New York, New Year

This post is retro-dated.

Here's a series of photos from the bash at Nina's.

Happy housewarming, Nina :).

Christine, for imitation Rudy's dips.

The hearts may be jiggly and hard to see.
And you're giving them a bad name.

Don't stop belieeeevin'. Toad's supports the use of eminent domain to seize your personal "space."

Invoking the Elm City

Last night, Nina and I held a housewarming/college-was-wonderful-wasn't-it party in Brooklyn. The theme was "A 'New Haven' in Brooklyn," and here's the flyer for it. (I've blurred out Nina's address and phone number.)



The party's concept was the recreation of several choice locations in the Elm City, and Nina and I made four "stations" modeling Koffee Too?, Rudy's, Durfee's Sweet Shoppe, and (the indomitable) Toad's. Here's a description of what happens when two overachieving people plan a party:

• Koffee Too? - Custom-painted sign, baked goods, koffee liquor shots.
• Rudy's - Custom-painted sign, beer, frites with 3 homemade dipping sauces (mango madness, aioli, and samurai.)
• Durfee's - Assorted candy (we couldn't find any hard, stale candy, alas), vodka and Red Bull (to evoke memories of all-nighters).
• Toad's - Custom-painted sign, beer, and "shots through the heart" (jello shots with color-contrasted heart-shaped jello ornaments), sketchy double-entendre-filled playlist (ended by Bon Jovi and Journey).

The party was a lot of fun, and it was great to meet some new people and see some familiar faces. I hope that good time was had by all!

Fancy

Here's your one chance, Fancy; don't let me down.

Well, it turns out that due to my trip to China this summer, I have unknowingly (until now) enjoyed "Premier" status with United Airlines and US Airways. This explains why I've consistently gotten assigned to Zone 2 during boarding, even while sitting in aisle seats towards the front of the cabin. (I guess that it also explains the large "PREMIER" stamped onto my tickets... But who pays attention to these things, anyway?...)

Unfortunately, this benefit cycles according to calendar year. So of course, I didn't even realize that I had been enjoying this perk until there are a mere 3 days remaining in 2007. Who knows when I'll achieve this lofty status again...? Back to Zone Avagadro's Number I go.

Supersize my interview

My fellowship's "policy placement" starts in March, and for the past two weeks, I've been interviewing with potential employers. All interviews are conducted over the phone since most Fellows are very far from the District. After all is said (through headsets) and done (through email), both Fellows and organizations make preference lists. Then, an arcane matching system (which, I hear, employs a talking hat) is used to determine which Fellow works where.

I just had an amazing interview with a policy site.

Ok, that's a lie. It was surprising, and I'd like to share with you why.

The interview lasted 30 minutes. The first 10 minutes were devoted to small talk. Towards the end of our brief conversation, the interviewer suddenly seemed very eager to get off of the phone. I soon discovered the reason:

As I was somewhat superfluously explaining why I wanted to work for the organization and why I felt that the work would be personally meaningful, I heard something in the background. It was another person. But it wasn't just any other person. It was a fast food drive-thru operator. Something akin to "Can I take your order?" crept into my ear. I was confused, so I kept on talking, pretending that everything was normal. However, as I paid more attention to the ambient sound -- as I continued to blab about how my childhood makes this opportunity significant for me... -- I heard someone ordering a meal, perhaps a #2.

So yes, my interviewer was apparently in a car. At a drive-thru. During my interview.

And as another Fellow has suggested, my ranking at this place will depend exclusively on whether or not the medium french fries were salted to the interviewer's liking.

Um, so...

There are suddenly 5 new blog posts. Huh?

Let me explain. Some of these posts were written recently and have been retro-dated so that they make sense chronologically. Others were actually written on the dates of their current timestamps but only posted today.

I'll make a New Year's resolution to post in my blog more regularly...

Scary Santa / Fug & Friends

“Santa is so hot, and he wants a martini.” – Craig Shniderman, ED of Food & Friends

Every year, the Executive Director of Food & Friends, Craig Shniderman, dresses like Santa Claus and parades around the organizational premises. Ho-ho-ho-ing and getting red in the face due to heat exhaustion, “Scary Santa” boisterously visits every employee to thank “Santa’s special helpers at 'Food for Friends.'” (It’s also worth noting that Craig is Jewish, which made the experience ever-so-much more amusing.)

Please take special note of the penny loafers with faux-boot leggings. I am simultaneously surprised, impressed, and horrified.


After frightening a sufficient number of children and small animals within a 5-block radius, Scary Santa decided to have a wardrobe change in a Clark Kent-ian fashion. Occupying a conference room adjacent to his office, Santa (or is it Craig?! I just don’t know!!!) attempted to restore some type of normalcy to his appearance. Unfortunately for me, Santa was much slower than Superman (YOUOUOUOUUUUU!). By 9:58 a.m., it was abundantly clear that 12 minutes was an insufficient duration for Craig to don his knickers. I was worried because I had scheduled a phone interview with the Migrant Legal Action Program for 10:00 a.m. Luckily, a nonchalant Craig exited the room in time for me to receive the call. However, I would like to thank Scary Santa-Craig for filling my workday with sufficient amusement and awkwardness.

Channeling Noah

Steve Carell, stand aside. Take it from this postdiluvian, floods aren’t fun! Last night, as I was trying to muster enough willpower to get myself out of bed and pack my bags, I suddenly realized that I had forgotten a load of laundry in the washer. With some encouragement (or mockery) from Nina, I managed to traverse the great 9-foot divide between my bed and the laundry room. Opening the door, I discovered that the simple task of transferring my clothing into the dryer would be much more complex than anticipated. The washing machine had flooded the floor of the room.

It turns out that said washing machine normally drains itself through a pipe into a basin in the laundry room. (That’s what that sink is for…) However, the culprit of this crime against desiccation was a wash cloth that somehow found its way to the bottom of the sink, over the drain.

I didn’t really know what to do. The floor was covered in quite a bit of water, and there weren’t that many things that I could use to soak up the water. I ran and got my roommate Maisha (who was the one who figured out the cause of the problem), and she suggested that I use some newspapers to contain the spill. Yikes, I thought… That would require a lot of newspapers. However, I luckily am a huge packrat for newspapers because I regularly read the El Pregonero and the Washington Hispanic to practice my Spanish while riding the Washington Metro. To save them for “later review,” I dutifully shove them into my bag. This process of review rarely happens, though, and the newspapers ultimately end up in a Trader Joe’s bag in my room.

Here’s a picture of the lovely flood relief effort:

After letting the newspapers sit for a while, I went back to find that they were remarkably effective at absorbing the water. The clothing in the washer needed an extra spin cycle since they had not been drained effectively. After setting that up, I disposed of the soggy periodicals and returned to difficult task of packing my bags for a 4-day trip. In other words, I crawled back into bed, only to wake up at 5 a.m. with no bags packed and a load of wet laundry. Crudcakes. But given that I’m waiting for my flight in the Greensboro (NC) airport, it seems that everything ended up working out. However, I really need to fix my sleep cycle…

The Bill Emerson National Baking Fellowship

Every winter, one of the directors of my Fellowship apparently has a holiday party for which she invites people over to bake and decorate cookies. This year, the event is extra special as she recently moved to a new house. Thus, tomorrow's get-together is actually a housewarming-cookie-baking-extravaganza.

Lindsey and I were at a true loss as to what to give Shana, our boss, for a housewarming gift. First, we thought about getting her some baking supplies, but someone who throws cookie-baking parties probably isn't in particular need for any of that stuff. Second, we're kind of broke-ass poor. You know how Fergie's song "G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S" suggests that "if you ain't got no money," you should "get your broke ass home?" That's basically what Lindsey and I did. But first, we went to Giant and bought $20 worth of cake-decorating supplies.

