I know children are starving....

But I still had a pretty bad day!

Firstly, I sat around at my new home starting at 4 pm, because I had a 5-7 pm Fresh Direct delivery slot. Around 6:15pm I decided to make sure they hadn't sent me an email to change my slot. When I checked my email, I noticed I had never even received an order confirmation. I growled. I picked up the phone. They had never received my order even though I received a confirmation page. I re-placed the order and it's coming tomorrow night.

On top of that, I found out I will have to pay for another month of membership at NYSC even though I joined Planet Fitness yesterday. Oh, well. I'll just have to make it all worth my money, I guess.

Big move part 1.

Today my parents came to retrieve my remaining possessions. My father was in a bad mood, as always and even felt it was okay to take it out on my roommate. They left without so much as sharing a cup of coffee with me, and Ginelle came over to keep me company while I took care of the remaining items.

I downsized my life considerably. Everything I own will fit in 2x the back of a minivan. I had 3 bags of garbage and a few other things. When I took out the trash there were 3 guys sitting on the sidewalk by the trash hutch, and I realized quickly that they were doing so because so many people move in and out of my building and often dispose of useful items. I gave one guy my VCR, and he asked me if I had a TV. Another got a CD player. And God knows what else they took home -- some old plays I wrote, perhaps?

I'm officially at Ginelle's tonight, though I have to go finish up some things tomorrow at the "old" apartment. A small suitcase, some items in the closet, some food, a piece or two of furniture must come over. My books must find homes. My camera bag is sitting there, in my room, as is my cable box which must be returned.

It's a weird time of my life right now, when I can't see more than a few feet in front of me.

Telephone games.

My mother told my rat story at work. A little while later, she was walking around the office and heard someone retelling the story and including this new detail, which - heck - I don't even remember!

"She felt something on her pant leg, and she thought it was a homeless person sleeping under the bench...".

I don't think I mentioned it here....

But I am officially part of the Ross School of Business MBA class of 2010!

I smelled a rat and a rat smelled me.

This evening I went into the 18th street subway station to get on the uptown 1 train to meet Jill for dinner. It looked like I would be waiting a while, so I wandered around and found a place to sit on one of the benches.

I was sitting there, lost in my thoughts, when I felt something on my pant-leg and foot. The following three thoughts went through my head in a split second:

• Ahhh! A rat!
• Nah, why would it be a rat?
• What could it be besides a rat? Ahhh!

I looked down and found a slimy, grubby, dirty subway rat on top of my foot clawing at my pant-leg. I shook him off, and he nonchalantly wandered back under the bench. I got up, paced the platform, and was glad I was leaving the city soon.

Now, I don't want to sound like I don't like rats. I've had some very good experiences with rats over the years, and I have some very fond memories of nice, sterile, non-germy, white lab rats that I got to play with in my college neuroscience class. They were the best! We'd put them under for a little nap, do a little surgery, and when they woke up again a few hours later they were ready to play with neurotransmitters and hormones!

Ah, those were the days. But I don't want to imply that I only like white rats. Because a rat is a rat to me, I just happen to have experience with the white ones. Lab rats tend to be overwhelmingly white. It's just the way it is. Throw a black or a brown rat in there and I'd be just as happy about it.

No, it's not the fur color of subway rats that bothers me; it's the filth. Now, I know they can't help it. They were born into the world of the streets, raised in the streets with little or no supervision, and they have to hunt and fight every day just to survive. They dodge subway trains all day, they have to run through those mysterious subway puddles. I've seen Ratatouille -- I know hard a rat's life can be.

So I guess I'm just a ratist. But would it kill them to not climb my pant-leg? Or at least say hello first? Or maybe take a little shower? I mean, it might not be the best way to judge people, but we all get judged by our appearances -- rats included.

Oh, the irony.

Today I received an email from an MBA program we'll call Rubber Duckie. I was accepted to Rubber Duckie and the email was an invitation to a Dean's Reception in New York in early April. It included a time and address, but it didn't indicate if the reception was at a restaurant, hotel, office, or private residence.

For kicks, I Googled the address. The result makes me very glad I decided against accepting Rubber Duckie's offer some time go.

Click here to see why!

Only a portion of the huge selection of frozen potato products at Wegman's.

Nephew #1

Nephew #2 (sick :( )

Sheepy went to UVA.

Oh, woe is me

My father said this to me today in the car, in all seriousness, while we were listening to A Prairie Home Companion:

"Did you know that this show is all fake?"

One train ride, 2 blogs

Two weeks ago a journal I work on published its February issue. Not long after editors and offices got their paws on it, there was a problem: the article included x-rays as illustrations, and two of the x-rays contained the patient's name. The reason it happened was not my fault, but correcting it was, and a couple continents were involved in the decision to change the published article to avoid being sued over patient confidentiality. There was a ruckus.

I filed the quality control request for the change. The control person came back to me with a one line email, which lead me to Google, which led me to pick up the phone.

The name on the x-rays was the x-ray machine's manufacturer name and model.

