on the floor, and the closet door open).  Had it not been me, Mother's next logical explanation was that someone had broken into our house, hung up clothes in my closet, and lived in my room the past 3 days.  All the whilst unbeknown to her.  "And that would scare me to death," she said.

Le Diner de Cons

I may or may not have used this title; the google is giving me conflicting messages. Either way, don't say this in class, Claire. It has a not-nice word.

A few months ago, to demonstrate the sampling powers of Stata, our professor used the program to randomly draw 8 names out of the hundred-plus students in the class. Those lucky students would have dinner with him. I was one of those students. For everyone else in the group, tonight was a chance for the professor to get to know them, earn brownie points, and get a free meal. A win-win-win. But I beat the odds and lost on all 3.

Things went downhill almost from the start:

Waiter: Would anyone like anything to drink?

Prof: Go ahead, guys, feel free to order whatever you'd like.

Moi: Vietnamese coffee, iced.

Everyone else at the table: "Water" "Water" "Water"..."Water"

Prof: I'll just have water, please.

Then there was Captain Bloody Heart:

Moi: Interesting, everyone is getting pho. (I got vermicelli)

Bloody Boy: I just love that stuff.

Moi: I do, too, but I don't trust broth I haven't tested. (1. Not in a Vietnamese neighborhood, 2. has the name of an herb in the restaurant name, and 3. all English menu- you'd be suspicious, too)

Bloody Boy: Oh, I've learned to eat whatever is given to me. After spending time in Kenya, I'm grateful for all food.

Hearing this, I couldn't decide between throwing up or slapping the boy (brass knuckles seem severe, Zvi), but everyone else regarded Captain Bloody Heart with fondness, so I held my tongue. This allowed the professor to turn to me for my one-on-one spotlight of the night:

Professor: So do you believe there should be one China?

Totally bringing brass knuckles to class.

Father Knows

Times when it's useful to have a preacher father:

-Sunday School (teachers are nicer to you).
-Weekends (too busy to notice whatever you're planning).
-Christmas (so many presents, though they're usually cheap chocolates).

Times when it's not useful to have a preacher father:

-Sunday School (teachers expect you to be "mature" and a "role model" and "stop picking on the new kid").
-Weekends (so many hours at church).
-Any time Father brings God into the argument.

Moi: With [brother's] vertigo due to allergies and my skin allergies, we have some terrible genes. And who do we have to thank for this?

Father: Are you blaming God? Are you saying your Creator didn't make you right?

Split Ends

Dear Times.
Life would be so much less fun without you. An article today indicates that this man just got an expensive hair cut but I feel like this is a page from Highlights and I'm failing to spot 5 differences.

PS. I guess there's still fat to trim at The Times. This is your second story on the same topic in as many months.

Can't Take My Eyes off of You

Last night, I watched Duplicity with my folks. In one scene, Clive Owen (why else would I rent the movie) said that he "can't believe" something and Mother spoke up...

Mother: He said "cahnt." I thought only British people pronounced it that way. Americans say "can't."

Moi: He is British, Ma.

Mother: Really? I hadn't noticed.

Moi: There's only 10 minutes left of the movie.

Hallway Dolorosa

I can tell how many Chinese families are living in the building by the smell of the hallway as I walk by. Unfortunately, by the smells of it, they're all better cooks than I am. And are reminding me of foods I haven't even thought of eating in years. I've got to start befriending these people.

Flavor of Love

Unlike many Asian Americans, I don't think there's a culture chasm between my parents and myself, nor consider any undue pressure put upon me by them (the latter might explain my total lack of achievements). Like them, I was born in Taiwan and we generally understand each other. At least that's what I thought.

Father and Mother are visiting both my g-pops in Taiwan so I wanted to buy some Haaaahvuhd gear for them to bring back (can I go a week without mentioning the name of my school? unlikely) The maternal g-pop was easy to shop for: tie, mug, presto, and Bob's my uncle. My dad, however, claims that his father is more finicky (I wonder if it's more the son than the father). No shirts. No small print. And nothing "too practical." Blanket? Pennant? Sweatpants? No, no, and no. Finally, after hour sof scouring, Landlady Chang and I picked a nice looking clock. Big, impractical, and can easily draw visitors' attention so Ah-Gong (grandfather) can then tell people about his brilliant granddaughter in America (because really, this is about me). Perfectly fitting? Perhaps. Perfectly offensive? Absolutely.

Apparently, as I learned last night, Chinese people don't give clocks as presents. "Silly superstition," Father said, while Mother went with "you'll get beaten to death." Either way, clock giving is just not done. The phrase "give a clock" is homonymous with the phrase "sending to the grave" and while I could probably get away with giving a clock to my parents, it's definitely a no-go for 91-year-old Ah Gong. Sweatpants it is then.

---
Even with superstitions aside...

Mother: (responding to Father's sneeze) That's what you get for not wearing your jacket.

Moi: For the gazillionth time, you can't catch the cold by being cold.

Mother: Yes, you can. You always get colds when it's cold.