See, earlier today, I had decided that it would be a good idea to bake Shana a brownie and then decorate it like the Congressional Hunger Center logo -- you know, the one where the Capitol dome is being ravaged by the giant tentacles of a set of racially distinct, conjoined twins:


Why? Who the hell knows? But I didn't have any other ideas... To keep things healthy, we used a box of "No Pudge" brownie mix with low-fat, plain yogurt. Actually, that's a lie; we only used that stuff because we already had it. To make this dessert palatable/morally acceptable, Lindsey got a recipe for frosting that somehow called for an entire pound of butter and 3 pounds of sugar. That's 64 ounces of fat and sugar, folks. (Somewhere in the world, Paula Deen just got excited, y'all!)

So Lindsey made this frosting, and I baked the brownie. And then we used food coloring and made 4 different colors of frosting. And then, we used a $7 pastry bag we got at Giant to pipe on the fat-sugar-food-coloring mixtures:

The result after 3.5 hours of making a huge mess out of Maisha's house? (There is butter everywhere.)

BAM!


All I have to say is that Shana better like this crap, or I'm going to quit the Fellowship and become a food policy analyst for the Heritage Foundation. I mean, Lindsey and I qualify for food stamps according to income guidelines, and we're obviously eating too much. (But really -- $52 million in revenue? WTF is Heritage doing with all of this money, anyway -- other than conducting really crappy "experiments" on milk prices?)

And here's some live-action footage of the baking action. (Nina, after seeing this clip, has suggested that I get some Prozac. Not all of us can have vocal inflection, Nina. Geesh!) As it's clearly demonstrated, Lindsey and I bring different levels of excitement to life.

Partial transcript:
David [lifeless]: "Lindsey, what are we making?"
Lindsey: "We're making cookies!"
David [without feeling]: "No. We're not..."

Inappropriate Work Behavior

Well, taking a year off before med school has allowed me to experience a commonly maligned occasion: the staff holiday party. Comparing notes with a couple of friends, it has become known to me that the Food & Friends party was remarkably (and perhaps unusually) enjoyable. I largely credit this to how strongly the bartender made the drinks and to the extra drink ticket donated to me by the Special Events staff due to my unimpressive salary. (Well, unimpressive unless you're playing earnings limbo or income golf.)

I'll dispense with the frills and just list the horrifying things that I did under the disinhibiting influence of ethanol. (Yes, there was karaoke...) Keep in mind that the entire staff and many members of the Board of Directors attended the party. All of these people watched/listened in dismay as I:

1. Sang "Sexyback" by Justin Timberlake (duet)
2. Sang "I'm a Slave 4 U" by Britney Spears (duet)
3. Sang "Your Man" by Josh Turner (solo...)
4. Did the Soulja Boy Dance to "Crank Dat" for the entirety of the song

This limited and one-time performance received mixed reviews from critics.

"Apparently, you have this entire 'soul' side to you that no one knew about." - Alissa, Associate Director of Development

"Well, this one [pointing to me] came out of nowhere." - Don, Delivery Volunteer Coordinator

"And... here's our star!" - Dorota, Development Assistant

"We know what you do when you let loose." - Laura, Lead Community Dietitian (and my direct supervisor)

The Lame 2007 (Recap)

Being on the East Coast, there was no way that I was going to miss the Yale-Hahvahd football game this year. On Game weekend, I trekked up to New Haven with Lindsey, Carmen V., and Lisa by car. The trip took us much longer than anticipated due to a two-hour wait to cross the George Washington Bridge. However, we finally made it to Da Have'!

On the morning of The Game, kfed realized as we were walking past the Bookstore that she had forgotten to bring some necessities for a crimson problem of the personal kind. Thus, she ran off to GoHo and purchased an assortment of feminine products. However, since she was short on storage capacity, she was forced to stuff them all into her jacket.

Kfed, llena de gracia.

And The Game itself? Lame. However, the best part about it was the tailgating, and I must applaud former admissions staff member Jim Nondorf for having the snazziest tailgate I've ever seen. Not only was there a full buffet (replenishing!), there were two (count 'em!) open bars. Angelique and I stumbled upon this goldmine of merriment and enjoyment and then proceeded to bring a horde of '07 Hounies to join in the festivities. I must have spent 1.5 hours there, it was so good.

And then... The Lame. Not much needs to be said other than the fact that Harvard sucks... (So yes, of course Yale lost, and of course, Yale lost pretty badly.) As Christine says, "[On Game day], no matter how the function starts out... as time approaches 0, Yale approaches loser." Also, the "school on Monday" cheer rings hollow if you have to work on Monday. However, kfed's earlier oversight and subsequent marsupial genius allowed us to parade out of the Yale Bowl in style, shouting what has to be one of the best Yale cheers, ever. (We even had visual aids!)

"Tampon, tampon, stop the Crimson flow!"

All in all, The Game was a lot of fun. I miss college a lot (which I made very clear while walking back to Calhoun from the stadium...). It was great to see so many people from college again!

We be burning

Continuing in the spirit/grammatical somersaults of Sean Paul, I'd like to confess that I am an idiot.

On Friday night, I went with Diana and her boyfriend Alex to a dinner/salsa lesson that was planned by the PTOS. There are apparently 2,000 employees at the patent office, all of whom were invited, so the chances of our knowing anyone else there were not very high. The result: we got a small table to ourselves, where the seating consisted of bar stools. Not wanting to pay $2 to check my coat, I simply placed it on the ground next to Alex's stool.

The buffet dinner was pretty nice, and I had a yummy (but surprisingly virgin-tasting) mojito. However, the refreshing flavors of lime and mint apparently got to me, and I became intensely interested in the decorative candle placed on the center of our table. The candle was enclosed in a glass container that beveled to a smaller opening. So as we waited for the salsa lesson to begin, I decided that I would conduct a little science experiment. Folding a napkin from the bar into a small paper ball, I tried to make said paper ball float in the air with the hot air currents emanating from the candle.

Well, convection apparently doesn't work the way that I thought it did. All I managed to do was to catch the napkin on fire. I quickly grabbed it with my right hand and shook it in the air. I think the flame simultaneously laughed and thanked me for the greater oxygen exposure I provided it -- it quickly flared up even more, while in my grasp. Not knowing what to do, I threw the flaming napkin onto the floor, and embers of burnt paper floated towards the ground, Hindenburg style.

Alex was the only one who seemed concerned with my "solution," as he quickly shouted, "Not on the coats!"

But it was too late. I had already let go, and I only later discovered that a portion of the Hinden-napkin had landed on my beloved camel-colored wool coat. To make this an event to remember, the charred remains of the napkin kindly branded my coat in the following manner:

So yeah... soy bobo/tonto. And now I'm in the market for a new, flame-retardant coat. (And the middle joint of my right middle finger is in the market for some more hair.)

Rondonpaul / Give it to / To all girls.

In recognition of the recent YouTube/CNN Republican debate, I'd like to share my favorite video featuring a presidential candidate. I mean, I may disagree with the man on almost every issue... However, he does have some pretty surprising things to say:

Thanks, Google.

Ok, AdSense is making a lot of people a lot of money. But no one is going to get any clicks from me until I get shown some more relevant ads...

I know that this service is supposed to be tailored and everything. However, I've gotten some really strange ads recently, and I haven't appreciated some of them. For instance, I was shown the following as I read an email from a fellow Fellow:


I mean, I'm no Brad Pitt, but does AdSense really want to give me body image issues? Also, is an online quiz really my go-to source for a beauty assessment? Do I have nothing better to do than to take an "Ugly Quiz?"

Mirror mirror...