**

There is a wine store in Penn Station, around track 16. I never knew this before today. Usually I show up at the station, maybe great a bite to eat, and peoplewatch until they call my playform. Tonight it was crowded and I was antsy, kind of in the mood for a magazine, so I wanted around the lower level. I saw the wine shop -- it was no crappy, garbage-filled 34th street liquor store. This was a nice, classy wine shop. I compared prices to some wines I frequently buy, and they were only higher by about two dollars, not bad for the convenience. Not only that, but I was in luck -- I passed the time before my train chatting with the owner and tasting a few organic wines from the west coast.

Photos in lieu of words: Ann Arbor.

1 B in A2.

So here is an unflattering shot of me sitting at the desk in my hotel room in Ann Arbor, wearing my new Michigan sweatshirt.

I flew into Detroit around 11. I had been sleeping throughout the flight and woke up just in time to see us land on the snow-covered ground. My immediate thought was, "what am I doing here?" and it was immediately echoed by the woman next to me.

It was cold. But not as cold as I had expected. My room wasn't ready when I got to the hotel so I walked to the mall (across a highway). I hadn't been in a mall in years, and it was a disorienting experience. Eventually I got a cab and went downtown where I wandered around a bit before my first appt.

Apartment appointment #1: Nob Hill. They already have a waiting list for 2 BRs, and I didn't find the apartments that nice. I don't think I want to live there.

Apartment complex 2: The owner is a Ross grad and really really nice. The 2 BR he showed me was just the right size, and modern enough. The rent was a little higher but included all but electricity. Also very close to school.

I then spend another 4 hours or so wandering around town. The downtown area of Ann Arbor is very cute, very nice. I went to a chocolate factory where the guy working gave me too many samples while we chatted and I bought a box of chocolates (much cheaper than Jacques Torres, and just as good). I got take out for dinner from a little Japanese cafe, where the guy behind counter and I discussed our trips to Japan and our experiences learning Japanese.

All in all, I like it, but I'm not swayed yet. Tomorrow I meet with a second year with a similar background. That should help tremendously.

I think it boils down to this though: Ross has a better rep, and perhaps better stats, but I would live better in Virginia, and might prefer the teaching style.

*sigh

Kindness of strangers? Or just strange?

Tonight I left work a little late and with things on my mind. I wandered across Spring Street and up Varick lost in my thoughts, pausing at the street corners when there were "do not walk" lights. I don't carry an umbrella usually, and tonight was no exception, though there was a slight rain falling upon lower Manhattan. I stopped at the corner of Vandam Street and thought about my weekend while waiting for the light to change, oblivious to the rain or the stopped traffic that was backed up from the tunnel.

The car parked on the corner beeped at me. I thought I was in the way, but when I looked, the man sitting in the driver's seat motioned with his hand and I could see his lips make the word, "Go!" since there was obviously no traffic to avoid.

On one hand, that could be nice. He could have been thinking, "Poor girl with no umbrella lost in her thoughts. She shouldn't get wet!"

But this is New York. It's more likely he was thinking, "What's wrong with her?! GO YOU IDIOT. YOU'RE GETTING WET."

More confusion.

Last night I went to a dinner party in an apartment in the Philip Johnson building across from the Met. RIGHT across from the Met. The window was full of Met.

It was a dinner party for admitted students to the Darden school at UVA. I was there to be convinced. I was one of two who had not yet committed to Darden, so the alums were on me like flies to honey. Everyone was very passionate. I did tell them that I was considering Michigan, and I was very unimpressed when they tried to tell me their east coast recruiting wasn't as good out there (I've looked into it -- recruiting is the same). But I was impressed by everyone's enthusiasm, and they do have a point with the case method.

I'm honestly teetering on the fence here. But I guess I'll have a better idea of what to do once I experience that -7 windchill in Ann Arbor this weekend.

Blogettes.

1. Today I went to the dentist for an exam and learned that I did permanent damage (trauma) to my bottom front teeth by playing the clarinet for 10 years.

2. I realized today that a large part of my decision whether or not to come back to New York post-MBA will have to do with real estate prices.

3. I'm going to have to get up at 6 on Saturday to fly to Detroit.

In defense of quality.

I once dated a guy who made a lot of money who said he was going to buy a BMW. Now, what attracted me to this man was not his money but his concern for the poor and I flat-out asked him how he could justify buying a BMW knowing how many mouths that car's cost could feed in India.

He said, "In order to help others, I must first make myself happy."

This was the first of many lines of BS that would come out of this guy's mouth, but it raises an interesting point.

I'm not opposed to buying "good" things, even though I know they are often expensive. If he had said, say, "Well, I've thought about it and done the research, and because of the life span and quality of a BMW, it actually costs me less in the long-run to buy one now than to buy a different car now, because I'll need to put more money into it later, both in repairs and replacement," I think I'd have been okay with it. And maybe a little impressed.

If I had money at the moment, I would make a purchase of some nice cookware. I do need some, and because I don't have any money, it is likely that I will probably go to Wal-mart and buy some cheap stuff. I've owned cheap stuff before -- it doesn't last long or wear well. Cheap cookware is the reason I need more cookware now. Good cookware, however, as the French have proven through the years, can last a lifetime and even be bequeathed to the next generation. Isn't this what people did before Wal-Mart and Target were around to answer our every little desire the second they were felt? A luxury now can be the economical choice if you look at a longer time frame.