Moi: People are more susceptible to getting sick when it's cold because that's when the flu season is and they're more likely to be staying inside and sharing the same air with people, leading to easier virus transmission.

Mother: That's no true. It's from the cold. And I forgive you.

Friday Night Slight

Today, Doc Greene alluded to the "broken window theory" whilst talking to Young Bo'. The reference was lost on her. But me, while I do not subscribe to the theory, it's been so long since I'd discussed sociology with anyone that instead of trying to pretend that I wasn't eavesdropping, I shouted, 4 cubicles down, "Yes! Broken window! Soc!" -- which I now realize isn't even a complete sentence. I am the coolest kid. Ever.

Speaking of cool kids, I just hung out with a few that are not, having dined with Dwighters, Liz, Emo, and the Landlady. While I'm not bffs with any of them, I can't imagine 4 people I'm more comfortable having dinner with. I trust their judgments on what's wrong and what's funny. And they're usually both. (Except for Dwight's V-neck sweaters. Nothing wrong there.) We went to Border Cafe, where I freaked Emo out by predicting her every move (queso, empanadas, guac, no sauce, and drink to go- I'm very Robin Williams in One-Hour-Photo) and where we had a waiter who we thought Emo had charmed. He was gracious, quick with banter, and kept bringing us free sides and refills-- until we saw the bill. And realized that nothing was actually free. He was just a guacamole pusher. Now I wish I could go back and spit in his food.

Call Him Ahab

Every once in awhile, we get a gem of an econ class and Prof. Papa goes off rantingin a well planned, predetermined manner. Today was such a class.

On economic incentives:

"... it's like whaling. If you don't kill them, someone will, kill them fast, kill them now, let's get rid of them."

On public health initiatives:

"Other than 'oh, we like children,' why do we need immunization?"

On jobs in public health:

"All I'm saying is, from the supply and demand side, good luck."

More on saving children:

"If we get paid depending on how many lives we control, then we should really be paying school traffic controllers, or else a truck will come and they'll be all, "come on, come on, it's safe."

And if economists sound callous...:

"Most people don't like to talk about buying people, so let's talk about robots."

Ex Post Hazard

Discussing posterior probabilities in Decision Analysis today, Ashley- the most intriguing nice desk buddy I've met at school so far- turns to me and says, in all seriousness, "Posterior sounds funny."  "I know, it means butt."  And we giggle like the Haaaavuhd students we are.

Reason #3828 I'm Not Acing Biostats

Moi: Whoa, we've had Obama as president for a year? (yay) I guess change...

Landlady Chang: Takes more than a year?

Moi: ... and feels like no change?

Landlady Chang: Does that mean we only get him for 3 more years?

Moi: No, don't say that, you mean 5 years!

Landlady Chang: 5 years? Not 3?

Moi: Oh, I did the math wrong. I mean 7 years. We get him for 7 years. (yay...)

Lame Bird

A bird flew into my shoe today.  I was walking down the street, as I do every morning, and these two sparrows sprung up from the ground.  One was successful.  The other hit the sole of my shoe.  (and then managed to fly up)  Weirdest bird interaction ever.  I turned around to look for someone to share the WTH moment with, but no one else on the crowded sidewalk seemed to have noticed or heard the very loud thud.  A bird hit my shoe! 

Crimson Commiseration

I love a boss who promises to "physically beat" people for me. I really do. I just wish he wasn't such a damn overachiever the rest of the time.

Whitecastle: Your average in that class should be over 100.

Moi: Um, no pressure or anything.

Whitecastle: Come on, the class is a cakewalk. I think I got 110.

The problem with going to school right across the street from where I work-- and it's a huge problem-- is that everyone at work has been through it. Everyone knows about the courses I'm taking. Has worked with my professors. And everyone is taking away my one great pleasure of school: Complaining about the academic rigors of Haaaaavuhd University. It's the one thing I have to hold on to, people.

Whitecastle: Have you learned SAS yet?

Moi: No, I've only been in school for a month.

Whitecastle: It's been 2 months. You said you've already had exams.

Moi: In accounting. I can balance a balance sheet.

Whitecastle: That's not going to help you. Unless you drop out and have to balance books.

First Father, now Whitecastle, why must everyone equate accounting with dropping out? I am so lacking in positive reinforcement today.

Staff of Life

For years now, Grace Fellowship's salty cracker and white grape juice combo has been my communion service of choice: tasty crunch with just the right touch of sacrilegious (though not as funny as North Harbor's Challah baby), hygienic (no backwash a la P&G), and easy for newcomers to figure out. I've always found two things daunting about visiting new churches: Sunday School and communion. While hymns and creeds are easy to mumble through, every church does Sunday School and communions differently. This morning, after a year of attendance, I discovered that Park Street has 2 distinct communion routines for morning and evening services. Naturally, I went through an internal WTH, church? meltdown while trying to act cool externally and tried to catch glimpses of my neighbors' movements while pretending to be in deep reflection like everyone else. Not cool, G. Not cool. But in the end, the man next to me passed the plate and I picked up the bread like a pro-- bread that turned out to be tiny shortbread squares and much better than what's served the evening service. Unorthodox, yes, but buttery delicious, and, much like Jesus, heart of my own heart, infinitely good.

