Snowflake in the Crowd

The University has been in the process of unifying everyone's email addresses across multiple schools and institutions.  This means a new email alias for everyone.  And much consternation for those of us with common names.  I thought having an "86" follow my initials was bad at Partners.  The new system takes it to a whole other factor.

Moi: What's your number at JHU?  Or are you senior enough not to warrant a number?

[Advisor Who also has Common Asian Last Name, though not as common as mine]

Who: Well, it's one.  Isn't it the same for everyone?  Everyone gets a one after their name.

Moi: Not me.  The numbers can go much higher.

Who: Like 20?

Moi: That's nothing.  Try 3 digits.  Like 430. 

Who: [Laughs more uproariously than I have ever seen him laugh.]

 At least I'm bringing joy into the world.

The Merman

I'm home in Dub-ford for a quick visit, which means intense contact with Mother's particular brand of crazy.  Yesterday, discussing colleges ("I know you joke that we don't treat the Bo' with the same prestige as we do Harvard, but I never knew that you and your friends actually believed that the Bo' was a really elite school"), Mother mentioned that Brother had previously received admittance to Smith but ended up choosing UMass Amherst for financial reasons-- an account we vociferously denied on many counts.  Finally, Mother called Brother to set the record straight.  You don't even need to hear both sides of the call.  Just soak in the crazy. 

Mother: Help me settle a score with your sister and father.  Didn't you get into Smith College when you were applying?  They're saying you didn't.

[...]

Mother: I know it's a women's college.  I remember you'd gotten into one, which I thought was weird at the time.  What about Holyoke something?

[...]

Mother: Yes, I know Mt. Holyoke is a women's college.  I know you're not a woman.  So you didn't get into any women's colleges?  I really thought you did.  

One Down

I had my departmental preliminary exam today.  As everyone promised, it wasn't half as scary as I thought it would be, everyone there did want me to succeed, and I did pass. In fact, I probably had one of the shortest exams amongst all my peers (God is merciful). Though this did not mean that I found any of the jokes the faculty members made prior to my passing to be funny at all.  

Fifteen minutes before the exam, as I was about to make last minute preparations, Prof Dubya (? I forget his nickname), who is not on my committee, comes by for some friendly, last-minute advice.  It was very kind of him to do.  Unfortunately, it sent me into all sorts of last minute panic of problems I did not even consider.

Dubya (sees Doc Khaleesi in the hallway): I'm just giving her some last minute advice.  You shouldn't listen, you're on her committee.

Khaleesi: Oh, I'm ready.  I have a long list of questions.

---  

(regarding the homemade cookies that I brought to the exam)

Doc Who: There should be some sort of an arms race to see who can furnish the most elaborate meals at these exams.

Moi: Oh, I heart some professors didn't want it to seem like a bribe.  Otherwise, I would've catered lunch.

Doc Who: Some professors appreciate bribes.  I once had a student who brought sushi.

Khaleesi: You have 5 minutes.  There's still time [to impress us.]

---

Best question of the whole exam (courtesy of Doc Normandie):  Which 2 popular American companies were founded in Quincy, Massachusetts?

Most horrifying question (courtesy of Doc Who, natch): Should I just tweet these exam notes to you?  Or would you prefer Facebook?

Biscuithead

Le Pretzels, biscuit season is once again among us, which means the addition of 2-3 servings of simple carbohydrates into my weekly diet. 

In my roughly 2 years of biscuit eating in Bmore, my achievements are as follows: discover biscuits, buy so many biscuits as to have the biscuit crew learn my name (there was a brief winter hiatus after which name was forgotten then quickly relearned), and have Biscuit Boss express disappointment when I didn't choose the special of the day. Today, after a winter hiatus during which my name wasn't forgotten, I add a new achievement to the list: cashier knew that I hadn't yet tried the pork sandwich because I hadn't visited the 2 other times they'd had it. I hope that one day, as the ultimate reward of my faithfulness, they visit me in the hospital when I eventually have my heart attack. 

