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.
Monday, August 30, 2004
fear factor
Thursday, August 26, 2004
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!
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!
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
bratty mcbrat
This afternoon on the radio, I heard the new Ashlee Simpson song "Shadow." I found the tune pretty catchy, but as I listened to the words, I got increasingly aggravated to the point where I decided if I ever meet Ashlee Simpson, I will smack her.
Basically, the song is about how she was always in the shadow of her older sister, the omnipresent Jessica Simpson. Boo-hoo, how sad. Your older sister got famous and your life sucked. Right. Your whole family got rich, you inherited a hot brother-in-law, and you rode her coattails to fame. I feel so bad for you. Here are some snippets from her song that particularly irked me:
"Somebody listen to me please, it used to be so hard being me."
"I was stuck inside someone else's life. And always second best. Oh I love you now. Cause now I realize that it's safe outside. To come alive."
"Mother, sister, father, sister, mother. Everything's cool now. Oh my life is good. I got more than anyone should. Oh my life is good. And the past is in the past."
Now, I'm really not a music aficionado. I hardly buy CDs, and I'm pretty content with whatever Top 40 is currently on the radio (or listening to my ABBA cd. If you don't love ABBA and have not seen Mamma Mia! yet then I think we might have to reevaluate bringing our friendship to the next level.) The point is I don't react as emotionally to music as I wish I could. So this afternoon's reaction was rare (but I thought nah forget, yo homes Bel Air!)
I don't like this Ashlee Simpson. Teeny bopper girls are buying her CDs by the thousands - she's been #1 on the music album sales for the last few weeks. It bothers me to think that the people buying her stuff actually relate (or at least, wish they could relate) to her problems. I remember being 13. Not a fun year, no siree (actually I think that could apply to any time between the ages of 8 to about 16). Young teenagers have a lot of issues, but somehow I think the burden of being the younger sibling of a pop star doesn't exactly serve as fair comparison. Of course they might relate to being in the shadow of an older sibling, but man. I'd trade in an inferiority complex to have that ridiculous lifestyle any day (or not, but you get my point).
So yes, stop this melodramatic nonsense all you teenage pop star mental vacuums. Except Avril Lavigne. I like her. Her songs have reasonable points - i.e., get off my bed, I'm not that kinda girl, etc.
In the same vein, here are some other song lyrics that annoy the living daylights out of me:
Destiny's Child - Bills, bills, bills. The line that says "Can you pay my automo-bills." Automo-bills? Automo-bills?! I get the rhyme, but whoa. I go postal every time I hear it.
The Lady Marmalade song from Moulin Rouge. Part of the chorus says "Mocha - choco - latta -dada." Don't even get me started.
On the flip side, some song lyrics crack me up. My favorite song lyrics ever are from the Mr. Vegas song Heads High. It's raunchy. And dirty. And straight-up old school dancehall reggae. If you're interested, here are the lyrics. They're a little hard to read, but if you get the jist of what the song is about, it'll crack you up. You will never be able to bump and grind to it again with a straight face.
Basically, the song is about how she was always in the shadow of her older sister, the omnipresent Jessica Simpson. Boo-hoo, how sad. Your older sister got famous and your life sucked. Right. Your whole family got rich, you inherited a hot brother-in-law, and you rode her coattails to fame. I feel so bad for you. Here are some snippets from her song that particularly irked me:
"Somebody listen to me please, it used to be so hard being me."
"I was stuck inside someone else's life. And always second best. Oh I love you now. Cause now I realize that it's safe outside. To come alive."
"Mother, sister, father, sister, mother. Everything's cool now. Oh my life is good. I got more than anyone should. Oh my life is good. And the past is in the past."
Now, I'm really not a music aficionado. I hardly buy CDs, and I'm pretty content with whatever Top 40 is currently on the radio (or listening to my ABBA cd. If you don't love ABBA and have not seen Mamma Mia! yet then I think we might have to reevaluate bringing our friendship to the next level.) The point is I don't react as emotionally to music as I wish I could. So this afternoon's reaction was rare (but I thought nah forget, yo homes Bel Air!)
I don't like this Ashlee Simpson. Teeny bopper girls are buying her CDs by the thousands - she's been #1 on the music album sales for the last few weeks. It bothers me to think that the people buying her stuff actually relate (or at least, wish they could relate) to her problems. I remember being 13. Not a fun year, no siree (actually I think that could apply to any time between the ages of 8 to about 16). Young teenagers have a lot of issues, but somehow I think the burden of being the younger sibling of a pop star doesn't exactly serve as fair comparison. Of course they might relate to being in the shadow of an older sibling, but man. I'd trade in an inferiority complex to have that ridiculous lifestyle any day (or not, but you get my point).
So yes, stop this melodramatic nonsense all you teenage pop star mental vacuums. Except Avril Lavigne. I like her. Her songs have reasonable points - i.e., get off my bed, I'm not that kinda girl, etc.
In the same vein, here are some other song lyrics that annoy the living daylights out of me:
Destiny's Child - Bills, bills, bills. The line that says "Can you pay my automo-bills." Automo-bills? Automo-bills?! I get the rhyme, but whoa. I go postal every time I hear it.
The Lady Marmalade song from Moulin Rouge. Part of the chorus says "Mocha - choco - latta -dada." Don't even get me started.
On the flip side, some song lyrics crack me up. My favorite song lyrics ever are from the Mr. Vegas song Heads High. It's raunchy. And dirty. And straight-up old school dancehall reggae. If you're interested, here are the lyrics. They're a little hard to read, but if you get the jist of what the song is about, it'll crack you up. You will never be able to bump and grind to it again with a straight face.
Monday, August 23, 2004
bumper fright
The last few days have been so uneventful that I actively sat and thought about anything interesting that has happened to me during the course of my entire life. In order to have something to write here. Not for any particular reason, but I do fear that this free blog experience could have some fine print somewhere that says "inactivity will automatically cause the deletion of your blog." I also worry that one day they will say "You've run out of available space. Now you have to pay $19.99 a month to continue!" Sort of the way Hotmail says "We just deleted the 20 messages you got today because you were within 50% of our storage limit. But click here to buy more!" I can't wait until google mail hits the mainstream and all free e-mail will be forced to up their limits to around 1 gig.
That was neither here nor there. (I actually just wrote that last sentence because I like that phrase. Doesn't mean much when you really think about it though. The logical next question would be, 'well then where was it?'). Two absolutely miniscule and completely inconsequential things happened today. They are so stupid and have no bearing on anything. Except for the fact that they were really eerie.
Eerie thing #1:
I was in the car with my mom. A van passed us on the highway and the bumper sticker said "Driver carries no cash. He's married." I thought it was silly but funny, so I lauged and pointed it out to my mom. I had never seen that bumper sticker before, not that I keep a detailed log of every bumper sticker I've seen. About 10 minutes later, we went to fill gas (full service, bien sur. Besides being incapable of cooking, I am also incapable of driving well and/or filling gas. Confession: I've never pumped my own gas. Another chip to toss into the pile regarding my complete incapacity to handle normal life.) Anyway, as we were pulling out of the station, this little old sedan was turning in. And can you imagine what bumper sticker the car was sporting? That's right. Driver carries no cash.
OK, I know. Just a random coincidence, right. But still, it was so weird! I get the heebie-jeebies when stuff like that happens. As if I have a futile sixth sense. Not convinced? Please be patient, and I assure you that you may or may not believe me. Let's see what's behind door #2 ...
Eerie thing #2:
When we got home, I turned on television in the kitchen and we were watching Everybody Loves Raymond (a show I didn't really care for originally, but now can't live without.) During a commercial, we decided to go watch it upstairs instead. We sit on the bed in her room, and I turn on the television.
The television was on a channel showing Full House. At the exact moment that Stephanie Tanner got up to spell the word "mnemonic." I swear. I had a silent, completely internalized freak-out. I excused myself to check e-mail, when really I came to write this post. (N.B. please see the post 'frenemy bee' to see the connection if you didn't get it.)
I mean, I don't think I've watched Full House in years. The reason I referenced the mnemonic episode in one of my posts from last week was really because it was tucked away in my subconscious and resurfaced when I was writing (and because it gave a nice segue to having watched Spellbound.)
Why did I turn on the TV at that precise moment? Did the TV puppetmasters know I was just thinking of that episode? That very scene in that very episode? Are they reading my blog?!!
Do you see now why I'm so freaked out? Or are you thinking "This girl needs professional help?" Either way. Something supernatural is going on here. The ghost of screwing with Sophia's head sure earned his paycheck today, hoo-wee.
I've said on occasion that I think my life may be a reality TV show for aliens. So many random, irrelevant experiences happen to me. It makes me very self-conscious: "Am I being watched? Am I a chosen one? A prophet to my generation? Someone to spread stories that bear no moral principals? To convert my fellow brethren to the religion of inconsequence and melodrama?
I feel very special. Very special indeed. I know you are thinking it as well, "Damn straight Soph. You sure are, uh, special." Thanks guys. Thanks.
That was neither here nor there. (I actually just wrote that last sentence because I like that phrase. Doesn't mean much when you really think about it though. The logical next question would be, 'well then where was it?'). Two absolutely miniscule and completely inconsequential things happened today. They are so stupid and have no bearing on anything. Except for the fact that they were really eerie.
Eerie thing #1:
I was in the car with my mom. A van passed us on the highway and the bumper sticker said "Driver carries no cash. He's married." I thought it was silly but funny, so I lauged and pointed it out to my mom. I had never seen that bumper sticker before, not that I keep a detailed log of every bumper sticker I've seen. About 10 minutes later, we went to fill gas (full service, bien sur. Besides being incapable of cooking, I am also incapable of driving well and/or filling gas. Confession: I've never pumped my own gas. Another chip to toss into the pile regarding my complete incapacity to handle normal life.) Anyway, as we were pulling out of the station, this little old sedan was turning in. And can you imagine what bumper sticker the car was sporting? That's right. Driver carries no cash.
OK, I know. Just a random coincidence, right. But still, it was so weird! I get the heebie-jeebies when stuff like that happens. As if I have a futile sixth sense. Not convinced? Please be patient, and I assure you that you may or may not believe me. Let's see what's behind door #2 ...
Eerie thing #2:
When we got home, I turned on television in the kitchen and we were watching Everybody Loves Raymond (a show I didn't really care for originally, but now can't live without.) During a commercial, we decided to go watch it upstairs instead. We sit on the bed in her room, and I turn on the television.
The television was on a channel showing Full House. At the exact moment that Stephanie Tanner got up to spell the word "mnemonic." I swear. I had a silent, completely internalized freak-out. I excused myself to check e-mail, when really I came to write this post. (N.B. please see the post 'frenemy bee' to see the connection if you didn't get it.)
I mean, I don't think I've watched Full House in years. The reason I referenced the mnemonic episode in one of my posts from last week was really because it was tucked away in my subconscious and resurfaced when I was writing (and because it gave a nice segue to having watched Spellbound.)
Why did I turn on the TV at that precise moment? Did the TV puppetmasters know I was just thinking of that episode? That very scene in that very episode? Are they reading my blog?!!
Do you see now why I'm so freaked out? Or are you thinking "This girl needs professional help?" Either way. Something supernatural is going on here. The ghost of screwing with Sophia's head sure earned his paycheck today, hoo-wee.
I've said on occasion that I think my life may be a reality TV show for aliens. So many random, irrelevant experiences happen to me. It makes me very self-conscious: "Am I being watched? Am I a chosen one? A prophet to my generation? Someone to spread stories that bear no moral principals? To convert my fellow brethren to the religion of inconsequence and melodrama?
I feel very special. Very special indeed. I know you are thinking it as well, "Damn straight Soph. You sure are, uh, special." Thanks guys. Thanks.
Friday, August 20, 2004
phase 1: complete
I'm done with organic chemistry! Yay! Want to know a totally lame fact? I kinda miss it, and I'm excited to go back to take more courses this year. I didn't fully appreciate this all those years ago, but school, and especially science, definitely has its merits. Such as the fact that it's very linear - there are rules, and you apply those rules to come up with an answer. And you can support your conclusions with proven facts!
I am so literal minded; give me the box and I will be more than happy to think inside of it, thank you very much. One of the many reasons I finally realized I am not very well suited for the Business World. That and the whole wearing suits thing (get it? 'well suited' ... aha. Oh whaddya know you bunch of ...) I'm 5'2". I had to shop in the petite department for suits. With shoulder pads. During my tenure as a corporate bidness-womyn I resembled the shortest, grandmotherly-esque football player ever.
But back to life, back to reality. The final was more difficult than I anticipated. And they pulled the sneakiest trick out of the book. They asked a question on literally was what we learned the last day of class. There were really no homework problems on it, and none of the old practice exams ever referenced this material, so I made a deliberate choice not to study it while preparing. I should've known. Oh well. I was tempted to write "you got me sucka's!" on my exam paper but refrained. Although, I'm sure they would've enjoyed that.
I had one other mini-meltdown. One question totally stumped me. The actual exam didn't offer much room to scribble, so I used a scratch sheet of paper to work on. I copied the problem down and worked for a good 15 or 20 minutes before giving up and moving on. After about an hour I returned to the problem, and it seemed a bit more clear. I double checked. And nearly slapped myself I felt so stupid. I copied it down wrong the first time around. I shifted a few bonds to the wrong places and attempted to do a question that was totally made up. Whoops. Luckily it worked out, but still, I felt pretty dumb.
After class I booked it home, packed and cleaned up the apartment before heading home. Even though my brother had visited me last week and taken most of my stuff back with him, there was quite a lot remaining. Why is it that even if you think you don't have much stuff, once you start to pack it you stand back and wonder "how the heck did this crap become SO MUCH CRAP?" It also happened that I was able to squeeze everything I had into my three bags such that the zippers were almost bursting on each bag.
In retrospect I should have indulged and taken a cab to the airport and flown home. But no, the $10 was calling my name (guju ... what's my mother-f*ckin name, guju). So yes, I hauled butt to the train station and then to the Chinatown bus.
What did I realize halfway through my walk to the train station? Damn this crap is way too heavy for me to hold. Seriously. My backpack was so stuffed I was leaned over at a good 45 degree angle, Quasimodo style. My bags were so heavy on my shoulders that I actually chafed them and they are red (not the wisest idea to wear a tank-top; hindsight is indeed 20/20).
But somehow I made it. I'm paying the price today (which I can do, since I only spent $10!). But I'm in pain. These will be the stories I tell my kids one day. Akin to the "I only had one shoe and had to walk 3 miles in mosquito infested waters to school everyday" stories of my parents. My story will be "I carried my backpack on my own back every day. It was heavy and gave me back pain."
Because our kids will either a) have robots to carry everything for them; b) have no need for books because they can have chips implanted in their brains so that they can reference material at their command or c) use those damn roller backpack things. I hate those things. Suitcases I understand. But backpacks? Give me a break.
I am so literal minded; give me the box and I will be more than happy to think inside of it, thank you very much. One of the many reasons I finally realized I am not very well suited for the Business World. That and the whole wearing suits thing (get it? 'well suited' ... aha. Oh whaddya know you bunch of ...) I'm 5'2". I had to shop in the petite department for suits. With shoulder pads. During my tenure as a corporate bidness-womyn I resembled the shortest, grandmotherly-esque football player ever.
But back to life, back to reality. The final was more difficult than I anticipated. And they pulled the sneakiest trick out of the book. They asked a question on literally was what we learned the last day of class. There were really no homework problems on it, and none of the old practice exams ever referenced this material, so I made a deliberate choice not to study it while preparing. I should've known. Oh well. I was tempted to write "you got me sucka's!" on my exam paper but refrained. Although, I'm sure they would've enjoyed that.
I had one other mini-meltdown. One question totally stumped me. The actual exam didn't offer much room to scribble, so I used a scratch sheet of paper to work on. I copied the problem down and worked for a good 15 or 20 minutes before giving up and moving on. After about an hour I returned to the problem, and it seemed a bit more clear. I double checked. And nearly slapped myself I felt so stupid. I copied it down wrong the first time around. I shifted a few bonds to the wrong places and attempted to do a question that was totally made up. Whoops. Luckily it worked out, but still, I felt pretty dumb.
