for the khojas

This is a post mostly for my Ismaili friends. This morning, I was listening to Jam'n 94.5, Boston's hip-hop / R&B station. They were wishing everyone a happy holiday - they said "Merry Christmas", "Happy Hannukah" ... and finally "Khushiali Mubarak." I was floored! It turns out one of the station's DJ's is Ismaili. He was on the radio, and started explaining that Khushiali Mubarak is the greeting for Ismaili Muslims on December 13th.

The two other hosts asked "What are Ismaili Muslims? Are they smiley? I guess they are the opposite of Frowny Muslims!"

I couldn't move - this was literally the most bizarre thing! The hosts then asked if Ismailis sing anything on Khushiali. They started singing some makeshift Christmas carols (including Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer) but replaced the words "Merry Christmas" with "Khushiali Mubarak." They also asked if Ismailis have the equivalent of Santa Claus. I could hear the Ismaili DJ hesistate for a second - I'm sure he was debating whether to say the Aga Khan or not.

HOW WEIRD! Reminds me of the times we explain Ismailism to our non-Ismaili friends. How many times have we had to answer the questions: "Who's that white guy" and "Is that your grandfather?"

christmastime

Hello campers. The holidays are almost here! How exciting. Unfortunately or fortunately, I am relieved of the stress of holiday shopping given my Indo/M-Class combo. Gifts? What gifts? What kind of holiday is this? The closest we Ismailis get to any sort of religious holiday inspired gift giving is on Eid, when little children do Namaaz then run around asking for "Eidi" - or money. I'm not totally sure what's the genesis of this tradition, but it's been around as long as I can remember.

Economists may measure market basket prices and run complicated models to understand inflation. I could tell it to you automatically at Eid. A few years ago kids demanded $1. Then it went up. Now, if you don't fork over at least $5 to a child on the holy celebration of Eid, you might get yourself in a very sticky situation with a pesky 8-year old.

Although, I can't really complain. I'm at an age where a select few "adults" still give *me* money. Since I'm an adult and people pity my unmarried status, the going rate for me is $20. Score!

Other than that, nothing much new going on in my lazy Susan of a life. Here are some updates:

1) My computer is not infected! Turns out the problem is with the internet connection in my apartment. The problem is that the account is under my mean roommate's name. I tried to call to get them to send someone over, but I needed said roommate's SS # to verify the account. No Go. I left her a note (since she refuses to speak to either me or my nice roommate). I have a feeling this will not be resolved. On the bright side, I pick up great free wireless in the apartment. Oh, and I found a great website to help you with computer problems. They are very friendly and it's free.

2) One of my best friends came to visit this past weekend. It was SO fun. We laughed, hung out and relaxed. The only negative part of the weekend was when my psycho roommate went nuts and decided to full on yell at me and my nice roommate. It was totally unwarranted and frankly very very mean. I don't want to rehash the entire situation; but basically we had made brunch on Saturday. The kitchen was a mess after brunch, but it always is after any big meal. The mean roommate came home and suddenly got really angry about the status of the kitchen. As opposed to discussing her opinion rationally, she decided to yell at both me and my other roommate, calling us "pigs" and "disrespectful." We both walked away while she continued to yell at us. She told us she had a friend coming over that afternoon and she was pissed about the way the apartment looked. We decided to be kind and thoroughly cleaned our apartment. My friend who was visiting generously chipped in and even mopped the floor.

What was the outcome? When our doorbell rang, mean roommate ran out the door and shut it. We heard her from outside. "I'm sorry, I can't let you in. It's really embarassing. My roommates are really rude and have left the apartment in a state that I can't share."

WTF? We were livid. It frightens me to think that some people are virtually incapable of behaving like adults. In what world is yelling acceptable to get what you want? This woman is in her thirties. Furthermore, she never speaks to us period. So when something finally bothers her, she decides to yell like a child? Quite frustrating. The moral of the story: never live in a place you find off of Craigslist.

3) My brother is coming to visit me today. How fun! He is bored at home, so I convinced him to be bored in Boston instead. Just joking. He's bringing me a TV as a belated Eidi gift. For real though. It's from Costco, where else? But a TV for my room; this will change my entire life. Especially considering nice roommate is studying abroad next semester. He's here for the day, and then we head home for the holidays tomorrow. I'm hoping we can catch a show of A Very Long Engagement. J'adore Audrey Tautou.

system restore

I've been having issues with my computer for the past two days. So much so that I started this post yesterday but couldn't even finish it due to computer problems. I'm starting to think that a computer problem or virus may actually be worse than being physically sick. I find it amazing to think about how much of my life revolves around having access to a computer and especially the internet.

The problem began yesterday, when I couldn't access the Hotmail website. I wondered if this meant I had a problem with my computer, or if there was something wrong with the Hotmail site. Later that afternoon, I attempted to be productive and took my computer to the library, where there is wireless internet access. My computer couldn't find the network, however. I tried to be sneaky and jigger around with many icons that I probably should not have altered. I kept losing the connection. Once I got home and rehooked up my laptop to the cable modem, I discovered my internet access had gone from bad to worse.

I didn't fare any better this morning. My computer couldn't load up most websites. I ran spyware checks and even attempted to do a system restore (where my computer said it would revert to the form it had on December 1st. If only I had such an option for myself! I would system restore to 1985.) But apparently going backwards in time did not solve anything; I actually had to undo the rejuvenation.

I am so frustrated I think I can actually permeate anger. I spent literally all day attempting to load websites that might give me pointers on how to fix my computer. When I have a cough or cold, I take days before giving in and taking medication. It's a sad example of how virtual my life has become.

So I finally trekked over to a computer lab where I can check e-mail and update my blog. I'm actively worried about my computer. Some people say that having a pet is a good way to learn how to take care of a child, or some such fluffy adage. I disagree. Try having a computer with a virus. That's love, I tell you.

Yesterday night I went to an MCAT class. It was a makeup class, so this was not my normal prepubescent teacher. This dude was in his mid-twenties, and had a pocketful of attitude to boot. He kept using the words "crap" and "freakin" when describing certain concepts. This class was about the verbal section; he would say things such as "Don't write freakin' crap on your essays." I'm so glad I forked over way too much money to Kaplan to be taught by people like him.

On a positive note, I did manage to make it to the gym yesterday. I was pleased to discover my body had not system restored itself to my pre-working out days. I've started lifting weights. 8 pounders. You may laugh, but they are quite heavy to me.

I am going to make a very inappropriate observation ... or more specifically, ask a very inappropriate rhetorical question. I'm in the computer lab, and there is what I think is a monk in the lab. He has a shaved head and is wearing a maroon shirt with a maroon robe/toga tied around his body. Am I correct to think he is a monk? Am I a terrible person for telling you that it actually crossed my mind whether or not he's really allowed to be using a computer? I'm going straight to hell. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

Hey, maybe he can help with my computer problems.

the da vinci miracle

My Mom just read the Da Vinci Code. This is cause for celebration. It is the first real novel that my mother has read in probably over 20 years! I am so excited for her. Please don't get me wrong; my mom is an extremely intelligent woman. However, her time schedule and committments didn't give her much time to actually read books. I think she gave up on such luxuries when she had, as she says 'those damn kids.' I gave her a copy of the book months ago, and continually nagged her to read it. She lugged it around with her places, but she didn't really make much progress. Until this weekend. Suddenly she decided to pick it up and she discovered what most pop culture fiends learned months ago: once you pick up The Da Vinci Code, you can't put it down.

Saturday afternoon I was feeling a bit sleepy, and I ended up taking a nap when I should've been studying. I woke up tired and groggy, but glad to be home where I am used to being spoiled. "Mom... I'm hungry!" I yelled out, brat that I am.

"Wait until I finish a few more chapters!" she yelled back. Well then. Mr. Langdon, I presume. You have stolen my mother. Please return her forthwith. (Isn't forthwith a great word? Highly underutilized).

So yes, go mom! I'm hoping to compile a reading list for her so she can get back in the habit. Nothing too froofy or deep though - she likes mysteries, as she has demonstrated. Next in line is probably Angels and Demons. After that maybe a little V.C. Andrews. No, I'm being facetious. I would never subject anyone to that smut. I can't believe I got away with reading that nonsense when I was younger. It's about incest! Sitting right on my bookshelf next to Sweet Valley High and The Babysitters' Club ... how insidious.

I presume this is probably getting slightly redundant, but I have yet another Chinatown bus story to share with you all. The bus has gotten so popular that they run almost every half-hour on weekends. And they outsource some buses to independent contractors. Normally the bus drivers are Chinese and the buses have the Fung Wah or Lucky Star logos emblazoned on the sides. Now a few buses will have non-Chinese drivers and random logos.

I learned today that the independent drivers aren't as friendly as the Chinese drivers. The driver today left three people at the rest stop. People on the bus kept saying "You left people behind!" He finally stopped just ahead of the rest stop exit, and from the window we could see three people running to catch the bus. It doesn't seem so bad, yet ... right? The three people left behind were two elderly ladies and a young child traveling with them. Seriously! The bus was absolutely full, so the driver knew people had been left behind because there were 3 empty seats. The Chinese drivers would never do that; they always take count and make sure they haven't forgotten anyone. Man oh man, those poor ladies. They finally got onto the bus, but not without a bit of a scare.

The drive after that proceeded smoothly. I rode the T back to Harvard. A man and a woman were sitting across from me, chatting. I recognized them from the bus. At Park Street, the woman got up to exit, and said "Ok, this is my stop. I'll talk to you soon!" and gave the man with her a hug. He hugged her back. As she was stepping out of the door, she looked back and said "It was nice meeting you!"

