flat tire

I had a lovely weekend. Well, almost. The beginning of my weekend proved to be very relaxing and fun. I came to NY on Friday night, and spent some quality time with two of my best friends. I saw my parents Saturday. We went to the mall to buy my Dad walking shoes. I feel I must re-emphasize how much I LOVE SUBURBIA. I love the mall. After picking up some walking shoes, we drove on over to the movies and saw Mr. & Mrs. Smith (Two thumbs up from me! Two thumbs down from Mom & Dad. Two thumbs up and four thumbs down. Which I guess boils down to two thumbs down. Damn arithmetic!)

Sunday we went to the mall again. What luck! After the mall my Dad dropped me off so that I could catch the bus back to Boston. It was at that moment that all the goodness of the weekend stopped accumulating.

Given my excessive blogging about the bus, I will keep this short. There were 2 buses: one at 6:00 PM and one at 6:30 PM. I was on line to board the 6:30 PM. The woman shoving everyone onto the 6:00 PM suddenly yelled: "Room for one more on this one! Room for one more! Come quick!"

Here is where I failed to think through my decision. I grabbed my bag and ran to the first bus.

Now, many of you probably would have thought about this, but I let my excitement about getting on an earlier bus get to me. Which seat would obviously be the unclaimed seat on the bus? That's right. The one next to the bathroom. And next to a ... let me say euphemistically ... unclean and unkempt middle aged man. Even so, I was pleased with the fact that I would get home 30 minutes earlier.

The ride was relatively smooth and stinky, until we were about 30 miles from Boston. When we got a flat tire. Our bus driver told us nothing for 45 minutes, until suddenly he said that another bus is coming to get "some" of us. Which bus? That's right. The 6:30 bus which I was originally supposed to be on. Mind you, that bus was FULL. Those of us who got on had to stand in the middle of the bus for 40 minutes until we got home.

It was quite an adventure, but luckily I made it home without further complications. I can't help but appreciate the irony of the situation. Patience, my friends, is definitely a virtue.

I am so smart. S-M-R-T!

Someone had that quote from Homer Simpson as their signature on a medical student bulletin board I have been secretly frequenting. Some people go to bars to drown their sorrows. Me, I lurk in on-line geek boards. And let me tell you, I like it. These people are just as, or sometimes even more neurotic than I am.

Last night our MCAT scores were posted on-line. A few people were keeping vigil starting Tuesday to see when the scores would be posted. These people were all freaking out and sharing their best/worst case scenarios. I am paraphrasing, but I swear to you these were some direct quotes:

• Summary of a conversation between two posters: "I need to relax, I'm so nervous about getting my score tomorrow!" Response: "Go to the gym, take a walk, have sex." Response to the response: "Wish I could, but I'm saving myself for marriage."

• "If I do well, I'm proposing to my girlfriend tonight!"

• "I wrote a Perl script that logs in to the site every 15 minutes, checks if my score is available and then will text message my cell phone with my score when it's posted."

I am content with my score; it was right in the middle of my expected range. I was completely wrong in my assumption of score breakdown though. I walked out of the exam thinking I aced the verbal reasoning, and that I had some problems with physics and biology. My actual score report revealed that I did well in science, and OK in verbal. Which goes to show exactly what I was saying the night before I took the test. English me no good. I better start prepping for that TOEFL, know what I'm sayin?

Overall though, I'm so glad to be done with the anxiety of waiting for my score. There were so many what-ifs: Would I need to retake the test? Would I need to seriously reconsider the schools I had in mind? Luckily, I can take a breath and continue on the path. Not that I'm smooth sailing or anything ... I am struggling with my essay. Writers block is no fun. I really mean it - why can't I just include a blog entry? It's more entertaining than your formulaic essay which begins: "I have wanted to be a physician since I was a mere fetus." Actually, that would be kind of funny.