After class I booked it home, packed and cleaned up the apartment before heading home. Even though my brother had visited me last week and taken most of my stuff back with him, there was quite a lot remaining. Why is it that even if you think you don't have much stuff, once you start to pack it you stand back and wonder "how the heck did this crap become SO MUCH CRAP?" It also happened that I was able to squeeze everything I had into my three bags such that the zippers were almost bursting on each bag.
In retrospect I should have indulged and taken a cab to the airport and flown home. But no, the $10 was calling my name (guju ... what's my mother-f*ckin name, guju). So yes, I hauled butt to the train station and then to the Chinatown bus.
What did I realize halfway through my walk to the train station? Damn this crap is way too heavy for me to hold. Seriously. My backpack was so stuffed I was leaned over at a good 45 degree angle, Quasimodo style. My bags were so heavy on my shoulders that I actually chafed them and they are red (not the wisest idea to wear a tank-top; hindsight is indeed 20/20).
But somehow I made it. I'm paying the price today (which I can do, since I only spent $10!). But I'm in pain. These will be the stories I tell my kids one day. Akin to the "I only had one shoe and had to walk 3 miles in mosquito infested waters to school everyday" stories of my parents. My story will be "I carried my backpack on my own back every day. It was heavy and gave me back pain."
Because our kids will either a) have robots to carry everything for them; b) have no need for books because they can have chips implanted in their brains so that they can reference material at their command or c) use those damn roller backpack things. I hate those things. Suitcases I understand. But backpacks? Give me a break.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
technical support
I don't particularly like the way that the "About Me" section and the links to my previous posts show up all the way at the bottom of the screen. Normally it should show up on the top right, but I think there is a bug or something. Since I have no previous experience with HTML, I decided to e-mail the support staff at Blogger, the host of this absolutely free, no payments till 2008 blog.
I just got their response this morning:
On occasion, the side-bar will shift when the content contained within the side-menu or a post extends the column beyond its designated width. We recommend reviewing the content in both columns to identify items that may be causing column expansion. In most cases, long links and wide images are the cause of the problem.
Hmm. I would have much preferred the trimmed down and honest answer: "We think your problem is dumb and don't want to waste our time on it. Go learn HTML and stop bothering us with your moronic questions."
I had a similar customer service issue recently. I didn't get my August issue of Self magazine. I had gone on the website a while ago and changed my address once I moved out of my apartment. But no magazine. I e-mailed the customer support and said I didn't want to be charged for an issue I didn't receive. Their response was as follows:
Our records indicate your change of address was processed on June 28, 2004. Due to the prelabeling of your issues, the change will be effective with the August 2004 issue. Please be sure to leave your forwarding address with your local post office as they will only forward for 60 days. We request that you please allow additional delivery time for issues forwarded by the post office.
What? Did I misunderstand or did they just tell me that I was supposed to get my August issue? How will I know what lettuce is recommended for my salad this month, and how many M&Ms I can get away with before busting the budgeted "indulgence" calorie limit (answer: about five. Five. You show me a person who can eat five M&Ms and be satisfied and I'll give them a free subscription to the cursed aforementioned magazine).
So yes, I'm not a huge fan of customer service. Although I must admit I do get such a kick out of it when I call the airlines and end up talking to someone from India. It's quite fascinating actually; there is a whole subculture in call centers where the employees "adopt" American personalities - with fake life stories and everything. Here is an article about it. I know the whole debate on US jobs vs. outsourcing, but I firmly believe that outsourcing is good and creates value in the long run. Banning outsourcing is the equivalent of a tarriff, resulting in deadweight loss and all that other theoretical economic mumbo jumbo we learned at some point in college. And is it wrong to say that I do like the fact that wait times have been cut down and that I can call Delta at 4:00 am and someone actually answers the phone? And can get the spelling of my name right the very first time I tell it to them?
It's interesting what I have and have not retained from my college education. I took a Computer Science programming class, but I never really applied it after that, so I may as well have never taken the class. It's now the case that the extent of my computer savviness is pretty much really, really hoping that the anti-virus stuff on my computer works.
Some of you might not even know this, but I even took organic chemistry as a freshman. People kept telling me (and to be honest, I assumed) that coming back to orgo 7 years later wouldn't be tough. I thought this stuff would come back to me.
Lo and behold, it didn't. Most of the stuff I learned, it was as if I were seeing it for the first time. Really. And then I think about how much money was spent on that education - and for what? I bet I only remember 10% of the actual academic material from college. I guess if you don't really use the knowledge, it's easy to forget it. I do remember quite a bit of economics / finance since I was doing it for so long. But still, it's kinda sad to think that everything I've learned isn't tucked away in a secret part of my brain. It actually fell out somewhere along they way. Most likely my first year in NYC, when partying on Monday nights until 5:00 AM and loving me some Alka-Seltzer were the norm. Ahh, the days of yore.
I just got their response this morning:
On occasion, the side-bar will shift when the content contained within the side-menu or a post extends the column beyond its designated width. We recommend reviewing the content in both columns to identify items that may be causing column expansion. In most cases, long links and wide images are the cause of the problem.
Hmm. I would have much preferred the trimmed down and honest answer: "We think your problem is dumb and don't want to waste our time on it. Go learn HTML and stop bothering us with your moronic questions."
I had a similar customer service issue recently. I didn't get my August issue of Self magazine. I had gone on the website a while ago and changed my address once I moved out of my apartment. But no magazine. I e-mailed the customer support and said I didn't want to be charged for an issue I didn't receive. Their response was as follows:
Our records indicate your change of address was processed on June 28, 2004. Due to the prelabeling of your issues, the change will be effective with the August 2004 issue. Please be sure to leave your forwarding address with your local post office as they will only forward for 60 days. We request that you please allow additional delivery time for issues forwarded by the post office.
What? Did I misunderstand or did they just tell me that I was supposed to get my August issue? How will I know what lettuce is recommended for my salad this month, and how many M&Ms I can get away with before busting the budgeted "indulgence" calorie limit (answer: about five. Five. You show me a person who can eat five M&Ms and be satisfied and I'll give them a free subscription to the cursed aforementioned magazine).
So yes, I'm not a huge fan of customer service. Although I must admit I do get such a kick out of it when I call the airlines and end up talking to someone from India. It's quite fascinating actually; there is a whole subculture in call centers where the employees "adopt" American personalities - with fake life stories and everything. Here is an article about it. I know the whole debate on US jobs vs. outsourcing, but I firmly believe that outsourcing is good and creates value in the long run. Banning outsourcing is the equivalent of a tarriff, resulting in deadweight loss and all that other theoretical economic mumbo jumbo we learned at some point in college. And is it wrong to say that I do like the fact that wait times have been cut down and that I can call Delta at 4:00 am and someone actually answers the phone? And can get the spelling of my name right the very first time I tell it to them?
It's interesting what I have and have not retained from my college education. I took a Computer Science programming class, but I never really applied it after that, so I may as well have never taken the class. It's now the case that the extent of my computer savviness is pretty much really, really hoping that the anti-virus stuff on my computer works.
Some of you might not even know this, but I even took organic chemistry as a freshman. People kept telling me (and to be honest, I assumed) that coming back to orgo 7 years later wouldn't be tough. I thought this stuff would come back to me.
Lo and behold, it didn't. Most of the stuff I learned, it was as if I were seeing it for the first time. Really. And then I think about how much money was spent on that education - and for what? I bet I only remember 10% of the actual academic material from college. I guess if you don't really use the knowledge, it's easy to forget it. I do remember quite a bit of economics / finance since I was doing it for so long. But still, it's kinda sad to think that everything I've learned isn't tucked away in a secret part of my brain. It actually fell out somewhere along they way. Most likely my first year in NYC, when partying on Monday nights until 5:00 AM and loving me some Alka-Seltzer were the norm. Ahh, the days of yore.
Monday, August 16, 2004
of mice and weird men
Hmm ... Monday. This is the first Monday in 6 weeks that I haven't had an exam, so that was nice. Friday was our last day of class, and they had a "talent" show where several people sang, rapped and read poetry about chemistry. Yes I'm serious. Our professor played the guitar. Another professor sang the periodic table to the tune of "I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General." They also performed some geeky but fun experiments, like making bottle rockets and instant ice cream by using liquid nitrogen. Old school nerd-type fun. We laughed, we cried, and then we laughed again. Good times. It's sad to admit but I did really enjoy the whole spectacle.
Another bright spot this weekend was that three good friends of mine were in Boston! Woohoo! Friends! For me! And it's not even my birthday (but it did qualify as my unbirthday. Oddly enough, my professor was obsessed with Alice in Wonderland. Every day he'd start lecture with a quote from the book.) Anyway, but yes. Friends. Good friends. Old is gold type friends. People who have seen you through every phase in your life and still voluntarily choose to hang out with you. Because you pay them too. Haha.
Saturday night my friend and I went out to a club in Boston. Quite the international crowd. And by international I mean Indian. We were standing by the bar when we were both approached by different guys. Her guy introduced himself, asked her name, and then just stood there. Silence.
I would have much preferred to have had her guy. My stupidly drunk guy leans over and says "Hey, where do you go to school?" Already turned off by him, I decided to pull out the very powerful H-bomb (works wonders for guys, disastrous for women.) I looked him straight in his bloodshot eyes and said "Harvard. You?"
"MIT. I'm a neurobiologist." Oh boy. He could not say the word neurobiologist without getting spittle all over the place. He asked what I was doing so I said "I'm doing post-bac work so I can apply to med school."
"Are you going to be a cardio-thoracic surgeon? Because I need an operation on my heart." (Holds hand to chest in exaggerated fashion). Haha, so funny. I shrug and start to move away. He leans closer. Then he says:
"Do you like to cut up mice?"
WHAT? No really, that's what I said to him. I was totally bewildered and said "what?"
"Mice, you like to cut up mice?"
Umm, I gotta go. My friend was in a predicament also so I looked at her and we tacitly agreed to make a run for it. N.B.: Guys, if you are hitting on a lady, please don't ask if she likes to cut up animals. It's not exactly stellar cocktail conversation.
Other than that, it was quite a pleasant weekend. I got to have brunch on both Saturday and Sunday. Brunch is the bestest meal ever. Brunch should be every day (though why isn't there any lupper, or linner?) Corned beef hash and eggs on Saturday - too damn good. Cornmeal french toast on Sunday. Cornmeal french toast! Why have I never seen this utterly brilliant combination before? Wow. I'm still reeling from the too-goodness of it all.
My final is on Thursday. It's difficult to motivate to study for it. I've been in class every single day for the last 7 weeks, so this feels like a little break. So I want to enjoy it. But I can't; it's a mirage ... I just keep having to repeat, make it to Thursday, make it to Thursday ...
Another bright spot this weekend was that three good friends of mine were in Boston! Woohoo! Friends! For me! And it's not even my birthday (but it did qualify as my unbirthday. Oddly enough, my professor was obsessed with Alice in Wonderland. Every day he'd start lecture with a quote from the book.) Anyway, but yes. Friends. Good friends. Old is gold type friends. People who have seen you through every phase in your life and still voluntarily choose to hang out with you. Because you pay them too. Haha.
Saturday night my friend and I went out to a club in Boston. Quite the international crowd. And by international I mean Indian. We were standing by the bar when we were both approached by different guys. Her guy introduced himself, asked her name, and then just stood there. Silence.
I would have much preferred to have had her guy. My stupidly drunk guy leans over and says "Hey, where do you go to school?" Already turned off by him, I decided to pull out the very powerful H-bomb (works wonders for guys, disastrous for women.) I looked him straight in his bloodshot eyes and said "Harvard. You?"
"MIT. I'm a neurobiologist." Oh boy. He could not say the word neurobiologist without getting spittle all over the place. He asked what I was doing so I said "I'm doing post-bac work so I can apply to med school."
"Are you going to be a cardio-thoracic surgeon? Because I need an operation on my heart." (Holds hand to chest in exaggerated fashion). Haha, so funny. I shrug and start to move away. He leans closer. Then he says:
"Do you like to cut up mice?"
WHAT? No really, that's what I said to him. I was totally bewildered and said "what?"
"Mice, you like to cut up mice?"
Umm, I gotta go. My friend was in a predicament also so I looked at her and we tacitly agreed to make a run for it. N.B.: Guys, if you are hitting on a lady, please don't ask if she likes to cut up animals. It's not exactly stellar cocktail conversation.
Other than that, it was quite a pleasant weekend. I got to have brunch on both Saturday and Sunday. Brunch is the bestest meal ever. Brunch should be every day (though why isn't there any lupper, or linner?) Corned beef hash and eggs on Saturday - too damn good. Cornmeal french toast on Sunday. Cornmeal french toast! Why have I never seen this utterly brilliant combination before? Wow. I'm still reeling from the too-goodness of it all.
My final is on Thursday. It's difficult to motivate to study for it. I've been in class every single day for the last 7 weeks, so this feels like a little break. So I want to enjoy it. But I can't; it's a mirage ... I just keep having to repeat, make it to Thursday, make it to Thursday ...
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
mix with rice
My brother left this morning; it was really nice to see him, especially since he's leaving for law school later this week and I may not see him for quite a long time! Since he drove up, my mom gave him some home-cooked food for me. She is fully aware of my bizarre eating habits so took full advantage of this opportunity to pamper with me with needed nutrients.
It was so nice to eat some good food. However, there was a slight problem. I think my mom thinks I am retarded*.
She sent 3 tupperware bins of Indian curries. One bin of rice. And one of homemade yogurt. Each one was labeled with a post-it note. The three curries said "eat with rice." The rice said "heat in microwave." Only the yogurt was left unlabeled, for me to have my way with.
I love my mother. She is the bestest ever. But, uh, mom? I've been eating Indian food my entire life. I don't know what she thought I was going to do with it. Put all the curries together and do a rain dance then lap it up in a bowl like a dog? Then make sculptures out of the rice to display to my imaginary friends?
She's hilarious. Though I suppose she does know me well enough to know that I am an absolute imbecile when it comes to food. I'm probably going to give you all a little TMI, but I can't cook. Period. I tried to make pasta when I first came up here and I burned it. I burned pasta. How do you do that? I eat out all the time. If a meal isn't ready to eat, I will skip it. I won't make it myself. If I'm home and tired, and there is no dinner, I will skip the meal and buy some granola bars and donuts for breakfast. If food is ready in the refrigerator, there is a good chance that I won't even heat it up.
Yes, I know what you're thinking. How will this girl ever get married? The game plan is to marry a chef. Seriously. Do you know any?
Also, it's not just me. My Dad is the same way. Last year, my mom and brother had gone to India, and I was working in NYC. My mom had prepared all this food for my Dad and left it in (pre-labeled) tupperware bins in the refrigerator. He never opened the fridge for the week they were gone. He would just eat at work or pick up fast food.
It's not like I haven't tried to learn. Our senior year in college they had something like a crash course in kitchen knowledge or something like that. I signed up for it, but only went to one class out of five. I just couldn't deal. Though I did get an apron. Good stuff. I can wear it for Halloween.
______
*Pardon the analogy; I tried to think of a more PC word but sometimes you have to just go for the tried and true.
It was so nice to eat some good food. However, there was a slight problem. I think my mom thinks I am retarded*.
She sent 3 tupperware bins of Indian curries. One bin of rice. And one of homemade yogurt. Each one was labeled with a post-it note. The three curries said "eat with rice." The rice said "heat in microwave." Only the yogurt was left unlabeled, for me to have my way with.
I love my mother. She is the bestest ever. But, uh, mom? I've been eating Indian food my entire life. I don't know what she thought I was going to do with it. Put all the curries together and do a rain dance then lap it up in a bowl like a dog? Then make sculptures out of the rice to display to my imaginary friends?
She's hilarious. Though I suppose she does know me well enough to know that I am an absolute imbecile when it comes to food. I'm probably going to give you all a little TMI, but I can't cook. Period. I tried to make pasta when I first came up here and I burned it. I burned pasta. How do you do that? I eat out all the time. If a meal isn't ready to eat, I will skip it. I won't make it myself. If I'm home and tired, and there is no dinner, I will skip the meal and buy some granola bars and donuts for breakfast. If food is ready in the refrigerator, there is a good chance that I won't even heat it up.
