Social Math

Oh that's unfortunate.  Only my fabulous new school friends ("cohort") will get the title joke.  But they will not read this.

Let's cut to the chase for this entry:  I am a winner.  Last night was no different.  A big group of us went to the school-sponsored happy hour for public health/Hopkins trivia yesterday.  Since the MPH program started a few months before us, and all of us were out of towners (except for Cass, our intrepid TA) we were perhaps the newest to the school and knew the least about public health/Hopkins.  It did not help that we did not submit any questions and there was nothing in our specialty (that being disseminating health policy issues in 1500 words or less).  Things did not look good.  We even forgot basic public health law questions we should have known.  Sensing imminent defeat, we were happy to just talk disruptively in the corner and let the night fade away.  Then the final round changed everything.  We discovered that, perhaps due to our careful listening, we had been calculating our points wrong (i.e. doubling them- and still not winning).  The MC corrected the misdeed for Round 3, but never caught it for Round 2.  So we went into the final question neck and neck with two other teams.  Then the first place team made a major tumble while we correctly wagered all of our points to double up the score.  In the end, our team in the corner, the one that that had never won a round, and didn't hear the question half the time, became the shady Cinderella and took home the grand prize.  They'll probably make an HBO special about our surprising comeback.  You should stay tuned.

Like Butter

I refuse to believe that I will never be suave.  So time after time, I allow optimism into my heart and come to believe that I am capable of executing life smoothly.  Take my biostat midterm this morning.  I was convinced that I was well prepared (oh how you proved me wrong, test) but even more, I was convinced that I could exit the test without much trouble.  After all, there was only 1 student to the left of me.  I just needed to pick up my backpack, tilt to the side, and scoot past him with my backpack lifted up, so as not to disturb him, and then I'd be all set.

If only.  If only.  If only.  Instead, I managed to step on my shoelaces for the first time in years, trip, and then miraculously catch my backpack on the handrail at the edge of the row, so I ended up tripping right in front of the guy I was trying not to disturb, and my backpack hung half on his desk and half on the banister.  Of course. 

Family Meal

It was an absurd moment in a surreal weekend.  There I was, sitting in a minibus in my nice black dress, trying to balance all that was going on.  My cousin had ordered bento boxes for lunch and I was trying to eat mine.  We were having bentos with fried chicken drumsticks that were actually packaged separately, because they don't fit in the box.  There was no way to properly wield the chicken except to use my hand and try not to get any greasy bits on my face or dress.  But I also had to hold the box, work my chopsticks, balance the rest of the box (which required suspending the drumstick so it wouldn't cover the rest of the food), and keep my drink in place as the driver hit every bump along the way.  As luck would have it, I only had 2 hands.  

Being a part of an extended family, to me, feels like wearing glasses.  Like the new or occasional glasses wearer, I am always acutely aware of being with my extended family because it happens so rarely.  I imagine the rest of them hardly notice the feeling.  For me, it takes some adjustment every time.  Whenever we have big gatherings, I catch myself thinking, "so this is what a big family, my family, feels like."  The feeling reached a crescendo a week ago, eating lunch en route to my grandfather's burial.  Since the cemetery was a long drive away (they are almost always in the mountains in Taiwan and the burial was only for family members), 17 of us packed into a mini-bus for the journey and shared the tragicomic moment..  All of us (eh, most of us) were in our Sunday bests, trying to balance the least fast-food-friendly-meal-ever, all the while passing straws, napkins, and drinks up and down the aisles.  Writers always think their families exceptional.  And I'm pretty sure my family drama is exceptional.  But at that moment-- bickering, joking, catching up (some with more ease than others)-- we were just like any other family.

The RidicuList

On the same day that Hopkins (OK, a Hopkins-affiliated institute) is being sued for sued for exposing poor black children to lead paint, I learn that the ol' H'Bomb (the Boston-based major H'Bomb) has gone in the other direction in taking on the public image.  Just check out this catalog listing: Oh, that's right.  It's a dog.  That you can use at the medical library.  But remember, just like that December 1813 issue of NEJM, you can use it in library, but you can't check it out.

The Accidental Scenester

Do you know what guabao is?  If you do, chances are, you are either Taiwanese or knowledgeable on foodie trends.  As part of the pork fad of the last decade and also the rise of less-known Asian food in the States (read: Korean tacos, Taiwanese, Chinese provincial specialties over pan-China classics), guabao has become trendy.  It's what's described as a "Taiwanese burger"- fatty braised pork belly sandwiched between soft, white bread pocket with cilantro, pickled cabbage, and the all important sweet peanut powder.  The perfect melding of crunch and softness, sweet and salty, greasy and dry.  I love me a guabao.  But I especially like that this esoteric trendy food item here that isn't served in every city (because how many of them have Taiwanese food?) nor every Taiwanese restaurant, is so common in Taiwan that I had this for breakfast at the airport.  I love that I come from a food history so rich that what is available here in the States is only a speck of what is available at home.  And that I can eat guabaos in peace in Taiwan, without food trucks or eating local.

It Is Happening

Is it here already?  It feels like it is too soon.  Is this what everyone feels like when the moment is upon them?  I am too young.  I am not ready.  But fashion and pop culture are now mining the 90's, the decade during which I grew up (I suppose I could still cling onto the 00's).  The decade that seems too recent and unremarkable to be emulating.  From today's New York Times

While the indie rock band Dinosaur Jr. played on Topshop’s sound system, Ms. Callis [17] noted that she approves of the ’90s, which fashion seems to be mining. “You couldn’t even tell what anyone’s bodies looked like,” she said approvingly, while eyeing a cocoon sweater that was “very Alexander Wang.”

The Children's Bread

A title with a theological allusion.  Kingdom points for that.

By now, you and I should be fairly acquainted with the opposites-attract approach to life that is my parents' marriage.  Yet the way it plays out in real life still surprises me.  My family and I are staying at my uncle's for the weekend.  Last night, they had already gone to bed when I found out that the guest bathroom didn't have any shampoo, so I went to the parents to see if they had any.

Mother: Do you have any soap?

Moi: Yeah, there's a new bar of soap in there.

Mother: Just use that for now on your hair.  They're all the same.

Father: I have a bottle of shampoo here and one of those hotel packets.  Why don't you take whichever one you want?

Stylus of Champions

A whole box of my favorite pen. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?

I'm going away again for a long weekend and coming back disoriented and jet lagged. Will tell you tales from the journey if I make it back sane and alive.

Audio 2: Childish Analogy

If I had to choose one piece of work that I am most proud of- one cupcake, one publication, one gesture, one anything- this may be it. So if you listen to it and like it, I'm sorry. There isn't more where this came from. This is the best that I can do. I wrote this my freshman year at the Bo' and it's been downhill ever since (for more things that have gone downhill since 2003, see also: this blog, physical shape, grasp of calculus etc., etc.).

Audio 1: Work in Progress

Haven't done this for forever and thought I'd share a piece I'm still working on.  It's long (2.5 min), so you have to really like the sound of my voice to sit through this.  I think I have the words down, but the timing is still a little off at parts, and I misspoke a line.  But I haven't done anything productive and creative like this for so long, I thought I'd share anyway.  We'll go back to awkward stories tomorrow.  Today, it's all vulnerable soul baring, all the time.

At Some Point, It's Just Lunch

I never thought I'd miss the food at Sebastian's but after six years of institutional coddling and excellent salad bars, I'm finally at a school without good food.  The cafe at Hampton House has great free iced water, wifi, and a very friendly staff, but I miss my "cheap" and healthy "Indian" food, surly cashiers, Heart Healthy entrees, and all those pictures of Walter Willet telling me that I should have oatmeal. 

What I don't miss about Boston, however, is having great brunch options within walking distance from my place.  I have that here.  Just came back from my first B'more brunch (with Sachini-- whose frames of reference include Boston, Harvard, Hopkins, B'more, California, Asia, and Beyonce's baby-to-be, which makes her perfect brunch company) and licked my plate clean.  How could I not, when it contained some of my favorite things?  Poached eggs (my brunch egg go-to), fried chicken, and biscuits.  I can't even think of anything more perfect and I certainly can't wait to brunch again. 