OR attire

I began working full time at the hospital in June. I don't do much medical stuff, though. I sit in a cubicle. I work on data management. Basically, I do what I did before I decided to become a doctor. Sigh.

It's kind of lonely here. I have no coworkers. They all left / were forced to leave. So I am lonely, Mr. Lonely. Being alone has its advantages - I can concentrate and get work done when I need to. But it has several disadvantages as well. Primarily, I have nobody to eat lunch with. Eating alone is always a depressing activity. Food should be shared and celebrated. Not consumed while sitting alone staring at people in the hospital cafeteria.

My lunch today consisted of a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich. I sat for a minute to eat my lunch, and looked around at the various people in the cafeteria. Obviously, there were hoards of doctors, nurses and students walking around. Two docs wearing scrubs walked past me. I noticed something a little strange about both of their outfits:

They were wearing scrub shirts with a low V-neck. And both docs had a not insignificant amount of chest hair, which was totally exposed. I began to wonder if these guys are aware of their seeming incongruousness. They are wearing OR caps and booties to cover their feet. But their chests are a haven for potential OR contamination. Maybe they wear another robe on top of their scrubs when they are with patients. But still, I would think an undershirt would be called for in such a sitaution.

And that's all I hafta say 'bout that. Being back in front of a computer all day has caused me to scour the web for all sites that can keep me entertained. It reminds me why I started blogging in the first place. Interestingly enough, I have come across a significant number of blogs who share the exact same 'skin' or design of my blog (the pink template and font). So much for uniqueness. Not to be deterred, I wanted to see if anyone else in cyberspace is using the title "Sophia Chronicles."

Indeed, they are. Some couple had a baby they named Sophia and they monitor her every move on their version of the Sophia Chronicles. I can understand that. This, however, is truly weird.

fanatic

I think it's fine and dandy that Michael Jackson was acquitted on all charges. In fact, I think Michael himself is just fine and actually a dandy. He's a strange dude, for sure.

The trial jurors felt that the prosecution had not proved their case beyond a reasonable doubt. I think it's great that they followed the law and weren't influenced by preconceived notions. I didn't follow the trial or details whatsoever, but I did form a completely spurious opinion that MJ is a freak, but that he probably didn't molest anyone.

What I find infinitely more disturbing is the throng of fans who devoted themselves to the trial. Apparently more than 1,200 people waited outside the courtroom and "screamed with joy" and "sobbed" as the verdict was read.

Here are some disturbing snippets from the article:

• One fan came from Arizona two weeks ago to wait for the verdicts
• Another fan (who came from London) commented that she was "shaking" when the verdict was read
• A woman from Las Vegas sat in court for two months to support the star
• A man who describes himself as a lifelong fan "cried like a baby when the verdict was read."
• Al-Jazeera cut from their normal programming (ha, oxymoron) to broadcast the verdict

MJ is a big deal, I get that. But this kind of reaction is unwarranted. And the fans who took months out of their lives and cried at his verdict? I think we need to get some tough love from Dr. Phil to those people ASAP. Get a life.

plunger

I once heard a zen saying which I have since tried to adopt into my daily routine:

Anger without rage

I admit I have a tendency to fly off the handle on rare occassions. And by rare I mean frequent. I realize that getting worked up about little things is a vast waste of energy; therefore I am truly making an effort to be chill about many things. Anger without rage. Say it with me people.

It seems that every day I am being tested on my ability to keep things in perspective. Today is no exception. Perhaps this has happened to you and you may be able to sympathize with me. Perhaps not, but I shall tell my story anyway. Because I want to.

I woke up this morning and went to the bathroom to get ready and shower. I was very unpleasantly surprised to discover the last user of the restroom had failed to flush the toilet. Ewwwww. I tried to flush. Only to realize that the toilet was clogged, and the person who clogged it left it that way.

As I mentioned in my last post, I have 3 male roommates. Two of them are out of town. I mean, I'm no Carmen Sandiego or anything, but I figured out this riddle pretty quickly. The remaining roommate clogged the toilet. So where was he? Not around.