Yes, I know what you're thinking. How will this girl ever get married? The game plan is to marry a chef. Seriously. Do you know any?
Also, it's not just me. My Dad is the same way. Last year, my mom and brother had gone to India, and I was working in NYC. My mom had prepared all this food for my Dad and left it in (pre-labeled) tupperware bins in the refrigerator. He never opened the fridge for the week they were gone. He would just eat at work or pick up fast food.
It's not like I haven't tried to learn. Our senior year in college they had something like a crash course in kitchen knowledge or something like that. I signed up for it, but only went to one class out of five. I just couldn't deal. Though I did get an apron. Good stuff. I can wear it for Halloween.
______
*Pardon the analogy; I tried to think of a more PC word but sometimes you have to just go for the tried and true.
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
juxtapositions
Hello boys and girls. Ah, Tuesday. The odd-child out of the week. Not exactly Wednesday, which is smack-dab in the middle. Or Thursday which is so close to Friday that people give it pre-emptive weekend love. This weekend was really great - I went to the wedding of a friend from college. Hoo-wee, what a mind trip. Actually, this was the first wedding of a college friend I've attended, so all the requisite neurotic thoughts surfaced:
Will I ever get married? I bought them a saucepan as a gift? If I ever get married I'm registering for a lifetime supply of Snickers Bars. I don't even have a boyfriend. Or a saucepan. Man I gotta get me some kids. I can't figure out my own life. Or even my laundry situation. Boy the bride looks pretty. How are they so calm? They just got married!! EEE!
But a lovely, lovely affair. I really adore the couple and they are going to be living in Boston next year, so they can officially be my first real married friends that are my age.
I returned back on Sunday and cracked open my notes to take a first peek at the information I was going to be tested on Monday morning. Last minute cramming, nothing like it. We are allowed to drop one of our exams so I assumed this would be the exam I would drop, since I was not prepared at all. But I stayed up into the wee hours studying anyway and left it to fate.
The result: my highest exam score yet. Wha-wha? I love and hate it when that happens. Loved the pleasant surprise and ego boost. Hate the devil on my shoulder saying "See, this is the way to do it. Don't study that much, just cram a little bit and you'll ace the class." Because that is b-a-d. Really bad because my final is next week, and no matter which way I cut it, cramming for a final the day before is not a good idea. Luck is a huge factor - several answers were guesses, and I lucked out that I was right.
This afternoon I was sitting outside the Science Center (for those of you who know it). There is a fountain surrounded by large rocks where people often sit in the area outside the building. It is especially crowded in the summertime. So today, as I sat soaking in some sunlight in the afternoon, I observed what I thought to be a truly interesting scene:
There was a conservative Muslim family. The woman was wearing a hijab, and her husband and toddler were by her side. They were speaking either Turkish or Farsi. Not even five feet away, was a young lesbian couple. Making out. I mean, making out. Not pecks or cuddling. Full blown going at it. Which was a little strange - not because they were lesbians, but because that kind of making out hasn't been seen on a Harvard campus since ... well, ever.
The most fascinating thing was watching the Muslim woman watch the lesbians. I wish you could have seen her face. It was captivated disgust. Her eyes were wide and her head was shaking side to side; she muttered what I can only imagine as words of utter vexation to her husband and shielded her baby from the sight. And the girls kept making out. (And guys, I hate to burst any sort of fantasy bubbles - but this was no porn-star convention. It was more the granola / I heart Sylvia Plath convention.)
I found the juxtaposition of the two to be thoroughly intriguing. Only in America folks. All things to all people. Especially new immigrants and what my educated guess says was two high school girls here for summer classes exploring their sexuality. Because only people in the infant stages of a relationship and necessarily under the age of 21 could ever indulge in such an extended PDA.
On a slight tangent, a few weeks ago a good friend and I had gone out to dinner in NYC. Rue des Crepes, quite good actually. Anyway, both my friend and I forgot that the restaurant was smack dab in the middle of Chelsea when deciding on our venue. It was only when I saw that I was the only female in the restaurant that I became aware of our surrounding neighborhood. Chelsea is great - it's a very gay neighborhood and all couples - gay, straight, whatever, walk hand in hand. Later that night I was telling my mom about the restaurant and the neighborhood. She's the cutest. She said "Really? I don't believe it. Take me there someday, I really want to see it." Jeez mom, it's not like Disneyworld! Though I have to think from her perspective, she really has never seen anything like that, you know? Somethings that I take for granted are so dependent on culture and generation.
Mi hermano is in town for the day, which is fun. We had a very lazy day that included going to the post office, the book store and of course, Dunkin Donuts (though I was disappointed by their "New Lattes!" I still like Starbucks.) Perhaps we will go to the movies tonight. Perhaps not.
Will I ever get married? I bought them a saucepan as a gift? If I ever get married I'm registering for a lifetime supply of Snickers Bars. I don't even have a boyfriend. Or a saucepan. Man I gotta get me some kids. I can't figure out my own life. Or even my laundry situation. Boy the bride looks pretty. How are they so calm? They just got married!! EEE!
But a lovely, lovely affair. I really adore the couple and they are going to be living in Boston next year, so they can officially be my first real married friends that are my age.
I returned back on Sunday and cracked open my notes to take a first peek at the information I was going to be tested on Monday morning. Last minute cramming, nothing like it. We are allowed to drop one of our exams so I assumed this would be the exam I would drop, since I was not prepared at all. But I stayed up into the wee hours studying anyway and left it to fate.
The result: my highest exam score yet. Wha-wha? I love and hate it when that happens. Loved the pleasant surprise and ego boost. Hate the devil on my shoulder saying "See, this is the way to do it. Don't study that much, just cram a little bit and you'll ace the class." Because that is b-a-d. Really bad because my final is next week, and no matter which way I cut it, cramming for a final the day before is not a good idea. Luck is a huge factor - several answers were guesses, and I lucked out that I was right.
This afternoon I was sitting outside the Science Center (for those of you who know it). There is a fountain surrounded by large rocks where people often sit in the area outside the building. It is especially crowded in the summertime. So today, as I sat soaking in some sunlight in the afternoon, I observed what I thought to be a truly interesting scene:
There was a conservative Muslim family. The woman was wearing a hijab, and her husband and toddler were by her side. They were speaking either Turkish or Farsi. Not even five feet away, was a young lesbian couple. Making out. I mean, making out. Not pecks or cuddling. Full blown going at it. Which was a little strange - not because they were lesbians, but because that kind of making out hasn't been seen on a Harvard campus since ... well, ever.
The most fascinating thing was watching the Muslim woman watch the lesbians. I wish you could have seen her face. It was captivated disgust. Her eyes were wide and her head was shaking side to side; she muttered what I can only imagine as words of utter vexation to her husband and shielded her baby from the sight. And the girls kept making out. (And guys, I hate to burst any sort of fantasy bubbles - but this was no porn-star convention. It was more the granola / I heart Sylvia Plath convention.)
I found the juxtaposition of the two to be thoroughly intriguing. Only in America folks. All things to all people. Especially new immigrants and what my educated guess says was two high school girls here for summer classes exploring their sexuality. Because only people in the infant stages of a relationship and necessarily under the age of 21 could ever indulge in such an extended PDA.
On a slight tangent, a few weeks ago a good friend and I had gone out to dinner in NYC. Rue des Crepes, quite good actually. Anyway, both my friend and I forgot that the restaurant was smack dab in the middle of Chelsea when deciding on our venue. It was only when I saw that I was the only female in the restaurant that I became aware of our surrounding neighborhood. Chelsea is great - it's a very gay neighborhood and all couples - gay, straight, whatever, walk hand in hand. Later that night I was telling my mom about the restaurant and the neighborhood. She's the cutest. She said "Really? I don't believe it. Take me there someday, I really want to see it." Jeez mom, it's not like Disneyworld! Though I have to think from her perspective, she really has never seen anything like that, you know? Somethings that I take for granted are so dependent on culture and generation.
Mi hermano is in town for the day, which is fun. We had a very lazy day that included going to the post office, the book store and of course, Dunkin Donuts (though I was disappointed by their "New Lattes!" I still like Starbucks.) Perhaps we will go to the movies tonight. Perhaps not.
Friday, August 06, 2004
frenemy-bee
I like the word frenemy. I can't remember where I heard it first; my educated guess is a Sex in the City episode. It's relatively self-explanatory if you haven't heard it before; simply someone who is half friend, half enemy (60/40, but I would make the absolute cutoff 70/30, with 30% being enemy). You might be "friends" with this person for a number of reasons. You were stranded on a desert island together ... you shared a house, a job, a pizza, a last name. A first name.
I ran into someone I could classify into that bucket recently. It consisted mostly of small talk, but post-conversation, I wondered "why do I feel vaguely annoyed?" Nothing happened, but there is always a strange, almost sinister tone to the interaction. Remarks such as "Oh, I was at this party and ran into Bob. He's such a funny guy." When both of you know full well that Bob is someone best left unmentioned.
Warning: Stream of Consciousness disaster ahead.
There is no Bob, I'm just trying to explain is all. Now in my head I'm imaging who Bob is. Tall dark and handsome? Bob doesn't really cut it. Curtis maybe? My brain is jumbled. Today in class we learned the Curtis reaction. But it's spelled curt-i-us. And I thought "Well Curtis sure is courteous!" Niftly little mnemonic, huh? Though I didn't really need to remember the name of the reaction, just the reaction itself.
Mnemonic was the word that Stephanie Tanner got wrong in the Spelling Bee episode of Full House. Did I tell you I watched Spellbound last week? Wow. What a fantastic film! Go watch it right now, especially if you are a) a geek or b) Indian. Though as we all know, those are not mutually exclusive. It's really fascinating actually ... and it made me flash back to my overly precocious childhood and various math/science/nerd competitions. Watching these kids deal with the intense pressure - both parental and self-inflicted, really makes you wonder. Discipline is good, but so is a childhood.
That being said, the movie is so funny! Watch it!
OK, I'm going to go attempt to reclaim a bit of sanity. Strange morning. I had weird dreams, but I couldn't remember what they were about. I just felt very discombobulated when I woke up, and it has extended to the afternoon. Speaking of discombobulated, remember Bob?
I ran into someone I could classify into that bucket recently. It consisted mostly of small talk, but post-conversation, I wondered "why do I feel vaguely annoyed?" Nothing happened, but there is always a strange, almost sinister tone to the interaction. Remarks such as "Oh, I was at this party and ran into Bob. He's such a funny guy." When both of you know full well that Bob is someone best left unmentioned.
Warning: Stream of Consciousness disaster ahead.
There is no Bob, I'm just trying to explain is all. Now in my head I'm imaging who Bob is. Tall dark and handsome? Bob doesn't really cut it. Curtis maybe? My brain is jumbled. Today in class we learned the Curtis reaction. But it's spelled curt-i-us. And I thought "Well Curtis sure is courteous!" Niftly little mnemonic, huh? Though I didn't really need to remember the name of the reaction, just the reaction itself.
Mnemonic was the word that Stephanie Tanner got wrong in the Spelling Bee episode of Full House. Did I tell you I watched Spellbound last week? Wow. What a fantastic film! Go watch it right now, especially if you are a) a geek or b) Indian. Though as we all know, those are not mutually exclusive. It's really fascinating actually ... and it made me flash back to my overly precocious childhood and various math/science/nerd competitions. Watching these kids deal with the intense pressure - both parental and self-inflicted, really makes you wonder. Discipline is good, but so is a childhood.
That being said, the movie is so funny! Watch it!
OK, I'm going to go attempt to reclaim a bit of sanity. Strange morning. I had weird dreams, but I couldn't remember what they were about. I just felt very discombobulated when I woke up, and it has extended to the afternoon. Speaking of discombobulated, remember Bob?
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
can i call you back in a minute?
After class today I went to the restroom in the building. It's a pretty busy restroom, as far as they go. Typical public utilitarian type thing. So, as I'm in the stall, the cell phone of the person in the stall next to me goes off. I'm always surprised when people answer their phones when they are really in inconvenient places. Needless to say, she answered her phone.
"Hello? Oh yes, how are you? (in very professional voice. obviously this was not a friend) Can I call you back in two minutes? I'm just parking my car."
Parking your car? Interesting excuse. You are parking your car in the bathroom. What if the person on the other end heard one of the twenty toilets flush? Would you tell him your car was actually an RV? Or that you just drove by a port-o-potty?
My question is why did she answer in the first place? Rule numero uno of cell phones, or any phone call for that matter. If you can't answer, let them leave a message! I love voicemail; it should be up there as one of top 10 (20, 100?) inventions of the last century. I am sure I'm guilty of doing it sometime - answering the phone when I know I can't talk and asking the person on the other end if I can call back. But more often than not, I don't answer when I can't talk. It's efficient. I'm all about cutting out the middleman, or the non-conversation as it would be in this case.
So that is all that was really interesting today, which is not saying much. I had lab again which just ended. We finished in a reasonable amount of time, so my partner and I were both happy. As we were packing up, she said "I'm so excited we finished early, now I can go home and sleep!" She kind of raised her hand in what I thought was a high five gesture. So I went to give her a high-five. But I missed the boat on that one; she was just kind of doing a weird-one-handed-celebration wave. Has that ever happened to you? Misjudging a potential high-five? It's pretty humiliating. Few things can make a brown person go red; but that sure is one of 'em.
Question of the moment: Go home or go to the library for an hour? It's 10:00 PM (do you know where your children are?) Hmm. I really should go study; I have had no idea what the heck has been going on in class for the last 3 days.
"Hello? Oh yes, how are you? (in very professional voice. obviously this was not a friend) Can I call you back in two minutes? I'm just parking my car."
Parking your car? Interesting excuse. You are parking your car in the bathroom. What if the person on the other end heard one of the twenty toilets flush? Would you tell him your car was actually an RV? Or that you just drove by a port-o-potty?
My question is why did she answer in the first place? Rule numero uno of cell phones, or any phone call for that matter. If you can't answer, let them leave a message! I love voicemail; it should be up there as one of top 10 (20, 100?) inventions of the last century. I am sure I'm guilty of doing it sometime - answering the phone when I know I can't talk and asking the person on the other end if I can call back. But more often than not, I don't answer when I can't talk. It's efficient. I'm all about cutting out the middleman, or the non-conversation as it would be in this case.
So that is all that was really interesting today, which is not saying much. I had lab again which just ended. We finished in a reasonable amount of time, so my partner and I were both happy. As we were packing up, she said "I'm so excited we finished early, now I can go home and sleep!" She kind of raised her hand in what I thought was a high five gesture. So I went to give her a high-five. But I missed the boat on that one; she was just kind of doing a weird-one-handed-celebration wave. Has that ever happened to you? Misjudging a potential high-five? It's pretty humiliating. Few things can make a brown person go red; but that sure is one of 'em.
Question of the moment: Go home or go to the library for an hour? It's 10:00 PM (do you know where your children are?) Hmm. I really should go study; I have had no idea what the heck has been going on in class for the last 3 days.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
this keyboard sucks
Have you ever had to type on a computer with a keyboard that doesn't work very well? It's really quite aggravating. A few keys are stuck so you have to press extra-hard, which itself unleashes anger. It's a slipperly slope I tell ya. On this one, the "t" key (that took some effort) is not working. The is coming out as he. And the return and space bar are stuck too, which is like salt on a wound. Now I look like some crazy stressed out student pounding away at the keyboard. Or is that what I have become - crazy and using the keyboard as a scapegoat? I'll let you decide.
I have two very girly and totally superficial issues to deal with. First, my nails have grown nice and pretty. But long nails are really annoying. It's so hard to type! But they look so purty. For all the ladies in the house (who got real hair, real fingernails ... heehee) - you know the drill. Manicures require upkeep. And I ain't got that kinda money or time. But last week I had a french manicure and I was in love with my hands. I kept staring at them. And I seriously OD'd on hand gestures while speaking to people. But now, no manicure, and I'm jonesing ... what to do? Fish or cut bait (or nails in this case?). I think I will go for the tried and true method - if any of my nails break soon I will cut them. But if they stay intact until Thursday, I will get a manicure.