To recap: Savory crackers out. Shortbread in. What's your favorite communion set up?

Cabbage Patch Men

On Friday, I got to have lunch with Maria. It was awesome, as most Bo' reunions are. I wicked appreciate people like Maria, or JAB, in my life, who are just a little bit ahead of me and give me a taste of what's to come.

On Friday, I also got to have dinner with a bunch of crazies. Ever since I left W-ford and the Bo', I have had fewer and fewer vegetarian friends, to the point that at our dinner on Friday, we had beef and two kinds of chicken. Even the salad had salmon in it. Jo, however, was still hanging out with vegetarians and brought one into our midst (a union man, Mainer, and the only person to be born in Wiscasset in 1983-- we pretty much could have been best friends had he not been a vegetarian). In a frenzy, Katy dispatched Kevin to Shaw's to pick up something vegetarian, pasta perhaps. Kevin did not pick pasta. He picked up stuffed cabbage. Because that was the first vegetarian entree that came to mind. He also thought it satisfied our orange-theme criteria for the night. The red sauce did not. It also didn't satisfy the vegetarian requirement. In fact, beef was the first ingredient. Though "beef" might be being generous. The cabbage roll did not look like recognizable food. It only reminded us of very bad things, things that garner protesters outside the Brigham every Thursday.

A final tally of the day:

Maria: +50
Kevin: -200
Shaws: +$5.99
Vegetarian: Hungry
Unions: -15
Roe v Wade: -22

Look, Ma!

(photo 'courtesy' of the New York Times)

I don't have the words for this, so I'm going to let The Times say it themselves:

BALANCE bikes, long popular in Europe, are making inroads in the United States as a way to teach children to ride a two-wheel bicycle without the need for training wheels. The bikes do not have pedals; instead, toddlers use their feet to steady themselves, propel forward and brake. Eventually they learn to coast — and balance.

A bike without pedals. This means that the children are walking a ~$100 toy. In the words of Laura, "God, people, go save a starving child."

Second Not Helpings

After class, we went to the Pig for drinks per usual and got on the subject of a great many things, including opportunity cost, University-wide sled dogs, and fries. Most people at the table were eager to try the Pig's truffle fries, but remembering Zvi's experience, I worked very hard to dissuade everyone from ordering because the fries just weren't it. They were reluctant, but after a hard battle, they listened. Like that weekend in Atlantic City, I should've quit there and gotten home with a clear police record. But I campaigned for curry fries. I had some awesome curry fries at Emmet's on Sunday night and wanted to relive the experience. I did not relive the experience. Instead, I had to first explain that it wasn't my Asian accent, I didn't want curly fries, I wanted curry fries. Second, most people were repulsed by the idea of curry fries (blasphemous, I know). And most regrettably, when the fries came, they reminded Meredith of her cat's puke. Actually, Meredith wasn't the only one. The Pig is great with many things, but when it comes to curry fries: epic fail. To make matters worse, I had to leave early and just realized that I forgot to pay for the fries. Pretty sure that when I go back to school tomorrow, I won't have any friends. Nay, I'm getting yogurt dropped on my head.

Squealing Fries: 2. Moi: 0. Zvi Shapiro: -49482.

Monday Mumble

Some Monday miscellanea.

1. Running to the Boston Book Festival on Saturday, I overheard these college kids snickering, saying, "Look at these nerds coming out of their holes." I was indignant at first, until I realized that they were talking about the Comic-Con event also in town. Ha, losers.

2. Since coming back from the book festival (surprisingly crowded. unsurprisingly pretentious) and failing to impress Richard Russo with my Richard Ford connections (granted that I have none), I now want to do nothing else but read. Except when I pause to watch this clip, over and over again:




3. Every state has a health insurance plan for poor children, usually known as some variant of CHIP. But not Vermont. They call theirs Dr. Dynasaur. Spelled that way, of course, to appeal to children and parents. When I grow up, I want to be a Dr. Dynasaur.

4. Another wisdom nugget from Prof Papa: "One of the great things about teaching, especially at a research university and not a teaching one, is that I can talk about whatever I want and no one really cares. Like today, I want to spend some time talking about one of my biggest pet peeves: dental insurance."

Young Grasshopper

Our inspirational message of the day is brought to you by Doc Whitecastle.

Whitecastle: ... School's not so bad, right?

Moi: School is so much work!

Whitecastle: If you had worked hard as an RA, school probably wouldn't seem so hard now.

Moi: But if you can get by with less, why bother?

Koy Inexpressible

If you looked up the word 'perfect' in the dictionary, you will not see pictures of my day. But it'd only be because dictionaries don't work like that, plus it'd be super creepy, but my day should have been in there.