At the end of this week, I'll be traveling to Austin, Texas, (random, right?) for a "mid-field retreat" for my fellowship. The fact that this is a "mid-field" event makes me anxious because I have nothing remotely tangible or significant to show for my work. But I'll deal with that... later. As part of my retreat, I was instructed to write a "Field Reflection" essay. I seriously considered sending my employers a piece of paper taped onto a small mirror, but I'm not sure if that would have gone over very well. Anyway, for those of you interested in what I'm doing in D.C., here's my boring, cheesy essay:

My placement at Food & Friends in Washington, D.C., has significantly impacted the importance I place on cultural appropriateness in nutrition services. A large project in my work plan involves the creation of a pilot diabetes prevention program for the Greater Washington area. To gain more knowledge about community programming available to people in Northeast D.C., Lindsey and I attended a diabetes education program at Providence Hospital, which is located minutes from Food & Friends. The day-long program was led by a Certified Diabetes Educator and a licensed nutritionist.

While the information on the biology of diabetes was not surprising, the session on nutrition floored me. Charles Pointer, a licensed dietician with decades of experience under his belt, walked into the classroom and set down a large pile of papers. However, before referencing any of the handouts, he made a proclamation that would be a recurring theme within his talk: “There is no food that you cannot eat as a diabetic.”

Mr. Pointer has worked in nutritional counseling for decades. Over the years, he has concluded prescribing rigid dietary guidelines to individuals is futile because a person cannot “unlearn” a lifetime of habits and cultural upbringing. Thus, his self-admittedly unconventional approach to nutritional education dispenses with simple categorization of foods. At one point, he even suggested that a patient eat regular ice cream in moderation as opposed to consider purchasing a “light” version.

While many a nutritionist at Food & Friends would have had an aneurysm upon hearing this recommendation, the idea that people with diabetes can eat any food in a reasonable portion does draw upon much common sense. After conducting a handful of in-home assessment with Food & Friends’ clients, I have noticed that one common complaint is that some foods provided are not culturally familiar for many clients. In particular, salads heavy in pasta and rice are often identified as starch-heavy and downright “strange.” In lieu of eating these salads, clients often substitute their own foods or simply omit unfamiliar foods from their diets. Since the nutritional content of each meal is calculated with an “assumption of full consumption” (there’s apparently a burgeoning Dr. Seuss within me), the cultural appropriateness and acceptability of food directly impacts nutritional goal-setting and outcomes. In addition, the identification of specific food consumption patterns would allow the elimination of unpopular, starch-heavy foods such as pasta. At the same time, healthier variations on familiar starches – such as brown rice in place of white rice – could increase fiber intake and also aid glycemic control for diabetics.

While Mr. Pointer’s suggestions may be extreme, his strong consideration of culture in nutrition could make recommendations more practical. I will never forget when I read in the American Journal of Clinical Nutrition that the National Institutes of Health Obesity Education Initiative has advised obese individuals to purchase guavas, persimmons, star fruit, kiwi, and papaya in place of bologna and American cheese. Aside from the obvious issues of cultural appropriateness of such a ridiculous recommendation, the life situations of many Food & Friends’ clients would prohibit them from obtaining such exotic and expensive foods.

Frankly, I had serious reservations about the Mr. Pointer’s telling a client to eat regular Breyer’s French Vanilla ice cream instead of an alternative dessert with less sugar and fat. However, I appreciated his willingness to challenge traditional notions of “healthy eating.” Increasingly, I have realized the importance of considering culture in the provision of nutritional and social services – not only as a method to recognize the unique identities of clients served but also as a way to maximize the effectiveness of services provided. For this reason, as Lindsey and I proceed with our design of a diabetes program model, the cultural acceptability of our recommendations will be at the forefront of my mind.

Giuliani, kiss my ass. Or prostate.

Not only is Rudy Giuliani so douchey that his own daughter may very well vote for Obama, he's also full of it. In a new radio advertisement, Guiliani postures himself as a survivor of cancer. While I do not want to trivialize his experiences with a serious illness, I have no problems trivializing this piece of crap:

“My chance of surviving prostate cancer — and thank God I was cured of it — in the United States? Eighty-two percent. My chances of surviving prostate cancer in England? Only 44 percent, under socialized medicine.”

Multiple sources, including a recent Op-Ed by Paul Krugman, have pointed out that the statistics Giuliani mentions are simply unfounded. As review in Journal of the National Cancer Institute (Gee wowzers. A peer-reviewed publication with citations?! What a novel concept!) concluded:

Similarity of mortality rates between the two populations supports the hypothesis that risk of fatal prostate cancer among British men does not differ from that among U.S. white men.

Giuliani would like to have Americans believe that increasing health care coverage would somehow tank the quality of cancer care and cancer survival immediately. What he doesn't seem to even think about -- or care about -- are the scores and scores people who will not be able to find out that they have prostate cancer because they lack even basic medical coverage. This shameful reality is well-documented in literature on racial disparities in healthcare. As concluded in an article from the journal Cancer (Omg. Another peer-reviewed journal? Where do these things even come from?!):

For African-American men, the main barriers to timely diagnosis and screening identified in this study arose from their constrained opportunities for health care access and utilization, absence of strong ties to a primary physician, and a probably related reduced trust of physicians.

It seems that it's not socialized medicine that's hampering preventative care that would save lives, Mr. Giuliani. Perhaps, it's the lack of medicine in entire communities -- the lack of healthcare coverage that 47 million Americans face. Perhaps some people would like the mere chance to be cured of prostate cancer. The demagoguery in the above radio ad is not only highly misleading and factually incorrect; it's completely out of touch and disgusting.

So yes, Mr. Giuliani. Perhaps you should be thanking God that you weren't uninsured, out of luck, and left high and dry.

Asia Asia Asia

This post is dedicated to everything described with the adjectives Asia, Asian, or Oriental.

First, we will start with a menu item at the restaurant Fatz. Seriously, Fatz - where "everyone's a regular" [because they no longer possess the physical ability to walk out of the restaurant]. The aptly-named dine-in cafe has a bread service consisting of fried poppyseed muffins. Konichiwa, cardiovascular disease! But I digress. When I went there in August with my parents, my dad ordered this culinary delight:

Lu Lu's Chinese Chicken Salad

Grilled Asian chicken, crisp greens, Chinese vegetables, mandarin oranges and crunchy wonton strips all tossed with sesame oriental dressing and garnished with cilantro.

First, who the hell is Lu Lu? I want to know if she's getting a cut of the profits. (I hope that she wasn't an undocumented immigrant who lived most of her life in the U.S. and went to college here -- since we still don't believe that she deserves citizenship.) Anyway, I was horrified that Fatz had imported some poor chicken from Asia after it passed the TOEFL test -- only to grill its avian ass. Fatz then wanted to raise the red lantern, so to speak, by festooning the salad's canopy with Chinese vegetables such as broccoli, carrots, and, er..., red onions. (See?! Red. Authenticism abounds.) And then there are the mandarin oranges and sesame oriental dressing. Marco? Polo.

The moral of the story: wonton strips make anything Asian. This is why I carry them around the sleeves of my shenyi all the time.

The Asia Trail

Ok, fine. So the entire first part of this post was a lowsy front for my posting the following picture from the National Zoo. I went to see the pandas last Saturday with Lindsey and Jill, the Americorps member at Food & Friends. The zoo was a lot of fun, and it was festively decorarted for Halloween. There were interesting tombstones all around, each featuring an epitaph of an extinct species.

The panda habitat (sponsored by Fujifilm in an example of Pan-Asian love) was located on a part of the zoo called the Asia Trail. I mean, opium wars and Open Door Policies aside, I didn't find the name of this exhibit as egregious as Lu Lu's Super-Oriental Chinese Chicken Asian Salad. (I'm still waiting for Fatz to debut Fu Manchu's Pork Karate Chop.) However, the Halloween decorations in this part of the zoo were just a little out of control:

I mean, really? I was pretty hungry, and those sleeves did not have any wonton strips in them. I was sorely, sorely disappointed, to say the least. Thanks a lot, Smithsonian...

Turf Wars, Part I

Before I get to the substance of this series (covered in the much-anticipated Part II), I think that some background information is needed. If any of you were wondering what I'm up to in D.C., this will give you a much clearer picture. If you have no interest in what I'm up to these day, don't read this entry! You will be reduced to snores... Here goes.