Which Side Are You

I had dinner with Sharon tonight, in what appears to be the only Vietnamese restaurant in the great city of B'more.  It was lovely.  Until we tried to leave.  Sharon kept turning the knob and the door wasn't opening.  "Am I missing something here?"  She asked, then turned to let me have a try.  The apparatus seemed simple enough, so I turned the knob.  Still nothing.  Then I noticed that the latch wasn't moving no matter how we turned the knob.  Soon the owner came over.  "Are we doing something wrong?"  We asked.  "No, I think we may be locked in."

The latch still firmly in place, the owner went scavenging and came back with a screw driver.  Still no luck.  (All this while Sharon and I just stood there next to the door, a table of people still eating behind us, because the place was so small and there was nowhere else to be.)  He went back again and returned with an electric drill.  Now we were getting somewhere.  Finally, with some assistance from customers arriving from the other side of the door, another customer trying to leave who had apparently had some experience with this, and that customer's credit card, we were released.  I'd like to go back there again sometime.  But I'm afraid I'd never get home.  And I'd like to get home some day.  If only for all the good Vietnamese food that awaits me in Boston and Lowell.

It's Still August, No?

I'm more sorry than usual to be neglecting you, Lonesome Reader, but life without the interweb has been difficult.  I've spent many afternoons standing in the park across the street from my new apartment, stealing free internet and pretending I'm waiting for someone as I conduct my business with my iPod.  Which is fine and good.  Except I end up looking slightly creepy.  Or just like I've been stood up too many times.  Needless to say, such experiences make for interesting stories but are not conducive to posting entries.  Just how out of it am I?  I wore my shirt inside out today and did not notice until Roommate pointed it out to me.  Unfortunately, we were already out of the house by then, and in fact, off of the bus.  I guess I'm not what you call "detail-oriented."  I'll be back soon, y'all, I promise.

Aloha

For years, my away message (remember those) said "I am a tragicomic hero."  I was reminded of this phrase again and again this week as I settled into a new city and having a new advisor.  One who reached out his hand during the orientation happy hour, amidst the sunshine and drinks and shouting over crowds of people, to say "I'm sorry about your family."  Which, while appreciated, really brought a halt to the proceedings.  Not to be outdone, our Section Chair also offered his condolences for my grandfather's passing.  Being a student of awkwardity myself, I said "It's OK," because I was so caught off guard.  In the next sentence, I mentioned I was going to Taiwan for the service in a couple of weeks.  And because we were at a crowded happy hour social, someone immediately joined the circle to say "Taiwan?  Are you Taiwanese!?" 

And of course, when I emailed my new advisor with my travel schedule and when I'd be missing classes, he wrote back with a chirpy "Bon voyage!"  A much nicer man than Whitecastle, yes, but much more socially inappropriate.  More stories to come once I have interweb access.  Fingers crossed that the hurricane doesn't ruin everything. 

Under Study

It's been a lovely last week, nay, last month, in Boston.  I've been dining with people who like to go halfsies, discovering lunch specials, spreading my love of office work,  and laughing a whole lot along the way. 

On the curious case of the woman with the too-short 'dress' who kept walking past our restaurant window:

Moi: How does she sit down?

Sarah: Maybe she forgot to wear pants.

Faith: Maybe she's wearing shorts underneath so it's OK.

DBomb: Really, really short shorts?

Sarah: Really short, flesh colored shorts that we can't see?  We call that underwear.

Pay Attention in Class, Mrs. Cho

Father and I have spent a lot of quality time together this week.  We drove down to B'more, unloaded, bought new furniture, assembled, and drove back up in the span of 3 days.  Within this span, we've talked, eaten in a few food courts, and discovered what an absolute time drain IKEA is.  A time drain with the worst instructional manuals ever.

Father:  The only thing we didn't have to assemble were the bed springs.  I'm surprised that they even came coiled.

(when I decided to have fried chicken for lunch while he chose a tasteful salad)

Father: So public health people don't actually eat healthy?

----
Once in a rare while, Mother asks a piercing yet insightful question regarding fields she knows little about, spurred on by her fresh perspective.   Tonight was not one of those nights.

(discussing Mariano Rivera's recent pitching woes)

Mother: If he's so good and they let him play so much, why didn't we see him [when we went to the game]?

Moi: Well, for starters, we didn't watch his team play. 

Stickler

At the Hillsong concert in Seoul, Mark went out to find food and drinks. He asked what I wanted. "Anything on a stick." He obliged and brought back fried chicken on a stick with ketchup. Along with some rice cake in spicy sauce and gatorade for Ash and himself. Now do you understand why I love Asian convenience stores?

Not that Rankings Mean Anything

I am tired of packing (I leave tomorrow morning), so I am paying more attention to this blog this week than I have all year.  Packing is boring.  Although it takes me down weird detours on memory lane.  Like the time Young Bo' and I staged office Olympics (and annoyed Doc Query).  I still have my bronze metal from the event.

Van and Mac's placement on my List of Affections has been grossly inflated of late since I need both a ride and a place to crash from them.  Vannie, however, is greedy and still not content with their current placement..

Van: The real question is: how can Mac & Vannie out-rank Jesus in the future?  How often do you update the ranking?

Boundaries

Oftentimes, what I find most mortifying about Mother isn't what she says, it's that people consider what she says seriously and respond accordingly.  As much as I don't understand how the woman operates, I understand why people answer her even less.  Allow me to illustrate:

At lunch yesterday, Mother asked a 20-year-old guy who we've known since he was little, whether he thought the Deegans, another family we've all known forever whose kids he had grown up with, whether he agreed that the Deegan* girls all turned out rather attractively.  This is a question, if ever posed to me, I would first vomit in my mouth a little, then have smiled at and found a way to get out of.  But not 20-year-old guy.  Yes, he said, he thought they were.  So Mother pressed.  Given the choice of say, Prunella* and Francine*, both girls he had grown up with who were his age, who did he find better looking?  Again he answered.  And again, I tried to stab myself with the forks on the table. 

*Yes, Arthur characters used to go to our church.  I did not sub in fake names to protect anyone.

Sabbath

Reason #88290 Why I Love My Father: He prays for the Red Sox when he says grace.  It's Sunday night.  The Sox are playing the Yankees, and both Father and I are watching.  But since we have basic cable, we're both watching on our respective computers.  Between the two of us though, he has the better set up:  He's sitting in front of the TV, a PBS drama on the big screen, and the game on his laptop, which he's listening to through head phones.  Multi-tasking isn't just a young person's game.

EpiLogue

I told myself that I'd organize my luggage today and that I'd also write.  Since I've done neither and the day is near over, I thought I would at least put in an entry, which is almost like real writing.  Except, of course, when I don't bother with the prose and just put down a few random quotes.  Like I'm about to do now.

On Thursday, I officially said goodbye to work work, at least the physical place.  I still need to wrap up 1.25 projects with Whitecastle, but Thursday was my last day at the office.  I got an ice cream party and everything.  On my way out, Doc Winner (Josh?  I forget which one I'm supposed to use) had some near-kind parting words (Whitecastle had them, too, it was just unfortunate that he said them midway through our meeting.  "Well, good luck with your move and- "  "Um, I wasn't done.  Can we talk about Table 1?")

Doc Winner: If you ever need a job, I'm going to be running this place in a few years, so-

Moi: Stop sucking up to Whitecastle, and start sucking up to you?

Doc Winner: Obvi.  Notice how he treats me differently now?

10,000 bonus points for saying 'obvi.'  I'm going to miss this work buddy.

Greener on the Other Side

(at our mini econ TA reunion lunch today)

Jesse: Is the grass wet?  Should we sit in the shade?

Lisa: (sits down)  No, this isn't wet.

Moi: (I sit down)  I don't know, this feels damp... no, this is definitely wet.  (stand up)

Lisa: I think you were sitting in a puddle.

(later, after lunch, after we'd all sat in non-puddles for an hour)

Moi: I'm still pretty sure that this grass is damp.

Jesse: My butt feels wet. 

How many Harvard grads does it take to determine if the grass is wet or safe to sit on?  Definitely more than three.

Can I Canai

Penang is one of my favorite restaurants in town and Father's as well.  Every time I go, as I have for a few years, I always order a roti appetizer.  For whatever reason, that trend was threatened last week as a waiter brought surprising revelation and reluctance:

Moi: ... and a roti canai, please?