It started with oversleeping, an accounting final, and McTalkie, the most annoying kid in the program, making a fool of himself once again. (He doesn't deserve a 'Mc' prefix a la Grey's, Lu just likes adding 'Mc' to names.) But the exam was more straightforward than expected, I got to talk Richard Russo with school kids over Friday drinks and oh, minor detail-- Asian Grub Crawl.

It started with Korean fried chicken (at first not as awesome as I remembered, then the awesomeness picked up and I could not stop eating). But Du and Lena insisted that bubble tea was "on the way." So we stopped for tea. And decided to supplement the fried chicken with noodles. That was the plan at least. By the time the chicken was done and I met up with Du and Lena again, all of us miraculously converging at the same time, they had noodles, soup dumplings, and pajeon, i.e. glorious O glorious seafood pancakes. And kimchi. So we walked in the autumn dusk, just brisk enough to be comfortable, and talked of winter hot pot parties. Somehow, as we were nearing the apartment steps, Mac arrived, again timed perfectly.

Of course, we washed down all the great food and warm fuzzies with... Gone with the Wind. Because Lena is insane. And when all was said and done, I came home to find a check in the mail. Addressed to Koy.

Over Time

Well, my fellow Americans, our long national nightmare is over. No, not the recession or war on terror. Nay, we have slayed a greater monster: Epi 201. All week long, the take-home it hung over us like a dark cloud and finally, it lifted. After a two-hour discussion session of our exam, of course, just to provide that last bit of discomfort. The whole anticipatory process was like Reverse Christmas. We were waiting for a big reveal, all right, but a terribly painful reveal.

Once 10:30 struck (my clock strikes on the half hour), though, nothing seemed as bad as before. We talked through the discussion (to distract ourselves from finding mistakes on our exams), refused to raise our hands, fidgeted with our gadgets, and I even made an Epi Fortune Teller to share. What I mean is, we all handled the releasing of stress like incredibly mature graduate students.

So goodbye, Rafa, your class brought endless hardships, but also endless entertainment, and fostered a camaraderie with 120 kids far beyond my expectations (e.g. the end of 201 was mentioned as a praise at our fellowship meeting). I imagine this was what Nam must have been like. 202 starts on Tuesday.

(while writing an answer on the blackboard, Prof. Rafa's chalk made an ear-piercing screech)

The Class: (Very loud, audible wince x 120)

Rafa: Believe me, it bothers me more.

This Side Up

The sun was out today. It's late October in New England. It didn't have to be out, but there it was, bright and warm, almost as if I could trust it again. We took advantage of this rare gift and sat outside for lunch. I love that I have lunch tables again. It's about the only perk of school. (Nay, Prof. Papa is also a perk. Though not today. Amy and I both missed 10 minutes to slumber.) I have no funny stories from lunch. We hardly even talked the last 20 minutes. Just sat there, soaking it all in. Winter is a coming, and we ain't no grasshopper.

All American Reject

I have a take-home final that's due tomorrow morning.  A take-home final that (obvs) I cannot discuss with anyone.  I have had the exam since Friday.  The suspense of it all is killing me.  Thursday cannot come fast enough.  But Friday better stay away.  Friday is exam time.  In fact, God, if you could pull another one of those sun-never-sets tricks on Thursday afternoon, I'd be much obliged.

Doc Query: The paper looks really good, I think we have a shot at JAMA.

Moi: I don't know.  You've promised that before.

Doc Query: ... and I got it published in JAMA, didn't I?  That's not bad.

Moi: Well, the first one, yes, but the second one-

Doc Query: It's not that I can't get JAMA to accept the second paper.  I can't get anyone to accept it.

Pulsating Pulpit

I grew up in the church. Three of my uncles, one of my cousins, and both of my parents are preachers, so I've heard a lot of sermons in my time. Yet I'd never seen a preacher so excited as Gordon this morning, so captivated by what was to come in his own message that he exclaimed, "This [next point] is even better. You'll love this. Wake up!" Best sermon moment ever.

The Super Sugar

Once again, my title is a reference to an inside joke between me and myself (a handful of people may remember, but you're probably not one of them).

I have been experimenting with pork and beans of all different flavors and consistencies this past year (cannellini with rosemary, sweet and spicy with black beans, etc.) and by golly, I've gotten it better than right this time. It doesn't even matter that the picture is dreadful. That you can't tell that the pork was roasted with onions, oregano and garlic, that there's bacon and Coca-Cola in there, because you can't eat this anyway. There's no way I'm sharing this with anyone. Not even Landlady Chang.

[One day, Kiefer may come upon this post at this site and we may either laugh about this or share a very awkward silence. My instincts say it'll be the first because Kiefer is so bitingly funny and laughs so easily, but I'm pulling for the comedy of the latter. Whilst gathering intel on a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend today, Kiefer reported that a kid as "a super Christian" "with a blog." And made the most disdainful face to both counts. I had to break it to her that I, too, was a Christian, ("But are you a super Christian? I'd been meaning to meet on of you!") but didn't have the heart to tell her that I also kept a blog. One skeleton at a time. One skeleton at a time.]

