Adoration

So Mr. is done with his first rotation and finally gets a break.  We didn't make it to the zoo, but we did go out to dinner with STM and her hubby to the Boat Basin.  Good food, great atmosphere.  I'd heard of Boat Basin for a while, so I'm glad they suggested it!

Later last night, as Mr. was packing to go home, we had Nick at Nite on.  As you may know, Nick at Nite currently shows sitcoms from our childhood and adolescence: Home Improvement, Fresh Prince of Bel Air, Family Matters, and George Lopez.  Judge us if you will, but this is the time slot he and I can agree on.  

As I nostalgically remembered all the handful of nights one or both of us has stayed up packing with Nick on this past year, I remarked, "I love our mutual [inner monologue: don't say love again] adoration of cheesy 90's television."  "Adorittion?" Mr. repeated, confused.  Thinking I had said it sloppily, I repeated, "a-dor-RAY-shun".  He was still clueless.  "Adoration!  Like, adore, but in noun form!"  He then went on to insist that he had never heard the word before in his life.  Now I know how my parents felt when I thought 'cajole' was such an out-there word to learn during my SAT prep.  Except adoration is still so much more common than cajole.  I think Mr.'s head must be so full of medical stuff, obscure raps, and commercial jingles from the late 1980's that he doesn't have room for regular knowledge.

The Right Choice

When I was in 7th grade, there were two boys named Matt in my class (the advanced class - we were all nerds). One was tall and skinny. He was my 'boyfriend'. The other was shorter, stockier, and wore glasses with transition lenses. This second Matt was a really nice guy. He wasn't particularly anti-social, but many times if there was downtime in class, he wouldn't jump into a bunch of conversations with his friends like everyone else was doing. He'd sit back and observe. I supposed I was also observant then as I noticed this and asked what he was doing.
"Sometimes I just like to sit back and watch people."
At the time it seemed a little creepy, but since I liked just about anything that was outside the norm, I also found it kind of cool. I started to imitate, probably lacking the actual thought process to fully analyze at that point. But then it became a habit, and I became curious by various cliques and social tendencies. In high school, I was curious where exactly my group of friends fit, and in college I was quick to observe the differences between a New Yorker's attitude and the attitudes of those from the Midwest.

Being a huge math nerd, I have an eye for patterns, trends. I'm only one week in, but this skill I've developed is precisely what working in fashion is all about. Taking note, anticipating, etc. It's a big math and numbers game, which will probably give me a slight academic advantage over most of my classmates, drawn to fashion for the artistic side. The one exception would be that girl who used to be an investment banker.
The rest of it is getting inside the mind of the every day consumer. Not insisting on your own taste, but recognizing the mainstream taste or the specific taste for your market. This is the same sort of thing needed in entertainment, but people actually pay attention in fashion.

Yes, this was the right choice for me. This will be good.

Every time I start a new job, a coworker gets pregnant.

Well, 3 for 3 at least.

A little over 2 years ago, I started my first full-time job as a secretary at a law firm.  After training, I was placed almost immediately in a pairing of desks with AS.  We had just hit a groove of a friendship when she revealed to me that she was pregnant.  As she was preparing for maternity leave, a new girl, AR, started at a nearby desk station.  When AS left, I was moved to the desk station with AR and formed a friendship with her.

I then got an opportunity to be a secretary elsewhere for more money.  It sounded promising, so I left shortly after AS returned, and AS moved to the desk station with AR.

My phone coverage at the new job was a woman a year or two my senior, RP.  It took a little longer for us to warm up to each other, but we eventually formed a rapport.  Sure enough, she soon became pregnant.  Meanwhile, I hated my new job and longed for the law firm again.

So, I called my old boss and put plans in motion to start back in a new position there.

My top priorities upon my return (4 months ago) were to see AS and AR, particularly AR as she was leaving for California for the summer for her husband's job.  Now that the summer is over, AR has returned, and when we met to catch up, I was delightfully surprised to find that she was, yep, 4 months pregnant.