Similarly, my hair is long. It took me a heck of a long time to get it this long. But if you think nails are a hassle, don't even get me started on hair. Why does my hair require the better part of the morning to dry? Even if I've spent most of my morning blow-drying? The back is still wet. And all messed up frizzy wavy probably has some twigs and bird eggs in there .... Hmph. And I look at all the cute short haircuts all these teeny-weeny college aged girls are sporting. How Cosmo! And I could use hair-wax and be trendy. (Though I did buy some hair wax at one point and try to use it. All it did was make it look like I dipped my head in margarine).
So should I cut my hair? If I do I'll cut it short because I am all about the shock factor. But then I will have to deal with the haircut paradox: your hair will only look good for two days post your new haircut. Then you will wish that you never cut it in the first place.
Am I really this vain? (Don't answer that). I am thinking about it a bit more than usual because I'm going to a wedding this weekend and want to make sure I look presentable. As I previously discussed, being back in school has made even color coordination an option, not a necessity.
I'm going to kill this keyboard. tttttttttttttttttttttttttttTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTttttttttttttt. There.
ps: Now to all the brotha's in the place, that don't give a damn about what them ladies talking about, cuz you just trying to get chummy ... Make some noise!
I have two very girly and totally superficial issues to deal with. First, my nails have grown nice and pretty. But long nails are really annoying. It's so hard to type! But they look so purty. For all the ladies in the house (who got real hair, real fingernails ... heehee) - you know the drill. Manicures require upkeep. And I ain't got that kinda money or time. But last week I had a french manicure and I was in love with my hands. I kept staring at them. And I seriously OD'd on hand gestures while speaking to people. But now, no manicure, and I'm jonesing ... what to do? Fish or cut bait (or nails in this case?). I think I will go for the tried and true method - if any of my nails break soon I will cut them. But if they stay intact until Thursday, I will get a manicure.
Similarly, my hair is long. It took me a heck of a long time to get it this long. But if you think nails are a hassle, don't even get me started on hair. Why does my hair require the better part of the morning to dry? Even if I've spent most of my morning blow-drying? The back is still wet. And all messed up frizzy wavy probably has some twigs and bird eggs in there .... Hmph. And I look at all the cute short haircuts all these teeny-weeny college aged girls are sporting. How Cosmo! And I could use hair-wax and be trendy. (Though I did buy some hair wax at one point and try to use it. All it did was make it look like I dipped my head in margarine).
So should I cut my hair? If I do I'll cut it short because I am all about the shock factor. But then I will have to deal with the haircut paradox: your hair will only look good for two days post your new haircut. Then you will wish that you never cut it in the first place.
Am I really this vain? (Don't answer that). I am thinking about it a bit more than usual because I'm going to a wedding this weekend and want to make sure I look presentable. As I previously discussed, being back in school has made even color coordination an option, not a necessity.
I'm going to kill this keyboard. tttttttttttttttttttttttttttTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTttttttttttttt. There.
ps: Now to all the brotha's in the place, that don't give a damn about what them ladies talking about, cuz you just trying to get chummy ... Make some noise!
Monday, August 02, 2004
insomnia
I am so tired! I didn't sleep a wink last night; the classic example of insomnia ... trying to sleep. Then opening your eyes and looking at the clock. What! It's 2:00 AM! OK, I'm really going to sleep now. 20 minutes later. "I really should be asleep by 3:00 AM." "How is it 4:00 AM?"
The funny part is my friend J who was visiting from NY couldn't sleep either! I don't know if we caused each other's sleeplessness, but at around 3:30 I called her on her not being asleep and then we got up and accepted our fate.
So yes, another Monday morning exam, but this time under the haze of sleep deprivation. Hmm. And lack of sleep usually makes my stomach really upset, so there you go.
Other than that it's your usual morning. I flew back to Boston last night and took the T back to Harvard. When I had to switch from the Green Line to the Red Line, I heard the train approaching and booked it. But alas, I watched as the train pulled out of the station, and shared the "Well that sucks!" look with my fellow sprinters.
A man who was about 50, slightly pudgy with graying hair said to me "How did you know to run for the train? I saw you running and thought you must have ESP." What? I told him I heard the train so that's how I knew (I was absent the day ESP about trains was being doled out). Anyway, so I thought that was that. Sometimes you just don't want people bugging you, especially when you are tired and in no position to make small talk.
I pulled out my notebook on the platform and started reviewing. He came closer, leaned over and said "That looks like Biochemistry 110." I smiled and said "Oh, haha, no it's Organic Chemistry." He said "Chem 20?" Oh boy, he's some sort of Harvard affiliate. I responded, "No, it's the summer course, s-20." "Right, right, s-20. So, what does that say in your notes over there - no O-L?"
What? He's reading my notes and asking stuff? I said, "Oh, that just says no -OH, alcohol."
"Right right."
I asked if he was a professor. Negatory. A scientist? Nope. He didn't offer anything, so I stopped asking. Then, he points across the platform at a girl in a Harvard tee-shirt and says "I hate it when just any person wears a Harvard tee-shirt. They sell them at every nickel-and-dime store around."
WHAT? Not only is this man socially awkward, he's a total snob.
I kindly nodded. He gestured toward his bag and said "I've got my 25th reunion tee-shirt in here" -- with a look suggesting that he and I were co-conspirators in some odd mystery. Whatever buddy. Luckily the train arrived and I hopped on away from him.
Is it me? Do I have some kind of look that says "Please come by and start awkward conversations, I'm always game!"? I don't know. Maybe I should stop smiling so much at people.
The funny part is my friend J who was visiting from NY couldn't sleep either! I don't know if we caused each other's sleeplessness, but at around 3:30 I called her on her not being asleep and then we got up and accepted our fate.
So yes, another Monday morning exam, but this time under the haze of sleep deprivation. Hmm. And lack of sleep usually makes my stomach really upset, so there you go.
Other than that it's your usual morning. I flew back to Boston last night and took the T back to Harvard. When I had to switch from the Green Line to the Red Line, I heard the train approaching and booked it. But alas, I watched as the train pulled out of the station, and shared the "Well that sucks!" look with my fellow sprinters.
A man who was about 50, slightly pudgy with graying hair said to me "How did you know to run for the train? I saw you running and thought you must have ESP." What? I told him I heard the train so that's how I knew (I was absent the day ESP about trains was being doled out). Anyway, so I thought that was that. Sometimes you just don't want people bugging you, especially when you are tired and in no position to make small talk.
I pulled out my notebook on the platform and started reviewing. He came closer, leaned over and said "That looks like Biochemistry 110." I smiled and said "Oh, haha, no it's Organic Chemistry." He said "Chem 20?" Oh boy, he's some sort of Harvard affiliate. I responded, "No, it's the summer course, s-20." "Right, right, s-20. So, what does that say in your notes over there - no O-L?"
What? He's reading my notes and asking stuff? I said, "Oh, that just says no -OH, alcohol."
"Right right."
I asked if he was a professor. Negatory. A scientist? Nope. He didn't offer anything, so I stopped asking. Then, he points across the platform at a girl in a Harvard tee-shirt and says "I hate it when just any person wears a Harvard tee-shirt. They sell them at every nickel-and-dime store around."
WHAT? Not only is this man socially awkward, he's a total snob.
I kindly nodded. He gestured toward his bag and said "I've got my 25th reunion tee-shirt in here" -- with a look suggesting that he and I were co-conspirators in some odd mystery. Whatever buddy. Luckily the train arrived and I hopped on away from him.
Is it me? Do I have some kind of look that says "Please come by and start awkward conversations, I'm always game!"? I don't know. Maybe I should stop smiling so much at people.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
yog-ow
Last night I made it to a yoga class, in an attempt to alleviate my recent bouts of unexpainable exhaustion. Yoga is an interesting art form. It's spiritual and physical; it doesn't require significant power but offers strength, flexibility and relaxation. And I have yet to find anything that helps with back pain as much as yoga - it's truly amazing. Sounds like a good deal, right? Sign me up!
One issue I have with yoga classes is that I cannot concentrate when it's time for the meditation and relaxation part. Maybe I have ADD, but I can't zone out when they tell you to listen to your heart, breath, etc. I can't relax. A million things always run through my head, and then I become aware of the fact that I am unable to zone out and then I think about that. It's very similar to the insomnia cycle, when you realize you can't fall asleep and then you think about not being able to fall asleep.
Perhaps it's me, but I find that some yoga instructors act a bit too new-age lalalala transcendental. It seems slightly overdone; faux-deepness. Let's all relax and thank the earth for our every breath, for birds and trees. Now pay me $20 and go back to consulting/banking/partying/being American.
At home, I sometimes watch yoga shows on the Indian TV Channels my parents get (yay Zee-TV and Sony Entertainment Television!) It's so different. First of all, the yogis are usually older men. And they are truly amazing; they exude such a mastery of the art and command so much respect. Going to a class taught by some very bubbly 20-year-old after that loses a little something. Don't get me wrong; I respect their dedication to the practice of yoga and I am grateful for the fact that they are the reason I can even take a class. But still, there is always something a bit off. When they do the vedic chants in Sanskrit, it's like fingernails across a chalkboard. And Namaste is pronounced NAM-aste not nam-ASTE.
Back to yesterday. The class was described as "gentle", which sounded very appealing since anything that requires too much energy is a stretch for me. The class started off nicely until we started getting into some freaky-deaky poses. FYI, for those of you have never done yoga, some of the poses are oddly sexual. Maybe not so odd, with the whole Kama Sutra and all. But still, no position in which you'd find yourself on any given Wednesday.
So one pose involved us using folding chairs. Somehow or another, we ended up with our feet all the way up on the chair and our butts supported up on some blankets, and foam yoga blocks propping up our backs. I don't know. I improvised the best I could. It felt nice but hurt at the same time. But it was stretching my back, which is always a good thing.
Class ended, and I felt proud of myself for doing something remotely physically active. Things were a-OK until this morning, when I woke up with a big bruise across my behind and noticeable pain when I tried to sit down. Hmph. That's the problem with yoga. You have no idea what the heck you are doing to your body until some delayed physical response kicks in. Sometimes this is good - i.e, my abs are a bit sore too. But bruises on my bum? Funky inverted poses on folding chairs? It was a bit too cirque-du-soleil for my taste.
So I think I'll lay off the yoga for a while, or find a more balanced (normal?) class. There are some classes in NY that I've attended which have been good - they move quickly and spend more time on the actual poses than the relaxation, which I like. Sometimes it seems to me that instructors spend more time on the relaxation so that they can chill out rather than teach.
The thing is, I'm still really exhausted. Other things I am considering: taking up swimming or bike riding. Probably swimming. Because bike riding ... as if I'm not enough of a spaz, let's add wheels to the picture.
Happy Thursday all! It's almost Friday, which means another rendez-vous with the Chinatown Bus. I'm giving it another chance. Though I'm bracing myself, with the DNC finishing tonight ... who knows what the travel situation will be tomorrow.
------------------
ps: Ellen Degeneres had a great monologue about yoga in one of her standup specials ("The Beginning" or "Here and Now" - both of which are *fantastic* - I highly recommend watching them if you haven't yet.) She echoes my sentiments about being unable to concentrate. She says that when it's time to meditate and get to the spiritual place, what comes into her head? "Mama keeps whites, white like the new day ... Mama's got the magic of Clorox Bleach!" Hilarious. There is no such thing as having an empty head - even if you try to clear your thoughts, the randomest and stupidest thing will enter your mind.
One issue I have with yoga classes is that I cannot concentrate when it's time for the meditation and relaxation part. Maybe I have ADD, but I can't zone out when they tell you to listen to your heart, breath, etc. I can't relax. A million things always run through my head, and then I become aware of the fact that I am unable to zone out and then I think about that. It's very similar to the insomnia cycle, when you realize you can't fall asleep and then you think about not being able to fall asleep.
Perhaps it's me, but I find that some yoga instructors act a bit too new-age lalalala transcendental. It seems slightly overdone; faux-deepness. Let's all relax and thank the earth for our every breath, for birds and trees. Now pay me $20 and go back to consulting/banking/partying/being American.
At home, I sometimes watch yoga shows on the Indian TV Channels my parents get (yay Zee-TV and Sony Entertainment Television!) It's so different. First of all, the yogis are usually older men. And they are truly amazing; they exude such a mastery of the art and command so much respect. Going to a class taught by some very bubbly 20-year-old after that loses a little something. Don't get me wrong; I respect their dedication to the practice of yoga and I am grateful for the fact that they are the reason I can even take a class. But still, there is always something a bit off. When they do the vedic chants in Sanskrit, it's like fingernails across a chalkboard. And Namaste is pronounced NAM-aste not nam-ASTE.
Back to yesterday. The class was described as "gentle", which sounded very appealing since anything that requires too much energy is a stretch for me. The class started off nicely until we started getting into some freaky-deaky poses. FYI, for those of you have never done yoga, some of the poses are oddly sexual. Maybe not so odd, with the whole Kama Sutra and all. But still, no position in which you'd find yourself on any given Wednesday.
So one pose involved us using folding chairs. Somehow or another, we ended up with our feet all the way up on the chair and our butts supported up on some blankets, and foam yoga blocks propping up our backs. I don't know. I improvised the best I could. It felt nice but hurt at the same time. But it was stretching my back, which is always a good thing.
Class ended, and I felt proud of myself for doing something remotely physically active. Things were a-OK until this morning, when I woke up with a big bruise across my behind and noticeable pain when I tried to sit down. Hmph. That's the problem with yoga. You have no idea what the heck you are doing to your body until some delayed physical response kicks in. Sometimes this is good - i.e, my abs are a bit sore too. But bruises on my bum? Funky inverted poses on folding chairs? It was a bit too cirque-du-soleil for my taste.
So I think I'll lay off the yoga for a while, or find a more balanced (normal?) class. There are some classes in NY that I've attended which have been good - they move quickly and spend more time on the actual poses than the relaxation, which I like. Sometimes it seems to me that instructors spend more time on the relaxation so that they can chill out rather than teach.
The thing is, I'm still really exhausted. Other things I am considering: taking up swimming or bike riding. Probably swimming. Because bike riding ... as if I'm not enough of a spaz, let's add wheels to the picture.
Happy Thursday all! It's almost Friday, which means another rendez-vous with the Chinatown Bus. I'm giving it another chance. Though I'm bracing myself, with the DNC finishing tonight ... who knows what the travel situation will be tomorrow.
------------------
ps: Ellen Degeneres had a great monologue about yoga in one of her standup specials ("The Beginning" or "Here and Now" - both of which are *fantastic* - I highly recommend watching them if you haven't yet.) She echoes my sentiments about being unable to concentrate. She says that when it's time to meditate and get to the spiritual place, what comes into her head? "Mama keeps whites, white like the new day ... Mama's got the magic of Clorox Bleach!" Hilarious. There is no such thing as having an empty head - even if you try to clear your thoughts, the randomest and stupidest thing will enter your mind.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
magna charta
The good news is I found out that I passed level I of the C.F.A. exam (Chartered Financial Analyst). Woo-hoo, I'm chartered! The word chartered reminds me of the Magna Carta. I know, non-sequitor. Wow, I just realized I have no idea what the Magna Carta was about. One day I'll end up as one of the morons that Jay Leno interviews on Jaywalking. I didn't even get close to passing the Third Grade Test. I remember when I was in either first or second grade, the teacher passed out a map of the US and asked us to color in New York State. I colored in Long Island. Yup. I remember getting the paper back with my error corrected, and all of NY State shaded in. Though seriously, I think I was just ahead of myself.
But yes, it was nice to find out I passed. Mainly because if I didn't I would have been pissed off for a while. Even though I quit my job in finance. Even though this exam will likely have no effect on my life for the foreseeable future. But still, cause for celebration! I bought myself a Snickers w/ Almonds. Very good. Seven almonds in the morning make you smart, ain't that right desi-lok?
Though with the Diet Coke chaser for the candy bar, I'm a little jittery right now. Can you tell?
But yes, it was nice to find out I passed. Mainly because if I didn't I would have been pissed off for a while. Even though I quit my job in finance. Even though this exam will likely have no effect on my life for the foreseeable future. But still, cause for celebration! I bought myself a Snickers w/ Almonds. Very good. Seven almonds in the morning make you smart, ain't that right desi-lok?