Waiter: Oh.  You know we don't make it fresh here? 

Moi (didn't know that, actually): Yeah, that's fine.

Waiter: We just made the sauce for the bread.  We get it from somewhere else-

Moi: Can I still have it, please?

The Walk and Talk

We are coming down to our last Whitecastle stories.  Soon, the Whitecastles and Prof Papas of today will be replaced by kinder, gentler advisers of B'more*.

(I walk into Whitecastle's office for a scheduled meeting today)

Moi: Is this a good time?

Whitecastle: Well, I need a cup of coffee, so you'll have to follow me to the kitchen.**

Moi: Just like an episode of the West Wing.  This is so exciting!

Whitecastle: Which characters are we?

Moi:...

Whitecastle: It was a trick question.  Don't answer it.

*Sure, every professor/mentor I've had and respected since the Bo' has been abusive, but I can dream, can't I?

**Completely unnecessary.  I could have just come back in a minute.

The Paltry Pantry

I am cleaning out the fridge and cupboard this week in order to fully move out of Boston (most of my possessions have already gone home home, which makes this week interesting and my skin/hair generally unhappy).  I baked up a cake to use up some remaining supplies and brought it to the office to share.  The reactions I got for doing so split easily between those who knew me and those who didn't.

New Co-Worker I Don't Know #1: Thank you.  It was delicious!

New Co-Worker I Don't Know #2: I kept trying to resist but I finally gave in.  This was so good.

---

Edith: Pears and chocolate?  Do they go together?  There's corn in here.  This should be called cornbread. 

Moi: I ran out of flour and may have put in a little cornmeal...

Whitecastle: So you made this?  Is it good?

Moi: I had to clear my cupboard.

Whitecastle: Not a ringing endorsement.

Moi: Eh.  It's not the greatest cake ever.  But people here ate it really quickly.

Whitecastle: They have very low standards. 

Brain Drain

(Mother's first trip to Fenway)

I love a true vacation. Granted, whenever Father asks if I can wrap up my work work projects before the end of the month, I hem and haw that it may not be doable, but I've been able to take a break this week because of things beyond my control. And yes, I did spent all of June traveling and eating and sightseeing, but sometimes that can be exhausting.  That's why this week has been my favorite week all summer*. Even whilst battling the cold. It's the first week in a long time when I feel truly relaxed and I'm grateful for the opportunity because I know how rare these gifts are.  How have I spent this time?  I have watched four movies at the theaters (there were plans to go to the ICA- but give me the choice of Woody Allen + seeing two movies for the price of one + M&M pretzels OR contemporary art? come on). I cooked. I read. I sang Sweet Caroline at Fenway. I ate roti canai. And I did not sleep late.  What more could I want from a week? (um, one last SoWA with Ben and Esther this Sunday may just do it) It is unfortunate that the only other people not working during the day are Landlady Chang and DBomb (thanks, middle school teachers!), but hey, they make pretty great stand-ins. And this time next week, I'll be back to my usual work + dinner with people thing.

*The week in Korea was pretty great, too.

Schmear Campaign

Today, like most days, did not go entirely well.  For starters, this being-sick-in-July bit is really holding me back.  Head stuffed, I canceled dinner plans with TChu. (OK, I'm more upset that I canceled on Taiwanese food than on TChu, but let's keep that between us)  My few hours at work were generally futile so I called it quits early and decided to cook up what's left in my freezer before I move out this weekend.  That's where things got interesting.  I had my first attempt at making pate.  Without going to the grocery store.  So I was missing a couple of ingredients from every recipe I looked.  Midway through this attempt, hot oil splattered on both of my wrists.  That was fun, because when both wrists are burnt, it makes it hard to ice either one.  Running them under cold water was very therapeutic, but that also gets in the way of basic activities, like cooking and eating.  And then there was the time when I ran my wrists under scalding hot water instead.  In the end though, neither wrist will require amputation or grafting and the pate was pretty tasty.  So my awesomeness rating remains.

Fat Hot American Summer

I heart the New York Times for their special ability to make my eyes bleed.
(on the trend of riding private planes to summer camps at desolate, distant places like Maine and New Hampshire)

But some parents have already tired of this private-plane status infiltrating the simpler world of summer camp. [Nancy Chemtob, a divorce lawyer] once managed to get on a charter plane from the airport in East Hampton, N.Y., for $750. After listening to enough banter among parents about “who is flying, who is flying private, who they can get a lift home with,” she decided she “was done with Maine and the planes and all of the people.”

“It’s a crazy world out there,” she added. She now sends her children to camp in Europe.

Bad Medicine

I am sick this weekend and I am home home visiting the parents.  They are having trouble grasping the concept of disease.

(I take two ibuprofen)

Mother: Is being home really that painful for you?  Does being around us give you a headache?

---
I haven't seen Greydon in years, and with our impending new grad schools and moves, I probably won't for awhile.  That's OK for the both of us.  But I do appreciate a friend I can belittle without consideration of feelings and all that other mumble jumbo.

Moi: Good luck, loser.

Greydon: I hope you never get better.

Patient, Kind, and Irrational

An analytic mind can take the fun out of a lot of things, even something as fun as reading Korean love greeting cards (oh, you don't know about love greeting cards?  Koreans apparently love to send love notes and there is a whole section of really intense love notes in their card sections.  None of that watered-down Hallmark stuff.)

Moi: This card cover says You + <3 = Me.  But that's wrong, right?  Shouldn't it be You + Me = <3?

Ashley: Right, because by that logic, Me - <3 = You.

Moi: Exactly.  The transitive property.

Even though we figured that out, I'm pretty sure the tally still stands at:

Korean love greeting cards: 385,987,737
Ashley et Moi: 0.

Burn

It is July.  We are in the midst of a heatwave.  And parts of me are burning up.  More specifically, my throat.  It appears that I have beaten the odds and, sitting in my air-conditioned apartment, where I've only left a few times this week to work (I've mostly worked from home, but on the days that I manage to work in the office, I mostly sit in an office by myself, with the occasional visit from Josh or Doc Gollum), eat dinner, and have ice cream, I have caught a cold/flu.  I'm not sure what it is.  I just know that my throat burns and every hour or so, I go into a coughing fit.  How is this possible?  I don't know.  I have stayed away from crowds and children for the good part of the past two weeks, but somewhere along the way, something has attacked my immune system.  And now I'm sick.  And forced to spend even more time in my air-conditioned apartment.  Life isn't fair.

Annual Revue

Thanks to the wonderful flexibility of hospital bureaucracy, I had to have a performance review today with two weeks left in my tenure.  Luckily, Whitecastle made the whole thing as painless as possible.  We sat down.  We signed the papers.  And that was that.
 
Whitecastle: This is silly.  You know what it says.  Basically, you suck.
 
Moi: That's why I'm leaving?
 
Whitecastle: We can't let you stay here.

On the Hose

It should be obvious by now, gentle reader, that I love a good bathroom picture almost as much as winning at word games or an awkward professor story. So when I discovered that Malaysian bathrooms all come equipped with a hose within fifteen minutes in country-- the whole realization and the days that followed of figuring out what was going on-- that journey was almost as great as the trip itself.

Through much googling, guesswork, and a consultation with Genuine Muslim Friend Uzi, I've learned all about the hose (or "bidet spray") and its pros and cons. Ask me about it. We can talk for hours. Or at least 20 minutes. And since Uzi mentioned that while the hose was for ceremonial washing, it "wasn't so much a Muslim thing but a brown people thing," I thought I would also ask Whitecastle about it today. That was a poor idea. Apparently, one should not engage one's supervisor/mentor/employer in discussion of toilet accessories. Not with a performance review in a week.

Moi: So uh, in India, do the bathrooms ever have hoses?

Whitecastle: When you said you unlearned everything on vacation, did that include manners?

Moi: [Mention the wondrous hose discovery]

Whitecastle: I've been to Malaysia and I've never seen this. Maybe the places you stayed in-

Moi: It was in the classy places, too!