Obviously I don't know the history behind their encounter, but I still found it a little strange. A hug to say goodbye to a new friend ... that you just met on the bus. I guess that's sweet (though a little too chummy, even for me.) But I suppose I'd rather have her as a friend, compared to the mean old bus driver.

Unfortunately there are some issues with the TV in my apartment ... as in there is no longer one here. No Desperate Housewives for me tonight! Probably serves me right. I have a midterm tomorrow that I am not fully prepared for.

what's up doc

Today I found myself in the role of patient, rather than wannabe physician. By way of background, I have terrible nasal allergies and was meaning to get checked out for a long time. My dad finally got around to calling his colleague - an Ear, Nose & Throat specialist - and scheduled an apppointment for this morning.

A few points. Being the child of physicians has some unique perks and drawbacks. First of all, any doctor I see tends to be affiliated with my parents. Second, whatever injuries / symptoms I have will be either self-medicated or ignored until there is a truly adverse effect. For example, I had a hernia surgery in high school. Post-op, the surgeon prescribed some prescription painkillers. My dad scoffed at the prescription, and told me that Tylenol would be fine. I do admit that the Tylenol worked, but I still suffered from pain - especially while laughing and/or coughing.

A side-story: during my recovery, my brother played a very cruel trick. As I lay in bed one day, he came into the room and put the tape of the movie "UHF" into the VCR. For those of you who do not know it, it's a Weird Al Yankovic movie. Enough said. The sadism, however, can be traced to when my brother took the remote and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Let me remind you that I could not move from the bed, and that laughter resulted in serious pain. A funny practical joke, perhaps. But only because I was on Tylenol and not narcs.

I return to my original theme. The doctors I see are all connected to my parents. The ENT this morning was a great doctor, but it did not escape my mind that she knows my dad. Hence some hesitation on my part when answering some questions that did not really require any thought:

"Do you smoke?"
No.

"Drink?"
Ummmm .... uhhhh ... no? (Secretly hoping that occassional imbibing is not the cause of my nighttime sniffling and sneezing, but not cough symptoms).

"Do you take your allergy medications regularly?"
Yes. No. I mean sometimes. I'm supposed to. Please don't tell my dad.

On the whole the appointment went fine. I luckily do not need surgery for my recently diagnosed deviated septum. She did a rhinoscopy (sticking a thin fiber optic camera into my nose). There were two screens in the room, and I got to see a real-time version of my nose in action. Quite disgusting, actually. But in all honesty, still better than Alexander. She also took some photos and gave me a glossy copy. It can go right into my album of school photographs. Unfortunately the neon laser beam backdrop was not available today.

The ENT suggested that I see an allergist as soon as possible and actually get tested in order to determine whether I should get immunotherapy, or allergy shots. Dr. Dad swooped in with his connections and got me an appointment for this afternoon. Now, I was not prepared for seeing an allergist or for what became a game of "pin the tail on every freaking part of my upper arm." But that is exactly what I got.

The Doctor was extremely nice and obviously very knowledgeable. After we met, he asked me, "So you are a junior?" It took me a minute, but I soon realized that my dad must have mentioned that I'm planning on going to medical school. I had to correct him and give him the abbreviated story: "worked, wrong career, med school, post-bac." When he learned I used to be an investment banker, his reaction - although quite animated - did not surprise me. "Are you crazy?? Why would you want to leave finance and become a doctor??"

Sigh. I wonder if my dad set him up for this, for that is his argument as well.

Aside from the career inquisition, the appointment proceeded smoothly. The doctor injected my arm with 15 different allergens, and I had to wait twenty minutes to see which I reacted to. By the time the waiting period was over, my arm looked as if it had been barraged by savage mosquitoes. Since he had spaced the shots pretty equally, my arm resembled a mangled flesh checkerboard. Or human bubble wrap.

The result: "You are basically allergic to everything." Hmph. I could've told you that, but I suppose now I have the proof. He suggested I begin allergy shot therapy. Sounded simple enough right ... maybe a few shots and then, presto! I'm cured! Unfortunately, nothing can be so easy. Apparently I would have to get shots over the next 3-4 years. Once a week for like six months, and then once or twice a month forevermore.

Hmmm .... I can't commit to anything for more than a month. My gym plans have fallen off my radar, as has my plan for taking a daily multivitamin (why do they make those pellets so damn huge??). Allergy shots. Allergy shots. What to do? I'd rather just bear the pain of allergies. Though I say that now, when the ragweed is down. Ask me again the next time my hay fever kicks in.

So I'm back at home, with two tasks to complete: 1) a haircut in the morning and 2) studying for my midterm on Monday. I made it to mosque tonight, where they had some kebabs after service. I love kebabs. I don't think I could ever be a vegetarian. However, I did take notice of some very precocious behavior by some kids in our mosque. Two examples:

1) The 8 year old daughter of very close family friend of ours ran by me. I grabbed her and said "Hello? Don't I get a hug?" She obliged and held her arms up for me to carry her. I picked her up and gave her a kiss. To which she responded "When are you going to get married?"

2) Some pre-teen boys were shuffling past where my friend and I were standing. We heard one kid comment to another "This place smells like balls." My friend and I glanced at each other with that "Did he really just say that?" look on our faces.

I came home and comforted myself with the most divine treat ever. Falooda Kulfi Ice cream. I don't know if this is a newly created product, but my mom recently purchased it from Patel Brothers. It's phenomenal. It is rose flavored ice cream, with the falooda sev AND the tukmariya eyeballs already *in* the mix. For those of you non-brownies out there, please forgive me for my cultural vacuum here. I can't explain it to you though. You must have it. And don't let the eyeballs freak you out. They're actually quite good.

28 degrees

It's 28 degrees in Boston today. I have ramped up my arsenal of winter weather gear and am bracing for the battle ahead. This year, I've introduced a new weapon: a hat. I never really was a hat person, but I figured since combing my hair has become somewhat of an option for me of late, why not bury my Medusa-inspired 'do under a cheap piece of fleece?

But man, I'm hooked. Before I used to wear the ear-covering-headband things. They worked, insofar as keeping my ears warm. But this hat thing is genius. It really keeps me warmer than I thought it would. Who knew that all that stuff about losing most of your body heat through your head (which I always found a bit nonsensical) would turn out to be totally true?

I am aware that this fact is universally known by all cold-weather dwelling citizens; I am nonetheless still happy by my discovery. I wear my hat all the time now. Because I'm cool like dat. I even wear it in my apartment. Which, in contrast to the outside weather, is broiling. The thermostat is in my roommate's room. However, there is something wrong with one of her windows so her room is freezing all the time. She cranks up the heat, but this results in my room being transformed into a human-roasting oven. I've even had to open my window a few times, it's become so hot.

I suppose my discussion lacked purpose, except to tell you that it's cold and I like my hat. What else can I tell you? I saw Closer over the weekend. Didn't really like it. The four powerhouse actors do make the pill slightly easier to swallow, but the premise of the movie, and especially the dialogue, seemed excessively contrived. I also really agreed with the review on Salon.com. Let me know what you think if you end up seeing the movie. I'm just giving you my two cents (or $9.75, given that movie tickets are apparently now made out of gold. Seriously, $9.75? Do you know how much Taco Bell you could get for that much?)

I have not been to the gym in a bit. The great Sophia workout craze of Oct/Nov '04 wound down right after Thanksgiving. See, my parents are a bit funny (n.b.: funny meaning gullible. Read on). Every year for Halloween my brother and I convince them to buy loads of candy from Costco - where else? Without fail, my parents come home relatively late from work on Halloween. This year they weren't even home. The result: bags and bags of candy for me and my brother over Thanksgiving ... and pretty much through the New Year! And those snack-size candy bars kill you. You can have a few at a time, and have no idea that you've consumed the equivalent of 13 candy bars. Yum.

Post Thanksgiving, I came back to Boston and attempted a workout. I had made tremendous progress with my strength and endurance prior to the holiday. It disappeared overnight. I could hardly complete a low speed workout on the treadmill. I became lazy and let another week slide without working out. I'm back to Square 1, or 1 1/2 at the most.

I will go to the gym tomorrow. I must. I must, I must improve my bust. Haha, I don't even know why I wrote that. It's a reference to some TV show or movie, but I can't remember what. The cold weather is freezing my brain.

knitting

I've decided to learn how to knit. Actually, I remember taking lessons as a child, never to touch a needle or yarn again until college. During my senior year, my house had an auction, where people donated services that you could bid upon. Someone was offering knitting lessons. Given that my senior spring was the least stressful time of my college life, I decided that knitting would be a good thing to pick up. I received needles and two balls of yarn. But unfortunately, the woman who was supposed to teach me never came through on her side of the bargain. Not to be disparaged, I went and spent too much money on a intro to knitting book. (The Idiots' Guide to Knitting and Crocheting. I admit it).

Note to self: Don't buy a knitting book ever again. I couldn't make any sense of the drawings whatsoever. They tried to draw hands holding hooks knitting loops. That fundamentally cannot be conveyed in two dimensions. I nearly tied myself up trying to figure it out. So much for the book.

Apparently, my mom used to knit, way back in the day (though what do you knit in India? No need for anything warm there). So she showed me the basics. But this was many years ago, and I had since forgotten.

That is, until last week, when my roommate pulled out a ball of yellow yarn and knitting needles. She told me was invited to a "knitting circle" - where women sit together once a month and knit clothes for Peruvian children (for less than a cup of coffee a day, you too can participate!). Sort of bizarre, but heartwarming nonetheless. (As an aside, I was about to publish this when I caught a spelling error. I had written "heartworming" instead of "heartwarming." A little gross. I'm glad I found the mistake!).