I became more aggravated upon realizing we have no plunger. So in my bathrobe, I went around knocking on random people's doors in my apartment building, until I found a kind soul willing to lend us their plunger. As I took the plunger and headed back to my apartment, I saw the AWOL roommate climbing up the stairs. He looked at me and said "Is everything OK?"

I asked him if the toilet was clogged when he used it this morning. Now, here is the moment where my patience was truly tested. He could have just responded, "Yeah, I'm sorry, I clogged it and ran away hoping you wouldn't figure out it was me who did that." Instead, he said to me:

"It wasn't clogged when I used it last night, but it was clogged when I used it this morning, so I don't know who clogged it."

First of all, let's analyze the statement. Are you in agreement about the serious absence of logic? Second, why are you trying to evade blame? Even if you didn't clog it, why wouldn't you have the common decency to try and unclog it? Instead, he left me to discover the unflushed (and unflushable) toilet. In addition, he stepped out of the apartment for a while only to return. Why didn't he think of purchasing a plunger in that time?

I am proud to say I didn't even come close to yelling at him or flying off my broom handle (hee hee). I unclogged the toilet then went about my bidness, know what I'm sayin?

I must admit I am quite frustrated with my living situation, though. Everyone is really nice, but as I mentioned earlier, some of them are not very clean and nobody takes any responsibility. I feel I am stuck between a rock and a hard place since I am very clean and responsible. If my roommate's don't clean, I do it anyway because I am a neat freak. And if the toilet is clogged, it's a good bet that at some point I will be the one to fix the problem. I am adept at playing the mommy role, but it bothers me when I have to assume that role for people I feel are taking advantage of my personality.

But what can you do? My old roommate will be returning from study abroad in a month. She is a nice roommate. She is even more of a mommy than I am.

I will lament the fact that my apartment has no AC until the end of summer. I came into the office today, so that I could work on a computer to take care of some personal work in a comfortable, temperature controlled environment. With a toilet that flushes.

life on a bus

I need sleep. These last few days have been some of the most exciting, yet most tiring I've had in a while.

First, I went to Toronto on Tuesday and Wednesday for Deedar. For my non-Ismaili readers - the Aga Khan, or spiritual leader of our sect, came and gave a speech and blessings. It is (very) loosely analagous to a papal mass. They estimated that about 60,000 people were there.

The experience was really terrific; it was fun to be part of something so large in both meaning and magnitude. My entire family went. My brother had the luxury of flying up from Atlanta. My parents and I traveled as part of a larger group that went from New York to Toronto via Buffalo, NY. We flew from JFK to Buffalo. Then took a bus from Buffalo to Toronto.

Things I learned from my trip:

1) Jet Blue rocks. I hated Jet Blue for a while since I have lost quite a bit of money on the stock. But now my hate is balanced by my love for their service. DirectTV and chocolate chip cookies made the flight so pleasant, I almost didn't want to get off the plane.

2) Long bus rides are painful. No matter how often I ride the infamous Chinatown bus, I still find bus rides over 2 hours to be very taxing. It's hard to sleep and the bus is especially bad for kids and teens who are easily agitated. The bus had many such kids, and trust me, they were agitated. As a result, so was I. Also, my dad claimed my iPod for the entire trip.

3) I'm getting old. First, many friends and family (along with the little woman who lives inside my head) kept reminding me that this would be a great place to meet a husband. I mean, there must be one within the 60,000, right? My dad continually reminds me that my mom was married when she was 26 (I thought she was 27, but he informed me that she was 26 and a HALF. Who says 26 and a half?). He never fails to add on my favorite kicker though: that his mother was married at 12 ... and that makes me way behind schedule.

Oh, and on the bus, I had the following conversation with a 15 year old whose camp counselor I was when she was 5. I shall call her tweenie.