Heat

(traditional douhua, or tofu pudding-- this isn't the kids' play you get in Chinese restaurants)

Here's the thing about Taiwan and Malaysia (and even Korea): It was hot. I hardly went a day without an icy drink during my monthlong stay. Certainly in Malaysia, we had some kind of fruit "ice blended" at least once a day (I stuck mostly with ice teas in Taiwan). It was hot and humid and I sweated a lot every day. That's why, coming home last week, I stood at pedestrian pick-up at Logan, drained after a 20-hour-plus journey, and smiled.  An hour and a half earlier, I had almost missed my connecting flight and was the last passenger to get on.  I was so out of breath when I got to the gate that I didn't actually have words for the flight attendant, I just weakly held out my boarding pass and she re-opened the doors.  (Before my mad dash, I had asked an airport lady how far away my gate was from immigration [I overheard it was 15 min, I only had 7 to spare], to which she replied, "Don't think about it, just run!"  And so I did.)  I was still wearing my jacket, huge bags to each side of me, standing in the 90-degree heat, breathing in car exhaust, and happy because as miserable and hot as I was, it was mild and lovely compared to where I'd just come from. I was not sweating buckets. I could walk and not feel dehydrated*. For a whole week, I smiled and breathed in New England summer. So warm during the day, so cool in the evening, so beautiful. That is, until two days ago. This isn't cute anymore, New England. It's starting to feel like Taiwan. And if I wanted to put up with this weather, I would've stayed. And eaten more Taiwanese fried chicken.

*It's not that I didn't walk. I walked a lot. I just felt like Shadrach when I was walking.

Jumping the Shark

Halfway through lunch with my uncle last month, he told me that he forgot to mention that the seafood dumpling soup we were having (the name does not do it justice- it is a big dumpling rich with seafood wrapped in a delicate skin that swims in a soothing broth) contained shark fin.

 

Uncle: You don't mind that there's shark fin, do you?

 

Moi: No, I'm good.

 

Uncle: Because come on, right?  There are so many sharks in the ocean. 

So glad to be back on U.S. soil, with friends and family, for quotes like this:

Jeannie (when I asked her how she was adjusting to life at an all-girl school): I really like it.  But sometimes I get girls and boys confused. 

(this one actually happened abroad.  DBomb and I were discussing Midwestern friendliness versus Bostonian friendliness):

Moi: People in Boston are actually pretty friendly.  If you smile, they'll smile back at you.  Actually, sometimes people are a little too friendly and you wish they weren't.

DBomb: OK, that's not Boston.  That's living next to Boston Medical.

Dump Day

My 'hometown' of Taipei is a modern and progressive city.  It's the type of city where the use of Styrofoam is banned for carry-out containers, recycling and composting are heavily encouraged, and trash bags cost money.  People can only take out their trash at a specific time of day when the garbage trucks come by the neighborhood.  The trucks play a song as they ride by and arrive in the same neighborhoods at the same time every week night, so it actually works pretty well as a system.  But these policies may reduce waste and increase sustainability, but they also make life incredibly difficult for the casual long-term visitor.  Such as myself.  Since I was almost never in the apartment Royce lent me in time for the trash trucks and only had 1 large official trash bag, we tried not to produce trash (green) and often resorted to illegal dumping (not green).  Casual wrappers and every day trash often made it into the cans at the metro stations.  The box of cake that the ants discovered were tripled wrapped and shoved into the Sheraton bathroom trash can.  And at the end of my stay, our large bag of official trash was brought on a 40-minute journey (during which we stopped for breakfast- trash bag put inside a pink tote bag that Dwight gamely carried) to my faux-godmother's church.  That night, when we still had a few empty water bottles and junk paper to dispose of, we took one last walk around the neighborhood, each with a bag in hand, pretended to act surprised at the public waste baskets we saw, dropped them in the first two we saw, turned around just in time to smile at the neighborhood watch ladies, then scurried back before they could suspect us of anything.  Two years of graduate education in public health, and this is what I've become. 

Honor Roll

Two of my favorite things about travel in one rest stop (plus lots of things I don't like, like being moved to a different bus and not understanding what's going on): trying out foreign potato chips and purchasing random fried things I point out to discover the surprise inside (the contents turn out to be a slightly sweet but mostly savory potato-filled empanada).

I will be home soon. Everything to come then.

Fit for a Prince(ss)

(coffee with unlimited red tea... it's as if they want us to use their facilities)

I am not a coffee drinker by nature or habit, save for a brief stint at the Bo'. I like it OK, but my drink of choice is first water, then tea. Yet the People of Taiwan keep feeding me coffee. Fancy coffee at that. All foamy and what not (except for the one above)-- because it goes with breakfast, chocolate, pizza... the list goes on. Today was so one of the new client-baristas* could practice making cappucinos. Tim had the first cup, found it not frothy enough, and got them to make a second cup for me-- even though I'd drank my iced tea already. Consequently, I'm super alert right now and pumping out entries like it's my job.

*My cousins/uncle run an amazing training school for people with mental retardation (MR seems to be the most PC term at the moment) and they have a bakery cafe in which the clients are involved in every part of the production.

Sun, Moon, and Stars

Just how obsessive are the Taiwanese when it comes to food? I took a day trip to the mountains with my parents' friends a couple of days ago and this is how they talked of certain food stalls and restaurants: "That's where we came for popsicles." "This place has really special tea eggs." "I'm making a detour to get iced tea here." Do you know how devoted people have to be to maintain a business in the hills where all you sell are popsicles? Popsicles that are made of water and sugar. To be so specialized and successful that you are known for your tea eggs (hard boiled eggs steeped in soy sauce, sugar, and tea leaves)- things everyone can make. There are so many iced tea stands in Taiwan that I don't bother learning where they are. Because if I wanted some, I could just walk a couple of blocks in any direction and there will be someone selling me drinks. (and failing that, I'd run into a 7-11) And yet people drive out of their way to go to favorite stores..

People keep shaking their heads at me when I tell them all the things I've eaten at night markets. "Did you go to the crepe place?  What about the tofu places?"  "Uh... but I had iced tea?"  Because it's not enough to eat at night markets, you have to eat at the right places, and being too lazy to stand in line, I tend to eat at all the wrong places.  Vacation life is harder than you might think.

Too Many Words

Glad Embankment Air Delicious Food Plaza probably would not have been my first choice of a translation for the food court. But I'm certainly glad that they went with it. It is increasingly difficult to find funny English things in Taiwan, what with everyone learning English and all. These types of things only happen when you step away from Taipei.

Speaking of stepping away, I have really come to appreciate major train and high speed rail stations in Taiwan. They are clean, well lit, efficient, traveler-friendly, and well equipped with convenience stores, helpful attendants, spotless restrooms, etc., etc. Step away from the major hubs, however, and you have the little county train stations. That operate without escalators. Which meant lugging my backpack and carry-on suitcase up and down long flights of stairs. Two days in a row. While other people look on with faint amusement. And an old lady chided me for having too much luggage. "Where are you going?" she kept on asking. "There's almost no room for your legs in the seat."

Taiwan, J'Adore

Our super good family friends, Ruby and Glenn, opened up a personal pan pizza joint in Taipei a couple of years ago. I love these guys and if you are ever in the city, you must vist them. The dough is made from scratch (as in by hand by hand, as in no industrial mixers on the premises) and each pizza is made to order. I used to ride on Glenn's shoulders when I was little (but not that little- he still let me get away with it when I was 9 and gave me a piggy back ride today just to prove that he could) and Ruby made my award-winning science fair poster for me when I was in the third grade.

When I finally visited their restaurant today (in a new, swanky location) and got to watch them in action, I made a joke about spitting in the pizza dough for some extra flavoring.

Glenn: Maybe it'll rise differently with the spit.

Moi: Spit is warm. It will totally help with the rising.

Glenn: You've been into gross out humor ever since you were little.

Faux Godmother: Really?

Moi: Wasn't I always good and quiet?

Glenn: That, yes, and I can't remember specifics, but I'm pretty sure you joked about some disgusting things when you were little.


I have no recollection of this.