Entrenched

It is Saturday. Which means Hulu.com and brunch, problem sets and econ chapters, procrastinating, cooking, studying, and walking that tight rope of relaxation and working-- a rope that I too often fall off of, careening too far into repose to be productive. This weekend was to be my big Michigan outing, a giant road trip with the Park Street folks I'd been talking about for months. Instead, I am home. Just back from dim sum with school friends. Because it's Saturday. And I have finals next week. Because I'm a student now. It's not bad, but it's different. We talk about things like the "school of public health fist bump" that Mary et al invented. (Make like you're about to bump fists, stop, air pump two squirts of Purell, rub vigorously, then go in to finish the bump. I plan on greeting everyone like this.)

(talking to a different Mary and Decision Scientist at work this week...)

Moi: I get to go home right now while y'alls work for another hour.

Mary: Rub it in, why don't you.

Moi: And when I get home, I'm going to do homework for 3 hours.

Decider: Yeah, that backpack looks rather large...

Baby Got Back (Pains)

Additional things that it now hurts to do:

Dry hair.
Put socks on.
Chase (unsuccessfully) after bus that decided to leave early.  With a backpack on.  In the pouring rain.
Ride the bus.
Stand.
Get out of bed.
Homework.  (it's always hurt to do homework)
But nothing even compares to putting my sneakers on.  And then trying to tie the shoelaces.  I'm breaking into cold sweat just thinking about it now.  I imagine child birth will be a similar experience.

Things that do no hurt to do:
Sleep.

How do you do it, Claire?

That's a Wrap

At dinner last night, I ordered a side of asparagus and a bacon-wrapped sirloin...

Mother's Friend: You know what my friend taught me? Bacon wrapped asparagus. It's very good.

Mother: Bacon wrapped pineapple is also good.

Mother's Friend: Bacon wrapped shrimp.

Moi: How 'bout we just say that bacon wrapped anything is good?

Mother: Bacon wrapped scallops.

(We stay on topic for a few minutes longer until finally, Father and Mother squabble over whether bacon is 'in' right now, or was always in, or was in and then made a comeback. Reason #84773 I don't live at home.)

Stop, Drop, and Roll

Moi: ... yeah, that's just how I roll.

Upperclassman's British BF: Ha, I say that, too. Because I sound ridiculous when I say it.

Moi: Oh, it sounds ridiculous when I say it, too. That's the fun.

UBBF: But that's just how we roll.

Damaged. Not Good.

I sprained my back today. What adventurous task was I performing, you ask? Oh, sitting in my cubicle and typing. Not exactly sure what happened, but here is a list of things it now hurts to do:

Sitting
Typing
Putting my pants on
Walking
Picking things up from the floor
Turning
Folding laundry

1-2-3

Whitecastle: Have you had exams yet?

Moi: Yeah, I had one yesterday.

Whitecastle: How can they be testing you already? You haven't learned anything.

Moi: Yeah, that's what the tests have shown, too.

Old Men and My C's

Yesterday in class, Prof Papa (not to be confused with Prof Rafa)
mentioned orphan drugs and my heart stopped beating for a second.
Though I think that's part of the regularly rhythm of heart beat. He
asked if anyone knew who they were and I happily answered, perhaps the
first and only time my past 2 years has come in handy in econ, and
only for that brief second. In fact, I'm not even sure if he heard
me. The economic incentives for supporting orphan drugs aside, he
said some profound things in class yesterday, and I, of course, jotted
them down instead of drawing demand curves like I should have.

(on price discrimination)

Prof Papa: What has 4 i's but cannot see? Discrimination.

(on cartels and price fixing)

Prof Papa: Cheating in a cartel is like cheating in affairs- sooner or
later, everyone finds out.

Professor Rafa, on the other hand, just struggles with the mic.

Student: We can't really hear you.

Prof Rafa: (fidgets a little) Is this better?

Student: Yes.

Prof Rafa: Good. Because I didn't do anything.

And his command of class...

Student: I think people are confused because they think the question
is whether A causes L, not Y.

Prof Rafa: But that's not what I asked.

Student: I know. I think they just think-

Prof Rafa: I'm trying to earn the freedom to ask the questions how I
want, but everyone keeps changing my questions.

Missing Link

Dear Girl Who Sold Me My Biostat Textbook:
  It was very nice of you to sell me the book at a discount price.  You were so kind and helpful I almost believed we could be friends.  Would have been nicer, still, however, had you informed me that all the tables of Appendix A, which I need for my exam in 14 minutes, had been ripped out.  Or if you didn't rip them out in the first place.  (Or that I discovered this more than 10 minutes ago.)  I'll be billing you the first quarter tuition expenses if I flunk out of school.

Sincerely,

Margin O'Error

Weekend Wonders

Calves! Just as adorable as expected.

The burgers weren't wonders. That I was able to resist them was. In my third year, I finally learned self control- passing up the burgers so I could have more deviled eggs (EB's aunt makes them every year), chili, lasagna, rice, quiche, and every kind of cookie, brownie, and pie.