Tweenie:
"Sophia, do you remember when you were my camp counselor"

Me:
"Yes, I do. That was a long time ago ... I was your age when I was a counselor!"

Tweenie:
"How old are you now?"

Me (mumbling):
"Uh, almost 26"

Tweenie:
"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Me (still mumbling):
"No ..."

Tweenie (with a very big smile):
"I do!"

3) 60,000 people is a lotta people. (Yes, I realize how silly that sounds, but for real. It's a lot). Even amongst so many people, though, we managed to find friends and family who we hadn't seen in quite some time.

On the whole, the trip was really phenomenal, but I hardly slept at all. I returned back to Boston to find my apartment in a sad state of disorder. As of now, I'm living with 3 guys, who have some trouble with the concept of a cleaning schedule. Why are boys so dirty? And yes, I understand that this may be one of those shrug-your-shoulders haha boys are so silly things, but still. I hate it. Follow the freaking schedule. I'm not your maid.

I'm very tired though; it's quite hot now and I have no AC. At least it's Friday!

essayer

I am attempting to write my essay for my medical school applications. This is proving to be even more painful than I anticipated it to be. First, I haven't written an essay since college. And even then, I tried to avoid it as much as possible. I was an Applied Math major, see ... I think if I handed any of my math professors a sheet with words instead of numbers on it they would self-destruct. Just kidding. It's not like I went to MIT or something.

So yes, j'essaie. Which means "I'm trying" in french. Did you know that's where the word essay comes from? It's from the french verb "essayer" which means 'to try.' I think it's kind of funny because "essayer" in English would seem to be a person who is trying to write an essay. Therefore, I am an essayer.

Maybe I'll just print out an old blog entry and send it in. Casual writing, no problem. Forced writing - no can do.

let me guess

Yesterday I went to the gym after work. Sometimes exercising can reinvigorate you. Last night did not qualify for such an experience. I attempted to run but felt tired, so I walked for a bit. Then I hit the ramp/buttblaster machine, but ended up watching "Everybody Loves Raymond" and was so engrossed that I think I just stood still on the machine for a while.

After my half-hearted attempt at raising my heart rate for the recommended 20 minutes, I decided to be even lazier and went to lie down in the sauna. Luckily, the sauna was empty. I sat down and began to relax, when another woman entered the room. Normally in such a situation, you keep to yourself. But she looked at me and said "Hi!"

I responded politely - "Hello."

It's not a terribly big sauna, but there were other places for her to lie down besides right next to me. But that's what she chose. I thought she would close her eyes and try to relax. But she looked over at me and said, I quote:

"Let me guess. You must be from Sweden."

I swear. Those were her exact words. I shook my head and said "No." I then got up and exited the sauna.

Sweden? Of all places, Sweden may truly qualify as the most illogical guess for where I might be from. I am small, dark and neurotic. Not a tall, strapping blond sporting pigtails and waterbuckets. Though, I suppose I do like me some Ikea.

deep throat ... unveiled

The informant from Watergate finally came forward. I don't really understand why this is front page news. Or why he wanted to reveal himself at the tender age of 91. Especially given the evolution of the term "Deep Throat" over the past few decades. Do you really want your granddkids going around telling their friends that Grandpa was "Deep Throat"? Combine that with the mediocrity of teaching history to the country's youth and, well ... that's an ass-kicking for his grandkid waiting to happen.

Though I must admit this breaking-news story did stir up a long-lost memory of mine. We had a mock Watergate trial in my high school American History class. And, you guessed it, I played Deep Throat. Which was very convenient, because I didn't have to do anything except sit there and cite the 5th everytime I was called to stand. Speaking of the terrible education system - this was one of those teachers who gave students he liked good grades, regardless of performance. One of my less-appreciated classmates was cast as a lawyer. He had to do so much preparation and pretty much ran the trial. But the teacher didn't like him too much, and he got a B for the project. Whereas I, who was playing poker on her TI-82 (come on, you did it too) - got an A-. Why I remember this, I don't know. But it supports my theory that history teachers suck. And yes, he was a coach.