I decided to pick it up again so that we could learn together (she is a beginner as well). Over Thanksgiving, I found my knitting supplies buried in my room and brushed off the dust. I had my mom re-teach me the basic steps, which proved to be amusing. I'm a very impatient learner and my mom sometimes doesn't explain things well. Every time she showed me how to do something, I would mess it up. It was difficult for her to tell me exactly what I did wrong, so she kept snatching the yarn out of my hands and saying "Do it like this!" Well, if I could do it like this in the first place, I wouldn't have to learn, now would I?

I'm still stuck in learning the basic steps, but I found a fun website that has up close videos on how to knit stitches. I found it quite helpful. So much so, that once I got the hang of casting on and doing basic knitting, I stayed up until 2:00 AM last night doing it. I didn't even make anything, just knit a few rows and then unraveled them. It's addicting.

So now I'm knitting and I sometimes wear orthopedic shoes. I've been under the weather recently and am continually sucking on cough drops. I just watched the Golden Girls. I prefer comfortable undergarments to fancier but uncomfortable ones.

I may be 25, but in reality I'm 80. I'm going to go get a cat.

On a completely separate note, I've noticed something. Recently, I've seen an abundance of air freshener / scented fans / scented outlets / type commercials. Why are these products suddenly so popular? Is our country stinking itself up to the point that there is serious competition for mini-fan operated scented oils? But what I saw today was a little ridiculous. It was a commercial for Febreze ScentStories. It's like a CD player but for smell. They have scented disks that you put into a player. You even have to press the "PLAY" button for it to start. The disk then starts, and progresses through five different scents. The commercial touted how you are told a "story in scent." And this woman was sitting there talking about how transported she was when she played her Scent Story.

This is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. I'm going to call up this dumb woman and tell her to start knitting. There are Peruvian children out there who could use a tea cozy!

tandoori turkey

Hello fellow thankful beings. Happy belated Thanksgiving to you all! I hope you enjoyed your holiday celebration.

For Turkey Day, my family was invited out to an Indian restaurant. Not exactly your typical Thanksgiving dinner, but boy do I love Indian food. Nevertheless, turkey did make its way into our smorgasboard of curries and kebabs. Tandoori Turkey. No joke. The restaurant had a special for Thanksgiving.

I wish I could tell you that this was the recipe to best all strangely bizarre turkey recipies. No more tales of tofurkey or turkducken. Tandoori Turkey saves the day! But sadly, I cannot. It was perfectly enjoyable, but not worth the effort. I had a few bites and then went back to my luscious mango lassi and chicken tikka masala. No cultural fusion and/or assimilation here, thank you very much.

What is a group of Indian and Pakistani families to do on Thanksgiving night, when the normal post-turkey tryptophan stupor afflicts our reveling neighbors? There is only one answer: go to the movies. Note that this is the same thought process that drives us in hoards to see movies on Christmas Day. Except on that day we are joined in our actions by our friends of the Jewish faith.

We saw Alexander. You can stop reading here if you are planning on seeing it soon and do not want to be influenced by my extremely persuasive writing. I keed.

It sucked. So badly. I literally cannot think of a more appropriate or articulate way to state it. I thought the movie was disjointed and the acting was appalling. Colin Farrell certainly provides a service with his ridiculous good looks, but that's about it. He seems to think that pretending to be constipated can pass for very serious reflection.

While I can easily stare at him for about 15 minutes, doing so for the duration of the movie was a challenge. As a public service announcement, please be aware that the movie is approximately 3 hours long. Any movie of that length that does not include musical numbers with women in saris is completely unacceptable.

For the boys - and some of the girls out there - Anjelina certainly is phenomenally hot. Hotter than hellfire. She looks pretty damn good in the movie too. But that's it. It was impossible to actually believe her as Olympias (Alexander's Mom), rather than someone trying desperately hard to act the part. This woman's acting skills are worse than Donald Trump's ability to read from a teleprompter. The accent she attempted to adopt failed miserably. Where did she get the idea that not moving her jaw and rolling her r's as if she is taking a beginning French class can pass as a Macedonian accent? The last time she purred "Alexandrrr", I could have sworn I felt spittle fly across the theater.

Last petty criticism: Alexander is shown writing during one scene. It looks like Greek letters on the scroll, but when I looked closer, it was all English. The font, I suppose, was "Oliver Stone thinks this is what ancient Greek probably looked like." I mean, sure the dialogue is all in English, but give the audience some credit ... at least have the props look somewhat realistic!

The best part of the movie occurred when an unfortunate fellow decided to lay a large and noisy fart about 2 hours into the movie. The whole theather erupted in laughter - you could feel the laughter wave move from left to right as people couldn't contain themselves. Highly amusing. Even my mom giggled.

Also, why do theaters have seats in the front? Seats should not begin until about 20 rows back. Sitting anywhere closer is pure torture and a mean scam by the theater companies.

Enough about Alexander the Not-So-Great. Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. I am thankful for:

My family. My new life and my old friends. The metrocard reader at the subway stations that tells you how much money you have left on a metrocard before you get stuck in the turnstyle with insufficient fare. And everything in between. And I'm thankful for all of you who actually read this and give me reason to write. As dorky as it is, I do so very much enjoy keeping this blog.

da game

Harvard won the Harvard Yale football game. I don't think I'll ever take Ivy League Football seriously. I'm convinced they are playing with Nerf footballs.

I haven't actually watched the game itself in years - the real fun is at the tailgates. This year we had to buy tickets to attend the tailgate; nothing like Harvard to remind you that having fun really does come at a price. But I must admit, it was a blast. There were several mini-reunions with friends I had not seen in quite some time. And they were serving mac & cheese. Mmm.

A fantastic weekend overall though. I didn't eat much on Friday, so partying on Friday night turned out to be quite economical, if you get my drift. I bonded with my roommate (not the francoholic). She's awesome! She joined us for some dancing on Friday. On Saturday, she hosted a potluck dinner and made lasagna and Oreo cheesecake from scratch. She is also helping me learn how to cook. At least we know she welcomes a challenge.

Are you all watching Desperate Housewives yet? It's so trashy, I know. But I looove it. I used to be addicted to Melrose Place - and this is literally a reincarnation of that genius of a show. Two of the actors from Melrose Place are on Desperate Housewives too. How fun. Let me know if you're into it. I need someone to watch and talk about it with.

Oh, every year they have t-shirts at the Game where each school pokes fun at the other. This year's shirt was great. What do Yale and poop have in common? They are both #2.

five times five is

Twenty-five is a funny age. I'm past the midpoint of my twenties. I remember thinking when I was young that somebody who was 25 was sooo old. But it's not so bad. It's no 16 though. That was a good year. And four. Four was pretty fun also. Hey, they are all square numbers. Maybe 25 won't be so bad.

Obviously, my dorkiness has not subsided with age.

I subscribe to the A Word A Day e-mail. They send you A Word A Day (duh) with a definition and etymology. Each week's words are associated with a theme, and the words are usually pretty unique. This week's theme is "words to describe women." Earlier this week, words included "sylph" and "minx." Words that conjure the image of sexy, sneaky, flirty women. So what would today's word - my birthday word - be, I wondered. As I checked my e-mail this morning, I was greeted with this:

feme sole (fem sol) noun, plural femes sole
A single woman, whether divorced, widowed, or never married

There was nothing left to do except smile and embrace my feme soledness.

I am fortunate in that my birthday falls on the weekend of the Harvard / Yale Football game, which is tomorrow. A large contingent of my friends from college are in town, and we get to celebrate good times tonight! I have an outfit picked out. It involves pink. An ode to my blog.

Oh, and Happy World Toilet Day everyone!

happy birthday to loo

My brother just sent me an article from CNN.com titled "Summit Flushes Out Smelly Toilets." The article describes how the 2004 World Toilet Summit is being held next week in Beijing. Officials hope to ameliorate China's public toilet situation, especially in light of the Olympics in 2008.

While the subject matter was interesting, my brother sent it to me solely for the last line in the article:

"The last day of the summit falls on November 19, World Toilet Day, when organizers say they hope to focus worldwide attention on promoting toilet etiquette."

Ahem. November 19th is my birthday. My birthday is World Toilet Day.

I don't think I'll ever be able to enjoy the anniverary of my birth in the same way ever again. I also think that everyone who becomes aware of this will give me toilet themed gifts for the rest of my life.

So next Friday, if you sprinkle while you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat. And then wish me a happy birthday.

ps: I am very proud of the title I came up with for this post. I know I'm being self-indulgent, but I can't stop giggling. Hee hee!

library

Yesterday I went to the local library and got a library card. Since apparently Harvard doesn't consider Extension School students to be real Harvard students, I can't use the libraries on campus.

The Cambridge Public Library provided the necessary characters one would expect in such a venue. Random local people perusing the newspapers. Small women with sunglasses examining the titles in the Romance section. A little old lady librarian, who took about 30 minutes to type in my information to the computer before I could get a library card. My e-mail address has an underscore in it (you know, as in this_thing). I don't think she had ever seen an underscore before, and wasn't sure what to do with it. Instead, she decided to underline my entire name. I don't think I'll be getting my overdue notice e-mails. Oh well.

But I did find some books that I've been meaning to read, which was nice. No more buying books for a while. It's starting to get expensive and I don't really have the space. Plus, someone once told me that the more you use your local libraries, the more tax dollars they can get to buy books. I don't know if it's true, but hey, if I can be a good samaritan in addition to being cheap, that's cool.

While at the library, I peeked in on a day-care class that was going on. The little kids were singing the alphabet song and "Old Macdonald had a farm." It was too cute; I was embarassed to find myself swaying to their voices in the doorway. I'm going to have to buy me a kid one of these days.

