10.24.2007

Grammar!

Despite many more interesting and curious ideas and happenings to blog about. I am simply providing this delightful link, which has has captured my attention away from analyzing the results of alkalkinity titrations.

Miss Steaks!

10.17.2007

Interrorogated

Yay! It's over! I did an interview! So why don't I feel all chilled out and relieved it's over? Eh... who knows?

I looked way spiffy. I was the only person not dressed in black or gray. Who knew brown could be so revolutionary? The morning started at an unspeakable hour with a perky little info session. It was, uh, too hilarious for words to come in to the mini-conference room spectacle of 30 freaked-out pre-meds. Everyone did that thing where they leave a space between every two people in the seats and eye their neighbors before trying to make awkward conversation. I made one buddy with a cheery dude from San Diego who I quickly discovered was an incessant question-asking kindred spirit. Also there was a kid named Ricky Martin. I mean, his name tag said "Richard" so he could have been a "Rich" or "Rick" or even "Chard," but no, he introduced himself as Ricky. By Choice.

Then came the actual interview part. Now, I like talking about myself. Kind of too much. So much that I spent the four hour drive from home to my Grum's house north of Boston talking out loud to myself about myself. Really, I was practicing. Which was a little stupid because I nearly practiced myself hoarse. This led to some awkward coughing during today's actual time designated for talking about myself. The Old White Guy Doctor from The South was my interviewer, and boy did we bond. I mean, kind of. He gave a little pat on the shoulder as I left, which I think is an excellent sign. Our chat went well, but not amazingly so. I answered his questions well, elaborated some, gave him a bit o' my charm and wit. But, I think he was kind of not so adept at interviewing. There were just a whole lot of things I would have wanted to ask if I was the interviewer.

The plus side of the whole day was the amazing discovery that their med school is a very cool place. Like one I really would like to go to! Much in the way that I eschewed medicine for much of my life because my independent childness made me eschew it, I have somewhat eschewed her alma mater. Until Now.

FUN FACTS:
Almost 40,000 individuals are applying to med school right now!
There are about 18,000 spots in next year's med school classes!

10.01.2007

Sexist? Jealous of my Infinity MPG?



I am very proud of the fact that I bike to work almost every day. It's about 18 minutes to the SMLC from my lovely home in Terebithia, and about 12 to get back (more downhill). There have been post-work errands that necessitate busting out Meriweather, my trusty Subaru.

Yes, I drive a Subaru. Yes I'm a big giant dyke stereotype. Rugby? Check. Softball? Check. Men's clothing? Check. Cats? Check. Serial Monogamist? Check. Best Friends are Exes? Check. Primarily listen to acoustic folk music with female vocalists? Well, you get the idea. I blame the last one on my dad, by the way. He would have done well as a lesbian, but I'm really just as glad that he, uh, was a dude. (Thanks for the genes!)

Anyway. I am very much in love with my ride to and from work. I get to ride up Main Street from our home in the heart of downtown until I hit the residential neighborhood that bumps up against the college. I always see the same older woman, who wears lots of sweaters and eats beans straight from the can. Last week she tickled me a bit by saying "Hey, you're the bike girl" when she ran into me walking by the bank. I always see the same crowd of Hispanic men lingering around the corner with the Citgo station waiting for a construction job.

Oh, Re: Citgo Stations, Love this shirt at threadless:

This is, by no means, a biking town. The DOT folks think a VERY occasional "Share The Road" sign and the suggestion that you "just get off and walk across the crosswalk" are sufficient bicycle infrastructure. " Sigh. For the most part, motorists deal just fine with me in the road. Often, they're so freaked out if I'm making a left at an intersection that they all just freeze and motion for me to go.

Some of the best bike-car interactions I've had:
A woman followed close behind me for a couple of blocks until there was enough room for her to pull all the way into the other lane get around me and yelled "SIDEWALK!" as she passed. Ten seconds later, I caught up to her car at a traffic light. Since her windows were down, I took the opportunity to do a little public education.
"Actually, it's illegal to ride your bike on the sidewalk."
"Really? "
"Yeah."
*Woman scowls and glares* "Well, it's still better than riding in the road."
The next day I had the EXACT same experience with a different person, but her reaction was better:
"Actually, it's illegal."
"REALLY!!?? To ride your bike on the sidewalk!??"
"Yeah."
"REALLY? Shit.." *Woman shakes head in wonder and disbelief*

Then there was the guy who pulled up next to me at a traffic light, revved his engines and looked over all like "Wanna Race?" I, of course, took him up on his challenge. Which, I maintain that I won. That is, if the finish line was the other side of the intersection.

Then there was the scary time that a car, for no reason, swerved in front of me and slowed down as I came up behind them. And stayed there. And then did it again a while later after they sped up and then came up to a light.

Those were all pretty funny, but a couple of days ago I had a less good experience. I passed a black pick-up pulled over on the other side of the road. The scruffy man in the front seat, who must have been about 60, stuck his head and shoulders all the way out the window to make friggin kissy noises at me. My first reaction was to flip him the bird, but my inner "nice Minnesota girl" politely pointed out that the car coming toward me might misread my gesture. And then she noted that I could have misinterpreted his expression. I looked back again and learned that I was in no way mistaken, but his light changed and he cruised off. Though part of me is impressed that he recognized my gender under my manly garb and focused bikin' posture, I am so friggin pissed off. I hate that so many men think this shit is ok. That somehow we are here for them to look. That most of society tells them it's ok. Hate it. Dang that patriarchy!

Of course, I have to consider rising gas prices, his crappy miles per gallon and consequential sinking financial resources and male ego. This was probably his way of coping with overwhelming jealousy of my infinity MPG.

Into the NEXT STEPS

Well, shuck-ee. I have passed another med-school torture, scratch that, application hurdle and some has actually asked me to interview.

What I should be worried about: Why exactly do am I interested in Boston University? "It's in Boston...." is probably not a good answer.

What I'm actually worried about: What the hell am I going to wear?

Full Disclosure: This is, amusingly, where my mother attended med school. And where my father attended engineering school. And where my aunt went to dental school. I don't think they have any way of knowing that. Or rather, I don't think they'd waste time running my parents' names through their magic system. But still. It doesn't help with the whole wanting to be accepted on my own merits thing.

Regarding the second concern: I'm not one to be hung up on clothing. I'm really super not. But I haven't gotten any clothing in more than a year from anywhere besides Salvation Army or Goodwill and, uh, none of it exactly fits me correctly and none of it is exactly formal. My mother has graciously offered to buy for me the interview suit,* or what I hope will become my mad hardcore powerlesbian suit. Think Bette. Ok, I'll never be that hott. Or that femme. Hrm. "Suit" Doesn't exactly answer my question. I mean, I have the suit I got from Target a while back. And it looks rather hott on me, but, uh, it is noticeably too big. It's too big because I intended to be able to use it for all manner of cross-dressing purposes and it need to be big enough to hide my gazingas. (Thank you to Dad for that particular brestical slang term). Sigh, anyway, now I'm in the how do I find a suit that actually fits, like, um, one made for women, that doesn't debutchify? Maybe I just wear it with a tie.

*Ok, technically I asked for that as my birthday present. But it was such a cute way to tell her I got an interview, right? "Hey mom, I thought of something you can get me for my birthday!"