I have stumbled upon a thesis for this post without even meaning to. Social Studies, history, etc. is so poorly taught that I think ignorance is now the norm. A few weeks ago, as I rode the bus from Boston to NY, I had the distinct displeasure of being seated near 3 high school girls who were visiting New York City for the first time. They even had a camcorder and were videotaping each other saying "So, tell me how you're feeling - are you excited to see New York? OH MA GOOOD! EEEE! OH MA GAWD!"

Highly annoying.

The highlight of their stupidity, however, occured as we were passing through Connecticut. There was an inlet of water to one side of the bus. A large pond, most likely. One of the girls said "What water is this? Where are we?" And her equally challenged friend replied, "Oh ma gawd, it's like the Ocean. We must be going through New Jersey."

On the way from Boston to New York. With a detour through New Jersey. Yup. Where are those National Geographic Geography Bee kids when you need them? Not on the Chinatown bus, that's for sure.

uh, it's 3:30?

Have you ever wasted an entire day, to the point where you can't even think of one thing that you did? Today is one of those days. I just noticed the clock said 3:30. For real? I mean, I came in at 9:00 AM and began to surf the web and generally stare off into space. But I did not realize that I had wasted a good 6.5 hours until I saw what time it is.

I am allowing myself this mental hibernation for the day, though. I had my last final exam last night - my post-bac is officially over! Now I have to actually apply to medical school. Apparently, the fun never ends. There is something full-circle-esque about this process though; my first blog entry was about a year ago after I had just quit my job in finance and was going to move to Cambridge. And now I live in Cambridge.

My boss is weird. I hope he doesn't discover this blog. That doesn't change the fact that he's pretty bonkers though. He basically fired one of my coworkers recently, for no reason. Really - no reason. He just didn't like him and gave him an ultimatum: quit or I will criticize your every action. Poor kid. Mind you, for the last few months I worked very part time. Maybe once a week, and to sit in on a lecture at that. As part of the ritual chastising of my coworker, he told him: "You should be more like Sophia. She's very proactive and inquisitive."

Huh? Um, no I'm not. Plus, it's tough to be proactive and inquisitive when you're not even there. I don't know why I seem to be in my boss' favor, but I am. Which, conveniently, is how the fact that I was in a complete mental trance today seemed to escape him.

He just came by to 'catch up' with me. It was one of those situations where words (actually, more like BS) - were flowing out of my mouth without any conscious effort on my part. I don't even know what I said to him, but he seemed satisfied with my progress report.

The lights are on, people, but there's noone home.

footsie

I have a final exam in less than 5 hours, for which I am woefully unprepared. I am officially burnt (burned?) out. I tried to study, really I did. I'm trying to study right now, in fact. I came to the library, and brought my computer so I could look up answers and play minesweeper. This has, of course, translated into procrastinating in ways that are just plain embarassing.

I am sitting in an area that has cubicle seats. I stretched out my relatively short legs beneath the cubicle. The result: my foot made direct contact with the unshoed (though socked) feet of the person in the cubicle directly facing mine (though I can't see this person; the cubicle has a dividing wall; sort of like Battleship. I sunk your destroyer. Ha! Take that!).

It is somewhat annoying that this anonymous cubicle mate has stretched out his or her feet all the way into my side of the footspace. What is troubling me is that as soon as I felt this person's foot, I immediately moved my foot away. And I even made an exaggerated gesture of looking under the desk to say "Hey dude. Move your feet." But he didn't. He didn't even flinch. So now I am sitting with my feet under my chair. Very prim and proper.

Someone just came and sat near me. They are eating a Dunkin' Donuts breakfast sandwich. I know the scent. It is my favorite breakfast sandwich. In fact, I had one this morning. AT the Dunkin' Donuts. So that I wouldn't stink up the library with the stench of buttery croissant and cheese and fake eggs. The smell is intoxicating when I am hungry and ordering at the eatery. Ironically, the smell is nauseating when I am trying to study and can hear the person chewing next to me.