Though with the Diet Coke chaser for the candy bar, I'm a little jittery right now. Can you tell?
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
good girls gone wild
On weekday mornings from 9-10 AM and weekends from 10-11 AM FX plays reruns of 90210. Watching the show is one of the many guilty pleasures I allow myself (the others include eating as many Oreos as I want with milk, because I need to get my calcium, and french manicures because I like to feel fancy).
So this past weekend I caught up on some old-school Beverly Hills fun. Before describing the episode, I feel it necessary to pay tribute to the cultural icon that was Beverly Hills, 90210. The show aired in October 1990 when I was in full fledged braces and geek hair (I had a perm. A subject for another post). It concluded 10 years later, May 2000, when I was a junior in college. The finale was a horrendously acted yet appropriate conclusion with the wedding of Donna and David, whose love story, though more of a B-plot, managed to ride out the entire 10 year run of the show.
The drama! The characters! The scandal! Dylan is rich and does drugs. Brandon and Brenda are so wholesome and Jim and Cindy Walsh are The Best Parents Ever! Kelley was so sophisticated with those Warhol-esque portraits of herslf in her room. And so misunderstood by her recovering drug addict of a mother. There was David Silver, the sweet geek (90210's answer to Screech), BMOC Steve Sanders (gotta love him), and good girl Donna Martin (on her Daddy's show because he ran Hollywood. Even at 10 years old I understood that).
But the character that I want to discuss is Andrea Zuckerman. Brainiac and reliable friend Andrea. Editor of the school paper. The girl who had to turn down Yale so that she could remain on the show. The girl I de facto related to, because I had nothing in common with the other characters. Remember when she gave herself to Brandon as his going away present and he turned her down? That had to hurt. And how she finally set her ego aside and agreed to share the Editor-in-Chief position with Brandon? Andrea, you had a symphathetic friend in 10-year old Sophia.
Getting back to this weekend. It was an episode that was taking place during their first year in college. Andrea's RA was her literature professor. So cute in the floppy haired academic way. He asks Andrea out; and they end up sleeping together! Whoa! My hands down favorite scene from the episode is when Andrea confesses her concern to him:
Andrea:
You can't be my lover in the bedroom and my teacher in the classroom.
Skeezy Prof:
Well I guess it's settled.
Andrea (hesistant):
It is?
Skeezy Prof:
Yes. I guess you'll have to find another English professor! (Both giggle and start making out)
I started to think more about the allure of the goody-two-shoes gone bad-girl. Quite an interesting struggle. It doesn't necessarily have to be one character within a specific show, either. I remember the shock of finding out that Jessie Spanow (Elizabeth Berkely) was the lead in Showgirls (click the link to read about the DVD release). The NC-17 rating was so scandalous; the rush of newly minted 18th-year-of-lifer boys to the movie theater remains quite a fond memory.
So who finds the transformation more interesting - men or women? Do men really like the idea of the geek turned stripper? Or is it more the subtle empathetic fascination that normal women experience?
It's probably neither. The Andrea story line was pretty freaking boring. Nothing compared to Dylan cheating on Brenda or Donna Martin Graduates!
Oh, and for your procrasting pleasure, here are some quizzes that test your trivial knowlege (oops, i meant knowledge of trivia) of the show.
So this past weekend I caught up on some old-school Beverly Hills fun. Before describing the episode, I feel it necessary to pay tribute to the cultural icon that was Beverly Hills, 90210. The show aired in October 1990 when I was in full fledged braces and geek hair (I had a perm. A subject for another post). It concluded 10 years later, May 2000, when I was a junior in college. The finale was a horrendously acted yet appropriate conclusion with the wedding of Donna and David, whose love story, though more of a B-plot, managed to ride out the entire 10 year run of the show.
The drama! The characters! The scandal! Dylan is rich and does drugs. Brandon and Brenda are so wholesome and Jim and Cindy Walsh are The Best Parents Ever! Kelley was so sophisticated with those Warhol-esque portraits of herslf in her room. And so misunderstood by her recovering drug addict of a mother. There was David Silver, the sweet geek (90210's answer to Screech), BMOC Steve Sanders (gotta love him), and good girl Donna Martin (on her Daddy's show because he ran Hollywood. Even at 10 years old I understood that).
But the character that I want to discuss is Andrea Zuckerman. Brainiac and reliable friend Andrea. Editor of the school paper. The girl who had to turn down Yale so that she could remain on the show. The girl I de facto related to, because I had nothing in common with the other characters. Remember when she gave herself to Brandon as his going away present and he turned her down? That had to hurt. And how she finally set her ego aside and agreed to share the Editor-in-Chief position with Brandon? Andrea, you had a symphathetic friend in 10-year old Sophia.
Getting back to this weekend. It was an episode that was taking place during their first year in college. Andrea's RA was her literature professor. So cute in the floppy haired academic way. He asks Andrea out; and they end up sleeping together! Whoa! My hands down favorite scene from the episode is when Andrea confesses her concern to him:
Andrea:
You can't be my lover in the bedroom and my teacher in the classroom.
Skeezy Prof:
Well I guess it's settled.
Andrea (hesistant):
It is?
Skeezy Prof:
Yes. I guess you'll have to find another English professor! (Both giggle and start making out)
I started to think more about the allure of the goody-two-shoes gone bad-girl. Quite an interesting struggle. It doesn't necessarily have to be one character within a specific show, either. I remember the shock of finding out that Jessie Spanow (Elizabeth Berkely) was the lead in Showgirls (click the link to read about the DVD release). The NC-17 rating was so scandalous; the rush of newly minted 18th-year-of-lifer boys to the movie theater remains quite a fond memory.
So who finds the transformation more interesting - men or women? Do men really like the idea of the geek turned stripper? Or is it more the subtle empathetic fascination that normal women experience?
It's probably neither. The Andrea story line was pretty freaking boring. Nothing compared to Dylan cheating on Brenda or Donna Martin Graduates!
Oh, and for your procrasting pleasure, here are some quizzes that test your trivial knowlege (oops, i meant knowledge of trivia) of the show.
Monday, July 26, 2004
mind your manners
Another Monday, another exam. I returned to Cambridge last night via the Delta Shuttle (no bus for me for a while). I thought the place would be unbelievably crowded given that the Democratic National Convention started today, but the airport was virtually deserted. No complaints, empty flights are necessarily better than full flights.
Girl #1:
So, I've been having some issues because of the pill.
Girl #2:
Really? Are you on the new one that gives you four periods?
Girl #1:
This morning started off nicely, the alarm woke me up and the radio station was playing Sean Paul. I love Sean Paul. I want to marry Sean da Paul. Some of you know of my love affair with this man. Actually, a while ago a friend of mine and I were discussing how when Sean Paul and I get married, we are going to register at Sean John and Fubu. Yeah. But then I remembered I have a test today. Sigh. I arrived about 15 minutes before the exam started and did some last minute reviewing. But then the girls sitting behind me started a bizarre conversation.
Girl #1:
So, I've been having some issues because of the pill.
Girl #2:
Really? Are you on the new one that gives you four periods?
Girl #1:
Yeah, I'm having hot flashes. I'm having one right now, it's so hot. I hate this. My hormones are all over the place.
Girl #2:
That sucks. My mom is having those because of menopause (and laughs)
Girl #1:
Seriously, ugh, and my cramps. It's so hot! (proceeds to remove sweatshirt)
Sophia's Mind:
What the hell is wrong with these people?
I mean, it's fine for these two friends to have a personal conversation. But there were several people sitting in the same row or very close to them (like me), and neither girl attempted to lower her voice at all. It was almost as if they raised their voices to make a bit of a scene. A really stupid scene, in my opinion.
I am a big stickler for politeness and *appropriate* conversation. There is a time and a place for everything. Rudeness and inappropriate conversation or comments, even from friends, do not sit well with me. "Please" and "Thank You" are phrases that are grossly underutilized.
Last week I was walking down a hallway and went through a set of doors. I noticed the girl behind me had a stack of books in her hand, so I waited and held the door open for her. She literally walked through as if it were my job to prop it open for her. No smile or acknowledgement. Is that a very minor, everyday experience that I am magnifying? For sure. But still, it is behavior like that I can characterize as my absolute primary pet peeve.
Maybe I am a bit too Ms. Manners, but it often surprises me when people lack both common sense and social graces. At Harvard, we had a core curriculum, which mandates a series of courses that must be completed prior to graduation. And I am not being facetious when I say that I have often thought that a requirement of a class in Socially Acceptable Behavior would be a good idea. Especially in pre-med courses; where are these people going to get their bedside manners if they cannot even act normal in non-critical situations?
Girl #2:
That sucks. My mom is having those because of menopause (and laughs)
Girl #1:
Seriously, ugh, and my cramps. It's so hot! (proceeds to remove sweatshirt)
Sophia's Mind:
What the hell is wrong with these people?
I mean, it's fine for these two friends to have a personal conversation. But there were several people sitting in the same row or very close to them (like me), and neither girl attempted to lower her voice at all. It was almost as if they raised their voices to make a bit of a scene. A really stupid scene, in my opinion.
I am a big stickler for politeness and *appropriate* conversation. There is a time and a place for everything. Rudeness and inappropriate conversation or comments, even from friends, do not sit well with me. "Please" and "Thank You" are phrases that are grossly underutilized.
Last week I was walking down a hallway and went through a set of doors. I noticed the girl behind me had a stack of books in her hand, so I waited and held the door open for her. She literally walked through as if it were my job to prop it open for her. No smile or acknowledgement. Is that a very minor, everyday experience that I am magnifying? For sure. But still, it is behavior like that I can characterize as my absolute primary pet peeve.
Maybe I am a bit too Ms. Manners, but it often surprises me when people lack both common sense and social graces. At Harvard, we had a core curriculum, which mandates a series of courses that must be completed prior to graduation. And I am not being facetious when I say that I have often thought that a requirement of a class in Socially Acceptable Behavior would be a good idea. Especially in pre-med courses; where are these people going to get their bedside manners if they cannot even act normal in non-critical situations?
Saturday, July 24, 2004
bad, bad bus
Dear Chinatown Bus,
Why do you torture me so? I was so infatuated with you, what with your $10 Boston-NY fare and a 30 minute stopover at a rest stop McDonalds. But then you betrayed me, telling me the 8:00 bus was the next available departure as I stood at your ticket window yesterday at 5:00 PM. And then not having the bus show up until 10:00 PM, and with limited air conditioning at that. I guess a relationship inevitably gets messier after the third date, but you led me on, please know that. The least you could have done was to be honest, so as to save me 5 hours of sitting on the sidewalk, waiting for you to show up.
Also, was it intentional that you put someone I went to college with on the bus? Not a friend, but one of those "Oh, didn't we go to college together? What's your name?" followed by forced small talk. And did you mandate that this person sit next to me, speaking on a cell phone for a good part of the trip as I tried to sleep, without any luck?
Thanks for the Lite FM though, it helped a bit. Norah Jones and a little "More than Words" never ceases to placate me.
I think we should see other people, or modes of transportation. You'll always be a friend, just not in "that" way.
Sincerely,
Sophia
Friday, July 23, 2004
top o' the mornin
My oversleeping is becoming a bit worrisome - I'm finding it virtually impossible to get out of bed when I'm supposed to. Hmm. I think it's because I'm not taking the best care of myself right now in terms of diet and exercise ... plus I'm not drinking nearly enough water. I firmly believe dehydration is the cause of the most lethargy. But again, do as I say, not as I do. Though I think I will grab my Nalgene bottle from home and bring it back with me. Nothing to round out the jeans-and-fleece wardrobe like a good Nalgene bottle.
So I finally dragged myself out of bed and went to the bathroom to get ready. When I walked into the bathroom, I heard some really loud voices. I figured there might have been people doing yardwork or something in the backyard, but I could clearly hear these voices. I leaned to the window, and then opened the shades.
I was staring smack at two guys on a ladder who were painting the house. They were painting right outside the window of the bathroom. You can imagine my surprise, which only escalated as I realized I was wearing just a towel. What a morning.
After I got ready (I shut the shades and managed to take a shower), I saw one of the painters outside. He was an older Irish gentleman with the best accent. How can you be mad at people with thick Irish accents? It's virtually impossible. He told me that they needed to get into the apartment to paint later that day ... but then he spoke really fast and I couldn't understand a word he was saying. He finally told me to go talk to Seamus, who was painting in the back. I love that his name was Seamus (and I kept thinking about the poet Seamus Heaney - for some reason I had a mental picture of the 10,000 fliers they had posted around campus when he came to speak so many years ago).
So they're going to paint later this afternoon. When I'm riding the sweet sweet Chinatown bus back to my one true love, New York City. I'm going to go get some water. And maybe a slice of pizza. Mmm.
Thursday, July 22, 2004
pete and repeat
Usually I don't like to discuss things that I've previously written about, but I feel like I need to update you all on the status of Vegetable Boy (VB) from lecture. I seriously overslept today again - why is that I can set alarms, even wake up at the time I'm supposed to wake up, and then go right back to sleep, knowing I'll be late? And then, without any alarms, I wake up at exactly the time that will make me 20 minutes late for class. Every morning, without fail, I wake up at 8:10 when class starts at 8:30. It doesn't matter if I went to bed early or late the night before, I will still be late for class.
So I was late. And sat in the back again. Right behind my friend VB. Guess what today's breakfast was? Come on, guess! I'll give you a hint: it involves a can and a can opener. Give up? Tuna. That's right. He opened a can of tuna (is it chicken or is it fish?) and ate it raw with a spoon. 9:00 AM!
The good news is I made a friend. This girl was sitting next to me in class the first time I sat in the back and saw VB. She and I gave each other that "Is he serious?" look. Today she was sitting in front of me, adjacent to VB. After class she got up, saw me and said "Did you see that? Tuna??" We introduced ourselves and decided to sit together from now on for the pure entertainment value of VB.
In other news ... well, nothing. I'm in a bit of an uncomfortable state since I have mosquito bites covering my arms and legs. What, you ask? There are mosquitos in Boston? In fact there are, but they don't drink on Sundays (haha, ok that wasn't funny, I know). Actually for some reason I am particularly prone to bug bites, wherever I may be. My mother's explanation is because my blood is sweet (How cute. Though with the donuts and chocolate obsession, it might not be totally off base). My explanation is more like Murphy's law. If there is one mosquito in all the land, he will find me and torture me.
Yesterday in lab we ran some reaction where the product is supposed to smell like bananas. I was all excited when our final product actually did smell like bananas (though like banana candy, or lip gloss ... not real banana). This is what my life has become; one day getting excited because a stock I picked did well ... the next smelling who knows what chemical with the odor of bananas from a crusty old vial used by scores of chemistry students in years past. Interesting, where life takes you ...
Monday, July 19, 2004
pinkish
Tough exam this morning - one of those where you are rushing to finish the last question when they announce "Five minutes left!" Oh well. I wonder if my attitude toward this class and the exams is too lax. I study until I feel like I get what's going on, but I'm not doing a million practice problems and memorizing every word that the Professor uttered. But the way I figure, no matter how much I study, come exam time, the most important thing is whether you stay calm or freak out. I wonder if I would have done better this morning if I studied more ... but honestly, I don't think I would have. There would have been more pieces of information swimming around my head - all of which probably would have confused me even more.
I'm tired. I went to NY Friday night and caught a late showing of the movie Touch of Pink. No it is not a movie about my blog. It's the story of a gay Ismaili man living in London and the cultural/familial/relationship issues that he faces. The viewing proved to be an interesting experience; I wasn't thrilled with the depiction of Ismailis, or the plot and the acting. I went a little overboard with my criticism after the movie though, and fear I may have frightened people within a five mile radius. Oh well. Though I wasn't a fan, I do think it is worth seeing (but probably only if you are Ismaili or like independent/gay cinema).
I really enjoy independent film, but I admit ... I love me a good superhero-robot-will ferrell adventure. I have yet to see SpiderMan 2 (I didn't like the first one though, but I hear this movie is great), Anchorman and Dodgeball. I want to see I,Robot too, because I have a big ol' crush on Will Smith. I had a copy of DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince "He's the DJ, I'm the Rapper" on LP. The good old days.