Footloose: Most tiring song ever.

It's Moo Time

(3rd) Annual pilgrimage to Vermont. Spent the weekend in the barn.

Company Line

I was at school for a full 8 hours today, starting at 8:45 am. Only 2 hours were actually spent in class, another 1.5 hours in exam-- the rest was spent either cramming for, or commiserating with one another regarding, our first econ exam, an exam that felt like the seminal event of the month. We had heard for weeks on how hard (yet nicely curved) the class was, and today was our first chance to see for ourselves. Even the pass/fail kids (who I alternate between envying and hating) were freaking out. Second years tried to calm us down, those who weren't in the class cheered us on, and in the end, we all went out for drinks (except for newly sober me who had water). Favorite piece of conversation today? "I heard Atul Gwande failed this class*."


*An obvious lie, but I love going to a school where we joke about Jeffrey Sachs and Atul Gwande, one of whom apparently loved this very econ class.

Marginal Utility

Thank you, Internet. Like I needed one more form of procrastination. Or one more reason to crave fast food.

I haven't had MacDonald's in about 5 years. At first, I didn't realize it. Then I thought "I've gone this far, might as well keep going" (was also studying globalization at the time- damn you, Band Man!). I didn't miss it for years. Now I miss it McNuggets, Big Macs, and fries terribly. And that Angus burger isn't helping, either.

On the Flip Side

Dear Diary:
I'd write, but I'm trying to pass a couple of exams and generally not flunk out of school.

Sincerely,

Studying Stanley

PS. Lenny Charles is a baby chicken killer.

Help Is On The Way

I used to complain about stumping the IT help desk. Now, I realize, that's not so bad as compared to teaching the help desk.

Moi: ... you see, the problem is that even with that, it still says that my inbox is over limit.

IT: How are you seeing this?

Moi: If you go to Mailbox- no, not there - OK, no, don't click... yes, right click--

House of the Holy

This is why I have way more kingdom points than Zvi.

Zvi: Way to answer my calls.

Moi: I'm sorry, I was in church.

Zvi: Psh, you can text in church. People sleep in church all the time.

Coquettish Clumps

Soup season is over, homes.

Landlady Chang: What're you making?

Moi: Tuna croquettes.

Landlady Chang: For yourself?

Moi: Yup.

Landlady Chang: You're crazy.

I'm not crazy. I'm evasive. And my responsibilities are many. Croquettes aren't traditionally Taiwanese, but the Japanese seem to love them (though not so much in American Japanese restaurants) and Japanese and Taiwanese cuisine have a symbiotic relationship, much like Tex-Mex in the States. But with less bastardization. Of course, croquettes are everywhere, and in Lisboa, I had a field day pointing to and trying out random croquettes. With all this in mind, and a little inspiration from Alton, I set forth to make my own for lunch. If I flunk out of school, I just may have found my calling.

Le Diner de Cons

(scheduling a meet up...)

Moi: [I'm going to a] dinner party on Saturday-- because I'm whiter than you are.

Zvi: You are way whiter than I am.

Moi: Which is so unfair.

Zvi: I bet your kids are going to be gifted.

Spartacus

The Registrar's Office is undergoing renovations this week. And I'm loving the signs they've plastered over the door: WE ARE OPENED.

Oh, yes you are.

Fancy Feast

Just saw a commercial for cat food, whilst making Vita-K and my version of "cat food," and realized that cats eat sea bass and shrimp in "delicate broth" as "appetizer." And me? I was eating canned tuna with rice at 9:43PM. I'm a dog person.

Tomorrow is my first grad exam, which made tonight the perfect time to make "cat food." It was a favorite Bo' recipe, shared over late night problem sets, and was even the first meal we made in the flat in Eddie Bert- before we figured out where the grocery store was and could only buy essentials at the convenience store down the street.

Now, this is the part where I lose people. The components of cat food sound disgusting (especially compared to real cat food), but this is a recipe refined by many years of practice by Vita-K and myself. (Pretty sure it was her invention) We swear by its taste and have won many a skeptical converts (OK, I only remember Hilary, but I swear there're more). Tuna. Rice. Mayonnaise. And soy sauce paste (Vita-K liked regular soy sauce). Sometimes a little sugar. Tonight, a little chipotle heat. Seriously. This is what I would swear by if I ever had the munchies, or found myself drunk and hungry, or finally dragged myself home at 4am but was too hyper to go to bed... but mostly, this is what I swear by on nights like this, studying, studying, (procrastinating) studying.

Bedside Manners

All day long I collect anecdotes that I could share with you. Then I go home. I forget everything that has happened to me during the day. And every morning, I drag myself out of bed, sore, tired, mouth dry. And I think, "If I was hungover right now, this is what it'd feel like." But instead of a night of boozing and carousing, there was generally just me, with not quite a handle of problem sets. (well, and a bit of procrastination sprinkled here and there, sure...)