You heard it here first, kids.  Trying to conceive?  Get your boss to hire me as your coworker.

Always feels like a race against father time...

...In the streets of New York.

On Monday, I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood instead of going to the gym on my lunch break.  I work in a 'shiny' area of the city, full of high end retail stores.  It's probably my favorite neighborhood of all with the crisp, clean smell that gently wafts from the doors of the high end shops, the artful ads, the smartly dressed business men and women walking in a streamline fashion.  

It's not the preferred neighborhood of most people I know, though.  You see, New York (or Manhattan specifically), is just a bunch of little neighborhoods squished together on one tiny little 34 square mile island.  There are countless names - some of them familiar, like Harlem and Times Square, some of them better known to New Yorkers, such as Murray Hill and Tribeca, and even some yet that many New  Yorker's wouldn't be able to locate on the map like Manhattan Valley or Turtle Bay.  Each has a unique personality developed through the shops, the restaurants, the real estate prices, the inhabitants, and the entertainment, just like any other town.  Except these are not towns - these are neighborhoods of sometimes only a few blocks.  So, despite this being the 'big apple', there's nothing all that terrifying about moving here from a small town.  You just need to find the neighborhood where you belong and make it yours.  The rest of the island's neighborhoods are simply like neighboring towns - great to take advantage of and visit but not necessarily home.

I had started out with a point I had wanted to make, but I like this better.  Let me just finish this off with a statistic, though, that I learned in my buying class last night:

The average 30 year old woman in Westchester County has 3.2 children.

The average 30 year old woman in Manhattan has 0.8 children.

Not surprising, but fascinating nonetheless.

Previewing the Future?

I added a new blog to our blog list on the left, Ricochet Dreamer, written by the wife of a family medicine resident in Texas. I just started reading it a few weeks ago, but so far it has really kept me interested, mainly because it seems like a lot of the things she's going through are the same things we'll be facing in just a few years: New places, new jobs, new routines, and a very tired husband (This post made me laugh.) So anyways, hopefully I'm not the only one who likes the blog, and hopefully she'll keep updating and keep me entertained.

Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Cupcakes

One of my favorite parts about being grown up is getting invited to dinner parties.  Tonight I was invited by a friend of a friend (who is now a friend herself) to an end of summer all girls dinner party.  When I asked if I could bring anything, she suggested dessert.  Woot.

My first thought was to make these delicious peanut-butter cupcakes that Mr. made once, but then I found out that the hostess is allergic to nuts.  Plus I can't find my cupcake cookbook. :(

Attached to the cupcake idea, though, as they're somewhat easy to transport, I started on the hunt for a simple yet unique recipe with ingredients that could be found at the nearby supermarket.

First I looked at Little Ms Foodie's blog remembering she had this delicious recipe I've been meaning to try for Mascarpone & Strawberry cupcakes, but I wasn't confident I would be able to find mascarpone cheese at the supermarket.  However, she did have a link to How to Eat a Cupcake, where I discovered a link to the recipe I ended up using for Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Cupcakes.

The mere thought of whole milk makes me a little queasy, so I instead used 1 cup of skim milk and 2 teaspoons of melted butter.  I also wasn't able to find frozen cookie dough, so I bought 1 lb of the refrigerated kind, broken into 24 pieces, then froze, as suggested.

I didn't quite feel up to making icing from scratch, so I just bought some store chocolate icing... with sprinkles.

Since the recipe makes twice as many cupcakes as I was taking to the party, I enlisted the help of STM.  We make quite the baking team.  We also make quite the eating team.  After the first batch, we sampled them to make sure they turned out alright.

Yes, that's cookie dough goodness in the middle.  Content with our results, we continued with the rest.

I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say they were a huge hit.  I was the second guest to arrive, so most were unaware that I was the one who brought the cupcakes when they moaned in delight.  Mission accomplished.