A Case of the Unday

Today was an "un"day. Unexpected. Unusual. Unlikely. It all started at 5am with the driver that never showed up. For whatever reason, the car we had arranged for Ashley did not show up at 5am. The oddity and offness of the day continued with oversleeping and running late to lunch with my faux-godmother (she's not technically my godmother but she has known me since I was little and is very good to my brother and I and was our most trusted long-term babysitter). Running into a rain storm while peddle-boating with faux-godmother's real godchildren. And then there was the wardrobe malfunction. This being polite company, I can't disclose the details, but it did involve a trip to the nearest available undies store where the over-attentive sales lady over-shared my measurements and commentary on my body size with faux-godmother while I was in the dressing room (I believe the trigger was "I like your uniform."). Yet the surrealness did not end there. The surrealness was sitting on the edge of a hotel bed sipping Inner Mongolian milk tea (salty and strange) as faux-godmother visited with a distant friend on a sighseeing tour from the mainland whose father had taken a fall. Huh? You say. Exactly. Huh, indeed. A completely bizzaro day.

For the Changs

Spotted in restaurant restroom in Insadong: the largest tongs I've ever seen, mysteriously clipped to the wastebasket for paper towels. Why? Why? Why? Please speculate.

Da Bears

The woman who took this picture is Taiwanese, so when I asked her to take the picture, I asked her in Mandarin (which is good, since I don't speak Korean). She replied in Mandarin. But perhaps because of Ashley's presence, she also spoke to us in English and asked us to say "cheese," which we did. Her daughter or niece did not know that we spoke Mandarin and kept commenting that we look "really stupid" when we posed like that. That made me want to slap her. So I did.

Addendum to the Post:  When Mother heard the story, she said, "I like the kid.  She's like the kid in the Emperor's New Clothes."  Also, Koreans really like Teddy Bears.  Also, the woman at the Chinese restaurant (at a tourist hub no less) spoke neither English nor Chinese.  And insisted on speaking to me and not Ashley.  Her stubbornness  made ordering incredibly difficult.

Like Royalty

Yesterday, I had my first free meal by myself since coming to Seoul, and since I probably won't have too many free meals alone for another week or so, I took the chance to do what I'd often wanted to do when I'm in Asia but so rarely get to do: eat a convenience store meal. I love Asian processed foods. I prefer them over Asian fast food. And both of these, of course, rank above American and European food. For about $4, I got a bento box with chicken katsu, kimchi, side salad (which comes in a separate case so you can remove it before you microwave the rest of the tray- they think of everything), and a big bag of chips. That's pretty amazing considering how I could spend the same amount of money for a cup of coffee at the cafe next door. And it all tasted great. I wanted a dessert pastry to round things off but was much too full to eat anything else. And of course, I had it all with awesome yogurt drink. Drinking it every day at Ashley's is totally bringing back childhood memories... memories of drinking it every day.

Twice as High

Today, while strolling around a rose garden (as one does), we witnessed Hilarious Korean Scene #837: A boy wearing these cute butterfly balloon wings was beckoned into a picture a couple was taking (the man was taking the picture and the woman was posing).  The woman pulled the boy in, but made him turn around so that his back, and not face, was to the camera, so that only the wings and the woman's face were in the picture, and not the little boy.  Yet that wasn't the oddest part.  That came when she released the little boy.   And we realized that the boy did not belong to the woman.  She had just pulled a random child into the picture and turned him around to take a picture with his butterfly balloon wings.

Bon Chicken Bon Bon

Three things made me very happy today.

1. Awesome stroll and bike ride along the Han river today.  There was a lovely park and lovely company and most lovely of all, we had fried chicken for dinner.  And the chicken was delivered to the park.  How amazing is that?  Every major park in the world should have the option of fried chicken delivery.  Though I would just settle for fried chicken home delivery.  It's not fair how many fried chicken joints there are in this country.  They even have an abbreviated term -chimaek- for (fried) chicken and beer.  That's how common it is.  You've got to respect a country like that.

2. What do I love more than awkwardity?  More than pictures of foreign toilets?  Foreign toilet awkwardity.  I don't have a picture yet, but I learned today that what I thought was the overzealous, unnecessary emergency button in the metro bathroom stalls were actually equally unnecessary "courtesy buttons."  What are courtesy buttons?  They make a flush noise to disguise any other noises that you may be making that you want to disguise.  Except it sounds totally fake, so people will still know that you are doing something that warrants noise cover up.  Also, it doesn't make a lot of sense.  People will also know what you are doing by the length of time you are in the bathroom and of course, the smell.  Plus, the courtesy flush button doesn't actually flush.  So really, it announces to the whole world that you are peeing loudly, retching, or dropping a deuce.  Happy flushings!

3. I thought I'd left my anti-itch cream at home but I just found it and all is well with the world.  Except for the clear liquid oozing out of my mosquito bite (sorry, we already talked toilet stuff so I thought we could continue in this streak).  Finding the cream has actually been my happiest accomplishment today.  And I've had a really good day.  Because I am supposed to apply this cream 2 weeks out of each month.  And I am not supposed to eat that much fried chicken.

If I Were A Rich Man's Child

I have been in Seoul for a few days now, and tonight, I got to have Korean BBQ in Korea.  It was phenomenal.  It wasn't just the good meat (and it was good meat! I need to order pork BBQ more often), but the nice ventilation system they had (so I don't reek of smoke) and the fact that the wait staff went gaga over Amelia and pretty much babysat her and showered her with candies while we ate.  People of Korea, you are brilliant in many respects.

Yet the best story of this trip so far has nothing to do with Korea or Koreans.  It has to do with one very special birthday boy Mark, whose father had the most ingenious theories on discipline: The Two Hundred Dollar Cash Drawer.  In order to teach his three children responsibility, Pere Mark had a drawer that he stocked with two hundred dollars in cash.  If ever his children needed to use any money, they were to simply take the money out that they needed and write on the envelope how much they took and what they needed it for.  That was it.  The idea was to teach them accountability.  Because there is no better way to hold teenagers accountable for their actions than a bottomless drawer of cash.  The pure creativity and naivete of it all had me laughing for 5 straight minutes.

Of all the crazy parents in all the world, Lord, how did Mark get the good one?

Must See Thursday

Well, that was a fun way to spend an evening.
Let's go over things I have mastered: 2.4 languages, regression and analysis of variance, analysis of rates and proportions, theories on family change and culture, basic cooking techniques, walking, following movie plots- the list goes on and on. This afternoon, I added 'navigating the Seoul metro system' to that list.
Unfortunately, the list of things I haven't mastered is even longer. It includes: breathing while swimming (and ergo, swimming), not being awkward, blowing bubble gum, and most pressingly, reading digital watches.
That's right. I messed up reading my digital watch today (yes, digital, as in the kind with numbers and not hands) and thus totally missed meeting up with Jae. So instead of spending an evening catching up with Jae, I've spent it in the station and on the metro, questioning my own literacy. I've had worse Thursday nights.
Sent from my iPod

Use Your Hands

Am I going to start every entry talking about how chaotic life is?  If I am, what are you going to do about it?  Yesterday, I had a reprieve from the work work and the not-packing and spending time with family to brunch with Zvi and Susan. 

(talking about chem free dorms at the Bo')

Moi: It's too bad that the good kids are so often stuck with the weird kids.

Susan: Exactly (gestures to herself, then to Zvi and myself).

Moi: No- (I start to correct Susan, but since my mouth is full of delicious crepe, I gesture instead to myself, then point to Zvi and Susan).

Zvi: You guys are here gesturing like mad, and I'm the weird one?

Faculty Sandwich

As I have already mentioned, and will probably mention many times over, I commenced yesterday.  Just like I did four years ago (and hope to do again in 4-5 years), everyone believed in me and thought I could and then I went ahead and did.  All very anti-climactic stuff.  Mother seemed much more excited to be attending an H'bomb graduation than her daughter's graduation, and insisted we take a picture at every H sign.  At one point, she even put on my robe.  I wish I was making this up.

In the chaos of yesterday, I took some time to eat lunch in the courtyard, sandwiched between Prof Singer (there's no time for nicknames) and Prof Papa.  If Meredith wasn't already sitting there and talking with them, I probably would have avoided such a faculty fest, but she was, and so I sat, in total nerd glory, and gleaned some last bits of facetious Papa.

(on how faculty caps are like the hats at the royal wedding)

Papa: Oh yeah? Did you go?

Moi: No, I had a biostat lab so I couldn't make it.

Papa: That's why I didn't see you.  It was a lovely ceremony.