I have my first MCAT class tonight. Last week we had our diagnostic exam, which thoroughly shook any remnants of self-confidence I had left out of my system. I know these test-prep companies do this on purpose, so that you feel like you've grown a second brain by the time you take the actual exam and perform profoundly better than you did on the obnoxious diagnostic. That being said, if I don't improve much, I should look into whether they are hiring at my local library. At least I can find the underscore key.

snowflakes

It snowed yesterday for about 10 minutes. I looked up as I was leaving class and couldn't believe it. The weather did not suggest snow, but there it was. The light flurries were beautiful - the type that you can see through the light cast by lamposts and that melts before it hits the ground.

As pretty as the scene was, it doesn't change that fact that these snowflakes are the harbinger of winter. Here comes Jack Frost. Luckily I have a new bright red down jacket to protect me from the cold. It looks like a huge comforter (or a sleeping bag as a friend told me). But I like it. And it's red! But I will tell you the best part about the coat ... are you ready? It was from Costco. That's right. That's why I love it so much. I bought it wholesale. And in bulk. I have 2o more at home. (I'm kidding, though now that I wrote it, I'm wondering why I didn't buy more, you know, in case I lose mine or something.)

Since winter is coming and I could potentially never leave my apartment, I decided to motivate myself to become more active. I joined a gym. This is a big deal. I'm the least athletic person I know. Changing the channel on the remote control is my idea of exercise. The last time I consistently worked out was in high school, when I was on the track team. Yes folks, it's true, I used to be on a sports team. Though track was really my only option. All the other sports had a pre-requisite of hand-eye coordination, which wasn't really happening on my part.

I ran spring track all four years. I used to run the half-mile. And do the high jump. Yes, that's correct. The high jump. 5 feet 2 inches tall and I used to do the high jump. How lucky was I that everyone else on my team sucked so bad at that event? It was the best ... during track practices I would say I had to work on the high jump. I would take one or two jumps while other people were running until their legs turned to putty. In between jumps, I would take mini-naps on the huge high-jump pit. Nobody ever picked up on it.

Let me preface for you that I am from Long Island. In the vicinity of my neighborhood, most girls are under 5' 5". The population has a high concentration of Jewish, South Asian and Asian families. So my participating in the high-jump wasn't too out of place. I didn't do too poorly in the local track meets either. Those two elements combined into a delusional notion that I was actually pretty good at this sport.

That was, of course, until I made it past the local qualifiers into the county meet. Where we competed against other schools that had more diverse student bodies. Where I hardly came up to the bellies of some of the girls I was competing against. Let's just say I didn't really participate in the high jump much after that.

What was I saying? Oh yes. Quite a long way to tell you that I joined a gym. I've been pretty regular about going too, which is as nice as it is surprising. Overall it's probably a good thing, given that my eating habits and sweet tooth have not improved whatsoever.

say it ain't so

I almost feel like it would be overkill to lament the horror of this election. So this will be brief.

What happened? Why did the American public re-elect this sorry excuse for a human, let alone a President? Why is the voting process so problematic? Why did people wait 10 hours in line to vote? Why should I feel proud to be an American?

Who are my fellow Americans? People who would rather pass judgement than make good judgement. People who fear gay marriage and partial birth abortion, rather than the looming economic crisis and their upcoming Social Security benefits.

Another election conceded. Two in a lifetime. When my kids read about the Bush presidency in their textbooks and ask me if I remember, will I say it's too painful to talk about?

So much more to learn, reflect upon and think about. I defer to my much wiser friends at the Three Guys blog.

paris je t'aime

My living situation in Cambridge is a bit odd. I found my apartment through Craigslist - mistake #1. Actually, the place itself is pretty nice and serves my needs. One room in a 3-bedroom; all I had to do was furnish my own room. Everything else was already there.

After I moved in, I started to pick up on the weird vibe in the apartment. There are two other women who live here: one is 26 and is pursuing a degree in drama. The other is in her thirties and I'm not totally sure what she does.

The background, I learned, is as follows. The older roommate has been living in this apartment for quite some time. She furnished the majority of it, and basically runs it like a boarding house. She likes it too much to leave, so looks for new roommmates whenever people move out. She doesn't own the apartment though - she just advertises for new roommates. All three tenants' names are on the list. Seems normal. But it's not.

First of all, Paris is the dominant theme in the apartment. I noticed it when I first saw the place, but didn't realize the extent of it until I arrived. It's really creepy. Every piece of artwork has to do with France (usually the Eiffel Tower). In the living room there are three paintings of the Eiffel Tower. Three picture frames with it. A pillow with a picture of the tower. And another pillow that says "My other house is in France." And la piece-de-resistance, an Eiffel Tower shaped lamp.

That's just the beginning. All the artwork in the hallways is in French. The sign on the bathroom door says "Salle de Bain." The guest room (a tiny space with a futon) has a huge map of France. The kitchen has tiles in French. The drinking glasses have pictures of France on them. The other day she left her room door open and I peeked in. Whoa! "I'd rather be in Paris" pillows decorated her bed. Bookshelf filled with books about Paris.

You would think this woman were French, correct? Alas, she is not. She's Southern. She is a francoholic. In addition, she is also incapable of having social interactions. She doesn't speak to me or the other woman at all. She only spends time in her room (she even eats in her room). She devises cleaning schedules for the apartment that are a little frighteningly detailed (snippets include: Mop floor with 1/2 Murphy's Oil and 1/2 Water. Clean countertop with Clorox wipes). The brand names are italicized. She also only communicates in post-it notes. Recently, I saw the vacuum in the pantry. There was an empty vacuum bag on top of it with a note saying "Please replace me. Thanks!" Wha-wha? Where the hell am I?

But frankly, none of this really affected my life or personal space, so I didn't really care. Recently, however, the other roommate has been getting frustrated about the living situation. Apparently she will be taking a semester abroad and wants to sublet her room, but the francoholic won't agree to it. So they've got some beef (or filet mignon, given that everything is now in French). Roommate #2 has started to act a bit passive-aggressively to make sure the other woman realizes that we all share this space. Her actions include draping a blanket over the couch and lighting candles all over the apartment (because her mother is a candlemaker. Don't ask. I don't make this stuff up.) So now I feel like I'm in a French Church. Just great.

It's amusing to watch. It's temporary housing and with it comes temporary weirdness. Doesn't really matter though. What does is that I have a midterm tonight.

suffrage

I voted yesterday since I won't be in New York on Tuesday. It was the first time I've ever voted. It felt good. I used to be a relatively apolitical person, and by conventional standards I probably still am. But the Bush administration proved to be the straw that broke this camel's back. How can you not be concerned about our country, our safety and our freedom after what has happened? You've probably guessed what party line I voted, but it felt nice to actually cast a ballot and think, albeit romantically, that my voice does make a difference.

Can you believe that the 19th Amendment was passed in 1920? 84 years. There are people still alive today who were around when women couldn't vote. It's amazing when you think about it, isn't it? How much the world has changed in less than a century. Civil rights have expanded, societies are more pluralistic, technological advances have changed virtually everything in our daily lives. Amazing. And the President of the United States can't speak English. We exist in the Twilight Zone.

I voted and the Red Sox won the World Series. Good things are happening.

Last night I saw the movie "Saw" with some friends. I had never even heard of it. How can you say no to your friend who asks you if you want to 'see Saw'? Damn it was a good movie. So good. Freaky deaky. So scary. I don't get scared too easily, but I nearly cut off my friend's circulation as I grabbed her arm repeatedly during the movie. And I was the girl who kept screaming at the scary parts.

But two thumbs up from me. Werry Werry Good. Tip Top. Solid yaar.

Somebody had brought their kids to the movie, and they were sitting in front of us. The kids couldn't have been more than 5 or 6 years old. And it was a 10 PM showing. Seriously people, what are you doing? Couldn't find a babysitter so dragged the kids along? Let them eat a nutritious dinner of Milk Duds and popcorn, and be so scared that they won't be able to sleep. I always wonder about people like that. I'm not passing judgement on their parenting abilities, but I would hope that they would have more sense than to desensitize their children to violence by the age of 5.

Happy Halloween everyone! I'm going as a quarter life crisis.

candy corn

Who is the cruel genius that invented candy corn? Damn! Those little sugar kernels must be laced with some crazy drugs. I can't stop eating them. They are so good. Why do we only get them at Halloween? I know, because if we had them year round I would be in a sugar coma by now.

Somehow I landed myself back as acting secretary in my dad's office. I was supposed to head back to Boston this morning. Instead, I was woken up at 4:30 AM by my father. Through some unfortunate alignment of the stars, he needed me to come in to his office today. By the way, there was no reason for him to do this at 4:30 AM, since I didn't have to leave until 9:00 AM. He was just awake at 4:30 and figured he'd take care of telling me about it then.

A drug representative (a cute, just graduated from a small liberal arts school where he probably played football and is now acting as a drug rep because he was interested in science and medicine but didn't want to be a doctor-type drug rep) came into the office today. He thought I was the secretary and gave me his card. Later, he asked if I work most days. I informed him that I was actually the doctor's daughter and I was filling in for the normal secretary. At which point he jumped out of his seat, introduced himself to me (handshake and all) and then gave me some free pens and three halloween packets of candy corn.

Hence the candy corn lunch. I am treading a fine line between giddiness and nausea. I really need to stop eating so much candy. My dentist will not be pleased with me.

Hopefully I'll head back to Cambridge sometime tonight or tomorrow morning, since technically I do have some sort of job at a hospital. An unpaid job, as oxymoronic as that is. I was explaining the situation to a friend of mine who misunderstood and thought I was getting paid, in addition to getting hospital experience. "That's a great way to kill two birds with one stone." I clarified and said that I was not getting paid. He thought for a moment, then ventured "Way to kill one bird with one stone." I don't know why, but I found it so funny that I laughed for a good five minutes.