Even if the cupcakes hadn't been a hit, though, the dinner party was truly fabulous.  I met a lot of people, including a girl who had gone to undergrad with Mr. - what a small world!  I only knew two people going into the evening, but by the end of the night, I felt like I had known all of them much longer.

And as I headed to the subway, I noticed this text message from Mr.: 

'I hope the dinner party is well.  The cupcakes are good.'

What a lovely night!

The Two-Week Rule

Mr. has a rule that he doesn't leave the borough within 2 weeks of a test. For the boards he rarely even left the classroom building for the month prior.

His first shelf exam is less than a week away, so for this Golden Weekend, he'll be stuck indoors.

Don't get me wrong - I admire how disciplined he is, and his strategy is definitely effective for achieving great things.  However, he's seriously in danger of becoming one of those guys who always talks shop because he has nothing else of interest to say.  Maybe next weekend (after the shelf but before his next rotation) we can do something fun and not medically related.  My vote is the zoo. :)

Student v. Student

Last night before bed, Mr. called me, 'Ms. Student' or something like that in a sweet tone.  It really felt nice because after orientation, I feel that he gets this is real.

I have varied interests, and let's face it, none of them are live saving.  They're life enhancing.  They're also not very profitable, so it can seem a bit silly for me to spend all this money on my undergrad degree and then spend some more money to get a lower level degree from a less academically competitive school.  The confusion is compounded when surrounded by future doctors, of both philosophy and medicine.  Why would you not seek to get the highest degree you possibly can??  This confusion has caused a slight disconnect between Mr. and me once or twice since I got my acceptance letter.  Here's the breakdown:

1. They don't offer Fashion Merchandising at the graduate level.
2. Even if they did, I don't have the appropriate background to pursue it.
3. Associate's degrees are cheaper than master's degrees.
4. For what I think I want to do in fashion, a master's would be overkill.
5. If I get to the point where a master's would help my career, my employer can pay for it!

Pursuing a career in medicine, with all the competition, is pretty straightforward: You go to college, pre-med, take the MCATs, apply to medical school, attend medical school, apply for residencies, make a match list, [hopefully] match, and the process continues.  Other careers, particularly those in artistic fields such as theatre and fashion, are less linear.  Those wacky right-brain industries!  Instead it's all about connections and having something to offer besides that.  For some it's talent, others it's experience, and for me it'll probably be my studies.

I think in addition to the confusion, though, Mr. was just worried about the time factor.  He's in school, and his schedule is intense.  I'll be in school and working full time, not to mention my commute.  How will anything get done?  It won't be easy, but we'll make it work.  Plus, with neither of us home, the apartment can't get that messy, right?  I figure now is the time to do this, before throwing pets or children into the mix.  And ultimately I'll have to be doing something to rake in the dough while Mr.'s a resident and putting his entire salary toward student loans.  BigLaw doesn't exist in the boonies, after all, and who knows where we'll be for residency.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute.  We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.  And the human race is filled with passion.  And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.  But poetry, beauty, romance, love - these are what we stay alive for.

~Dead Poets Society

Oriented

Today I left work early in order to attend my orientation for fashion school. Since the bookstore is only open until 6:00pm or early on weekdays and closed on weekends, today was the only day for me to pick up my books. So, I rushed out of work, caught the train, and coolly and calmly walked up to my school for the first time. The thing about fashion school is that everyone thinks they know about clothes and fashion and most of them do. My style is much more classic than that of those I passed. It's also more, ahem, work appropriate. After picking up my books, I passed a girl who looked like she stepped out of a Madonna music video circa Holiday complete with a mini jean skirt, teased hair, and many thin bangle bracelets.

Suddenly feeling old/out of place/from the wrong decade, I tried to find the seminar rooms. Luckily it only required talking to 2 different security guys. The orientation sessions were broken down based on program, which means I was with other night and weekend fashion merchandising management majors who already have a bachelor's degree. Those 10 other women and one dude seemed much more like me than some of the students I had passed on the street. More conservatively dressed, varied interests, born prior to 1990... One even has a kid! Hopefully I'll have classes with a few of them.