Cohort Study

I don't know if you knew that tonight was the series finale of How I Met Your Mother. I knew it. So did Liz. And Alene. And Julia. And Ilene. Yet instead of watching it live, these friends (and more!) chose to watch me give a practice talk on my dissertation proposal. Then spent over an hour coaching me and testing me. Then at the end of it all, they complimented me and thanked them for having them over. 

This is how kind and generous my cohort it is. It is humbling and scary and annoying. Whenever they succeed, I get incredibly proud of them. Then I think, "oh crap, they've set the bar that much higher again, now I have to be just as nice and just as smart or I'll look like a failure."  Good thing I'm used to all kinds of failure. 

Conformity

Peer pressure can make all of us do stupid things, like impulsively buying 2 pints of Ben & Jerry ice cream on a rainy afternoon because we had to try the new flavors with the fudgey cores (verdict: hazelnut fudge, let's promise never to part ways).  Yes, Nancy, Heeyoung, and I each had to buy our own.  And even though each pint was $3.50 (more expensive than Jon had gotten at Safeway), once we saw the sign for "2 for $7," we decided that we all had to get 2 pints.  We just had to.  

On Thursday night, though, I was in desperate need of peer pressure.  There was a guest speaker in town and Advisor Who took us to dinner.  You all know how I love free food, especially as this was free food at fancy restaurant with Liz next to me.  And Who telling outrageous stories.  (The speaker's stories of cryptography and his son of many tongues, weren't too shabby either.)  It was all pretty good, actually, except that part where the waitress came to take orders for dessert and so I ordered, then no one else did.  And so yes, I was that kid, that ate the most free food Who had to offer.  And who everyone had to wait for.  I'm never ordering first again.

Liz (to me): Maybe Who will get dessert and you won't be alone.

Who (to waitress): Could I get an espresso?  But could you make it look like a dessert so she won't feel left out?

Moi: [mortified.  mortified.  mortified.]

Gradual Student

"Graduate student" is such a deceptive job title because I am so far from graduating.  Yesterday, I went to the bookstore to pick up index cards to make for studying. Like I've done countless times. I had the realization then that it was probably something most of my friends can't relate to anymore. Can you still remember back to the last time you made flash cards to study?  Yet for me, it was yesterday. Using the exact same trick I'd learned in middle school.

(This is how I feel about studying. Though I know I shouldn't whine because a. I haven't studied that hard this far and b. it's my 3rd to last exam ever!)

Significant Others

Today was Liz's Fun Day, and what a fun day it was.  There was a rope course (which brought back bad memories of Project Adventure- I was a much better sport in my younger days), there was Taboo, and there were equally generous servings of snack taking and smack talking.  It's no wonder that I love Liz.  Those are all of my favorite things (just kidding, I hate ropes, but today's ropes were great).  I just wish Liz portrayed me better to her friends.  

(after hearing a description of the day ahead from our guide)

Moi: I don't know if I want to be mentally and physically challenged.

Liz: But think of all the fun things you can tell Al that you did today!

Moi (to Liz's non-school friends): I should clarify.  Al is not my boyfriend-- he is my academic advisor. He will not hear about what I did today.

Kali: I don't know.  You guys were talking about scheduling orals with Al and I got very confused.

For future reference, Pretzels, "Orals" = comprehensive (departmental or school-wide) exam.  I clearly need more men in my life.

Beef and Turf

In academia, so much of getting through the program depends on our mentors- formal and informal- that we (well, Liz and I) can get a little possessive and petty over them.  The mentor may or may not be our favorite, but we better be on the mentor's favorite list.  This could be a difficult feat, however, when your mentor is Advisor Who and has scores of mentees all over the medical institution.

(a little after Liz told me about a journalist-turned-medical-student-wunderkind who Who often praises and who I'd never heard of until today, and immediately after I suggested we "destroy" said student)

Liz: You are taking this way worse than I thought you would.

A Pack of Crows

Is mass murder a hobby?  The question came up during a particularly divisive round of Scattergories Categories this past weekend, one that revealed the worst in just about every team.  Lisa and I are firmly in the 'yes' camp.  Some teams found it only palatable to give us the point on murder, but not mass.  Others, like Tiff and Michael, were more lenient.  "A hobby is anything you do for fun that's not your job."  Exactly.  (They may have been just protecting their behinds, their "two-timing" double points were potentially under threat depending on the ruling).  