Saturday went to a birthday party for a good friend of mine, which was fun. Though where has my stamina gone? Going out is a trip ... it's so hard to stay out late. And all that loud music! Oh boy, bienvenido a lameville. And it wasn't just me this time - my party companions agreed! I guess that doesn't say much except that we're all getting old. Or lame. As I told my friends, my next birthday party will consist of Taboo, Monopoly and perhaps some old school Hide and Seek. Wear sneakers and sweats if you like.
OK I'm going to backtrack and say something about the Fresh Prince album. When I was a kid I did a dance at some function to the song "Parents Just Don't Understand". I was pretending to rap along to it. It was pretty sad. But I am totally mentally transported to that place right now - loving DJ Jazzy and Swans Crossing, wearing leggings with slouch socks and rainbow bangs. At the chorus of the song, my step was to wag my finger (which represented "do not") and then tapping my temple (which represented "understand"). Clever, huh?
Now that I've shared that sad piece of information, I encourage all of you to read the lyrics, and tell me they don't take you right back to 1990. What a touching story. Cue violin music. A boy steals his parents Porsche and gets it impounded, then they beat him up. They simply do not understand.
I'm tired. I went to NY Friday night and caught a late showing of the movie Touch of Pink. No it is not a movie about my blog. It's the story of a gay Ismaili man living in London and the cultural/familial/relationship issues that he faces. The viewing proved to be an interesting experience; I wasn't thrilled with the depiction of Ismailis, or the plot and the acting. I went a little overboard with my criticism after the movie though, and fear I may have frightened people within a five mile radius. Oh well. Though I wasn't a fan, I do think it is worth seeing (but probably only if you are Ismaili or like independent/gay cinema).
I really enjoy independent film, but I admit ... I love me a good superhero-robot-will ferrell adventure. I have yet to see SpiderMan 2 (I didn't like the first one though, but I hear this movie is great), Anchorman and Dodgeball. I want to see I,Robot too, because I have a big ol' crush on Will Smith. I had a copy of DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince "He's the DJ, I'm the Rapper" on LP. The good old days.
Saturday went to a birthday party for a good friend of mine, which was fun. Though where has my stamina gone? Going out is a trip ... it's so hard to stay out late. And all that loud music! Oh boy, bienvenido a lameville. And it wasn't just me this time - my party companions agreed! I guess that doesn't say much except that we're all getting old. Or lame. As I told my friends, my next birthday party will consist of Taboo, Monopoly and perhaps some old school Hide and Seek. Wear sneakers and sweats if you like.
OK I'm going to backtrack and say something about the Fresh Prince album. When I was a kid I did a dance at some function to the song "Parents Just Don't Understand". I was pretending to rap along to it. It was pretty sad. But I am totally mentally transported to that place right now - loving DJ Jazzy and Swans Crossing, wearing leggings with slouch socks and rainbow bangs. At the chorus of the song, my step was to wag my finger (which represented "do not") and then tapping my temple (which represented "understand"). Clever, huh?
Now that I've shared that sad piece of information, I encourage all of you to read the lyrics, and tell me they don't take you right back to 1990. What a touching story. Cue violin music. A boy steals his parents Porsche and gets it impounded, then they beat him up. They simply do not understand.
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
breakfast, anyone?
This morning I woke up 20 minutes before I needed to be in class. After making myself somewhat presentable, I made my way to the lecture hall and arrived a bit after class started. Normally I sit closer to the front (because I am a geek). But today I sat all the way in the back, in order to avoid any disturbance.
My discovery: some freaky deaky people hanging out in the back of the lecture hall.
As the Professor was speaking, I heard some weird noises and a noticed a distinct smell emanating from behind me. I turned around, and was more than surprised at what I saw. This kid was eating Ramen Noodles. With chopsticks. Slurping and all. It was 8:30 in the morning! That classified as the strangest breakfast I'd seen in quite a while. The noodles, I guess I could understand. But chopsticks too? For breakfast?
Though the Ramen Noodle guy did distract me a bit, I resumed attempting to follow the lecture. After an hour, we had a 10 minute break (it's a 2 hour class).
During the break, a guy sitting in front of me opened his backpack and pulled out a can of vegetables. I did a double take. A can of vegetables? (Veg-8 was the brand name, specifically). But it gets better. How was he going to open said can? That's right, ladies and gents, he pulled out a can opener from his backpack. And he hand-cranked that contraption until his can of vegetables opened.
Lecture continued, and Vegetable Boy whipped out a plastic fork and started eating his can of goodies. Which turned out to be peas and carrots in the yucky can water. It was like a car accident on the road - I didn't want to look but I had to.
Needless to say, I couldn't pay attention for the rest of class. Where was I? Who are these people? Have sodium laden noodles and carrots in a can replaced cereal, eggs, toast, etc (all Part of a Complete Breakfast)? Are these people really weird or am I the odd one out in this seemingly post-apocalyptic frozen packaged food filled universe?
These are the doctors of the future. Are you worried yet? I am.
My discovery: some freaky deaky people hanging out in the back of the lecture hall.
As the Professor was speaking, I heard some weird noises and a noticed a distinct smell emanating from behind me. I turned around, and was more than surprised at what I saw. This kid was eating Ramen Noodles. With chopsticks. Slurping and all. It was 8:30 in the morning! That classified as the strangest breakfast I'd seen in quite a while. The noodles, I guess I could understand. But chopsticks too? For breakfast?
Though the Ramen Noodle guy did distract me a bit, I resumed attempting to follow the lecture. After an hour, we had a 10 minute break (it's a 2 hour class).
During the break, a guy sitting in front of me opened his backpack and pulled out a can of vegetables. I did a double take. A can of vegetables? (Veg-8 was the brand name, specifically). But it gets better. How was he going to open said can? That's right, ladies and gents, he pulled out a can opener from his backpack. And he hand-cranked that contraption until his can of vegetables opened.
Lecture continued, and Vegetable Boy whipped out a plastic fork and started eating his can of goodies. Which turned out to be peas and carrots in the yucky can water. It was like a car accident on the road - I didn't want to look but I had to.
Needless to say, I couldn't pay attention for the rest of class. Where was I? Who are these people? Have sodium laden noodles and carrots in a can replaced cereal, eggs, toast, etc (all Part of a Complete Breakfast)? Are these people really weird or am I the odd one out in this seemingly post-apocalyptic frozen packaged food filled universe?
These are the doctors of the future. Are you worried yet? I am.
Monday, July 12, 2004
too much writing
Today was my second exam. It was relatively painless, which was good. But bad in the fact that I really didn't need to stay in Cambridge to study this weekend. I could've partied like it's 1999! But alas, no. I tried to study and read a book ("In Her Shoes" by Jennifer Weiner. Another book to toss into the chick lit genre. I liked it though; slow start but got much better.)
Today in lecture I noticed the girl sitting in front of me had a pink binder, on which she had written "Organic Chemistry." Within a big heart. I wish I had a friend with me in class with whom I could share the evil pleasure of mocking the situation. I'm just imagining if I would have circled my titles on memos and presentations at work with hearts and the like. I can see it now -- "Capital Structure Summary for Company X .... XOXOXOXOXOOX, Hugs and Kisses!"
I had lab again today. Very tiring. We have to write out our lab reports during our time in lab. So we sit there scribbling pages and pages of info. Writing is overrated. I don't like writing lots of material with pens. It's tiring and time consuming. Why write when you can type? It's so much faster. Some notes here and there I understand, but writing copious amounts of information; so unnecessary. Uh-oh. Will this be a major problem if I become a doctor?
Yesterday was a religious holiday of sorts (Khushiali Mubarak to my khoja friends). I went to khane in Boston. Which was fine, but it made me homesick. Would've been nice to be home w/ friends and family. They had sherbat and chocolate cake, which was nice. (Though ... the sherbat was melted strawberry ice cream, which was a bit of a bummer. Those of you who know my addiction to the rose sherbat with crushed nuts will understand my sadness). But the cake was good.
I want to go on a picnic. This will be my next project. Picnic in Central Park. Everyone down?
Today in lecture I noticed the girl sitting in front of me had a pink binder, on which she had written "Organic Chemistry." Within a big heart. I wish I had a friend with me in class with whom I could share the evil pleasure of mocking the situation. I'm just imagining if I would have circled my titles on memos and presentations at work with hearts and the like. I can see it now -- "Capital Structure Summary for Company X .... XOXOXOXOXOOX, Hugs and Kisses!"
I had lab again today. Very tiring. We have to write out our lab reports during our time in lab. So we sit there scribbling pages and pages of info. Writing is overrated. I don't like writing lots of material with pens. It's tiring and time consuming. Why write when you can type? It's so much faster. Some notes here and there I understand, but writing copious amounts of information; so unnecessary. Uh-oh. Will this be a major problem if I become a doctor?
Yesterday was a religious holiday of sorts (Khushiali Mubarak to my khoja friends). I went to khane in Boston. Which was fine, but it made me homesick. Would've been nice to be home w/ friends and family. They had sherbat and chocolate cake, which was nice. (Though ... the sherbat was melted strawberry ice cream, which was a bit of a bummer. Those of you who know my addiction to the rose sherbat with crushed nuts will understand my sadness). But the cake was good.
I want to go on a picnic. This will be my next project. Picnic in Central Park. Everyone down?
Saturday, July 10, 2004
metamorphosis
Fridays are indeed a blessed day when you have a job that doesn't require that you work weekends. Happy hours, shopping and general lethargy abound, with the knowledge that you have a full 48 hours to do pretty much anything. I suppose that is one way in which investment banking and school are similar. Weekends? What weekends? Work, or study. This weekend, I am resigned to the latter. No coming home, since I'm already behind in my schoolwork and have another exam on Monday. Hmph.
But it's not too bad. Just had a review for the exam, and now I have to go organize my notes because I cannot work unless my binder is in order. Yes, I'm a nerd. Even though ... she wanna real man, don't wanna nerd (anybody get me or am I flying solo again?)
So, being back in school has changed a few things. Mainly my wardrobe. I am perpetually in jeans and a fleece. Which, if memory serves me correctly, is the exact outfit I wore all through my undergrad years. Except I wore a red fleece then and now it's purple. And neither are yellow, I had to return that one to its rightful owner.
I walk a lot. I walk everywhere. Becasue Boston is a walking city. And because I shouldn't be allowed to have a driver's license, let alone a car. The hard part was giving up wearing my cute shoes, because they can walk city blocks and the subway, but they cannot take extended activity. I learned this the hard way.
On Thursday I had to go to the Post Office. I totally underbudgeted the necessary time. It took me 45 minutes. 45 minutes! I was in agony in my strappy black platform sandals. I even considered taking them off and walking barefoot for a while. By the time I turned around and made the trek back to my apartment, I decided to buy a new pair of shoes - shoes I can walk in.
Note to self and anyone else who cares: Do not go shopping for shoes when your feet hurt. It's the equivalent of going to a grocery store when you are hungry. You will buy everything that looks yummy. And Guacamole Doritos and Betty Crocker Cheesy Potatoes Mix don't exactly serve any purpose except making you feel gross after eating them.
I digress. Long story short. I bought a pair of comfortable black sandals. OK I lied. Comfortable is a euphemism for orthopaedic. I am a certified loser, and my receipt from the shoe store is my diploma from Loser College. What's happened to me? Ugly shoes, no makeup ... and ... consistently forgetting to wear earrings? Oh man.
The funny part is I still am not totally out of place. Thank you grad students for often forgetting rules of fashion! The danger ... when I return to civilization I must pay serious attention to an upgrade of appearance. Actually, studying all the time also makes it hard to converse with people, so I do hope I can still remember how to hold normal conversations. Truth be told, that's one of the main reasons for the blog ... even if I don't speak to many people while at school, this gives me some semblance of talking (or at least writing e-mails) to the people I care about.
I'm off to walk. In my unbelievably comfortable new shoes.
But it's not too bad. Just had a review for the exam, and now I have to go organize my notes because I cannot work unless my binder is in order. Yes, I'm a nerd. Even though ... she wanna real man, don't wanna nerd (anybody get me or am I flying solo again?)
So, being back in school has changed a few things. Mainly my wardrobe. I am perpetually in jeans and a fleece. Which, if memory serves me correctly, is the exact outfit I wore all through my undergrad years. Except I wore a red fleece then and now it's purple. And neither are yellow, I had to return that one to its rightful owner.
I walk a lot. I walk everywhere. Becasue Boston is a walking city. And because I shouldn't be allowed to have a driver's license, let alone a car. The hard part was giving up wearing my cute shoes, because they can walk city blocks and the subway, but they cannot take extended activity. I learned this the hard way.
On Thursday I had to go to the Post Office. I totally underbudgeted the necessary time. It took me 45 minutes. 45 minutes! I was in agony in my strappy black platform sandals. I even considered taking them off and walking barefoot for a while. By the time I turned around and made the trek back to my apartment, I decided to buy a new pair of shoes - shoes I can walk in.
Note to self and anyone else who cares: Do not go shopping for shoes when your feet hurt. It's the equivalent of going to a grocery store when you are hungry. You will buy everything that looks yummy. And Guacamole Doritos and Betty Crocker Cheesy Potatoes Mix don't exactly serve any purpose except making you feel gross after eating them.
I digress. Long story short. I bought a pair of comfortable black sandals. OK I lied. Comfortable is a euphemism for orthopaedic. I am a certified loser, and my receipt from the shoe store is my diploma from Loser College. What's happened to me? Ugly shoes, no makeup ... and ... consistently forgetting to wear earrings? Oh man.
The funny part is I still am not totally out of place. Thank you grad students for often forgetting rules of fashion! The danger ... when I return to civilization I must pay serious attention to an upgrade of appearance. Actually, studying all the time also makes it hard to converse with people, so I do hope I can still remember how to hold normal conversations. Truth be told, that's one of the main reasons for the blog ... even if I don't speak to many people while at school, this gives me some semblance of talking (or at least writing e-mails) to the people I care about.
I'm off to walk. In my unbelievably comfortable new shoes.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
student beware
Hola everyone. Week 2 of school has proven to be almost as much fun as a root canal. The material proceeded to morph into a new level of difficulty, and several experiences seriously irked me. (Surprise surprise, more things I find annoying. I guess I do complain a lot. Maybe I should stop. Nah, I can't. I'll still think it, but then just berate myself for thinking it. Might as well save myself the masochism).
OK, so first ... I had a section leader that I didn't follow to well. I'm not about to pretend that I have no options and just duke it out. This is hard material, and harder for me because it still takes me a while to remember basic chemical phenomena that come so easily to students who are fresh in their learning process. So I started attending another class, which moved at a slower pace and was much more beneficial.
The problem: my exams still go to the "assigned" section leader. First I was a bit nervous to approach him and say "I stopped going to your class, please give me my exam." But again, no time for niceties. I approached him today and asked for my exam.
And he was mean to me :(
He asked whose section I was attending. Then he said my exam is probably in his bag, but "whatever." And then he said "Your name doesn't sound familiar, I don't even know if I have your exam."
HOW RUDE. OK buddy, I'm sorry I don't come to your class. But DO NOT say such things and make my heart skip a beat. You have my exam. It's in your damn bag. But then he just walked away. I called after him "Should I e-mail you with my name so you can get my exam?" He just walked away.
Knot in my stomach. I know I'm overreacting, but seriously. It's not a big deal on either end, so why'd he have to make it difficult? Grr.
OK, 'nuff about that. First lab experience yesterday and didn't blow myself up. That's good. You will not believe some of the things I realized we needed to do.
1) Use a lab notebook that has duplicate pages, and use carbon paper to make copies. Carbon paper. Carbon paper?! What? What century is this? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Do people even know what carbon paper is? Basically you write your notes and observations, and then hand in the carbon paper copy to the lab TF.
Um, why not just go make a copy of it and turn it in? Like on a copy machine? Or am I missing something?
The last time I used carbon paper was in kindergarten. I distinctly remember this. There was no copy machine in the elementary school, and the principal's office had a ditto machine. Am I dating myself or does anyone remember the ditto machine? It looks like a pasta press. You stick in your piece of paper into this roller, and then stick in a piece of carbon paper and a blank page. And you crank it through the press, and, voila, a carbon copy. That's what we used when we wanted to make copies of coloring book pages to keep 6 year olds entertained.