I don't like homework.

Crackle and Pop

There's a leftover box of Greek delights in the office kitchenette (think Turkish delights but less conservative). The delights, being what they are, are coated with a very generous amount of powdered sugar which has, despite everyone's best efforts, gotten all over the counter top-- thus prompting every single person to walk by -- from division chief to senior biostatistician-- to make some sort of cocaine joke. Come on, people. Doesn't anyone use heroin anymore?

Walk the Talk

I live on the second floor. But oftentimes, lately, I've been taking the elevator. There's always a good excuse ("it's been a long day," "I'm already here," "I need to go pee") for it and I can live with perfect conscience whether I take the stairs or elevator. But I always feel bad if I bump into people in the elevator, especially people riding up to the 5th floor. They make me feel compelled to limp as I exit.

Condensed Soup

Last week's cauliflower soup was all about simplicity, tasting the tomatoes and the cauliflower, with a little bit of curry and nutmeg. This week, in contrast, was about bold tastes. Garlic and chipotle, tossed into the mix. With a bit of cheddar, too. Stronger and thicker than before. And so good I'm content to not move. Ever. Again.

Decline and Fall

Nothing good comes of exercising. Earlier today, I was peer pressured into taking the stairs up to class instead of the elevator. And, feeling pious, decided to repeat the act on my way down as well, despite the fact that everyone else was taking the elevator. (They were heading straight for ground floor, I stopped at the third, and then went for the ground.) What I did not anticipate, however, was that my school was actually a creepy crypt and/or the set of a horror film. As I descended deeper, the lights grew dimmer, until I passed the second floor door and came across a barrier. To the right of the barrier was a door that said EXIT. Funny, I thought, this doesn't look like the other exit doors, perhaps I'll just go down to L1. So I did. Passing, on my way, a literal hole in the wall where a window should be that revealed a room full of tanks and pipes. But, I pressed on to the bottom floor. Only to discover that there were no doors. So up I went again to the mysterious EXIT sign where the ground floor should be. The door was unlocked, thankfully, but instead of leading to the cafeteria, led to a barren concrete room. One of those rooms that you only see people enter and not exit. Thus, I had no choice but to exercise even more than I had planned, hiking back past the barrier and onto the second floor, where the door led me back to the bustle and normalcy of school. And I found myself the big, well-lit central stairs that lead to the cafe, where everyone acted cheerful and generally pretended there was no hidden darkness right beneath us all. In fact, I'm not even sure what I saw today. It was all so surreal. I may have made the whole thing up.

Lactose Galactica

Whenever I have frozen yogurt (of the Asian, berry chains, persuasion), I say, "This is ridiculous for $4. I don't get what the big deal is." Then I end up craving its tangy sweet and coolness for a week thereafter.

Cream of the Fight

I don't like breakfast food. Not cereal or oatmeal or bagels, at least. I like the savories and would love nothing more than leftovers for breakfast every day. Mexican night leftovers got me through a summer at BP. But of course, I don't eat leftovers every day. And there's no vendor selling scallion pancakes with eggs and breakfast dumplings outside my building. So I mostly manage with cereal and PB sandwiches with bananas.

This morning, though, was a treat. Warm, soupy rice, a little spicy, a little stew-y. A lot of stick-to-my-fleshy-ribs goodness.

Captain Smorgban

(on Saturday night, Friso was trying to explain how his day job brought him here from the Netherlands...)

Friso: I work in shipping. Freights, cargo, setting the prices.

Moi: Have you seen The Wire? They were looking at some drug smuggling and dead bodies being found in those containers in season 2. Do you smuggle people and/or drugs?

Friso: No, we deal in piracy. The profits are much higher.

Slim Shady

Sometimes, I can see my life in two parallel worlds. The world where people's words mean what I think them to mean and where my words are understood to be exactly what I meant them to be. Then there is the real world. Where terrible things happen when people don't behave per my expectations.

This afternoon, I pop into Doc Query's office to offer a cookie (wanted to buy 6 thank-you cookies for Josh and ended up buying 24, because it doesn't make economic sense to buy the smaller package when the tub is only 50 cents more).

Doc Query: No, thanks, I'm on a diet.

(I assume he is joking)

Moi: Oh, yeah, you look great. It's totally working out for you.

Doc Query: Yeah? Thanks.

Moi: So, do you want a cookie?

(He was not joking)

Doc Query: No, thanks. I'm on a diet.

Moi: Oh...

Luckily, not everyone in the office was on a diet (though more of us, that is, I, probably should be). By the time I get to Whitecastle's office, the box was more than half gone and only 8 were left. He, as you might remember, does not do well with not placing first. Practically a poster child for birth-order theorists.

Moi: Want a cookie?

Whitecastle: It doesn't look like there's any left. I told you to come to me first.

Moi: Oh. Yeah... um, it was a box of 8. You're the first one...

The Backup

Moi: It's weird, I have to take classes that have nothing to do with my interest, like accounting.