In the end, Tuna, the great conscience, swayed enough nays for us to lose the points.  It cost us both the round and the game in a particularly tight race.  Which is a sad one to close out a night that began so promising, with Lisa and I in early dominations.  If one had to pinpoint where it all went downhill, it was probably when we got the category "Things that are above us" and decided to shoot for the moon with a long list of dead people.  The jury would only give us one.  Not even Martin Luther King Jr. could sway their stone cold hearts. "He's not above us because he's dead, but because he's morally superior," I argued between fits of hysterics, but all Priscilla would do was stare, shake her head, and say "One dead person."  

While I'm Sleeping

On sharing bunk beds as adults...

Moi (top bunk): Just so you know, I have a tendency to shake and hop up and down in my sleep. 

Lisa (bottom bunk): Just so you know, I have a tendency to suffocate other people in my sleep. 

Touché. 

Dear John

One of my favorite comebacks after someone has said “I love you,” or even, “I like you,” in a non-romantic context is to reply with, “Yes, but I think we should still see other people.”  I almost never pull it off.  But it’s a stupid joke I love to say.

 

Sometimes, my emails with Doc Nice are cordial, respectful, and right on business, because I am a professional.  Other times, they are a little goofy because Doc Nice is not just the nicest, he’s also a little goofy. Yesterday, as we traded emails to set up a call, I tried goofy.  I mentioned that I’d appreciate talking to him on the phone because I needed his guidance, but also because I like him— though we should see other people.  He responded in one all-business sentence specifying the time for our call.  Nothing else.

 

So I was a little startled by our conversation today:

 

Moi: Hello?  Sorry, I missed your call by a second-

 

Doc Nice: Did you get my voicemail?

 

Moi: No, I just saw that I missed-

 

Doc Nice: I cannot believe you’d tell me over email that you think we should see other people.

 

Moi: Wha?  Well- uh- I know it wasn't the best medium-

 

Doc Nice: Over email!  Not even a phone call.  I did not see it coming.  I thought things were going so well.

 

Apologizing for a faux break-up with a mentor probably crosses a few boundaries, but it also made my day.  Especially thinking of how he was carrying on this whole conversation inside a cab.  Nicely played, Nice Doc.  Nicely played.

Sights from the Motherland

We had a lot of fun with graffiti. 

Old school: Making my sandals right on the spot. 

Father is incredibly fond of finger guns. 

A Difference of Opinions

Trying on new glasses with Father and Mother yesterday. I put on a pair with black plastic frames. 

Father: You look like a PhD student in this. Very mod. 

Mother: Don't look like a PhD student. 

Father: I didn't mean it in a bookish way. I meant the kind that looks very smart and sexy. Like what's trendy now. 

Mother: But she's not sexy. 

Workaholic

The only people who have ever told me to "take it easy" or "don't work too hard" are people who have never worked with me.  Such admonishments usually come from relatives I'm not close with who think I lead the life of an ascetic academic.  I see workaholics the same way as I see physicians: I work with a lot of them, but only people who don't know me would ever mistake me for one.  

I sure looked the part on Tuesday morning though, with my laptop out on by baggage claim having just gotten off a red-eye, sending back last minute materials for a grant application (grant application- that's what people who do things have!).  Alas, it was all an illusion, just like how I spent 20 minutes working on a paper during a layover.  If I was truly driven, I would have used 4 hours on working and only 20 minutes for eating instead of the other way around.  And if I had just turned in the grant in earlier, I probably wouldn't been trading time-sensitive tables with the admin support from a different continent-- or better yet-- not taken a vacation in the middle of January.  But such are the choices that I have made.  

Shoot the Moon

Last week, I went to the dentist and discovered that a lifetime of supporting the industry has finally paid off.  I am the reason why the children of dentists are so well educated.  As always, I was nervous about the visit and convinced that I had a cavity (teeth ached when I ate sweets, or tried to floss- so I avoided both).  Plus, my gums had an absolute field week being weird.  By weird, I probably mean unclean.  