There is NO reason carbon paper should be used in 2004. None. Plus, I didn't even press hard enough so my carbon copy was barely legible. So I had to hand in my original for fear that the TF wouldn't be able to read it. Waste, waste ... more waste.
2) I was assigned a lab partner. She just finished her freshman year of college. And boy, was she a little too Martha Stewart turned Orgo Student. She asked me how many significant figures she should write down when we weighed some stuff. And how many significant figures should be in the percentage of something we calculated.
I won't repeat my entire rant from #1 above, but significant figures? What? Huh? So stupid. My rule of thumb: one decimal place is cool, two is plenty. And seriously, what is a sig fig? (I'm down with the lingo after 4 hours in the lab.)
OK, this was a big rant. Sorry to be so negative, this is just all a bit overwhelming and frustrating. I know why I'm here but I feel like I'm underwater. I can see the surface, but it looks blurry. And it's tough to breathe. But this too shall pass.
I hope you all are doing well! I'm going to check flights to NY this weekend. Aggravation has turned into escapism. And no more 5 hours on the bus. Get me out ASAP. But then again, I have an exam on Monday. Hmph.
OK, so first ... I had a section leader that I didn't follow to well. I'm not about to pretend that I have no options and just duke it out. This is hard material, and harder for me because it still takes me a while to remember basic chemical phenomena that come so easily to students who are fresh in their learning process. So I started attending another class, which moved at a slower pace and was much more beneficial.
The problem: my exams still go to the "assigned" section leader. First I was a bit nervous to approach him and say "I stopped going to your class, please give me my exam." But again, no time for niceties. I approached him today and asked for my exam.
And he was mean to me :(
He asked whose section I was attending. Then he said my exam is probably in his bag, but "whatever." And then he said "Your name doesn't sound familiar, I don't even know if I have your exam."
HOW RUDE. OK buddy, I'm sorry I don't come to your class. But DO NOT say such things and make my heart skip a beat. You have my exam. It's in your damn bag. But then he just walked away. I called after him "Should I e-mail you with my name so you can get my exam?" He just walked away.
Knot in my stomach. I know I'm overreacting, but seriously. It's not a big deal on either end, so why'd he have to make it difficult? Grr.
OK, 'nuff about that. First lab experience yesterday and didn't blow myself up. That's good. You will not believe some of the things I realized we needed to do.
1) Use a lab notebook that has duplicate pages, and use carbon paper to make copies. Carbon paper. Carbon paper?! What? What century is this? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Do people even know what carbon paper is? Basically you write your notes and observations, and then hand in the carbon paper copy to the lab TF.
Um, why not just go make a copy of it and turn it in? Like on a copy machine? Or am I missing something?
The last time I used carbon paper was in kindergarten. I distinctly remember this. There was no copy machine in the elementary school, and the principal's office had a ditto machine. Am I dating myself or does anyone remember the ditto machine? It looks like a pasta press. You stick in your piece of paper into this roller, and then stick in a piece of carbon paper and a blank page. And you crank it through the press, and, voila, a carbon copy. That's what we used when we wanted to make copies of coloring book pages to keep 6 year olds entertained.
There is NO reason carbon paper should be used in 2004. None. Plus, I didn't even press hard enough so my carbon copy was barely legible. So I had to hand in my original for fear that the TF wouldn't be able to read it. Waste, waste ... more waste.
2) I was assigned a lab partner. She just finished her freshman year of college. And boy, was she a little too Martha Stewart turned Orgo Student. She asked me how many significant figures she should write down when we weighed some stuff. And how many significant figures should be in the percentage of something we calculated.
I won't repeat my entire rant from #1 above, but significant figures? What? Huh? So stupid. My rule of thumb: one decimal place is cool, two is plenty. And seriously, what is a sig fig? (I'm down with the lingo after 4 hours in the lab.)
OK, this was a big rant. Sorry to be so negative, this is just all a bit overwhelming and frustrating. I know why I'm here but I feel like I'm underwater. I can see the surface, but it looks blurry. And it's tough to breathe. But this too shall pass.
I hope you all are doing well! I'm going to check flights to NY this weekend. Aggravation has turned into escapism. And no more 5 hours on the bus. Get me out ASAP. But then again, I have an exam on Monday. Hmph.
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
remember, this is only a test
Happy belated 4th of July everyone! I spent our nation's birthday studying for my very first orgo test, which I took this morning. How sad. And how easily I embraced the neuroses which go into test-taking. Some precautions included:
1) Abstaining from anything fun, because everyone knows if you have the slightest bit of fun before a test, you will fail and the world will end.
2) Obsessively-compulsively making sure I don't oversleep. This included setting the regular alarm, the alarm on my cell phone, and asking my parents to call me in the morning and MAKE SURE I'M UP. Which they did. While I was in the shower. My mom left three messages between 7:00 and 7:04 AM. They got progressively funnier. On the last message she started to get snippy: "You asked me to wake you up, and now you're not answering the phone. Why do you stress me out like this? I don't know what to do with you anymore."
But don't worry folks, everything went smoothly, as in I got up in time. The test was OK. Harder than the practice exams, as you'd expect, but nothing that made me think "Um, did I walk into the wrong exam?"
The test lasted 1 hour and 10 minutes. The whole exam took about 40 minutes, but I could never leave an exam before the time was up. I spent a good chunk of time on that one question that I kind of knew how to do, but not really. And then I checked. And I secretly got really mad at the kids who finished early, handed in their exams and walked out, sporting the "you're STILL working on this?" look. Maybe not so secretly, because I flicked one off. Just kidding ... but still, that would've felt good.
Exams make you hungry. Was this always the case or is it something new I've discovered in my old age? Damn I'm starving. I'm not on any sort of meal plan, so getting a donut from the dining hall is out of the question (and for those of you actually reading this blog, are you starting to see my obsession with donuts?) And I can't cook for the life of me.
Aha. Finagle. Chocolate Chip bagel. Mmm.
1) Abstaining from anything fun, because everyone knows if you have the slightest bit of fun before a test, you will fail and the world will end.
2) Obsessively-compulsively making sure I don't oversleep. This included setting the regular alarm, the alarm on my cell phone, and asking my parents to call me in the morning and MAKE SURE I'M UP. Which they did. While I was in the shower. My mom left three messages between 7:00 and 7:04 AM. They got progressively funnier. On the last message she started to get snippy: "You asked me to wake you up, and now you're not answering the phone. Why do you stress me out like this? I don't know what to do with you anymore."
But don't worry folks, everything went smoothly, as in I got up in time. The test was OK. Harder than the practice exams, as you'd expect, but nothing that made me think "Um, did I walk into the wrong exam?"
The test lasted 1 hour and 10 minutes. The whole exam took about 40 minutes, but I could never leave an exam before the time was up. I spent a good chunk of time on that one question that I kind of knew how to do, but not really. And then I checked. And I secretly got really mad at the kids who finished early, handed in their exams and walked out, sporting the "you're STILL working on this?" look. Maybe not so secretly, because I flicked one off. Just kidding ... but still, that would've felt good.
Exams make you hungry. Was this always the case or is it something new I've discovered in my old age? Damn I'm starving. I'm not on any sort of meal plan, so getting a donut from the dining hall is out of the question (and for those of you actually reading this blog, are you starting to see my obsession with donuts?) And I can't cook for the life of me.
Aha. Finagle. Chocolate Chip bagel. Mmm.
Thursday, July 01, 2004
acids and bases and models, oh my!
Hello there. So, to be honest, nothing interesting has been going on with me for the past few days. Classes and library time dominate my life. Along with the occasional distraction of building a chemical compound (or a very deformed dog) out of my molecular model set.
Today in section a guy dropped his model set. The pieces went flying everywhere - pure comic relief. I couldn't stop laughing; seriously, this summer is unfolding like one long sitcom.
The girl who was sharing the apartment was asked to leave. So now I'm all alone. I'm hopping on the first bus that will take me to NY tomorrow after I finish class. Everytime I leave New York I realize how much I love it there. The idea of just doing a summer here and returning to NY for the year to take classes seems more attractive every day. I did some research, but it seems like ye old Harvard still has the best curriculum. Hmph. I miss my doorman. And they just built a Dunkin Donuts / Baskin Robbins combo in my apartment building. IN THE BUILDING! While it's probably best that I left before developing a serious addiction, the fact that I would be mere steps from an endless supply of chocolate frosted donuts, coolatas and Puss-in-Boots ice cream (try it - a new flavor. malt balls in the ice cream! genius i tell ya...) would be so great.
That's all. Anything interesting going on with the folks reading this? Call me or write a comment. I'm easily amused.
Today in section a guy dropped his model set. The pieces went flying everywhere - pure comic relief. I couldn't stop laughing; seriously, this summer is unfolding like one long sitcom.
The girl who was sharing the apartment was asked to leave. So now I'm all alone. I'm hopping on the first bus that will take me to NY tomorrow after I finish class. Everytime I leave New York I realize how much I love it there. The idea of just doing a summer here and returning to NY for the year to take classes seems more attractive every day. I did some research, but it seems like ye old Harvard still has the best curriculum. Hmph. I miss my doorman. And they just built a Dunkin Donuts / Baskin Robbins combo in my apartment building. IN THE BUILDING! While it's probably best that I left before developing a serious addiction, the fact that I would be mere steps from an endless supply of chocolate frosted donuts, coolatas and Puss-in-Boots ice cream (try it - a new flavor. malt balls in the ice cream! genius i tell ya...) would be so great.
That's all. Anything interesting going on with the folks reading this? Call me or write a comment. I'm easily amused.
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
the first day of school
Yesterday marked my first day back in school. Everything seems so surreal and comical - an episode of Saved by the Bell unfolding in real life. As is requisite for the first day of anything important, the alarm did not go off. Luckily, I was OK with time and showed up to the lecture hall a good 10 minutes before the class was starting.
It was packed with what I can only describe as members of the Lollipop Guild running around well, like munchkins (note that as soon as I wrote munchkins, I thought, hmm ... I could really go for a donut right now). The class overflowed with young and overeager pre-med campers. I looked around to see if I could catch the frightened eye of another post-bac candidate with no luck.
The professor is a short British man with a Santa Claus belly. He seems nice, and aloof in only the way the Brits know how. He was playing a movement from Mozart's Magic Flute on full blast (Rock on!) before class. I totally forgot about the utter bizareness of academia. A parallel universe, where the real world and all of the events taking place in it are left in never-never land. Anybody read the paper this morning? How 'bout those Knicks? Nada.
But class was class. Lots of administrative announcements, then we started Organic Chem 101. Very basic stuff on Day 1 ... slow enough that I could follow along at least. Some inevitably annoying things happened which I must recount.
1) Quite a few cell phones went off in lecture. Seriously people. How rude.
2) In the middle of class, the professor put up a few organic compounds, as a way to say "lookie here, this stuff DOES apply in real life!" He showed us DNA, glucose etc. One compound was labeled "ethylene glycol" which he proceeded to tell us is anti-freeze.
A girl raised her hand. She asked "Professor, if it's ethylene glycol shouldn't there be a double bond on the second carbon?" Oy vey. Here we go. The memories of overeager undergrads flooded my mind. Images of students scrambling to write every last word the professor uttered flashed before me. Lo and behold ... the anal pre-med ... in its natural habitat. An interesting animal. DO NOT FEED. It only adds to their obsessive-compulsiveness. Dorkus abundus.
3) Class is scheduled to end at 10:30. The Professor was still talking, but at 10:30 people started shuffling papers and packing their bags. I repeat, seriously people, how rude.
So that's school. The rosy picture I had painted in my head while I was working (because you know, the grass is always greener) has expediently disappeared. In its place lies the reality that I need to study and make sure I understand this stuff. That's it. I will not memorize the textbook or even write down what the professor says.
The thing is, after working, you pick up some pretty damn helpful skills. These include time management, making do with inadquate information and remaining calm in most all situations. In class, they provide you with study guides. They tell you what to read, and when, and then they explain it to you. Seems pretty generous to me ...
All in all, I'm not loving it but I realize this is all a process to prepare myself for Big Life Change. Plus, the time exists for me. I study for myself, and that feels good.
I am sharing an apartment with another girl who is an undergraduate. She arrived last night, and we chatted briefly. I told her about my day and how I was hoping to meet other post-bac students. I told her it was harder than I thought because I really couldn't tell if people were "older" or not. My story concluded with "I guess I should have expected that, since in my jeans and tee-shirt I look pretty young as well."
Her response? "Oh no, you look pretty old." Thanks. Biatch.
PS: Harvard Square was closed off for a while yesterday, and fire trucks and police cars surrounded the Holyoke Center. I saw a guy in a bomb-proof suit (is there such thing?) go inside. Apparently there was a mysterious package or some other such offense. But for those of you fellow Crimson Alumni ... Holyoke Center? Heh, yeah right. Because UHS is the center of the axis of evil.
It was packed with what I can only describe as members of the Lollipop Guild running around well, like munchkins (note that as soon as I wrote munchkins, I thought, hmm ... I could really go for a donut right now). The class overflowed with young and overeager pre-med campers. I looked around to see if I could catch the frightened eye of another post-bac candidate with no luck.
The professor is a short British man with a Santa Claus belly. He seems nice, and aloof in only the way the Brits know how. He was playing a movement from Mozart's Magic Flute on full blast (Rock on!) before class. I totally forgot about the utter bizareness of academia. A parallel universe, where the real world and all of the events taking place in it are left in never-never land. Anybody read the paper this morning? How 'bout those Knicks? Nada.
But class was class. Lots of administrative announcements, then we started Organic Chem 101. Very basic stuff on Day 1 ... slow enough that I could follow along at least. Some inevitably annoying things happened which I must recount.
1) Quite a few cell phones went off in lecture. Seriously people. How rude.
2) In the middle of class, the professor put up a few organic compounds, as a way to say "lookie here, this stuff DOES apply in real life!" He showed us DNA, glucose etc. One compound was labeled "ethylene glycol" which he proceeded to tell us is anti-freeze.
A girl raised her hand. She asked "Professor, if it's ethylene glycol shouldn't there be a double bond on the second carbon?" Oy vey. Here we go. The memories of overeager undergrads flooded my mind. Images of students scrambling to write every last word the professor uttered flashed before me. Lo and behold ... the anal pre-med ... in its natural habitat. An interesting animal. DO NOT FEED. It only adds to their obsessive-compulsiveness. Dorkus abundus.
3) Class is scheduled to end at 10:30. The Professor was still talking, but at 10:30 people started shuffling papers and packing their bags. I repeat, seriously people, how rude.
So that's school. The rosy picture I had painted in my head while I was working (because you know, the grass is always greener) has expediently disappeared. In its place lies the reality that I need to study and make sure I understand this stuff. That's it. I will not memorize the textbook or even write down what the professor says.
The thing is, after working, you pick up some pretty damn helpful skills. These include time management, making do with inadquate information and remaining calm in most all situations. In class, they provide you with study guides. They tell you what to read, and when, and then they explain it to you. Seems pretty generous to me ...
All in all, I'm not loving it but I realize this is all a process to prepare myself for Big Life Change. Plus, the time exists for me. I study for myself, and that feels good.
I am sharing an apartment with another girl who is an undergraduate. She arrived last night, and we chatted briefly. I told her about my day and how I was hoping to meet other post-bac students. I told her it was harder than I thought because I really couldn't tell if people were "older" or not. My story concluded with "I guess I should have expected that, since in my jeans and tee-shirt I look pretty young as well."
Her response? "Oh no, you look pretty old." Thanks. Biatch.
PS: Harvard Square was closed off for a while yesterday, and fire trucks and police cars surrounded the Holyoke Center. I saw a guy in a bomb-proof suit (is there such thing?) go inside. Apparently there was a mysterious package or some other such offense. But for those of you fellow Crimson Alumni ... Holyoke Center? Heh, yeah right. Because UHS is the center of the axis of evil.
Sunday, June 27, 2004
flashing back
I arrived in Cambridge today. I can't lie. It feels weird. I am disoriented without the community that I created while I was here. Am I an imposter? Shouldn't I be done with my time here?