I work for Food & Friends, a D.C.-based organization that provides free freshly-prepared meals and groceries to individuals with serious illnesses. Food & Friends was originally founded in the early 1990s, before aggressive highly-active anti-retroviral therapy (HAART) for HIV/AIDS existed. Due to the stigma associated with AIDS (read about Ryan White if you have any doubt) and the lack of effective medical therapy, people with HIV/AIDS were basically up the creek. Some noble-minded and compassionate people, many from the LGBT community, founded nutritional organizations to help preserve the health and dignity of people who were literally starving because they were too sick to work, shop, and cook for themselves. And thus, Food & Friends was born -- in a church basement.

Since HAART came into practice in about 1996, people with HIV/AIDS have been able to live much more mainstream lives. Although nutritional inadequacies still existed for people with HIV/AIDS, the increased stability in medical treatment allowed Food & Friends to begin focusing individuals with other life-challenging illnesses such as cancer. (We've also moved out of the basement -- thank goodness. By "we," I mean Food & Friends because I currenly do live in a basement.) And thus, my organization currently provides free meals and groceries to individuals with various forms of serious health conditions and an inability to prepare nutritious meals for themselves. Our services are provided on a need-blind basis, and eligibility is only based on medical status.

As HAART changed the way that AIDS impacted society, it also changed the face of Food & Friends' clients. Unexpectedly, the new antiretroviral treatment transformed AIDS from a disease characterized by wasting syndrome to one that could be associated with insulin resistance and obesity. Protease inhibitors, a key element of HAART, have been shown to increase insulin resistance, which in turn can cause hyperglycemia and diabetes. In fact, one study estimated that individuals with HIV/AIDS were more than 3 times as likely to develop diabetes than the general population.

In addition, cancer -- the other primary focus of Food & Friends -- is also linked to diabetes in several ways. First, diabetes has been shown to increase the risk of developing several types of cancer; in fact, both impaired glucose tolerance and diabetes have been shown in separate studies to be independent predictors of cancer mortality. Second, certain cancer treatments such as androgen deprivation for prostate cancer have been shown to increase the risk of developing diabetes. Finally, diabetes has been shown to decrease survival after cancer diagnosis through its extremely serious implications on vascular health.

And for this reason, my work at Food & Friends focuses on co-morbid diabetes. So far, this topic has not been featured in much literature, so the other Emerson Fellow and I are really starting from the ground up. Also, Food & Friends has never systematically looked out our diabetic client population, so we're all essentially waiting to be surprised. My job involves a quantitative and qualitative study of (1) the needs of our comorbidly diabetic clients and (2) the effectiveness of our current (and extremely, extremely limited) services for diabetics. At the present, the only option for diabetic clients is to receive less dessert each week; instead of 6, they receive 1. While this is one method of carb control, many would argue that it is extremely limited in its focus and potential benefits. For instance, if the only food that you're eating comes from Food & Friends, you may find that our carb-rich portions of rice and pasta are too large to eat in one serving. However, since all of it is packged in one meal, I can imagine some of our clients' eating all of the carbs and then experiencing a large blood sugar spike. This is obviously not ok!

So here comes clueless Swiss Beats to walk it out and save the day. I will be running focus groups with diabetics who also have HIV/AIDS or cancer. I will be asking them for their opinions on what we're doing now and what we can do better (which seems like a lot!). I will also be visiting individuals' homes to conduct some in-home assessments that will explore similar themes (while collecting some quantitative data that will be used for statistical analysis). All of the data collection, analysis, and writing has to be completed before February (no pressure!), so I definitely have my work cut out for me.

So that's a big bit of what I'm doing in D.C. I'm going to shut up now because I'm boring even myself. To find out what turf has anything to do with it, you'll have to wait for Part II. (I'll give you one spoiler; no cheesy indoor sports are involved.)

Taxicab Rejections

Lindsey, my partner in crime and only friend in D.C., has a huge family. About 150 members are attending a bar mitzvah that is happening tonight ("really Reform," Lindsey informed me). Per family tradition, relatives flew in from all over the country as early as Thursday for some pre-ceremony celebrations. Last night, I went to the "young people's party," intended for the under-30 crowd. It was a lot of fun, and I was glad to meet a small cross section of Lindsey's family.

This entry is primarily about the ride home from the party -- and even more specifically, how it didn't really exist. Lindsey's mom insisted that I take a cab back to my house since the walk home from the Metro station has a pretty bad reputation. As I mentioned before in another entry, my company's official policy is that employees should take a shuttle to the Metro stop before and after work. And my workplace marks the halfway point between the subway stop and my house. On the walk home from the Metro station, my company is a poorly-designed intersection (sans pedestrian signal), a liquor store, and a 10-minute stroll away from my destination.

It was about 2:00 a.m. and kind of chilly outside. The doorman at the hotel was nice enough to wave down a cab for me, and I hopped in. "Hi. I'm going to Northeast," I told the driver. The taxi driver shot me a confused look and asked me, "How do you get there?" Not being a driver in this city [yet...], I really had no idea. But I described it to the best of my ability using landmarks and major roads. Apparently, I did an adequate job for the driver to pinpoint a location because his next response was "I really don't want to go there." This was the first time that I'd attempted to take a cab home in D.C., and I was pretty surprised. The driver further suggested that he take me to a Metro stop (a 4-block walk for $5.50? No thanks, buddy) or to Dupont Circle (also on the Metro) so that I could hail another cab. Well, I wasn't going to pay him some absurd amount of money to then have to pay for another mode of transportation, so I hopped out of the car, and we parted ways.

The doorman was probably confused as to why I had irreconcilabe differences with a taxi driver. But he hailed me another cab further down the street, anyway. I walked up to the passenger-side window and told the driver where I was going. I then received rejection #2. Rejection #3 was actually money-related as the driver insisted that I pay him $17 for the trip, which was an entirely arbitrary (and stupid) amount. D.C. has a zone system for taxis (no meters!), and Lindsey's mom had made the identical trip during the day for $14. When I suggested that he was being less than admirable with his price gouging, the driver told me that I could admirably find another cab. Fine. Rejections #4, #5, and #6 were equally entertaining. Driver #4 was headed to Virginia. Driver #5 was "on call duty." Driver #6 just flat-out refused.

Well, by #6, I was already by the Foggy Bottom Metro stop. So I just hopped onto a Blue train and headed home. After a 40-minute trip (including two pretty sizable waits), I finally made it back the Metro station nearest my house. By now, I'd realized that I'd left my jacket at the party. Chilled, I walked briskly home without incident or any encounters of the human kind.

In retrospect, I'm pretty amused at my experience last night. If taxis refuse to take me home, I'm structurally bound to economical public transportation. This, of course, is fine with cheap old me. However, it's not as if my neighborhood is a war-torn wasteland! I actually kind of like the area (less racist hollerings). Is there that much business at 2:00 a.m. in Foggy Bottom that 6 taxis would reject me? Is Northeast D.C. that bad?!

What's cookin'? - Part II

So apparently, my activity of choice for lazy Sundays is cooking. When I went to Trader Joe's on Friday, I bought some 99-cent pizza dough, feta cheese, olives, and baby spinach. I was pretty sure that I'd be able to find a recipe for spinach and feta pizza, and this morning, I certainly did.

So I greased a sheet of aluminum foil (who has pizza pans, anyway?!) and put some pizza dough on [after I tried to throw it up in the air, punch it, and all of that other stuff that's shown on TV].


I had to substitute a yellow onion for red onions since that's what I had left over. I also had baby spinach and didn't know how to convert units of adolescent spinach to units of voting-age spinach. So I just played it by ear. I also added some olives to the mix, which, by the way, are a huge freaking pain to pit. [Insert a Nick-esque pun such as "preparing olives..., it's the pits, all right!"] After I loaded the toppings on, this was the pre-baked product:

And this was lunch:

I ate this pizza while watching the first 2 episodes of Absolutely Fabulous. I used to watch this show when I was little (...) on PBS. It's still hilarious now, which just makes wonder exactly how messed up I was as a kid. Anyway, the pizza tasted pretty good! I think that it may have been too salty to be healthy, so I'll have to work on that.