Back to studying. Or, at this point, memorizing answers from previous exams with the pipe dream that questions will be repeated verbatim on this year's test.

tomorrow, tomorrow ... i hate you tomorrow

I am posting in secret. The people who used to read this blog likely no longer read it since I said I was no longer posting. But I felt like writing today. Because I need a break. Because tomorrow is a big day. Tomorrow is the biggest day I've had in a long time. The biggest day since quitting my job, at least.

It's the MCAT. Which stands for Mean Crappy Ass-whooping Test. Thousands upon thousands of people will be taking it. A standard prerequisite to the medical school application process. But for me, it means a little more. It represents more than a test - it means that I am really going to medical school. Hell, I better be after all this rigamarole.

The last few months consisted primarily of my butt attached to the dingy yet comfortable seats in Cabot Science Library. I used to study there as a freshman, and I have reclaimed my old parking spot. I doubt that the upholestery has been updated since 1997. Or, frankly, that the library has been vacuumed since then.

While February - April were relatively uneventful, they were still good months. I love my classes, and I can't wait to see where I will end up next year. Medicine was the right decision; I feel more productive and determined than I have in the past 5 years. At first I thought I would get bored of the classes and science, but luckily that did not happen. I've been trying to think of eloquent ways to state the obvious, since I will have to do so when I write my application essays. But it's not a terribly complicated concept:

I like science better than I do finance.

Duh. If I didn't, I wouldn't be doing this. Unfortunately, I need to use more complicated and convulted English to convey the exact same message in my applications. Something about how I need "human interaction" and want to "help people while continually learning about the advancement of scientific knowledge." Average word for application essay: 3 syllables. Average word in my vocabulary: one syllable. Word.

But all will work out. The hardest part, I hope, shall be over tomorrow. Also, for those of you who may not be familiar with the test, here is a 2 second overview:

3 sections. Each out of 15 points, for a maximum possible score of 45. A score above 30 is competitive. 35+ is very good. 40+ is da bomb. The 3 sections are:

Physical Sciences: Inorganic chemistry + physics
Biological Sciences: Organic chemistry + biology
Verbal Reasoning: Reading comprehension
Writing Sample: Essay. To weed out native English speakers vs. non-native.

All the sections are hard. I find verbal reasoning the hardest. Reading is hard. I am a weak reader, I think. My attention span verges on non-existent when looking at just words. I can read maybe a paragraph or two, maximum, before forgetting what I just read. They put some boring passages in the verbal reasoning section. If only they had excerpts of Harry Potter. Then I could pay attention. Who cares to read about the formation of sand dunes in pre-historic Africa. Why don't you put a passage about the Jennifer Aniston / Brad Pitt / Angelina love triangle? Seriously. It would be a nice break between fretting over chemistry and biology.

As I said, I don't expect anyone to read this. Just a bit of cathartic writing on my part.

hiatus

Just finished my final for my biology class, which officially marks the end of the second of three semesters for my post-bac. I am still adjusting to the fact that it's January and this decision is, for once and for all, very real. The MCATs are in April, and I will be applying this summer. Exactly one year ago today I sat in front of a computer at a hedge fund, wallowing in misery. Although I was getting paid for the wallowing, which was nice.

Anyway, it's been quite difficult updating my blog given the absence of internet in my apartment. In addition to the absence of anything interesting going on in my life. I work, I study and occassionally I eat in between.

Which brings me to the topic of this post: I'm going to take a hiatus from the blog. Thank you all for reading (although I'm pretty sure nobody is really reading this anymore). Perhaps I will pick it up again when the fun stuff starts to happen, because my life is cyclical like that. Who knows. As of now, I'm enjoying the trough.

why do you look like that?