When I came back to NY on Friday, I had yet another annoying experience on the Chinatown bus. Some idiot tried to shove their laptop bag into the miniscule "overhead compartments" on the bus. Of course, it didn't fit and halfway through the ride fell out of the compartment and hit me on the head. It hurt, but it wasn't terrible.

And I also ended up next to a Chatty Cathy (but he was male. Chatty Keith? Loquacious Luke? Verbose Victor?) I was engrossed in a book, but he felt the need to inject commentary on the ride. "Look at the beautiful colors on those trees," he said, followed by "The sun is peeking through the clouds over there."

Was I supposed to cry and then pour out my deepest thoughts to him? No, I just smiled. Then got hit in the head with a laptop.

for dummies

Yesterday, as I sat on the T in Boston, I engaged in my daily indulgence of people watching. And humanity did not fail to keep me entertained.

A man got on the train, sat down, and pulled a yellow book out of his bag. I recognized it immediately as a book for "Dummies." Ya'll know what I'm talking about. And I couldn't stop staring at his book. Islam for Dummies. The title seemed so surreal. Islam for Dummies? I'm not sure if this is the vision of proselytization that the religion's founders had in mind. I think it's great that this man was curious about Islam, but I wonder if there were more appropriate books that could have introduced him to the tenets of the faith. But the Dummies books are user-friendly, so I can understand his desire to go for the gold. Cliffs Notes for Adults.

The Dummies series fascinates me. Learn about any topic you could ever imagine in plain English. Teach yourself a little something about wine and then JavaScript over the course of a lazy Sunday afternoon. I have to admit that the title is pretty snazzy as well. Just because you're a Dummy, it doesn't mean you are dumb!

In the beginning, they made perfect sense. The books were geared towards computer programs. No need to plow through manuals filled with technical jargon - just buy a book for Dummies and figure out how to hook up your speakers to your computer. But the format became so popular that the Dummies series expanded to every category of self learning. So powerful was the Dummy force, in fact, that a competitor with a similar theme and heretofore assumed insulting name broke in to the market. Hence the Idiot's Guide.

What's next? "The Dumbasses' Guide to Smoking Pot and Playing X-Box?"

I decided to do a little investigative reporting. Amazon has 34,744 items listed when you search "for dummies." I got a bit lazy and didn't check if all of them are actually Dummies books. But I wouldn't be surprised. I then went to the Dummies website, in an effort to see if I could get a final count on Dummies books in print. Unfortunately it is organized by category, and I didn't feel like manually counting the individual listings. The Dummies website is not for Dummies (brace yourself, there will be many more of those to come.)

Anyway, to cut to the chase, I decided to list my top ten favorite titles that I encountered in my Dummies Safari, along with commentary. Drumroll please ...

10) Online Dating for Dummies
This is why I will never join Match.com, no matter how single or lonely I am.

9) Homebrewing for Dummies
Please check for this guide lurking in college dorm rooms the next time you go to a keg party.

8) Pressure Cookers for Dummies
This one should come with an insurance policy.

7) Beekeeping for Dummies
As should this one.

6) Haircutting for Dummies
I have been to a stylist or two where this must have been their course textbook.

5) Etiquette for Dummies
If you're reading this book, I think you need a little more help than etiquette.

4) Chihuahuas for Dummies
For people who really liked those Taco Bell commercials.

3) Depression for Dummies
Depression is a serious medical condition. Besides, calling a depressed person a Dummy sure isn't going to cheer him up.

2) Raising Smart Kids for Dummies
If you're a Dummy, you probably need all the help you can get.

And my favorite for Dummies book yet ...

1) AD/HD for Dummies
Really? What, is each chapter like 10 words long?

papa don't preach

I just finished my bi-weekly biology lecture. An evening class has proven to be less painful than I assumed it would be. Except for tonight, where we were missing the Yankees-Red Sox game. During the lecture, a man raised his hand (mind you it's a 200+ person class), to announce that the Sox just hit a grand slam. Everyone started clapping.

Fairweather fan that I am, I think I must now start rooting for the Sox. Because this is freaking awesome. Although try as I will, it's tough for a woman to break away from the Jeter / A. Rod double play (my first attempt at a baseball pun, please don't judge me). I like them. I likem a lot.

Anyway, we have an exam next week. For some reason the Professor gave a five minute speech about exam taking strategy. His advice began with comments about study habits: Don't cram and don't look at the answers for the practice problems before attempting to do them. He concluded with tips on relaxing before the exam: Do something you enjoy. Take a bath. Read a book. See a movie. Have sex!

Huh? I hate when Professors try to be cool like dat. People giggled. Haha, the Professor said sex and not in the gender sort of way! I found it pretty lame on two accounts - first, this class is filled with adults. It's night school, remember. People who went to college and then the school of hard knocks for their graduate degrees. Do we really need advice on how to study? Perhaps some people might need it, but I still found it to be overkill.

And then to try and tell us to relax before an exam? I am not paying to hear you state the obvious sir. Nor am I paying for your suggestions on relaxation activity. Speaking of activity, Go Sox! I mean Yankees! I love Derek Jeter and he has a dating history that includes Indian women. Woohoo!

oprah

This is "write about powerful women week" on my blog. After my little tribute to Martha, I thought, well let me write about Oprah next.

That's not totally true. Last night I watched the E! True Hollywood Story on Ms. Winfrey. Quite fascinating; this woman has had one heck of a hard life. But she made it up the ladder, one step at a time. And now she's the first African-American woman billionaire ever. Go Oprah!

I understand Oprah's charm. There is something about her; she definitely connects with her audience. Some of you probably disagree, but have you ever seen her show? Or at least the "My Favorite Things" episodes? How can you not remember the T-Shirt Sheets? I used them all through college on the sole advice of this woman.

But you must have heard of the car giveaway, right? Man, I cried my eyes out when watching that episode. Although, after she did that there was a little catch. The people who received the cars had to pay about $7,000 in taxes (the cars were regarded as gift income). Some people couldn't afford it so they had to sell the car in order to pay the tax.

However, she still rocks. I want to go see her show one day. Last year I worked out of my company's Chicago office for a while; I now regret not having taken advantage of the opportunity then.

Do you think this post was a little too boring? Well then ponder this: If Oprah Winfrey married Deepak Chopra, she'd be Oprah Chopra.

That one always cracks me up. That, and: If Yoko Ono married Sonny Bono she'd be Yoko Ono Bono. Hee hee.

martha's jailyard

Martha Stewart wrote a letter to her supporters from prison. She said that she is very busy, and that prison camp is "like an old-fashioned college campus -- without the freedom, of course." She also requested her supporters not to send any more gifts or money to her in jail.

Ahem. People were sending Martha Stewart MONEY IN JAIL? Money? People? People giving their money to her? She is worth hundreds of millions of dollars! Let's think about who would be sending Martha money. Logically, it would be people who have more money than she does, correct? Somehow I doubt that Bill Gates, the Sultan of Brunei and Oprah are sending Martha envelopes with nail files and five dollar bills. On the contrary, it is probably Mr. and Mrs. Amos and Anita Johnsonsmithklinebeecham from Oklahoma feeling sorry for Ms. Stewart all alone without any pies and ribbons to keep her busy.

Not that I have anything against Martha. It's quite the opposite; I think she's pretty freaking cool for turning the art of homemaking into a billion dollar business. And yes, insider trading is bad. Very bad. But for real, I think she was turned into a scapegoat during an era of corporate malfeasance.

From my brief affair with the world of investing, I realized that what can and cannot be considered insider information is highly subjective. Where is the line drawn? If Sam Waksal told me his drug wasn't getting approved, you bet I would've sold without thinking twice. If insider information were really that bad, Warren Buffet would've been in jail years ago. Did you know that all the big-wig CEOs go to Omaha, Nebraska to seek Warren's advice over a piece of steak? It's true. Martha did. And do you think Warren does this for free? Yeah right. And you wonder why Berkshire Hathaway is the most amazing thing ever. Information is worth the price of a steak.

To be fair, insider trading is not the reason Martha is doing time at Shawshank, but I still think it is worth clarifying. She shouldn't have lied to the Feds. Probably inhaled too much baking powder.

She may write a book from prison. That'd be interesting. Why write a book though? Don't you think it would make the freaking best reality TV show? I'm sure they could wing it with the networks. I would watch it for sure.

seat's taken

I can officially be labeled a commuter student. I may be the first person to commute to Harvard from New York. I take the bus so frequently back and forth that my Dad commented that it doesn’t make much sense to rent an apartment in Boston. I should stay in a hotel whenever I come up here, it would be more economical.

That being said, I was on the bus yesterday to Boston. I sat down and placed my bag on the empty seat next to me, and then tried to go to sleep. More than half of the bus was empty, and I figured nobody would bother me.

A few minutes later, I felt my bag move. I looked up and saw this strange Indian guy pointing at my bag. (Given my Columbus Day rant, I should clarify that he was South Asian). Oh no. I heard it before he said it … “Can I sit here?”

What was I supposed to do? The entire bus was empty, and he wants to sit next to me? I nodded and then moved my bag. But then I felt uncomfortable. Why did he want to sit with me? Was he going to begin an awkward game of 20 questions? I began to imagine potential inquiries: What’s your name? Are you Indian? Are we related? Are you married? Are you going to eat that?

Perhaps I’m not giving him enough credit. He may have been defensive; maybe he thought the bus would fill up and that I was the least menacing person to sit next to. Although, I would think human nature would be to be to grab whatever open space is available first, and then try to defend it.

I finally excused myself and moved to the back of the bus. I don’t know if it was rude, but I couldn’t fathom having to sit next to someone when there was plenty of room elsewhere. I stretched out and slept for the majority of the ride. And nobody bothered me.

Class was fun last night. Though the Professor said that he would try and let us out early to “See the Yankees lose.” That’s great; I’m so glad baseball can affect class time, but the last presidential debate cannot.