Oktoberfest

Yesterday, I decided to drink beer in lieu of going to the gym. I think that this, generally speaking, is an acceptable subsitution.

Each year, Arlington, VA, has a pretty sizable Oktoberfest celebration. And despite not actually liking beer, I flet that the event was a nice way to get to know a new place -- and perhaps even to develop an appreciation for an ale or two. Also, Diana (BuRrrr '07) was going, and I figured that I could learn something from a person who actually enjoys drinking liquid bread.

So I hopped on a yellow line train, got off at the Pentagon (where there were some disturbing ads depicting tanks... in action!!!!11), and took a bus to the "Village of Shirlington." I'd never been to Northern Viriginia ("NOVA") before. But apparently, in this preppy suburbia, "village" is synonymous with "shopping strip." In other words, M. Night Shyamalan's movie of the same name was never a novel concept. But I digress.

The beer festival itself was a lot of fun. I sampled 5-6 beers and 8 wines. I actually went home with a $20 bottle of Riesling, so I may have missed the larger point of the event / forgotten my socioeconomic limitations... However, I am extremely happy that I went because, among other things, Oktoberfest in Shirlington was truly an immersion into German culture. I got to hear the Edelweiss Band (apparently "legendary" according to their own promotional placard) play classic German standards such as "The Chicken Dance" (*clap clap clap clap*). I also got to see a two-year-old, German-flag-wavin' tot smack his brother in the face with the ol' Bar and Bars of Germany. Said two-year-old was then knocked to the ground, where he was left unattended by his beer-sipping mother for at least one full minute. Es lieb Deutschland, baby!

But really, it was a lot of fun! I highly recommend it to any people in the D.C. area in October.

Do my screams sound in pentatone?

This entry is being retro-posted since it is based off of an email that I wrote on October 2. The original email was sent to 4 other people in my fellowship who make up my "learning group." Ostensibly, we are supposed to use each other as a support system in times of hardship, but as of 5 days after I sent this message, no one has really written me back. (One person did say that she would, though.) And so while I'm waiting, perhaps fruitlessly, I figure that I should open it up for broader discussion. If you have thoughts on this topic, comment or shoot me an email. People who read this blog know how find me! Changes or clarifications to the original email are written in [grey italics].

- - - - -

I was talking with Lindsey [my field site partner, roommate, and o.f.f. (only friend, forever) in D.C. proper] this morning about an issue, and she suggested that I talk to the other Fellows about it. And then I suddenly remembered that this was kind of the whole point of our small groups. So with this, I present to you what I hope to be our first small-group discussion. [*crickets*] [Insert fanfare, blah blah blah, a flourish, &c.] And yes, I'm totally doing this during work hours. I was really upset about it yesterday and thus am taking a personal hour this morning just to think about it and promote my own mental well-being. (By "taking a personal hour," I mean sitting in my cubicle and typing this email in Notepad. I'm also in my "happy place" thanks to a cup of coffee...)

Here's basically what happened: Yesterday, I was walking to the Metro stop from my house at about 6:00 p.m. (I'm taking a Spanish class at GWU down in Foggy Bottom, so I have to commute 45-freaking-minutes...) Anyhow, I was walking down the street, and I noticed a group of three school-aged kids (probably 14 to 15 years old) walking in front of me. I was walking faster than they were, and as I passed them on the street, one of them sang (and this is hard to describe in writing) a stereotypical pentatonic melody at me. I'm not sure if that description makes sense, but it's like playing three adjacent black keys on the piano and is depicted in popular U.S. culture as an [East] "Asian" sound -- I've seen it played on cartoons as Asian characters are introduced: *da, da da, da da, da da dumm*. [Upon further research, it's known as "the Asian riff" and can be found notated here on Wikipedia.] And as I walked further, one of them said something else, and they started laughing at me.

I don't know if it's just because I've just been thinking about race issues a lot in the past week because of what's going on in Jena, but this really upset me. [During the previous week, I wore black to stand in solidarity with the Jena 6. It really smacked of the Herald/Rumpus stuff that happened during college.] I should also say that this is probably about the 4th or 5th time that something like this has happened to me here in D.C. since I moved for my field placement [on September 20, 2007 - so wihin the a 5-week period]. Three of these incidents were overtly racially motivated -- they all involved young kids saying things such as "ching ching chong" (a la Rosie O'Donnell on The View in re: Danny Devito) as I've walked by them. I've also had one young person scream at me (he shouted "BWAHHHHH!" -- I think in an effort to scare me?!) as I walked by and another person shout something at me from a passing vehicle. I know that I shouldn't automatically assume that all of these things have been race-related, but based on the obvious references to my Asian-ness in some of them, it's hard for me not to think that race has something to do with it. [This really takes me back to the first run-in with racism I had in college. Someone yelled, "Me like sushi!" at me and my parents from the back a moving vehicle. We were saying goodbye to each other during move-in in front of my freshman dorm. And then I broke down during the ethnic counseling intro, and everyone thought I was unstable. Great times!] Also, all of these things have happened during the 15-minute-or-so walk from my house to the Metro. I think that all of this is particularly upsetting because this is literally happening in the place where I live! (I work an 8-minute walk away from the Metro station, too.) And I walk to and from the Metro 6+ times each week.

In my neighborhood, I'm basically the only Asian person around, and the large majority of residents are black or Latino. I realize that I've just moved into what has been other people's homes for a long time and that local residents aren't used to seeing people of my race walking around Fort Totten. However, I really didn't expect to confront issues like this on such a regular basis (it's only been 4 weeks (!), and I'm going to be here for 6 months!). Stuff like this probably happened to me 6-7 times *total* during college. Also, for me, the most disturbing part is that I seemingly can't *do* anything about it. Being new to the area (and being told that I shouldn't walk to the Metro by myself at night -- or even from work?!), I don't think that it's prudent for me to have a throw-down with local youth. [At work, we are not advised to walk to the Metro station. There is a shuttle that operates at 5 p.m., expressly for taking employees and volunteers to the Metro station. While I don't think that the neighborhood is that dangerous at all, I still think that this arrangement says something.] And while I'm going to the gym and pumpin' my massive guns and all (...), I'm still about as sturdy as balsal wood and would definitely get my ass kicked.

Anyhow, thanks for reading this "massive missive," as one of my college friends would say [Nick, I love you and your punniness.]. I was wondering what you all think about the above and what you think I should do about it, if anything. I've talked to a couple of my friends [Chris, Nina, and Warren] about this, and right now, I'm just trying to come to terms with the reality of it all and cope with what has happened. Realistically, I'm going to encounter things like this until February, at least (and probably for the rest of my life), so I'd rather deal with it now than wait until later.

- - - - -

As I mentioned, no one has written me back so far. I was lucky to get to an emotional plateau after talking to Chris and Nina. But this issue still bothers me a lot, and I'm nervous each time I walk to the subway. I'm just waiting for something absurdly racist to happen again. And I'm actually scared that it will.

The Bubble

Last night, I saw The Bubble, a 2006 Israeli film about a pair of star-crossed lovers - one Israeli, one Palestinian. The film was being screened at the Washington, D.C., Jewish Community Center, and it was packed. A love forbidden along the often-examined social and political boundaries between Israel and Palestine would have been very interesting already. (The previous setence is already geopolitcally questionable...) The thing that made this film unique, though, was that both lovers were men.

Although I felt that the end of the movie progressed too quickly, making it unbelievable, the film was extremely thought-provoking. I really know very little about the Middle East, and seeing left-leaning youth in Israel was fascinating to me. One quote that stuck out was something akin to "We don't need territories; we need to dance!" Also, I learned that Tel Aviv is the San Francisco of Israel when it comes to gay issues. Homosexuality was generally accepted with such a nonchalance in the film's Tel Aviv that I was actually taken aback. (Compare this to the recent uproar over Larry Craig.)