I think it's best to recount the day as it unfolded. I decided to take the Chinatown Bus to Boston, but did not buy a ticket beforehand. Noone will be in line for a 7:00 AM bus on a Sunday morning, I reasoned.
Wow. Was I surprised. The 7:00 AM was sold out, as was the 8:00 (on both lines). So I waited for a bit until the 9:00 AM. Right behind two big Russian guys who kept blowing smoke into my face and in front of a girl and her friend who decided to not so quietly pass judgement on the looks of most everyone in line. But the time passed.
I attempted to sleep to no avail. In the row in front of me, a girl pulled out an organic chemistry textbook and her molecular model set. Oh the irony. The boy sitting next to her used this to intiate a conversation about orgo. "Which textbook do you use? I use a different molecular set which helps you visualize the orbitals more easily."
I felt old. And scared ... I can't even remember how orbitals work. How am I going to start a class in organic chemistry tomorrow morning? The last time I took a science class was 7 years ago!
But the ride went smoothly and here I am, in Cambridge. It is packed to the brim with summer school students and their parents. These kids are all in high school. I almost feel bad for them, reflecting on what I know now. After learning that life after college just isn't that much fun, I wish I could tell these kids to stop preparing themselves ad nauseum to get into Ivy League schools.
I'm sure Summer School will be a nice experience for them ... but go travel instead! Take a painting class. Watch TV all day and eat cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I can't remember anything I learned in my classes in school (hence the do-over, I suppose) ... but still ... college courses during your summers in high school? To be brutually honest, I hope they don't think they have a better chance of getting into Harvard because they take these summer classes. If anything, it will just accelerate their burnout once they get to school.
Do I sound bitter? Let's just see how tomorrow pans out. I tried to buy a notebook today and nearly had an anxiety attack deciding over the various options. Heavyweight, college ruled, narrow ruled, 1-2-3 subject ... Oy. I got way too used to using legal pads and scraps of paper working for The Man. Oh, and I didn't actually end up buying one. I think I might just write on the backs of any handouts they give out. That's one aspect I picked up in the real world that I can't force to backtrack.
I miss New York already.
I think it's best to recount the day as it unfolded. I decided to take the Chinatown Bus to Boston, but did not buy a ticket beforehand. Noone will be in line for a 7:00 AM bus on a Sunday morning, I reasoned.
Wow. Was I surprised. The 7:00 AM was sold out, as was the 8:00 (on both lines). So I waited for a bit until the 9:00 AM. Right behind two big Russian guys who kept blowing smoke into my face and in front of a girl and her friend who decided to not so quietly pass judgement on the looks of most everyone in line. But the time passed.
I attempted to sleep to no avail. In the row in front of me, a girl pulled out an organic chemistry textbook and her molecular model set. Oh the irony. The boy sitting next to her used this to intiate a conversation about orgo. "Which textbook do you use? I use a different molecular set which helps you visualize the orbitals more easily."
I felt old. And scared ... I can't even remember how orbitals work. How am I going to start a class in organic chemistry tomorrow morning? The last time I took a science class was 7 years ago!
But the ride went smoothly and here I am, in Cambridge. It is packed to the brim with summer school students and their parents. These kids are all in high school. I almost feel bad for them, reflecting on what I know now. After learning that life after college just isn't that much fun, I wish I could tell these kids to stop preparing themselves ad nauseum to get into Ivy League schools.
I'm sure Summer School will be a nice experience for them ... but go travel instead! Take a painting class. Watch TV all day and eat cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I can't remember anything I learned in my classes in school (hence the do-over, I suppose) ... but still ... college courses during your summers in high school? To be brutually honest, I hope they don't think they have a better chance of getting into Harvard because they take these summer classes. If anything, it will just accelerate their burnout once they get to school.
Do I sound bitter? Let's just see how tomorrow pans out. I tried to buy a notebook today and nearly had an anxiety attack deciding over the various options. Heavyweight, college ruled, narrow ruled, 1-2-3 subject ... Oy. I got way too used to using legal pads and scraps of paper working for The Man. Oh, and I didn't actually end up buying one. I think I might just write on the backs of any handouts they give out. That's one aspect I picked up in the real world that I can't force to backtrack.
I miss New York already.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
invisa-what?
Hello. Today was an interesting day. I question whether to tell you the highlight of my day, because I risk opening a can of worms. Or giving you all some ammo to use against me.
I went to the orthodontist. That's right. See, I used to have braces, back in the day. Oh and did I squeeze every element of dorkiness out of them. Orange and black rubber bands to commemorate Halloween? Sure! Bright pink rubber bands because I only wore bright pink clothes and lipstick in 5th grade? Bring it on! (An aside: the first color of lipstick I ever wore was called "Circus Pink." It was an Estee-Lauder lipstick that came as part of a free gift for something my mother bought. Yes, I swear, it was called Circus Pink. And I wore it. On my face. My brown face. I'm almost recovered from the humiliation).
So, I wore braces and then I wore a retainer. The retainer broke at some point in high school. The orthodontist said I didn't need one, so I stopped wearing it. And one of my teeth has shifted over the years. I've always been annoyed and self-conscious about it, but what was I going to do? Get braces all over again? No thanks.
A few weeks ago I had a dental checkup and asked my dentist what he thought regarding treating the shifted teeth. Should I see an orthodontist? He checked it out and said "A very good idea. Very good." Sheesh. Thanks. I didn't smile for the rest of the day.
But I made an appointment, and went today. A few things:
1) Kids in orthodontist's offices are annoying.
2) I felt like a loser
3) The orthodontist had an electronic check-in system. It was literally like an airport check-in kiosk - but you don't swipe your credit card, you type in your name. How weird? But the kids were all into it, so I guess it makes sense.
4) My mom came with me. See #2.
The orthodontist lady turned out to be surpringly nice and smart. And she didn't yell at me for not flossing or for eating Now-and-Laters (very bad for braces, let me tell you).
She recommended that I think about Invisalign. Have you heard of these things? A series of clear plastic molds that fit over your teeth. You get fitted for a series of plastic molds that slowly shift your teeth into the position you want. Apparently you can't see them on your teeth. And you keep them on 24/7. I don't think so. Like you wouldn't see that my teeth have a plastic cover? Like the plastic cover grandparents have on their furniture so it doesn't get dirty? You know it's there. And you slide all over the place when you sit on that stuff.
But still, I do want to fix my teeth. Or is this something I should just accept as my fate? And to be honest they are not bad at all, it's a minor thing. But in my head I'm convinced it's Bugs Bunny-esque.
See. I did it again. Ammo.
I went to the orthodontist. That's right. See, I used to have braces, back in the day. Oh and did I squeeze every element of dorkiness out of them. Orange and black rubber bands to commemorate Halloween? Sure! Bright pink rubber bands because I only wore bright pink clothes and lipstick in 5th grade? Bring it on! (An aside: the first color of lipstick I ever wore was called "Circus Pink." It was an Estee-Lauder lipstick that came as part of a free gift for something my mother bought. Yes, I swear, it was called Circus Pink. And I wore it. On my face. My brown face. I'm almost recovered from the humiliation).
So, I wore braces and then I wore a retainer. The retainer broke at some point in high school. The orthodontist said I didn't need one, so I stopped wearing it. And one of my teeth has shifted over the years. I've always been annoyed and self-conscious about it, but what was I going to do? Get braces all over again? No thanks.
A few weeks ago I had a dental checkup and asked my dentist what he thought regarding treating the shifted teeth. Should I see an orthodontist? He checked it out and said "A very good idea. Very good." Sheesh. Thanks. I didn't smile for the rest of the day.
But I made an appointment, and went today. A few things:
1) Kids in orthodontist's offices are annoying.
2) I felt like a loser
3) The orthodontist had an electronic check-in system. It was literally like an airport check-in kiosk - but you don't swipe your credit card, you type in your name. How weird? But the kids were all into it, so I guess it makes sense.
4) My mom came with me. See #2.
The orthodontist lady turned out to be surpringly nice and smart. And she didn't yell at me for not flossing or for eating Now-and-Laters (very bad for braces, let me tell you).
She recommended that I think about Invisalign. Have you heard of these things? A series of clear plastic molds that fit over your teeth. You get fitted for a series of plastic molds that slowly shift your teeth into the position you want. Apparently you can't see them on your teeth. And you keep them on 24/7. I don't think so. Like you wouldn't see that my teeth have a plastic cover? Like the plastic cover grandparents have on their furniture so it doesn't get dirty? You know it's there. And you slide all over the place when you sit on that stuff.
But still, I do want to fix my teeth. Or is this something I should just accept as my fate? And to be honest they are not bad at all, it's a minor thing. But in my head I'm convinced it's Bugs Bunny-esque.
See. I did it again. Ammo.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
for the love of e-bay
Yesterday I won my first e-bay auction. I bought a set of Organic Chemistry Molecule thingies. You know, the tinker toys disguised as learning tools, with the price tripled?
I love e-bay. Though my relationship with it has been short, I am definitely head over heels. I checked the site constantly to scope out my competition and refine my strategy. I've heard snippets regarding addiction from various people, and I now I emphatize with them.
But my nascent affection is nothing compared to my fathers. He loves e-bay. More than his family. I often wonder whether he has put the rest of us up for sale. The following interaction, which took place a few months ago, sums up his unhealthy addiction:
I love e-bay. Though my relationship with it has been short, I am definitely head over heels. I checked the site constantly to scope out my competition and refine my strategy. I've heard snippets regarding addiction from various people, and I now I emphatize with them.
But my nascent affection is nothing compared to my fathers. He loves e-bay. More than his family. I often wonder whether he has put the rest of us up for sale. The following interaction, which took place a few months ago, sums up his unhealthy addiction:
Dad
So, I was looking on e-bay, and there is a horse ranch in Atlanta for sale. I was thinking it could be interesting.
Me
Um, what could be interesting? We don't ride horses, or you know, ranch.
Dad
Still, it could be fun to go there, maybe when I retire.
Me
You will never retire.
Dad
I might. And we could have horses.
While that's not the verbatim recap of the conversation, it gives you the general picture. E-bay creates a parallel universe, where all things are possible (and for sale). Time to look for some more books and my current e-bay obsession: an old-school nintendo.
I'm off to Cambridge on Saturday ... the reality of moving and school and career shift has not yet sunk in.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
dog days
Damn it's hot. I moved stuff out of my apartment today. Torture.
Yay for the Pistons for kicking Laker butt. My plans last night continually changed, so I found myself free at 10:00 PM with no place to watch the game. So I walked into a bar. Yup. Just walked in, sat down and ordered a glass of water (because damn it's hot). The drunky drunks next to me started up a conversation. Paul, a 39 year old man and his coworker (though he did get up to give her a backrub - yes a backrub - at the bar) - a pretty Australian girl, whose name I didn't catch. Paul told me his daughter's name is Sophia. Then two minutes later asked me my name again.
The bartender looked like Rick Fox. He finds it annoying everytime people tell him he looks like Rick Fox, so therefore he was rooting for the Pistons.
The music was straight up Top 40 at the bar. One song came on and Paul said "This is a good song. Who sings it?" And the girl responded "Effervesence." When the band is really Evanescence. I wanted to laugh but couldn't. And I keep thinking of Polident, because it's effervescence cleans dentures.
I put up a posting for my apartment on Craig's List. A guy answered the ad and wanted to see it. Of COURSE he ended up being Indian. He didn't even look at the apartment for more than a minute. Then he left. And today he e-mailed me asking if I wanted to get dinner or coffee.
Ugh. What is it with Indian guys? That is a subject that is worthy of tackling in its own post. I'm going to go get some ice cream. Because I might melt.
Yay for the Pistons for kicking Laker butt. My plans last night continually changed, so I found myself free at 10:00 PM with no place to watch the game. So I walked into a bar. Yup. Just walked in, sat down and ordered a glass of water (because damn it's hot). The drunky drunks next to me started up a conversation. Paul, a 39 year old man and his coworker (though he did get up to give her a backrub - yes a backrub - at the bar) - a pretty Australian girl, whose name I didn't catch. Paul told me his daughter's name is Sophia. Then two minutes later asked me my name again.
The bartender looked like Rick Fox. He finds it annoying everytime people tell him he looks like Rick Fox, so therefore he was rooting for the Pistons.
The music was straight up Top 40 at the bar. One song came on and Paul said "This is a good song. Who sings it?" And the girl responded "Effervesence." When the band is really Evanescence. I wanted to laugh but couldn't. And I keep thinking of Polident, because it's effervescence cleans dentures.
I put up a posting for my apartment on Craig's List. A guy answered the ad and wanted to see it. Of COURSE he ended up being Indian. He didn't even look at the apartment for more than a minute. Then he left. And today he e-mailed me asking if I wanted to get dinner or coffee.
Ugh. What is it with Indian guys? That is a subject that is worthy of tackling in its own post. I'm going to go get some ice cream. Because I might melt.
Saturday, June 12, 2004
cookie monster and the commonwealth
Hello All. And by all, I really mean nobody, because I don't think anyone still reads this. Especially since I haven't written in a very long time.
A quick recap of what's been going on with me:
1) I finished up at work (quite anticlimactic, really).
2) I spent a week at home watching TV and occassionally doing some spring cleaning
3) Then a week in Puerto Rico with the family.
I am going up to Cambridge in 2 weeks to take some summer school classes. I will be in a classroom with kids not young enough for me to say that I'm old enough to be their mother, but enough for me to entertain the thought. I'm scared. But I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
Puerto Rico turned out to be a great vacation. The family. And we didn't even try to kill each other during that time. We stayed at the El Conquistador - which I strongly recommend for anyone considering a Puerto Rican vacation. The resort sits on a cliff overlooking the ocean. A water taxi takes you to a private island owned by the hotel with a private beach. Very nice.
The first time I was on the water taxi, one of the hotel employees started up a conversation with me because I was wearing my Oscar the Grouch tee-shirt (which is literally a shirt with a picture of Oscar that says "Oscar the Grouch.") He said "Hey! Cookie Monster!" I laughed politely and told him that it was really Oscar, not Cookie Monster.
So we chatted for a bit. And then he said, "So I guess you have to get back to your boyfriend" and pointed to the other side of the boat where my parents and brother were sitting.
WHAT? I suppose it was an honest mistake. But let's just say, even if I were hypothetically there with my boyfriend, why would either his or my parents be along for the trip?
And lest I overlook the fact that my family and I all look alike! I responded that I was there with my brother and parents. He said "Oh. Gotcha Cookie Monster."
I think there is a way to put pictures up on your blog. I will try and do that soon. I want you all to see pictures of the resort, because it was so pretty, and not very expensive either. I love internet specials.
A quick recap of what's been going on with me:
1) I finished up at work (quite anticlimactic, really).
2) I spent a week at home watching TV and occassionally doing some spring cleaning
3) Then a week in Puerto Rico with the family.
I am going up to Cambridge in 2 weeks to take some summer school classes. I will be in a classroom with kids not young enough for me to say that I'm old enough to be their mother, but enough for me to entertain the thought. I'm scared. But I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
Puerto Rico turned out to be a great vacation. The family. And we didn't even try to kill each other during that time. We stayed at the El Conquistador - which I strongly recommend for anyone considering a Puerto Rican vacation. The resort sits on a cliff overlooking the ocean. A water taxi takes you to a private island owned by the hotel with a private beach. Very nice.
The first time I was on the water taxi, one of the hotel employees started up a conversation with me because I was wearing my Oscar the Grouch tee-shirt (which is literally a shirt with a picture of Oscar that says "Oscar the Grouch.") He said "Hey! Cookie Monster!" I laughed politely and told him that it was really Oscar, not Cookie Monster.
So we chatted for a bit. And then he said, "So I guess you have to get back to your boyfriend" and pointed to the other side of the boat where my parents and brother were sitting.
WHAT? I suppose it was an honest mistake. But let's just say, even if I were hypothetically there with my boyfriend, why would either his or my parents be along for the trip?
And lest I overlook the fact that my family and I all look alike! I responded that I was there with my brother and parents. He said "Oh. Gotcha Cookie Monster."
I think there is a way to put pictures up on your blog. I will try and do that soon. I want you all to see pictures of the resort, because it was so pretty, and not very expensive either. I love internet specials.
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