Also, here is the most fun thing EVER. Digital Bubble Wrap.

chocolate pudding

Last night I had a craving for chocolate pudding. So I went to the grocery store and bought a packet of Jell-O instant pudding and made it.

I ate the entire thing. Like four servings worth. Once I started I couldn't stop. Pudding is highly underrated. I remember eating it frequently as a kid. When did pudding become a faux-pas for adults? I don't know, but I am taking a stand. Bring back the pudding!

It's all about finding comfort these days - whether it be through family, friends or pudding. Too many crazy things happening all around. Our elections and our choice for the lesser of two evils. The Afghani elections our highly unintelligent President keeps referring to. He seems to ignore the violence that has surrounded them, or the fact that there is already concern they might not be legitimate. The mess that is Iraq. The awful genocide (genocide! - even Colin Powell admitted it as such) in Sudan. It's overwhelming.

And then Superman passed away. That was really sad; he was quite an impressive person. I had just read an interview he had done with a magazine. OK fine it was the Readers' Digest. I love that magazine. I've finally admitted that shameful secret. Even though Readers' Digest can make the local gas station attendant seem like the most inspirsing person you've ever met, the Christopher Reeve interview was touching. He was able to go from a diagnosis of total paralysis to being able to move his fingers, and move his limbs while underwater. It's truly awe-inspiring. But life is unpredictable and often sad.

Combine all this chaos in the world with the fact that I don't know what I am doing with my life, and chocolate pudding suddenly seems to make a lot of sense as a decision for the moment.

columbus day

How is it October already? Since this is my first post during this month, it dawned on me that I am entering my sixth month of blogging. Happy half-year anniversary to my ability to keep pretending that my life is interesting enough to write about!

Columbus Day is a funny holiday. It's one that I never realize is a holiday until the week before, and someone says "What are you doing for the long weekend?" and you say "What long weekend?"

Let us celebrate 1492 and the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria. And the arrival of infectious disease and other precious gifts from the Western world to the native cultures of our land. Why do we even recognize this as a holiday? I think it is a sad tribute to American arrogance. And the atrocities of history education in our school systems. We all took 5th grade Social Studies. The European explorers were brave and courageous men. The King and Queen of Spain sent Columbus to discover new lands and expand humanity's understanding of the world. Somehow, the themes of greed, gold and imperialism seem to have been omitted.

I have been reading A People's History of the United States for what seems like eternity. Actually it's one of those books I pick up and read when I am in between other books. It's a really good book. The author is obviously liberal in his retelling of American History, but it does provide a nice balance to the cookie-cutter stories of standard history that is taught. For example, he references Columbus' diary, shortly after his arrival in the Bahamas, on observing the Arawak Indians:

"They would make fine servants ... With fifty men we could subjugate them all and make them do whatever we want."

Nice to know he's the inspiration for this odd long-weekend filled with retail stores sales.

I think that desis should get some sort of recognition on Columbus Day. In an effort to say that "Columbus thought he found you but it wasn't really you and now when people say Indian they need to clarify if they mean South Asian or Native American." I think we'd appreciate it ... yes I do.

bob the builder

Yesterday, I received the bookcase, computer desk and office chair that I had ordered from Staples.com. Today, I assembled them. All-buh-myself!

I knew it would be a challenge, given my lack of coordination and even more prominent lack of strength. It wasn't terrible though; but it did take a good part of my morning. The desk was surprisingly not that difficult - I did the whole thing with the screws and that little L-shaped screw-tightening-thing. Does that little dohickey have a name? It's da bomb. I felt like MacGyver.

The chair wasn't so easy though. It took me a good hour and a half. Things didn't fit, some parts were uneven. I came close to giving up, but muscled through it. I finally finished and sat on my creation. At which point I looked down and saw the packet with the chair warranty information. And a flyer that said:

"Buy this chair assembled for an additional $5!"

$5? I could have bought it assembled for $5?! Why was this piece of information INSIDE THE BOX? Shouldn't they have had this somewhere on the website? Or at some point *before* I completed my order? Oh man! I still feel proud that I did it myself (although there will always be a hint of fear that it will fall apart when I sit on it). But $5 is definitely in the zone where I would've bought it ready made.

At least I have a chair to sit on to watch the debates tonight.

rain rain go away

What a dreary day. I definitely have seasonal affected disorder (SAD). I didn't want to get out of bed and have been feeling blue all day. It's hard to stop the deluge of negative thoughts when they start. I began to freak out about this career switch. I have no job. I can't cook and found myself seriously staring at the TV dinners in CVS yesterday before deciding to get some take out. CVS -- not even the grocery store - that's how lame I am.

I am scared I won't get into medical school. The statistics are pretty frightening - something like 1 out of 3 applicants doesn't get in. That doesn't mean they don't get in to their top choice schools. It means they don't get in period.

It's impossible to operate under a regime of fear, so I am wholeheartedly trying to remain as optimistic as possible throughout this process. But there are days, or moments within each day, where I find myself going through the ever-growing list of What-Ifs. What if I don't get in? What if I do get in and then realize it was the wrong decision? What if I have to move far away for school? I can occupy an entire day with What Ifs.

But these are the risks I have to take. How can you be certain that any career is the right career? There is no crystal ball that can guarantee your choices to be correct. All I know is that I tried something for a while, and I was pretty good at it. But it didn't make me happy. I didn't have the desire to learn more about my field and continually challenge myself. I do think medicine will offer me that. I really hope it will.

I'm not delusional in the sense that I think it will be easy work and will offer me never-ending intellectual stimulation. Far from it. I've seen the frustration it causes my parents. I could write an essay on the problems I see with the field from the week that I worked in my father's office. I know that I will not come close to making what I made in the last 3 years for another 10 years, at least. I know I could have chosen 1 million less stressful paths, but I did not. I made my decision, and I need to see where it takes me. I feel like I've jumped in feet first to a pool of ice-cold water. It takes a long time to adjust, but at some point it will feel comfortable.

I can't thank my friends and family enough for their encouragement and support. I talk my mom's ear off every single day about my concerns (which is also the primary reason that I had such huge phone bills and gave T-Mobile the boot. Yay for number portability!)

I've also heard my fair share of discouragement. Some people have been zealous with comments about the difficulties of getting in, the horrors of med school, etc. I do appreciate your openness and concern. But to be honest, I don't really need it right now. I'm fully aware of the dangers of my choices.

Too many 'what ifs' and not enough 'if nots'. Make Jack a Dull Boy. Red Rum!

tar-jay

Nothing like a day spent shuttling between Costco and Target in a Volvo station wagon. I doubt there is anything that can make a single person feel more lonely than spending time in an everyday-low-price superstore (EDLP, an actual term used by retail analysts, for those trivial-pursuiters out there). I'm sure my parents were disheartened that it was their 24-year old daughter contemplating whether to buy the Halloween Oreos with orange filling, rather than their non-existent grandchild.

It wasn't really that depressing though. How can you not love shopping at Target?! That place is so amazing. You can convince yourself of your need for any item that you come across. My dad bought an electric flosser. I treated myself to a super-absorbent hair towel. Each individual item is so inexpensive that you feel you are being quite frugal. And then when you check out, it is virtually impossible to comprehend how everything adds up to over $200.

They are building a Wal-Mart next door to the Target, and it should open sometime next year. Mind you this is in the same complex as Costco. It may be too much for me to handle. It is not an exaggeration to say that I go to Costco every time I am home. My parents go once a week, at least. It has gotten to the point that when we need milk at home, we do not go to the grocery store that is 5 minutes away. We head over to Costco. And our Volvo station-wagon? Newly purchased, with the express consideration of moving significant amounts of cargo from the nirvana of bulk shopping.

On the way home, we passed a man holding up a sandwich board advertising a new "Christian Operated Pest Control Service!"

Well, there's a doozy for you. First, I feel really bad for the people who have to hold up sandwich boards. I'm sure I sound overly saccharine in the Miss-America-I-Want-World-Peace sort of way, but whatever. That job sucks. It's one thing to be doing it on the streets of New York City. This poor man had to hold this sign up on the shoulder of a relatively busy intersection in the suburbs. That has to be taxing. I wish him a better job.

Second (and much more appropriate for directed sarcasm), a Christian Operated Pest Service? Are they better than non-Christian services? I guess a Muslim operated one would be a little too "Hey! Look at me!" a propos the Patriot Act. What kind of services would this Christian company offer? Baptism before fumigation? Little confession booths for the ants? Oh no, I'm laughing out loud at the mental image I've provided for myself. If you haven't figured it out yet, I am the type of person who laughs at my own (often unfunny) jokes, before I can even say the punchline.

Apologies if I've managed to offend any Christians. Don't worry though, we're all people of the book .... People of the book, join hands!

shukriya

Last week, I gave up on my search for used furniture and decided to buy a new mattress set. I ordered a relatively inexpensive set (from Mattress Discounters, which I found amusing because they went bankrupt 2 years ago, and were being advised by my group at Blackstone). Anyway, cheap mattress = mushy mattress. I prefer firm beds, so now I'm kicking myself for being too stingy. I've also managed to give myself psychosomatic back pain as a result of the mattress. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

After I got the mattress, I needed to go buy bedding. So I headed to a department store, where I instinctively headed for the shoe department before the home department. I am a sucker for shoes, and especially shoes on sale! I convinced myself that I needed this great pair of black boots. As I headed to the checkout counter, I was greeted by a reincarnation of Mr. Bean. The sales associate was a strange older man, with a bowtie and a British accent. And a penchant for small talk.