The same with a house. I don't believe that I would spend more on a house build with an architect to my specs than I would in buying a house that met my needs but was designed less efficiently. Money not spent on wasted floor space can go into efficient windows. Oh, but I won't be paying as many workers with less space, but perhaps the finished product will be unostentatious and modest. It might even eat less money with the work it requires. My parents have an old house that they bought for peanuts, but it's required an unbelievable amount of work over the years. I suppose it's possible that I could rent for the rest of my life, but in this country that's not really seen as an option, and it probably shouldn't be given the cost of rentals here. If I were to buy a house, I would have it designed and executed in the best way.

Am I talking like a crazy person?

This ties into my theory about food. Granted, I currently have a mysterious stomach ailment that makes it necessary to watch what I eat. But if that were not the case, I could eat a Pop-Tart instead of egg whites for breakfast. One may be better or me than another, but they'll both fill my tummy and keep me alive for another day. This begs the question: If I had a limited budget to feed the poor, would it be better to feed a few with good, nutritious food, or many with processed things that may be of limited nutritional value? Is good health and nutrition a privilege or a right, and can the consequence of health be weighed against cost?

I think this is a bit of what Michael Pollan goes into in his book, In Defense of Food. I've only read the first few pages, so I don't really know, but I think I get this much out of it. Currently you have to spend a lot of money to get fresh, real, unprocessed food. Well, it's not exactly a lot of money, but it's more than you need to spend to keep food in the kitchen and in your stomaches, so it would seem that while food is a necessity, fresh unprocessed food is now a luxury.

So, therefore, my current eating habits are a luxury. But wait! Because people like me shop at places like Whole Foods and Trader Joes, those businesses STAY in business, and they even continue to grow. If they grow, it is because there is a demand for their goods. Where there is demand, there is a chance to supply. Where there is a chance to supply there is MONEY TO BE MADE. Therefore, by shopping at these establishments, I am not only contributing to their existence, but indeed, I am contributing to the growth of the practices they support (organic, fresh foods). If they continue to grow enough, the cost of the food that they sell will go down due to increased production, more people will buy it, processed food will become less profitable, and (I would hope) cease to exist. And THEN, ladies and gentlemen, this real, whole, unprocessed food will be more widely available and affordable, and the most healthy of foods will not longer be a luxury. Eating in the most economical way will also be the most healthy way.

Am I making sense or excuses?

Weird people in restaurants.

Last night, S and I went to Gobo for dinner. We were sitting next to a man who was talking loudly, but I couldn't quite figure out what he was talking about. I caught the following:

• There's only room for 10.
• My daughter is gay. There will be no 11th because there will be no one to impregnate her.
  
• Her partner is not welcome.
• I've thought of everything.
• I know something is going to happen.
• People think I'm crazy.

Bio-dome? Spaceship? I wanted to lean over and ask him what he was talking about, but I suspect he would have responded, "I'm sorry, but we don't have room for you. There's only room for 10."

He was born again...at 5 months of age.

Today my youngest nephew was baptized in my brother's evangelical church. My older nephew was baptized at the same church 3 years ago. I've attended many a Protestant service in my day, and I could never quite put my finger on what I didn't like about them. Today I think I figured something out.

After the baptism was a regular Sunday service. The sermon was probably a good thirty minutes long. It could be reduced to the following:

I know there are things you want. We all want things. You probably think that if you get that new car, or that big raise, you'll be happy. But I read the bible, and I'm smarter than you. I'm telling you that it won't make you happy. Now, go out and see how much I just changed your life.

Now, I'm no saint. But I figured out a long time ago that while material possessions are nice, they don't determine my happiness or contentment. I've been poor, I've been less poor. I'm about to be more poor. Income level can contribute to the amount of time one spends on chores or how much one is inconvenienced, but, it can also help reduce the amount of, say, claustrophobia I experience. But I wouldn't say it changes my level of happiness. Mostly this is because I don't like to be unhappy and always find something to keep myself in equilibrium, as I think most people do. If I were living in a small apartment, I would spend a lot of time outside. If I need alone time, I take it. If someone makes me feel bad about myself -- well, I'm not always good at that one, but I try to stay away from them.

My point is that, if I had taken the sermon personally, I would have been pretty insulted. If I had to find a new name of their church I would find it "Remedial Religion." So maybe that makes me a snob. Maybe I think I'm too smart. But it didn't speak to me at all, and this is an experience like many other experiences I've had with evangelical churches. In my experience and opinion, they give people no credit, and don't challenge them at all.

But then again, who am I to judge?

More incredulity.

Me: I brought movies with me -- do you want to watch one? One is about Edith Piaf.

Mom: What's an edith piaf?

Me: Well, okay, I have another. It's set in Argentina. Wait, was Pinochet Chilean or Argentinean? Chilean, right?

Dad: Who the hell is Pinochet?