(on his years as the guy who 'hooded' the doctoral students during commencement and his problems with not knowing how much he could touch the female students' hair to make room for the hood)

Moi: Did you give each of them a personalized message?

Papa: I whispered a haiku in all of their ears.

Moi: But you're not very good at haikus.

Papa: I just said, "one two three four five-" and counted the syllables.

And finally, some injury prevention tips (after informing me that I was going to the school with the "second best injury prevention center" in the United States-- the same week that the vice chief contemplated Baltimore and said, "well, everyone makes one mistake in their life")

Papa: Don't throw your cap in the air.  That's a safety hazard.

Today, I become a master.  Nothing has sunken in yet and a million things are in the air (including our flight tickets to Malaysia- insert pun at your own leisure).  The folks get here in about an hour and I'm sitting in a half packed room.  Which is why I have really been milking this graduation thing and dropping a few H bombs to have everyone be really nice and patient to me.  So much to get done before Tuesday!

Oh, did I not tell you about Tuesday?  I'm going away.  For a whole month.  Yikes.  That, and my mom's preference for pretending to date a friend rather than being friends to come in a few days.

Degrees of Separation

Doc Query: I never heard back from you about your title for the paper.

Moi: Really?  I'm pretty sure I emailed you.  Well, I graduate Thursday.

Doc Query: It's OK, I already put you down as an MPH.

Moi: But I'm getting an MS...

Doc Query: Oh well.  You can have both degrees.  Good job!

Riding in Cars with Boys

(my titles are on a movie streak) 

It appears that getting into an unmarked SUV has raised quite a bit of alarm.  Sister Claire offered gentle chiding, advice, and congrats (the best kind of alarm).  DBomb chose the "let-me-ask-you-a-rhetorical-question-to-point-out-your-idiocy" approach: 

DBomb: So your mom is freaking out about you traveling and civil unrest in Bangkok but here you are in Boston, getting into unmarked SUVs?

And Lenny?  To the point as always.

Lenny: I'm really losing faith in your ability to not die in Baltimore.

I promise to only ride in legit taxi cabs from now on.  

Date Day

I love Sunday dates.  I have a default Sunday date between May-September.  I've done it with Nik, Ash, Dwight, mom, as well as people without monosyllabic names.  It goes something like this: post-church brunch in the South End (preferably at a place with exposed wood beams.  And nettles).  Followed by a leisure stroll through the SOWA open markets.  With lots of free samples, lots of sarcasm, and perhaps the purchase of a few overpriced thank you cards or pretty trinkets.  The whole thing wraps up at a reasonable time so everyone goes home happy and in time for a nap (or homework- eck).  If I were to be profiled in the Times, this would be my Sunday routine. 

Are we friends?  Do we live in the same city?  If so, we're overdue for a Sunday date.

Things We Lost in the Fire

Confiscated by the TSA:

The Stonewall Kitchen blueberry preserves meant as a thank-you present for the Zack family.  When I arrived, all I had left to give them was a box of muffin mix and a blue spatula, loosely jostling in a now too-big bag. 

Not Confiscated by the TSA:

My Swiss Army knife.  I didn't even realize I had it until I started unpacking this morning.

The World Didn't End

I took a cab ride in a black SUV without a meter tonight.  Feeling lazy and tired after a flight from Ballymore, I decided to take only one bus from the airport instead of the usual two and get off at South Station for take out and a cab ride.  The Chinese place was still open, so for the second time in as many weeks, I got greasy, bad, Chinese take out and I ordered it all in English so as not to let people know that I am actually Chinese.  Because, yes, I am ashamed of myself every time I order terrible Chinese food.  But I've been an American for too long and sometimes, in the absence of good food, I crave some spring rolls with indiscernible vegetable fillings.  Within seconds of stepping out of South Station, I was approached by a man asking if I needed a cab.  I wasn't sure if he worked for the station or not but told him, yes, I did.  He asked where I was going.  I told him.  He asked if $15 was reasonable.  I had no idea and said sure.  He walked me to a cab.  The cabbie was gone.  And he asked if I wanted to go with him in his SUV.  There was no meter.  I didn't see a license.  I trusted that he would take me home.  It is not as shady as it all sounds.  I'm pretty sure he works for a limo service.  But I am also pretty sure it wasn't the best decision I'd made.  But hey, we had a great talk, a great ride, and other than the last bit where he pretended he didn't have change for my $20, we all got along very well.  His shady SUV smelled very nice.  And it's a much better story than taking a cab.

Retrospectus

In the end, it all turned out OK school-wise.  And in the end, I am optimistic that this Ballymore housing mess will all turn out OK as well. 

Things got hairy toward the end of the semester there (hence the lack of posts).  Pressed for time, and tired of how picky the graders were about homework assignments I clearly understood, I gave up on studying for a course and decided instead to happily settle for a B+.  Despite having taken a couple of mid-level biostat courses, the policy department's quantitative method course had my homework grades hovering around the average for 3 assignments (1 was even slightly below).  So I washed my hands of it all and decided to focus on my biostat course.  But I also ran out of time studying for that.  And braced myself for limping toward the finish line with 2 B's.  Who cares?  I kept telling myself.  Grades don't matter.  Then 10 minutes before the biostat final, on a morning when I already ran out of time to grab breakfast, I realized that I had left my laptop on the shuttle bus.  There was much frantic phone calling (and of course, my phone dying so I had to borrow Allison's) and rushing out of the classroom and asking Professor Bob if I could get a few extra minutes and being put on hold and perhaps tears shed in the bathroom as the exam began and I was still trying to get a hold of someone who might know about my laptop.  Those were the 15 worst minutes of grad school in my last 2 years.  But it's funny how finding out my grades for the course changes how I remember it all now, because it worked out OK.  I aced and aced-minused and passed my way to the end despite feeling like a failure in the moments just before (thank you, grading curves and grade inflation!).  A little less than a week from now, I expect everyone to address me as Master. 

Bananas

Even the most casual of readers (not that this blog has any) should know how much I like to win and how much of a nerd I am.  Put these two together, and you've got my love of word games.  Not anagrams.  I hate those.  But games along the Scrabble, Boggle, Bananagram variety.  My school friends did not know this (unlike my Bo' friends- I love playing Bananagram with Jenny and Karina!).  They just discovered that this past weekend when we had a pre-graduation retreat.  What started in the plans as a camping trip quickly became spending the weekend playing board games and reading in a really, really nice house on the water.  Exactly how I like it. 

After I won the third straight round of Bananagrams, they imposed a handicap on me.  (I also have a 4-letter handicap in Boggle.  I hate playing with equally competitive people who won't just let me win but have to make life difficult for me)  They may not have expected to be whupped in Bananagram (these, after all, are all very smart people with very high GPAs and expansive vocabulary), but they knew about my pitiful tolerance (for alcohol, not people of other cultures).  So they made me take a sip before I could say "peel" to get more letters.  Did it slow me down?  I did narrowly lose one round but then won 2 more.  However, within 15 minutes, I had also downed 2 glasses of wine.  Even if my awesome winning skills were not hampered, my face was beet red and the strategy was not sustainable.  We tried switching to eating Wheat Thins, but chewing crackers quickly while spelling words and shouting "peel" proved to be a choking hazard.  And I had to settle for retiring, knowing that I am the greatest Bananagrams player these H'bomb losers have ever seen.  

This Isn't Happening

This morning, during a break from biostatistics, I went upstairs for the free pancakes they have during finals week. I arrived too late and all the "strawberry compote" was gone.  Still, strawberry-less pancakes were better than strawberry-less nothings.  Especially since Prof Papa joined the table Louise and I were sharing, along with our conversation.  He was contemplating getting some pancakes.

We tried to dissuade him, arguing that it was for people who were taking finals, that it came out of our tuition, and that it was certainly not for people who give really hard finals at the end of the fall semester.  We also told him how we were onto his game and noticed that he stole pizzas from Louise's event last week.  He claimed that Prof Captain did the stealing and he was merely an accessory.  Likely story.  (no, seriously, likely story)  Then off he went, in search of pancakes.  At that point, my break nearly over, I had a choice between returning to a review lecture I did not understand, or hanging out with Prof Papa and Louise. 

It was the best decision I have made this month.