Oh small talk, how thee frustrates me. Sometimes I just don't want to deal. Please just take my credit card and let me be on my way. He took my card, looked at it, then asked if I was half-Greek. He explained his question by telling me "Sophia is greek for wisdom." Hmm. I'm glad you know the etymology of my name. I didn't quite understand the half-greek though. Why only half? What did he think my other half was?

I told him no, that I was from India. Oops, opened another avenue for questioning. "Where?" Standard answer: "My mother is from Bombay."

He looked off into the distance, as if picturing an exotic land of elephants and spices, and said "Yes, yes, the west coast." (I was tempted to nod and give him the West-Side! hand signal, but refrained). I nodded, and then signed the receipt.

"Thanks!" I said.

"Shukriya." he responded. What? Man! It always catches me off guard when people do that. What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to respond in English or Hindi? Break into bhangra? I did what I thought best. Booked it to the bedding department.

I am back in NY this weekend for a little R&R, and to pickup the very many items I absentmindedly left here when I moved up to Boston. I took the Chinatown bus (again), but was very pleasantly surprised when I learned they moved their terminal to the South Station bus depot in Boston. No more waiting on the sidewalk in Chinatown! Yay! (N.B., they did increase their prices to $15.)

After a fun night out partying with some friends in the city, and an unnecessarily early train ride back to Long Island this morning to help my mom pick out a cell phone, I find myself in the best possibile situation: sitting with my wireless laptop in front of the television in my parent's room, updating my blog.

I watched Bring it On, which never ceases to amuse me. Also, during my channel surfing, I discovered that Kirk Cameron has a Catholic inspirational talk/interview show on the Church Channel. I mean, it's not really called the Church channel, but you know what I'm talking about. It's always sandwiched between something like the Food Network and movie channels.

moving pains

Bonjour Cambridge! And hello to the stress and aggravation of moving. I came up here only with clothing and essential items; I planned on furnishing my room once I arrived. I decided to see if I could find any bargains on used items by scouring Craigslist religiously. No dice. Used beds are kinda icky. I learned this the hard way after checking a few out.

So I am here without a bed, and without a clue as to what the future holds. Class starts tonight at 7:30 PM, which is taking some getting used to. It is such an odd time for class; I am not accustomed to night school (and no I am not getting my GED for those of you who find it funny to ask). I fear that I may actually forget to go to class since it's not what I'm thinking about in the evening.

This morning I chatted with some of the guys that I used to work with. Sometimes I really forget that I actually don't work there anymore. I was actually a bit sad; I often miss the comfort and security of having a job and the idea that I more or less know what to expect from my day. The surreality of my present is ovewhelming at times. At least I am getting a wireless signal from somewhere in the apartment; without internet I'd be utterly lost.

I also tried to update my resume today. I realized that most everything on there is irrelevant to the types of jobs I am applying for. How do I rephrase three years of work so that it positions me well for a field in which I have very little experience?

Today was also the first day of class for the undergraduates. And the new freshman. Who, as someone at lunch today pointed out, are class of 2008. 2008! They were born in 1987. I Love the '80's Strikes Back will mean nothing to them.

On a very bright note, I've been able to spend some good quality time with some friends who also just moved to Cambridge. Last night, we had crepes, cooked dinner and watched Six Feet Under and the Emmys. Just what the doctor ordered.

life is a mystery

Maybe not so much life, but at least my blog. Weird phenomenon of the moment: My home computer is old and somehow has developed a resistance to Internet Explorer. So we have to use Netscape instead. Not that I really paid attention to differences in browsers. But let me tell you. Netscape sucks. Half the time it can't open certain web pages, and the other half of the time it screws up whatever is to be displayed.

That being said ... Netscape can't display my blog. It used to, but now it doesn't. When I load it up, the screen is blank. I'm really hoping this means that my blog wasn't magically erased in cyberspace. If it is, then I guess all this writing is pretty futile. If not, it means I have no way of checking which posts have actually shown up and which have not. Or whether someone has hijacked my blog and is writing profusely on the subject of teletubbies, or some other such alien force field.

So if you are reading this, then that's good. I feel like this is the blogging equivalent of "If a tree falls in a forest and noone hears it..."

Today my friend invited me to open a Google g-mail account. I got punched for g-mail, awesome! (Lame Harvard joke for those of you who are wondering what I'm talking about). I'm in a secret society that offers 1 gig of memory and advertising related to the text of my e-mails. Why I keep getting advertisements about male escort services, I'm not sure!

Many thanks to D. for inviting me to participate in this elite cyber clique. Extra special thanks for inviting me, because of the following reason: A few months ago, my brother was able to open a g-mail account. He had three invitations he could share with friends. I asked him but was denied. He chose to invite his friends over me. That's ok though. When it comes to the family, he is the weakest link. Goodbye! OK, I'm just kidding.

Back to Cambridge on Sunday. How did I go from itching to get out of Cambridge every second I was there, to not being able to wait to get back? I never thought I would've switched over, but dare I say that I am really enjoying myself and excited about the coming year in ye olde 02138.

in suburbia

I love the suburbs. And the Pet Shop Boys. In a few years, I shall be the woman in the large SUV who can’t drive. A soccer-mom in training.

Two weeks ago it was tax-free week in New York. Yet another excuse for me to go shopping. So I went to the gravitational center of Long Island – and all of suburbia for that matter. The mall. You need to mentally brace yourself before entering such a place; it is just utter madness.

Too many teeny-boppers. Too many kids with unlimited access to their parents’ credit cards. I found myself in the eye of the storm when I went to the denim department at Bloomingdales. My goodness. What a scene. I thought it slightly disturbing to see 13 year olds buying $150 jeans that revealed more than they covered. They were so young -- the insanity! What happened to the days when your parents took you shopping at 13 and spending more than $30 on a pair of jeans seemed ridiculous?

Oh, and what is this new trend of tube top dress things? I saw a very cute one, but I thought it was a skirt. I couldn’t figure out why it looked so funny as a skirt until I saw a girl wearing it as a dress. Man oh man.

Seeing so many young girls together reminded me of the movie “Mean Girls.” I thought about a group of my girlfriends at that age. We certainly had our shares of fights and backstabbing, but it was so unbelievably petty when I reflect on it.

I distinctly remember one practical joke we used to pull on each other. Back in the day, if you called the Tampax 800 hotline, you could request a free sample of tampons to be sent to you. We used to call up and request samples sent to whichever girl was not in favor that week, in order to embarrass her. I can’t believe we thought that was clever. Or mean. Or even funny. I don’t know what we were thinking!

This past weekend I went to visit a friend of mine in DC, which was fun. One night, we were all in a car parallel parking, and the driver was having a hard time getting into the spot. My friend volunteered to fix the parking job. As he was fixing it, he went a little too fast and rammed into the car behind us. Where a rather large gentleman was sitting in the driver’s seat. It was the kind of moment where everyone freezes and says “Oh damn, this could get ugly.” Fortunately though, no damage done. Good thing, because I didn't want to whip out my can of whoop-ass. That's right. I did Tae-Bo. No, I’m just kidding. But boy did I love those Billy Blanks infomercials.

In other news, I am stuck in the middle of an awful book. I'm progressing at the rate of about 2 pages a day, but I can't bear the thought of not finishing it. At this rate, it may take a year to complete it. That being said, I need a really good book to follow this one in order to erase the pain. Any suggestions?

I’m headed back to Cambridge this week. I need to get me a jobby job.

oh no.

Deep thought of the day: bad luck sucks. It starts off small, but then snowballs into wishing that you could crawl into a hole and never come out.

1) My Dad found my blog. Hi Dad! Not that there is anything wrong with him reading it, it just caught me off guard is all. On Friday evening, he asked me why I didn't tell him that his secretary had porn on the computer. I sheepishly asked "How did you know that?" And he responded that he "read my chronicles." I like how he said chronicles, since he is the only person to actually refer to the blog that way.

But now I feel guilty for having complained about working in his office. I loved it Dad. Last week was the most fun week of my life ever!

I feel a bit more self-conscious writing now though. Guess I can't write too much about my illegal extra-curricular activities. Or the fact that I have an illegitimate child. And don't know who the father is. Sorry Dad!

Oh yeah - to my brother - he found your blog too. If I'm going down, you're coming with me. (Just kidding. Though I'm serious about the fact that he found your blog). Are you sensing the passive agressive nature of conversation in my family?

2) I seriously busted my cell phone minutes last month. I had no idea since it's part of a family plan. I had never gone over prior to that because I had a job. And I could make phone calls from said job. No more of that. Though I never considered it when using my cell phone.

I screamed and yelled at T-Mobile and got a bit of money taken off the bill. And then I considered upgrading to more minutes. And that's when my head nearly exploded. To upgrade, I need to sign another 1-year agreement. But I don't get a new cell phone. Even though new customers to T-Mobile can get the same plan with a new phone ... and a $100 rebate! What? I called T-Mobile completely irate. This is the conversation I had with the apathetic customer service rep on the other end:

Me
So if I cancel T-Mobile today, then sign up for a new plan tomorrow, I get a rebate and a free phone?

Rep
Yes

Me
But you can't upgrade me and give me the rebate and free phone while keeping my number?

Rep
No

Me
Even though I've been a customer for 3 years?

Rep
Correct

Me
So a new customer gets all this stuff and I can't? What if I cancel the contract and sign up for a new one? Can you keep my same number?

Rep
No

Me
I hate you.

Rep
Have a nice day and thank you for using T-Mobile.

3) My Hotmail account is overflowing. I figured out how to download all my Hotmail to Outlook, so I did that. And then I deleted everything I had on Hotmail to free up space.

The problem? I still had Outlook open on the computer. It resynchronized to Hotmail, and seeing that I had no messages in Hotmail, deleted all the messages I downloaded. I didn't realize that I had it set such that Outlook mirrors Hotmail, not backs up Hotmail. Oh no no no. Now I have no messages anywhere! Important e-mails, phone numbers etc. that I've stupidly been keeping on e-mail? Gone.