Yet, miracle of miracles, my new dentist pronounced me cavity-free.  The best news was when he proclaimed that I was not only cavity-free, but would probably have a hard time getting them in the future.  Such is the fate for people who have fillings on pretty much every tooth.  My teeth are so covered in fillings that there isn't room for cavities.  This must be what parents feel like when their children graduate from college and get their first paycheck.  My years of investment and pain are finally paying off.  Here's to never flossing again.

Joke on You

I spend a large portion of my day on gchat with Liz (reminds me of jlee88).  Her little words on the screen have been invaluable as we slog through this PhD process together.  We bounce ideas off of each other and vent and never talk about our advisors.  Consequently, we have begun thinking alike.  Too much so.

Yesterday, Advisor Who's email included a non sequitur about being in the "emergency room with son's ankle."  Liz gave me the biggest laugh of the day by telling me to ask where the rest of Son was.  Not because it was terribly funny.  But because I'd already picked up on the same line and made the very same stupid joke to Who.  I'd never felt prouder or groaned louder. 

In case you're aghast, we're not horrible people.  We care about children and their ankles.  But Who consistently makes us sit through jokes with punchlines like "is-th-mus be my lucky day."  It's only fair that we give back in turn.  

Too Sweet

It's been so long since I've written and it will probably be another long while until I write again.  This has been a very busy season.  Was it as busy as TAing, working, applying to graduate school, and taking classes full time?  I don't know.  But it's busy.

The student offices on the 6th floor, one of which I now occupy, are offices that most faculty members have access to.  I don't know how it works, but their keys open our offices.  This comes in very handy (for Liz, and only Liz) when one is locked out and doesn't want to summon security, but it's also very disconcerting when one opens the office door to discover that your advisor had previously broken in and left items for you on the desk.  This happens not infrequently.

Lately, Susan's advisor has bequeathed her with chocolates.  Mine?  A print out of a report I edited for him.  And a page from a journal.  Life isn't fair.  Naturally, I took a picture of the discrepancy and showed it to Advisor Who.  Naturally, he was not impressed.

Who: Are you sure that your office mate didn't steal your chocolates?  Are there other food items you have not discovered?

Hello, Old Friend

The wind is crazy out there in B'ton today. The kind of crazy I remember from Eddie Bert where I had to hold on to steady myself. The kind of crazy that rendered the $6 umbrella I hastily purchased immediately useless (I'd just gotten soaked earlier in the morning). Not only did I have no use for it, but I had to close it tightly in my hands to make sure it didn't fly away or cut me. Like an episode of Scandal, this weather is absolutely bananas. 

Not that I mind. It's been 24 hours of reuniting with old friends. Nik said that this was an American tradition-- meeting with friends before Thanksgiving-- and I guess she has a point. Between breakfast and lunch today, I'm hiding out from the weather at Flour Cafe right now--another old friend. If all goes well, I will have had meals with friends from high school, college, and grad school, and in that order, too, by the end of the day. All I need is Young Bo now (or Uzi, or Jen) to bridge the intervening years. 

(I used my scarf to cover my head from the rain)

Moi: I feel like a little orphan. 

Nik: You look like a babushka. 

Carbo Fully Loaded

Today was the annual color run in B'more.  I joined half a dozen friends post-run for brunch.  Not that I ran in the race.  I had breakfast then went to church.  They ran around.  And we met up to eat.  Just like how I like my Sundays to be.

Not only did I not start my day with exercise, my biscuit consumption sank to a new low.  Or maybe a new high.  

Ilene: What, do they know you by name?

Moi: Oh, we're long past that point.  

This morning, I didn't get a biscuit sandwich at the farmer's market.  I "just" got a slice of poundcake.  And Damian (the benevolent biscuit baron) expressed his disappointment.  "This isn't like you."  "But I also got a plain biscuit!"  "That's a little better.  I'm just surprised.  I thought you would have gone for the oxtail."  

Having 2 breakfasts isn't easy, Folks (2.5 if you count the bite of challah I stole before I left the house).  And sometimes, it means disappointing a few biscuit-makers along the way.