Father: That's good- accounting is a good skill to have if this doesn't work out for you.

Moi: Well, no, because I won't be qualified to be an accountant. I'll just know some basics.

Father: I meant if you didn't have a job, you could always come back and manage finances at home.

Thanks for keeping faith, Father. You always knew best.

The Soup

Perhaps because of its huge endowment losses this fiscal year, the School was incredibly cold yesterday. After classes, we all wanted a nice cup of soup. Most people settled for beer. I -- wallet-less and abstaining at the moment (yeah, sounded like a real alcoholic when I broke that to my new classmates. note to self: need new way of explaining that I'm not drinking anymore), settled for water. It was awesome after 2 weeks to sit with people as broke as I am and talk about all those doctors in our program. But I digress.

This morning, the rain canceled Common Good Day and afforded me 1.5 extra hours of sleep, extra time for an epi problem set, and a chance to make soup- cauliflower soup. Nothing more than cauliflower and hot water, really, plus some seasoning. I remembered that I still had some tomatoes and threw those in the blender at the last minute. Brilliant choice on my part. The croutons ruined my picture above but not my palate. Crunchy, buttery, salty goodness. Easiest soup and quickest clean up ever. I wish every Saturday was soup day.

Eureka

Tomorrow concludes my second week of classes (but not really, since this was a short week again). It's taking awhile. I definitely had to ask for directions this afternoon ("Stupid question, but just to double check- we're in Kresge?" "The building we're sitting in? [where all of our classes are was implied] Yes.") But I'm starting to get a hold of my schedule and figure out how to survive: I just need to stay on top of my readings, work on my problem sets every night, and never go out at night. Ever. Totally workable plan for the next two years.

Different School, Same Story

Had to chase after the bus again this morning. With arms flailing as I ran with my messenger bag, too. Coolest kid ever.

Whilst getting semi-lost in the basement computer labs yesterday (it's like a dungeon down here, except we pay them to treat us like this), I stumbled upon a room that looked different from all the rest. There were tool benches and little boxes and drills and presses, plus a gated door. Then I spotted the sign to the room. Locksmith. Ah, of course, the school would have its own locksmith. I want my money back, school.

How do I begin describing my new professors? I don't even know. They seem a lot more google-able than before, which makes it hard to say anything about them. I will just let this one speak for himself.

Prof Rafa: If you see me up there [in the back of the lecture hall] at the beginning of class, make way. It will be easier for us to start class on time if everyone made way for me.

Girl in the Back: Can you turn up the mic?

Prof Rafa: Did you get the part about making way? That was very important.

(Later, trying to discourage people from taking the bursting-at-the-seams class)

Prof Rafa: You probably didn't read the evaluations from last year. It was very bad. Don't do this to yourselves if you don't have to take this course.

PS. Inane blogs are pretty 2005, but clicked on Average Cats today and it just made me laugh and laugh in the computer lab.

Epidermis Showing

It's that time of the year again.  Time once again for the "what is it about me that looks so Chinese/Taiwanese?"  In today's story, I exchange emails with this girl regarding buying her textbook.  Before we're supposed to meet, we exchange 20 words on the phone.  Twenty words that go something like this, "Hi, I'd like to buy your textbook.  Where are you?"  "I'm sitting by the wall."  "Oh, there you are."  "Yes, I see you."  Yet somehow, seconds later when we meet, the first thing she asks is, "Are you Taiwanese?"  Damn it.  I don't know how people do it, but my skin done gave me away.

In other news, I was sooo happy to sit next to a group of doctoral nerds today who were discussing stocking up on favorite pens not available in the US.  I thought I was the only one!

Opposite Day

I came back from the rally this morning and saw Landlady Chang in shorts. I was in jeans with a light jacket in hand, slightly sweaty. I almost always travel with a light jacket in hand.

Moi: This weather is so confusing. Hot or cold, I don't know how to feel.

Landlady: I know. I think I need some socks.

I change out of the semi-sweaty clothes and when I head into the living room ago, I'm in shorts and short-sleeve while Landlady is in socks, long pants, and a sweatshirt.

Moi: Oh. So you were... cold?

Landlady: ... And you were not.
---
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"But why is Grace playing hard to get?" "That's just how girls are, Joe."

My favorite lines of the day. Joseph is the boy you see on the upper right hand corner. He's almost 5 now and in love with Gracie. Gracie, however, may have had a change in heart. She used to talk about marrying Joseph. Now when her mom asks, she just smiles and walks away. Today, Joseph and Gracie were playing together when Joseph was sent inside for a time-out. He tried to make the best of the situation by pretending that it was his idea to go inside. And recruiting Grace to join him. But he wasn't able to fool anyone, least of all Gracie, who chose to ride the tricycle on the lawn and generally ignore Joseph's pleas. (When she finally did stop from her running and riding to respond, it was to say, "But I don't want to."-- she's a heart breaker) Liz and I explained to Joseph that she was playing hard to get. The concept, however, was lost on poor Joseph. So much to learn, young man, so much to learn.

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.