Given my doozie of a day, I decided to be grumpy and am watching TV. As luck would have it, there is a 90210 marathon. And right now I'm watching the series finale - Donna and David's wedding. Eric Benet is serenading Donna and David. How weird is it when has been artists perform on TV shows? I think it's strange.

cookies, with a hint of botox

Here's the situation: The old secretary was super disorganized. And Ms. Type-A 2004 right here took a hold of the reins and completely reorganized the office last week. I made specific folders for things to be filed in. At the end of every day, she was handwriting a lits of patients that came in. No more. I set up a computer file to manage all of that. And many such other examples.

The secretary came back from vacation today. Last night, my Dad told me I had to come in today and tell her that she had to follow my system, and if she didn't like it, to take a hike. Obviously he was being a bit melodramatic, but nonetheless he did want me to speak with her. Oh boy. Now, some forty-something woman is not going to want to be taking orders from me. Veruca Salt, I am not. I wonder how this will work itself out. I've got my money on everything reverting to the old system and all my work for the week being placed in the circular file (there's some lame corporate humor I haven't used in a while). Serves me right for thinking I can try to fix things that people prefer to leave broken.

Yesterday one of the other doctors brought his 12 year old daughter to the office. I think it was Indian doctor bring your confused daughter to work day. She was actually adorable and was eager enough to help me alphabetize stuff. Later in the day, some patients were sitting in the waiting room and looked at us. Then a woman pointed at her, looked at me and said "She is your daughter? Very beautiful!"

Oh maaaaaaaaan. A 12-year old daughter? Me? Really? I've crossed the threshold into possible-motherhood resemblance. A 2-year old, even a 5-year old I could understand. But 12? Just great. I am solaced by the fact that this patient was like 100 years old and had thick glasses on. Doesn't change what she said though.

Acting on my newfound motherly aura, I decided to make a second attempt at cookies. Chocolate chip with walnut to be precise. My mom looked at me like I was out of my mind. But I was determined. I dug out a handheld electric mixer that had never, ever been used. FYI, my family does not bake. The oven never gets used. Indian food -- at least the stuff my mom makes -- is made on the stove, not in the oven. So using a mixer and a bowl from 1976, I made chocolate chip cookies from scratch.

I wish I had some music to insert right here, when I tell you that my cookies were magnificent. I wasn't exactly sure how the Indian cookies I made last time really turned out, so I relied on my parents' and aunt and uncles' judgement. But chocolate chip cookies? I am quite the connoisseur. Dude, my cookies rivaled Mrs. Fields. And her husband David. They would sell like hotcakes in airports and highway rest areas. I was so proud of them that I put them in a tupperware bin and took them with me to the office today. Not even to share with people. Just to keep near. They are precious to me. Proof of my ability to create. Not purchase. Create. I don't even think I'll be able to eat the rest. I can give you one if I see you soon. I might even make some to send to my brother in Atlanta.

I know I'm overreacting. But I really, truly am this happy. Did you know that in the 3 years I lived in Manhattan, I lived in 3 different apartments? And in those 3 different apartments, I never once used the kitchen. Not once. Not the stove, not the oven, nothing. Perhaps the refrigerator to keep water cold and the microwave to heat up some Bowl Appetit! (for real, it's a Betty Crocker ready-made meal thing. I love the name so much). But never have I ever baked.

Don't worry, I won't become Martha Stewart or anything. Well, maybe on the insider trading side. But not the happy homemaker side.

I feel like seeing a movie and doing something normal. Working in this office and baking when I go home is so unlike me. I need to remove myself from this bizarro-world.

fear factor

I started this post earlier today, and it had a very lighthearted and optimistic tone. I wanted to tell you about how I was in an anomalistic good mood this weekend and decided to do something productive, rather than spend another weekend afternoon watching television and feeling my butt get bigger. (Ever notice that it's when you are sitting and eating junk food that you become acutely aware of the gelatinous regions of your body?) Anyway. I decided I wanted to bake cookies. Not exactly helpful in thwarting the hind region expansion, but it was definitely something very much outside of my character.

I wanted to make nankhatai, or Indian butter cookies (flavored with cardammom, yum!). And bake them I did. Not to toot my own horn, but they turned out to be edible! The texture and thickness were way off - they are supposed to be thick and crumble in your mouth. Mine were on the thinner side and were pretty crunchy. But the taste? Spot on. A bit too greasy. But mmm good. I did something remotely womanly. Unbelievable. Maybe I'll make them again one day. And grow petunias. Ha.

That was pretty much the highlight of the weekend. That, and catching an episode of the Golden Girls I had never seen. Never seen! I was more than shocked. I thought I had seen every single episode at least 100 times, but I guess I was wrong. There was one out there that was being saved to surprise me all along. How fun!

But after I began writing, my mood changed. I started to think a lot about my cousin, an amazing wonder woman who is my sheer opposite yet mirror image. She works for the UN and is based in Kabul. Where there was an explosion yesterday. She is OK, thankfully. But still. I know she reads this sometimes so I'm stepping out of character and addressing a person directly. BE SAFE. WE MISS YOU. COME HOME SOON. We were, and are still, shaken up. Her parents were here with my family yesterday and it made me very sad to see that the best thing they had to eat when hearing the news about the explosion was my halfhearted attempt at nankhatai.

Today I spent the entire day in my dad's office. Again. Of course I will work whenever my parents need help. But today I admit I was feeling frustrated. Is it specific to families, Asian families, Indian families, or just my family in general ... the idea of misery loves company? The notion of hiring temporary help is heretic. If I weren't free, I have a good feeling my mom probably would've had to have taken vacation from her job to go work at his office. Ironic, huh? OK, I'll stop being a brat.

Wait just give me one more minute of venting. I'm seriously warning anyone who is faint of heart or stomach to stop reading right here. (I know it's mean of me to say that because you won't, even if you have a weak stomach, you curious sadists you. So I apologize in advance. But for real. Don't read anymore if you don't like a bit of graphic detail about bugs).

There was some trash behind his office that we had to move. We being my mom and I - she came to help me after she finished work; I wasn't joking about what I said before. This stuff reeked worse than Arthur Kill during a heat wave. Jesus. I think it had just been neglected in the back of the house (perhaps by the secretary I discussed before. I am purposely not writing about her because I like to refrain from cursing in this blog. And it would be virtually impossible to write without injecting a swear word in every single line). Bottom line: nasty, nasty, NASTY garbage. Reeking garbage. Garbage, I realized while heaving it, that had decomposed and had some maggots in it.

I am still wretching. I cannot handle that. I am a bug baby. Hate 'em. Scared to kill 'em. Am convinced they will morph into gigantic mutants and eat my head off. I am convinced there is a bug somewhere on my body right now. It's like an acid trip without the fun part. I have lost my appetite for the foreseeable future (which sucks because there is a Burger King next door to the office). I am a morning shower person but I am going to shower in scalding water before bed tonight. And spray myself with Lysol.

Whimper. Hold me.

working the 9 to 5

I miscalculated when I thought I would have a few weeks off in between classes. My father gave his secretary vacation this week because he knew I'd be able to fill in. I didn't know about this, of course, until the other day. Ah the joys of family. And free labor.

It's not too bad; I should probably take this more seriously now that I really do want to be a doctor (as opposed to playing one on TV). Not that I'm sticking patients with needles or yelling things like STAT! CODE BLUE! MARCO! ....... POLO!

I'm answering phones and the like. Now, in order to continue with my diatribe, I need to give you a little bit of background. The normal secretary? V. nice, but missing a few tools in the toolbox. She had never used the internet until my father had it installed in the office about a year ago. She didn't leave any of the necessary papers or even the appointment book so that I could pick up where she left off. Needless to say, we were all a bit aggravated.

So the first thing I noticed when I got here was that the fonts on the computer were all sorts of screwed up. Huge fonts. Black background, white text for everything. I tried to fix it, but everytime we restarted the computer it reverted to the old style. And some webpages would look normal, while others were really messed up.

I am certainly no computer geek, but I did have the sense to think "I bet this computer has lots of viruses on it." So I started to hunt around and perform some of the standard cleanup techniques: clear internet files, cookies, etc. There were 10,000 temporary internet files. That's a lot. The computer crashed a few times while I was trying to delete them. And then I ran a program to delete the spyware. Whoa! This computer was a haven for lots of programs. What kind of stuff was being downloaded?

As the de-bugging software was running, some of the files I saw flash on the screen included "TeenSexXXX" and "SexXXSex." Hmm. Interesting. The plot thickens. Encylopedia Brown to the case! (because I'm brown ... get it ... insert collective groan here.) I opened up the web browser. The "favorite" websites were all displayed in a column. The second folder said "ErotikAB." It almost looks technical enough to bypass without realizing what it really says. Upon expansion, I discovered links to: Teen Sex XXX, Gay Porn Chat, CollegeGrls, etc. Whoa! What was this old secretary doing? I deleted all these things as well as whatever the debugger removed.

Now, I wondered whether to tell my Dad that his secretary is a perv. But then I noticed some of the previous websites visited. "Olsen Twins." "Christina Aguilera" etc. And I thought ... oh ... OK. The secretary has a young daughter. They don't have internet at home. And she's not that well versed in internet seediness. I realized she had probably gone to these sites and all the extra dirty stuff probably got put on inadvertently. Because seriously, you gotta be pretty oblivious to leave ErotikAB as one of the first links you can click on when you open up the Internet Browser.

So yes, mystery solved. No sneaky porn in the doctor's office, just really careless use of the computer.

And then today I spilled coffee all over the desk. Patient charts, the TV remote, the phone ... everything got soaked. Oops. Let me at them needles!