Because somewhere along the way, after Prof Papa returned, our conversation turned to haikus.  And later, when we all parted ways, we all shared injury/suicide prevention haikus via email.  I had to slap Louise a few times to make sure this was all happening.  Greatest. Emails. Ever.

My piece, on my final project:

Endings by hanging,
for Asians, not whites, nor blacks,
(it's the guns, stupid).

Hip in My Step

How hip was I today?  Let me count the ways.

Ironic church attendance?  Check.

(OK, that's not an actual thing and I didn't go ironically, but I wanted it in there.)

Brunch at gastro pub*?  Check.

Stroll through open-air market with  hand crafts, food trucks, and locally procured produce?  Check.

Afternoon coffee at sustainable bakery?  Check.

All done within 0.5 miles of my place?  In a gentrifying neighborhood?  Check, check, and check.   

 I would be disgusted with myself, but I just spent the evening editing papers and making a biostatistics study guide.  So I can sleep at night.

*OK, a little cooler if this was 2004, but whatever, not all of us eat in pop-up restaurants.

Confidence Man

It's finals season.  I am preparing to travel in a few weeks.  Between now and then, I need to grade papers, write papers, study, look for housing, conceptualize a thank you present for the class, organize two trips, book tickets and hostels, take finals, "relax in Maine," fly to Baltimore, graduate, pack, prepare projects to on my travels, etc., etc., and oh wait,

I just found out that I have a shot at getting my name in NEJM.

So never mind sleep and fun and farewell (not that that was ever an option), this weekend is going to get raw.  And by 'raw,' I mean Excel intensive.

Whitecastle: What I am about to show you is strictly confidential.  You can't tell your friends.  You can smile, but you can't tell people why you're smiling. 

Moi: OK.

Whitecastle: Actually, your friends probably don't matter.  You can tell them whatever you want.

Take Care

For Christmas this year, I'd like respect from my superiors.

Second Nancy: Your preceptor wrote a very nice evaluation for you.  I almost wrote back to make sure he had the right person.

(earlier today, there was a scheduling mix up and I stood Whitecastle up for a meeting, the first time in 4 years that has ever happened.  Even though it wasn't my fault that he misunderstood me, I wrote him to apologize for waiting.)

Whitecastle (the aforementioned preceptor): Are there any more evaluations I can fill out for you?

Ice Cold

It was been subtly chilly the last couple of days.  The sun has been out, but the wind has also been blowing, and the air cool.  It's the perfect weather to walk around, but feels especially brisk if instead of walking around, one chose to sit outside for 3 hours after the sun has set.

I went to Fenway last night with DBomb, Allison, and Marie.  But instead of getting 4 seats together, I got seats in 2 different rows.  Thanks to this, and the time I turned in her homework to the wrong TA and caused a weekend of confusion, Allison has barred me from handling all responsibilities.  I am OK with that.  Last night was not a great night for decision making.  Since DBomb and I had to entertain ourselves for the two thirds of the game when Allison and Marie (along with the extra warm pullover she had packed for me) had to sit in their proper seats, we made a lot of small talk about the food being flown around us.  We especially fixated our gaze on the swirls of soft serve ice cream served in little plastic helmets and after 7 innings, convinced ourselves that more than nachos, peanuts, Cracker Jack, and er, clam chowder (who buys clam chowder in the stands?), we both really wanted ice cream. 

(first sign of alarm, as I zipped up my jacket)

Moi: How cold do you think the ice cream will be?

DBomb: Uh.  Cold? 

(more brilliance)

DBomb: OK.  I scoped out the prices.  The helmet is $5.50.  The cup is $4.50.

Moi: You mean the price is as it says on that giant sign in front of us?

DBomb: Oh, what?  I did not see that.  I was really proud of my asking around.

(final verdict- shivering in the stands, sweatshirt hoods drawn, slurping down ice cream)

Moi: So if we were to do a cost benefit analysis of this experience-

DBomb: I've eaten a lot of ice cream and the benefits are generally worthwhile.

Moi: But I wish I had gotten all chocolate.  I just didn't want to seem like I preferred black over white.

DBomb: On second thought, I am freezing.  And I also wish I had gotten chocolate.

School Special

What kind of grad student forgets to write their name on their
homework? The kind that's going to be in school for 4.5 more years.
Good thing I was the only person who did that so the TA easily figured
out who was special.
Events the school turns on our TV for: the signing of the healthcare
bill, when speakers come talk at the school Forum, key
football/cricket matches.
Event the school does not turn on our TV for: the royal wedding.
Priorities, people.

Governator

So many posts in a week.  Could it be finals season?

The governor gave a speech at the school today.  And I got to sit in the second row behind the reserved seat big wigs and watch it all go down.   It was fun to watch one last big shot before I leave.  It was also fun to watch the governor give a talk about health care reform (Massachusetts, the next chapter) to a room of people who know much more about health care policy than he does.  He handled it with good grace.  And made me realize that I don't ever want to be governor if it means memorizing and learning a lot of things outside my area of expertise.  Unfortunately, not everyone is good outside their area of expertise:

(The governor and Prof. B(l)ender are chatting in the atrium, two girls walk by.  It may be helpful for this story to know that Prof. B(l)ender is a white man)

Girl 1: I think we just walked by the governor.

Girl 2: Which one?

Girl 1: Um, your governor, the governor of this state, Deval Patrick.

Girl 2: Duh, well, I know.  I meant which one was he?

(It may also be helpful for this story to know that Deval Patrick is not a white man.  I just googled "Maryland governor" to make sure this doesn't happen to me next year.)

Over Easy

I was going to insert a humorous dialogue I had with a friend here.  But I cannot recall what that was.  I am in a food coma, having consumed a lovely, lovely leftover torta of the Mexican variety.  It was basically a Mexican sloppy Joe.  And not the right thing to eat before co-leading a meeting last night.  I actually don't know all that went into it the sandwich.  There was a pork product in tomato sauce, avocados, jalepenos, tomatoes, lettuce, and maybe beans, on a grilled bread.  Tortas like these make me glad wonder about the whole world of delicious food items out there that I have not tried yet.  And like counting sheep, thinking of all these things make me very sleepy.  But in a wonderfully content way.

---

Moi: I was talking to a friend about watching the wedding.  But then she realized that it started at 4am and didn't want to get up so early.  So I have been tasked with finding a DVR for us.

Louise: Haha.  So you got suckered?

Moi: I guess I did.

Ye of Little Nerd

Discussing childhood traumas and nerdy games at lunch yesterday:

Moi: I used to love playing Odd or Even with my dad.  He'd pick up a pile of pebbles and I'd have to guess if there was an even number of them or odd.  Kept me occupied for hours.

Faith: We used to do something like that.  My dad would shout out a math problem, like twenty times seventeen divided by four plus three fifth or something, and we'd see who could solve them first.

Louise: And your friends were capable of solving this?

Moi: This was not like Odd or Even.  

Sun Rise

There I was, this Easter morning, sitting in the packed pews of church, wearing a flowery dress, and the happiest I've been all week.  Other than the egg hunt, I used to not like Easter at all.  It went with my general distaste for Christmas, the second most important holiday in the Christian tradition.  In my young mind, these two holidays were both associated with dressing up in clothes that I was not allowed to kick people in and interminable days in the church.  Now that I choose to go to church, now that I don't have to spend all day at church, now that I don't have to be well behaved and say hi to the grown ups, Easter is a joy.  It is a day on which I awake excited, remembering what the day means.  Plus, it really helps when the church welcome center has a special Easter spread, with all kinds of finger sandwiches and deviled eggs.  I got such a kick watching how pleased this old lady in front of me was with the sandwiches that I didn't even mind that she cut in front of me.

(earlier in the week, TChu and Jason, et al crashed our Good Friday service because their church didn't have one, this is an amalgam of our conversations)

Moi: What kind of church doesn't have a Good Friday service?
 
TChu: A fun one.  We're having a party on Easter.

Moi: Do y'alls even believe in Jesus?

Jason: Yeah, but we call him something else.

Thighs of Fire

For the past month, I have been engaged in a stair climbing competition at school.  I recruited 9 of my friends to form two teams (Mary Kate and Ashley, natch), and we've made bets with each other, as well as two other staff/faculty teams in the department, on who will prevail as the best team.  Naturally, smack talk ensued.  I love smack talk like empanadas.  I don't get the chance to enjoy either very often, but when I do, I enjoy it very much and people are always a little surprised (OK, fine, empanadas aren't a perfect analogy).