My fabulous roommate's birthday was last week. Last night, she was celebrating with some friends at a local Cambridge bar. I stopped by for the festivities, and had an interesting conversation with one of her colleagues.

This man, J., was a 32 year old African American male. He asked me where I was from. I responded "New York." He asked again "Yeah, but where are you from?"

The standard question. I get it. You're trying to figure out what I am. Indian? Middle Eastern? Italian? Martian?

I called him out on his question. I repeated: "I am from New York." His superb response: "So why do you look like that?"

I loved it. LOVED IT. This is the way the question should always be asked. Forget the "Where are you from?" ... with an exaggerated emphasis on "from" to indicate that you will not be satisfied with Long Island as an answer.

Why do you look like that? So simple. Cut to the chase. No beating around the bush. I look like this because my parents are from India. And because I am a slave to Revlon. Take your pick.

rien

I have nothing to write. Life has been a bit hectic after crazy roommate moved out. Had to go to Target to buy everything from shower curtains to garbage bins (she took everything!). She also canceled the cable. Actually, that's not totally accurate. She transferred the account to her new, undisclosed location. The problem: we cannot get cable or internet until the transfer is completed ... at the end of January! Ugh! No internet in the apt. until February. I am hopeless.

I have an ipod now. This is fun. I loaded up half the ipod with classical music. In an effort to be high class and edumacated. Of course, I have not listened to one piece of classical music. All I listen to is dance music. So much for trying to be sophisticated!

I am running off to my lab final. I have to look in microscopes and identify cells in mitosis and meiosis. I am in seventh grade.

happy new year

Happy 2005 folks! My New Year began with a small celebration with my closest friends. I love the comfort of being surrounded by friends who know you well enough not to judge you while you fall asleep 10 minutes before the countdown. Because I'm an old fart and my feet were hurting all day. But 2005 it is. I hope the year brings everyone happiness and success, and all good things in between.

Unfortunately the day took a bit of a negative downturn. My sweet roommate from Boston called me frantically today to inform me that our other roommate (the not-so-sweet one), had moved out over the break. All of the living room and kitchen furniture in the apartment was hers. It is now completely gone, including the dining table and plates and glasses. She also removed the shower curtain from the bathroom. The cable and internet have also been cut off; the accounts were in said roommate's name.

My remaining roommate and I are quite concerned about everything from showering without a curtain to understanding our liabilities and rights. Sigh, a new year, a new fire. I need to take an Excedrin. I have a headache THIS BIG.

Other than that, I can tell you that I may be starting a part-time job at a hospital starting sometime next week. The logistics need to be finalized. Baby steps onto the bus ... Baby steps through my post-bac ... baby steps to med school. Dr. Marvin! Dr. Leo Marvin!!!!

I am sleepy. I am also getting lazy in updating my blog. I declare (decree?) a resolution: to update my blog frequently. In addition to revamping my gym program (especially considering that my 3 visits in November cost me $30 per workout. If all else fails, my stinginess will force me to work out more!).

Here's to the future. May it be bright.

for the khojas

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

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

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

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

christmastime

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

system restore

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey, maybe he can help with my computer problems.

the da vinci miracle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what's up doc

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

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

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

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

"Do you smoke?"
No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

28 degrees

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

knitting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tandoori turkey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

da game

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

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

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

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

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

five times five is

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

Obviously, my dorkiness has not subsided with age.

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

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

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

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

Oh, and Happy World Toilet Day everyone!

happy birthday to loo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

library

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

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

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

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

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

snowflakes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

say it ain't so

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

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

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

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

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

paris je t'aime

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suffrage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

candy corn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

for dummies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7) Beekeeping for Dummies
As should this one.

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

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

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

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

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

And my favorite for Dummies book yet ...

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

papa don't preach

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

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

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

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

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

oprah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

martha's jailyard

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

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

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

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

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

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

seat's taken

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

chocolate pudding

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

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

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

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

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

columbus day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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