The love story at the center of the film reminded me of Romeo and Juliet. I read somewhere that the director initially tossed around the idea of calling the film Romeo and Julio but eventually nixed the idea lest his work be confused for gay pornography. But in a Danes-DiCaprio-esque manner, the film's major protagonists experience "love at first sight," and the rest of the film explores the complications of their relationship. I still don't think that instanteous love on a profound level is possible, but I'm sure many people would disagree with me.

Overall, I think that The Bubble is worth seeing, especially if the film's subject matter within its setting is unfamiliar. It definitely broadened my horizons and made me question my assumptions.

What's cookin'?

I decided to play around in the kitchen during the last two days since the weekend is about the only time when I actually feel up to cooking. I don't have much culinary experience, but I actually think that my lab experience helps out a lot (which is sad beyond words, but hey).

On Saturday, I decided to make crabcakes using canned crabmeat from Trader Joe's. (On my budget, fresh crab is completely out of the question!) The recipe called for breadcrumbs, and since I had a week-old loaf of bread, I decided to make my own... with a cheese grater. About 15 minutes later, I had a 1/2-cup of bread crumbs and a sore arm. The moral of the story: buy breadcrumbs in a can. The crabcakes themselves actually were pretty good (!), and I had two for dinner along with some standard post-grad-budget pasta fare.

Today, I cleared out my camera's memory card and documented the preparation of dinner. The menu included:
1. Roasted bell peppers stuffed with mashed potatoes.
2. Chicken-stuffed croissants.

To make the bell peppers, I mashed my own potatoes. Since I didn't have a masher or electric beater, I used the bottom of a glass. I mixed in some milk, butter, and vegetable bruschetta (thanks, Trader Joe's). I parboiled the peppers for 5 minutes and then stuffed them with the mashed potatoes. To top things off, I added some caramelized onions, roasted bell pepper strips, bread crumbs, and parmesan cheese. Here's the finished product:

One goal of tonight's meal was to use random ingredients that I had left over. I brought home two chicken breasts from work last week, and I also had randomly purchased a can of canned Crescent Rolls (tm) two weeks ago. By searching "croissant chicken recipe," I stumbled upon a recipe that used these two ingredients and, of all things, cream cheese. Strangely, I also happened to buy cream cheese last week without remembering to get bagels. So in many regards, this recipe was perfect. Here's a picture of the croissants before I stuffed them:

And here's the finished product. They basically tasted like Hot Pockets and will make a pretty good lunch tomorrow. (As the above picture suggests, there were indeed 4 of these little guys. I took the next picture after I scarfed one down.)

Well, that was dinner :). I actually enjoyed cooking a lot, so I'm looking forward to trying new things in the next few months. Let me know if you have any suggestions!

Fibrous Disaster

Ok, so I'm going to start regularly posting in this blog again. My life is finally picking up [a little], so there's actually stuff worth remembering! I'll try to reconstruct some older memories and also document new ones. For now, here's a stab at the latter goal.

Yesterday morning, woke up pretty early (maybe 8:30 a.m.) and wasted about 2 hours on the internet. By mid-morning, my stomach was growling, so I decided to pull a "dining hall" move and eat an assload of cereal for brunch. I opened a new box of this healthy-looking stuff I bought last week ("Nature's Promise"), poured myself a big bowl, and sat down to chow down. However, with the first bite, I realized that I had made a horrible mistake. Apparently, the only vow that Gaia had made was that her cereal would taste like mulch.

It turns out that I'm not a fan of "soy protein grahams" and "fiber twigs" in my cereal. (In retrospect, this likely explains why the product was discontinued and was priced at $1.74/box.) But I had already soaked 3 servings of this crap in milk, and being the miserliest cheapskate on this side of D.C., I was determined to finish eating. So I did.

It wasn't until later that I learned the gastrointestinal consequences of my cheapness. I glanced at the nutritional label and learned that each 3/4-cup serving of Nature's Cardboard Crunch has 10 grams of fiber. And I had just consumed 3+ servings.

Oops.

I'm back... kinda.

Well, it has taken quite a long time, but I've finally gotten internet access [kind of]. The cable guy came around and installed a modem-cum-router today, so it seems as if I'll finally be able to interact with the outside world! I'm a bit concerned, though, because the network keeps dropping me even though I'm literally 3 yards away...

For now, I'm going to head off to the gym and then head over to the anti-war protest down by the White House. More to come!

AMCAStic!

I just officially applied to medical school... again.

It may seem strange, but people who defer matriculation to some American medical schools have to fill out the AMCAS application (a Common App for med schools, basically) twice. However, this time around, it's free (as opposed to hundreds of dollars), and only one school is indicated in the "Medical Schools" section (as opposed to 14). Also, there are no secondary applications or interviews - whew!

The strangest part about this process was having to go back and edit my "Activities" section so that they all ended on or before May 2007. I also had to change all of the verbs to past tense, and honestly, it was a bit jarring. As I proofread the entries, I kept finding myself drifting off into memories from college, so it took me a good 3 days to get the application to an acceptable state. So for now, there's no more YHHAP, no more Harmony Place (HP)/Unity House/A Place/Laplace, no more AASA, etc.

But let's see if I can't get some new acronyms and abbreviations into my life. Let's start with "D.C."

Digital truancy / Ouch

Eek. Sorry for being so slack on the blog entries. I'll catch up soon -- promise! I'm also going to be moving to D.C. in about a week, so there will be a lot of stuff to talk about, to remember, and to rant about via Google's hopefully dependable servers. I also just returned from a trip to San Francisco, and I'll add a couple of posts on this little journey once I get around to finishing them...

On an unrelated note, I think that I burned the middle finger of my right hand on my computer's touchpad. That's the only explanation that I could think of, considering that I haven't exactly been cooking or handling scalding objects. The burn (that is visibly red) is isolated to the precise corner of my finger that I use for cursor navigation, making it horribly annoying. I should try to fry an egg on this thing. Yay, multi-functionality.

Ghostwriter

It's not even 6:00 a.m., and what better program is there to watch than Ghostwriter?!

I'd forgotten just how groundbreaking this show must have been in the early 90s when it first premiered. The cast is racially diverse, and topics such as the Spanish language and healthy eating are craftily woven into the script. When I watched the show as a kid, I didn't even notice now deliberately these lessons were incorporated. In other words, the writers were successful at indoctrinating at least one kid with useful information. Kudos.

On top of all of this, none other than Samuel L. Jackson plays the role of Jamal's father. (Sadly, the first story arc - "Ghost Story" - does not contain any appreciable numbers of snakes or airplanes.)

Watching the show now, I find the acting a bit cheesy and the plot a little contrived at times. However, these characteristics just make the show even more of a classic for a generation of recent college graduates, a generation that is probably more literate thanks to a strangely colorful dot with multiple eyebrows.

Goodbye, jet lag. Hello, er... Viagra?

Well, I've been back in Georgia for a few days. Since China Standard Time is exactly 12 hours off from EST, I'm having a bit of difficulty overcoming jet lag. Today, I've been up since 2:20 a.m., and so far, all that I've managed to do is to watch Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. (Man, do those Asian American kids at P-ton know how to party... Right...) Anyway, in an effort to achieve consciousness during normal business hours, I decided to google "overcome jet lag."

Lo and behold, I have found a potential solution to my problem. According to a Reuter's article from May of this year:

The male impotence drug Viagra may be useful for treating jet lag as well, according to Argentine researchers who gave it to hamsters made to feel like rodent globe-trotters.

The researchers manipulated the schedule of turning lights on and off to induce jet lag in the laboratory animals, they reported on Monday in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

Adult male hamsters given Viagra, also called sildenafil, recovered from jet lag up to 50 percent faster than hamsters that were not given it, the researchers said.