But alas, this post isn't about me.  It's about Marie the Machine.  Team Ashley Olson (sic) had the long legs.  They had the crazy intense folks.  We had the sweet, the mild mannered, and the vertically challenged.  While I emailed my team with encouragements every week about beating goals and taking others down, no one much cared.  Sure, we'd climb to the 10th floor in between class breaks, but there was no thirst for blood.  Everyone was under the impression that this was a "friendly competition."  Except for Marie.  She understood.  Marie humored me.  Marie climbed her soul out.  And yesterday afternoon, hours before the competition closed, when I calculated that we were down by 15 flights and everyone was already home (the flights had to be climbed in a work or school related building- no residential stairs), and everyone else was content to let it go (and when I felt especially bad because I skipped out on stairs to go to dim sum), Marie walked to school and climbed.  15.  20. 25. 35. 45.  The numbers kept rolling in.  In the end, she climbed 50 flights.  Alone.  On a Friday afternoon.  A quiet feat so selfless and appreciated that what Curt Schilling did in 2004 pales in comparison. 

In the end, the staff team that was ahead by 15 surged past us and still won by yet another 15 flights.  So we beat 2 teams and will be collecting baked goods from them, but we'll be paying up as well.  Life's narratives aren't neat.  But Marie's tenacity is the stuff of legends.

Champions

Dear School Cafeteria,
I thank you for your reliable stock of yogurts, granola, dried
fruit, and oatmeal every morning. But I am most grateful for your
egg-cheese-biscuit sandwiches fresh off the griddle. The exact, flaky,
warm, oozy pick up I needed to put me back into a coma first thing in
the morning. I'm going to miss you, Biscuit.

Sincerely,

Satisfied and Sleepy

Humility Pie

Ash and I created the "Harvard Humility Council" last year.  It started as a joke between us and has now spawned into a joke between us and about a dozen people.  I'm quite pleased with the results.  As Meredith will tell you, they also make great, albeit expensive, professor presents.  In the 7 or so months since the Council has gone public, I've met people who immediately "get it" and those who don't (like Doc Poppy's husband).  Those who get it talk as if they've been in the council for decades.

Prof Papa: So these t-shirts tell people how humble you are?

Moi: Exactly.  Because we're very modest about the Harvard name.

Prof Papa: So you say "I go to a school in Boston, I won't say which ones?"

Max: "But it's not Tufts."

You've got to say that. 

Dear IT Guy Who Thought the Soul Patch Might Be A Good Idea:

No.  Terrible, terrible, idea.  Please, Guy, no.

Sincerely,

Soul But Not a Soldier

Oh Goy

I do not claim to possess special knowledge of the Jewish people.  But growing up in the Massachusetts suburbs, reading the OT a handful of times, and of course, that time I crashed the town Hannukah party, I have picked up a few things.  Things that the couple behind me in the bakery have not picked up in their lifetime.

They had called about 30 minutes earlier to inquire whether the chocolate cake was flourless and been told that it was.  Unfortunately, they did not reserve the chocolate cake in the same phone conversation and arrived to find the cake had sold out.  That's when this conversation took place:

Guy: What about the carrot cake cupcake?

Girl: You can't have that. That has leavening?

Guy: Really?  

Girl: You're the one that's Jewish.  How am I a better Jew than you?

(fun to say, but as we'll soon find out, neither of them are good Jews)

As I waited for my order to be filled, they couple played a rousing round of "Spot the Flourless Items."  A game that they weren't very good at that, as the next 3 items they picked out were the fruit tart, homemade Oreos (delicious!), and bread pudding.  Did I mention that the name of the bakery is Flour?  All the while, there was a giant pile of coconut macaroons in front of them that neither they nor the staff noticed.  Clearly, all of these people could have benefited from the lesson of The Seder Plate Champion. 

(All the videos of the Itche Kadoozy show are pretty great.  I can't remember now why I know about this hilarious site for Jewish education.  It's just another one of those things I've picked up.)

Do No Harm

Lenny: Ah, I'm going to miss your nonsensical anger when I kill you.

Spoken like a true friend.

Scout's Honor

I carry emergency socks in my backpack Yasu, along with quarters, fun
pens, and aspirin. I do so because I like to be prepared and all these
things come in handy more often than you might guess. In preparation
for a conference call today (I hate them almost as much as frozen
carrots and peas), I had a clear table outside the lab, a notebook,
pen, relevant print outs, my iPod, and of course, a phone. Since I
already sound less than intelligent to my collaborators, I figured
that I should at least sound unintelligent but well prepared. Per
custom, I dial in a minute early, so I'd be one of the first ones on
the call. That was when everything went terribly wrong. At first, the
phone didn't budge at all. It also wouldn't turn off. I took the
battery out and dialed again. It worked for a second. Then the keypad
stopped working and I couldn't sign in. Then the whole thing froze
again. Apparently, I should've practiced dialing in to anticipate
this. Battery in, battery out, but this time, it still wasn't working.
So, frantic, I rush into the computer lab and stop Casey, the first
person I see.

Moi: Will you be here in an hour?

Casey: No, why?

Moi: Uh- can I borrow your phone anyway? I'm late for a conference call.

Fortunately, Casey was kind enough to hand her phone over. I dialed in
late. I still sounded stupid. There was awkwardity. But at least I was
prepared for that.

Director's Cut, Pt 2

I would gladly show you the amateur production I made for the department, but it's currently embargoed. Which is just as well. I had so much fun with the script, shoot, and getting all these people together- students, staff, and faculty included (like I'd do this without trying to recruit Papa)- that I would've been happy doing all that without a finished product.  I wonder if filmmakers always get to have this much fun.  I wrote some funny lines, got my favorite people together, they happily did what I told them, then I got to futz around, make up prizes, and get a free lunch out of the whole ordeal.  And everyone laughed. 

At the screening, Papa was characteristically and comically cranky.  He and Captain, the two faux department rivals whose classes most people are required to take, bickered like the old couple that they are and we all took sides in our hearts depending on who we TA'ed for in the fall.

Marie: I don't know how you guys do it. I find Prof Papa so awkward to talk to.

Moi: Really?  I feel the exact same way about Captain. We never have anything to talk about.

---

Moi: By the way, I figured out who was behind the video spoof of your lectures.

Max: The one on Oliver's facebook page?

Papa: That's your great sleuthing technique?  You saw the post from his page?

Moi: What?  No, the link said it was anonymous.  I figured it out by ... asking Oliver.  

Director's Cut

About a month ago, I made a short video for the department to use during orientation.

Last Saturday, on a gorgeous sunny day, I spray painted some toys.

Mounted them onto cups (that I also spray painted).

And on Thursday, presented them at our video screening.

There are a few people missing, but these are some of my favorite H'Bombers.

The More Things Change

I know I'm about to graduate when professors start giving me a hard time for hanging out in the department office too much.

 

(standing in the hall, totally discussing my suicide prevention project with Prof Israel)

 

Prof Papa:  Don't you have classes to go to?  You just hang out here all day?

 

Prof Israel: Papa, you think I'd just idle in the hallways talking to a student?

 

Moi: I don't know what either of you are talking about.  We were discussing my final paper here and I'm a legit student.

 

At my subsequent meeting, I couldn't stop smiling over the deja vu.  I'm pretty sure I got yelled at by at least 2 different professors at the Bo' for loitering around the department office too much in senior year.  Although I guess I have come a long way since then.  At the Bo', I knew that if the front door was locked (because the office was closed and no one was there), I could always break in through the back door.  Here, I know that I better not leave anything in the office after 5:30pm because the doors lock automatically and my swipe card doesn't give me access.  That's an improvement. 

Google Reader

Google Reader doesn't delete posts that I had meant to delete.  Posts like my audio post attempt late last night that ended with nothing to show.

 

Gentle Reader, I really did mean to post something.  But now I'm late for a meeting on suicide (a surefire picker upper for a moody Monday) prevention.  We keep calling the class suicide when it's suicide prevention.  When I return, I'll tell you a story of about chronic illness.  But in a light hearted sort of way.