I'm kind of interested in (1) what caused scientists to correlate Viagra consumption with jet lag severity, (2) why hamsters were selected for this study, (3) why MSNBC decided not to abbreviate the journal as PNAS, as most scientists do, and (4) if insomnia is more or less dangerous than priapism.

Well, back to more low-brow humor... Is anyone else awake right now?

Nostos

Well, I've returned to the States after a month of romping around in China, and I have to say that it's great to be back! By the end of my trip, I'd begun tiring of the tourist's life. I think the most discomfiting aspect my journey was the realization that everyone was out to rip you off and make a quick yuan off of you.

It'll take me some time to finish writing the entries that I started while traveling during my week in Beijing since I'd been really pressed for time. Until then...

We really need some water; don’t let the gosh-darn building burn…

After realizing that I had lost my cap, I pouted all the way back to the hotel/brothel. We were running a bit behind schedule and were rushing back to the lovely Milano Hotel to pick up our luggage. When we were crossing a street, I noticed a dark column of smoke rising from the general direction of our hotel. This had to be a fire. I joked with my mom that a disgruntled customer had probably set the place ablaze. (Back rub gone awry?)


Well, luckily, I was wrong. Our hotel hadn’t caught fire, but something no more than 400 meters away on the opposite side of the street was sending out billowing, grey clouds. People were amassed in the surrounding block, watching firefighters as they hooked up hoses to a nearby fire hydrant. Another fire truck had already started dousing the fire with jets of water. However, one truck seemed insufficient to extinguish the flames as smoke kept rising, as fast as ever.

Due to the fire, the most direct road to the airport had been closed off. Thus, we carried our luggage to a nearby bus station and hailed a cab from there. An attendant at the bus station (who wouldn’t let us through at first for no apparent reason) told us that it would be impossible for us to leave the area via cab.

Well, he was wrong, too. I’m typing this entry at the Nanjing International Airport. On the way over, we heard a news report about the fire in the taxi. It was still burning. A local market had caught fire due to yet unknown reasons. Many roads were blocked off, and the announcer suggested alternative paths to circumvent the area. I hope that they manage to put the fire out soon.

Boola Wah...

I lost my Yale cap on the No. 1 “You” Bus in Nanjing, China. (“You” is pronounced “Yo” [cash money!] and means “tourist.”) I was daydreaming when I saw my dad get up and walk towards the rear sliding door of the bus. I figured that he was looking at the map to figure out where to get off. The bus stopped, and it turned out that he was actually disembarking.

Crap.

I ran off the bus and only realized 10 minutes later that my cap wasn’t on my head or in my backpack. I’ve had that sucker – overpriced but sturdy – since sophomore year of college (tear)… Well, the hat was made in China, so it looks like it gets to experience a serendipitous homecoming.

Brothel...

This hotel just went from a really sketchy to really brothel. I picked up the phone, expecting that my mom was calling me to say goodnight. To my surprise, there was a stranger on the line – some man who wanted to know if I had ordered something-or-other. He was speaking a southern dialect of Mandarin, and I didn’t quite catch what he thought that I’d ordered.

“What?” I asked, still a bit startled.

“A beautiful woman,” he replied, “to give you a massage.”

“Um, no.” (Literally, “I don’t want it/her.”)

And now he sounded surprised as he muttered, “Oh.” As if he expected me to seize the opportunity.

Earlier today, I had taken a picture of a multi-purpose document posted on the nightstand of each room. It is simultaneously a no smoking sign and an advertisement for the hotel’s massage services. The reason why I snapped a picture of it was that the ad was unexpectedly risqué, featuring a topless woman. I thought that the image depicted a client enjoying the spa’s services. But no. Now everything made sense. This person was actually the masseuse.
Someone in the hotel must have given out my room information, or perhaps the hotel’s concierge thought that he was doing an American a favor. But talk about invasion of privacy and lack of decency… I can’t wait to get out of this sketchtastical place tomorrow morning.

Milano Hotel

The 2007 Lemon Award for most misleading hotel advertisement goes to the Milano Hotel in Nanjing, China. The beautiful lobbies and well-decorated rooms depicted in its sales literature turned out to be complete shams, and my mom was actually afraid to let me stay in a room by myself due to security reasons. In fact, when we went out tonight, my parents made a point to purchase locks for our suitcases.

Here’s one example of why this place is a little bit scary and a lot of sketchy. My parents got a great deal on an economy room, which contains two full beds. (I’m staying in my own single.) When I entered their room, I thought that it was a little cozy but otherwise fine. My eyes immediately moved to their window curtain, which was made from a satin-like material:

Well, turns out that there’s not really a window in my parents’ room after all. After looking for a bit, I discovered something the size of a porthole in the rightmost corner. And looking out, it seemed that I could see something that resembled the Taj Mahal, which is an odd view for a 5th floor window in Nanjing, China:

I opened the window to investigate. Judging from the voices that I heard from the other side, this cubby hole led to another guest’s room. In fact, there was a visible crack that revealed said room’s carpeting. Well, there went my folks’ chance at fresh air and/or privacy:

Luckily, we’re only staying here for one night…

Signs

No, this is not a Mel Gibson movie involving aliens that must really hate monsoon season. During my trip to China, I’ve seen some great examples of what my cousin calls “Chingrish” – or awkward translations of Chinese into English – on signs. I’ll post a few of them here, starting with what has to be my favorite – it’s my desktop wallpaper right now. If anything, these signs show how strange of a language English is…

This was a sign at a line near an escalator at a stop of the No. 2 train of the Shanghai subway. (I’m now looking for its cousin: “Watch your eyes.”)

Next, the Hangzhou municipal government apparently fired the landscaper, so (in the spirit of communitarianism) it has resorted to a public cry for assistance with lawn maintenance.

I don’t know about you, but I’d think twice before staying at any hotel in Shanghai with its own metabolism.

And finally (for now), here’s what has to be the coolest, spiffiest skyscraper in Shanghai-Pudong: The POS Plaza.

Misfarewell

We’ve all had the experience of saying goodbye to someone and then realizing that we’re walking in the same direction as the recipient of our farewell. Sometimes, we’re even going to the same place. (In presidential parlance, we’ve misunderestimated the time that we’re able to spend with another person.) Paying homage to our esteemed commander-in-chief, I’ve decided to call this exchange a misfarewell.

The awkwardness from these situations is sometimes tremendous. I find myself struggling to decide whether to (1) call mulligan and start chatting it up again or (2) walk slower/fast/take another route so that I avoid having to re-salute a person. On Saturday, I will have to a similar choice, but not in the context of a person. Rather, I may have to awkwardly reintroduce myself to Shanghai.

We’ve discovered that there is no direct train from Hangzhou to Nanjing on the new Shanghai rail. If we take an older train, the trip will take at least 4 more hours; it will also be less comfortable and considerably less safe. Thus, my parents have decided that the optimal route by train involves our traveling back to Shanghai, taking the subway to another station, and then going from Shanghai to Nanjing. So, er…, Shanghai…, hey!... again… maybe.

Night trader?

This will be our last night in Shanghai. (Tomorrow, we’re off to Hangzhou to cavort in its more natural settings.) My dad has just taken away the ethernet cord from me so that he can manage his stock portfolio. I just spent the last twenty minutes, about $5 USD worth of net access (20 minutes * 2 RMB/minute = 40 RMB; 40 RMB * $1 USD/~8 RMB = ~$5 USD), reading news, checking email, and facebooking. And now it appears that my time is up. Drat.

I don’t know anything about investment, which is probably going to be a problem later in life. However, since I won’t have any money to my name until I’m 40, my penchant for procrastination prevents me from finding interest in CNBC as of yet. For now, watching my dad read Yahoo! Finance will suffice.

Buying and selling on the NYSE and NASDAQ has been hard for my dad given the 12-hour time difference between China Standard Time and Eastern Standard Time in the U.S. If he wanted to follow the market from opening bell to closing bell, he’d have to stay up all night. This lead me to wonder – are there any night traders here in China? Have any people decided to risk their savings by personally buying and selling in American markets through the night, only getting to sleep after daybreak?

The old man is snoring. And Wandudas.

We’re only going to be in Shanghai for two full days, and as luck would have it, weather.com informs me that there’s a good chance of thunderstorms almost every daylight hour of our visit.

Ugh.

I woke up this morning to a foggy, grey view from our 6th floor window. I was pretty grumpy, as my mom and dad both snored last night. The incessant rolling thunder echoing in my ears actually woke me up at about 3 a.m. This is pretty scary considering that I’ve slept through a whip being cracked over my head. (Thank you, YPU Independent Party.)

Rain wouldn’t have been an issue if I had my hiking shoes with me. However, due to the weight restrictions described earlier, I only had two pairs of shoes in my suitcase: (1) green suede Pumas and (2) my trusty leather loafers. In other words, I had no rain-friendly footwear. I looked up the weather ahead of time, thought a bit, and decided to wear my leather loafers. (I’d already worn them in the rain about 20 times in New Haven.)

Even though it drizzled continually throughout the morning, my umbrella was sufficient to keep me reasonably dry throughout a visit to the Yu Gardens. However, at about noon, the sky began to fall, especially when we reached the shore of the Huangpu River. It was raining; it was pouring.

We ran inside an underground crosswalk, but by the time we got there, my feet were completely soaked.

My parents are troopers, so we waited a bit and proceeded towards Nanjing Road, the classic commercial center of Shanghai. Upon arriving, my feet were gross enough to warrant returning to the hotel or buying another pair of shoes. Because of the favorable exchange rate, we decided on the latter option. I bought a pair of Wandus, which I will hereafter call Wandudas. See anything familiar about the logo?... The shoes are actually pieces of crap, but they were dry pieces of crap. Also, they only cost me about $8 USD, which was all that I could muster paying for my bad planning.
My poor leather loafers were laid to rest in the Wandudas box, and they’re currently drying in the corner of the hotel room. (The now-sopping memory foam pads inside my loafers cost twice as much as my new Wandudas.) Since the forecast calls more even more thunderstorms, I may get even more use out of my 8-dollar investment.

Micro-updates!

Hot hot hot!

Shanghai is hot. Upon arriving, I was greeted by a new dialect of Mandarin, Shanghainese, and 100% humidity. It was abundantly clear to me why undershirts are nonexistent in China.

To get to Pudong from the airport, we took the new Maglev train. I remember reading about it in my physics book (*shivers* - despite the heat) on the chapter about magnetism. The train reaches a top speed of ~430 kilometers per hour, or more than 268 mph. Thus, for 50 RMB each, we reached Pudong in about 5 minutes. Figuratively hot!

A rose by any other name…

My dad’s full legal name is 16 letters. His Chinese name (now his legal middle name) is 7 letters. Tack on 5 for his legal first name and 4 for our last name, and you get one letter more than the maximum number of letters permitted by our airline’s database system. (This is what happens when the whole country speaks a language with largely monosyllabic words and mono/bisyllabic names.) As a result, the names on my dad’s passport and boarding passes did not match because the travel agent omitted the second-to-last letter in his middle name. At check-in, a rowdy service rep proclaimed that security would not let my dad through. (However, during his diatribe, he had my dad’s bag checked, anyway. Huh?...)

To make a long story short, the discrepancy did not prevent my dad for board the plane. However, it make for a stressful twenty minutes.

Weight for me!

We’re flying to Shanghai on a budget airline (kind of like a Chinese Jet Blue). One of the ways that the airline saves money is to restrict the weight of checked luggage to 10 kg, or 22 lbs. Considering the difficulty my family had with getting our bags down to 50 lbs. on the way over to China, this is a serious problem. We ended up having to ask my aunt to meet us in Beijing with two of our largest suitcases, stuffed full of our heaviest belongings. Yikes.

And we’re off!

Today, we left Harbin and flew south to Shanghai. It was really sad to leave family behind, and both sets of grandparents met at “Oriental Dumpling King” (Eastern is still translated as Oriental in many places). One traditional Chinese saying holds that good lucks comes to travelers if they eat dumplings as they leave a location and then pasta when they arrive at their destinations. My time in Harbin has flown by very quickly! Seeing family was wonderful, and I hope that I’ll be able to come back soon.

Rookie of the Year

Today, my middle cousin (the one who doesn’t enjoy the lyrical portrayal of midweek canoodling) took me around Harbin. One of our stops was at a Buddhist temple near the Harbin Cultural Park. There’s definitely no such thing as a free lunch in China, and admission set each of us back 10 RMB (although my cousin insisted on paying for us all).

In the courtyard of one of the temples, there was a tiered, pagoda -like urn into which I saw many people pitching coins. Each level of the structure had a few holes for coin entry. My cousin’s girlfriend and I decided to try our hands at this task, which is said to bring good luck upon completion. I got out a newly minted 1 Yuan coin and took aim. But after about 6 attempts, the coin had lost its luster, and I had broken a sweat chasing it around as it ricocheted in every direction imaginable. My cousin’s girlfriend politely suggested that perhaps the coin was too large (even though she had successfully tossed in an identical one moments before…).

Wanting to get this awful process over with, I grudgingly pulled out an American nickel. Minutes ticked away, and I realized that Tom Jefferson wasn’t really working for me, either. I decided to redouble my efforts with Honest Abe, whose visage graced the smallest coin in my wallet. If this wasn’t going to work, nothing was.

Three throws later, I was stooped over, picking my penny off of the ground, when an old lady strolled by. Without stopping, this grandmother took out two 1 Yuan coins and simultaneously pitched them sideways, almost not looking. I heard two metallic *dings* (a sound with which I was all too familiar by now). To my amazement, I had just seen both coins sail with laser precision into the urn. And before I knew it, the old lady had walked out of sight.

My initial thoughts: (1) Wow. (2) This is kind of embarrassing. (3) What a showoff! (4) Someone please draft this woman (or buy me steroids). Inspired by what I just witnessed (or way too embarrassed to quit now), I managed to toss my tiny copper coin into a hole the size of two-liter Coke bottle with just a few more tries. Now I’m just waiting for my $0.01 worth of good fortune…

Hey, hey, you, you, 我不喜欢你的 Avril.

During another late-night conversation last night with my middle cousin, the topic of differences between American and Chinese music came up. When he mentioned American bands that Chinese kids listen to now, I was cringed when I heard names like Avril Lavigne and Simple Plan. Suffice it to say that lyrics such as “I don’t like your girlfriend / I think you need a new one” aren’t sparking too many intellectual discussions in American living rooms – or Chinese ones, even if she insists on poorly pronouncing the chorus in Mandarin.

Eventually, it was revealed that my cousin thought that American music was, well…, crude. To demonstrate his point, he played an mp3 on his Sony PSP (an American song that I hadn’t heard before), which contained what he believed to be some disreputable, disquieting lyrics. Turns out that the offending phrase was: “On Wednesday, we’ll be making love” (or something to that nature).

Well, hell, if that was so offensive, I had an entire arsenal of songs on my desktop sure to horrify him. I started with “Buttons” and proceeded to play “Back That Ass Up.” Another of my cousin’s complaints about contemporary American music (especially urban/hip hop) had been that lyrics aren’t clearly pronounced, much to the chagrin of people who are learning English as a second language. I must admit that I have no idea what Juvenile is saying in “Back That Ass Up” in about 90% of the song, starting with the very first line. (“Got you working with… an ashtray?” Ah, this person must work in custodial services.)

But my cousin definitely had a point. Taking a look at the Billboard Top 20, I couldn’t find any particular song with lyrics deeper than a kiddie pool. (And to clarify, I mean one of those above-ground ones made of blue plastic with strangely printed cartoon animals.) And this is precisely why we have indie music.