Then of course, one of the professors at my orientation advised that we don't buy our books prior to our first class, but half the books I purchased were listed on the syllabus for one class, and well, the other 2 look interesting at least!

Added bonus - I got my id card after orientation, and there was no line! Sweet.

The Alarm Clock Tango

There are two types of people in this world: those who snooze and those who don't. Mr's the former. I'm the latter.
I set my phone's alarm for 7:00am every weekday, and 8:00am on Sundays. The alarm rings, I shut it off ASAP, and I head to the bathroom to start my routine. On days I didn't get enough sleep, I'll ease into the day by checking my email first before heading to the bathroom. For me this is the start of a leisurely morning. I'm physically ready by 7:30, dressed, hair done, make-up applied. That gives me 35 minutes to check my email some more, look on facebook, watch the CBS Early show, make my lunch, make the bed, and do the dishes. By the time I leave at 8:05, I'm a fully functioning and awake person.
Mr., on the other hand, has a complex system involving his phone alarm and an actual alarm clock that I bought freshman year of college. At 6:30, his phone alarm goes off. At 6:40, the actual alarm. He continues to snooze and reset until he finally rolls out of bed, which has lately been after I've finished brushing my teeth. This means that I actually wake up at 6:30 and just sort of lie there until my alarm goes off.
The awkwardness of the half-hour between his first alarm and my alarm is compounded by the face that he sleeps on the side of the bed adjacent to the wall, requiring him to either crawl over me or exit at the foot of the bed in order to hit his snooze button. It's an interesting dance we do each morning.
I wonder how the routine will change when he starts OB. Only 2 more weeks of Medicine. *whew*

This morning after the alarm clock tango, I was commuting to work, as I do every morning, and at the 2nd to last stop in the Borough, the pre-recorded announcement told us: "This is the last stop on this train; everybody please leave the train. Thank you, and have a safe day." Some passengers got off. Many of us stayed on waiting to see if there would be an actual announcement by a live person. It's not totally unheard of for the operators to press the wrong announcement button in there. 30 seconds to a minute later, the same pre-recorded message was played. At that point, most of the remaining passengers deboarded...until we heard the voice say, 'Stand clear of the closing doors, please', at which point we rushed back on the train. A number of passengers remained on the platform, which meant those of us who had boarded now all had seats. Sweet. The train continued into Manhattan. Suckers!

Friday Night in the City

My friend from work turned in her timecard yesterday.  It's time to start her 'real job'.  While I'm sad to lose a lunch buddy, it's always reassuring to see people make it out.  That doesn't mean I hate my job.  No, quite the contrary.  I really enjoy working at the law firm...I just don't want to work there forever.  The danger of working a job that you love is that you'll do it forever and never move on to a career.  I have too much pride for that.  I love the law firm and all they've done for me, but I want to do something that I've chosen, not something that just happened to fall in my lap.

Anyway, since it was her last day, she was invited to happy hour by one of the attorneys.  Not wanting to go alone, she invited me to come with her.  I felt a little awkward wearing my rain boots, but it was happy hour, not a club, and besides I'm married, so what does it matter?  My friend also kept insisting that the boots were super cute.

We stopped off at her apartment first and ordered in Pizza 33.  Best. Pizza. Ever.  No joke.  I've been to Grimaldi's, Lombardi's, and Patsy's, and while they are all phenomenal with incredible ingredients and toppings, Pizza 33 also has delicious crust.  Seriously, go there.  Like, yesterday.

After the best pizza ever, we headed out in the sprinkling rain - you know the type that is hard enough to be annoying but not hard enough to be the jerk with umbrella? - to happy hour at Borough.  I was relieved to find a casual, chill atmosphere, and while I still felt silly wearing my rain boots, I didn't feel terribly underdressed.  I had much more fun than I expected to have.  We played some pool.  I hit about 3 balls in on purpose, all in the last game.  Unfortunately, I also scratched about 6 times.  I get the mathematics of pool, but I totally suck at the mechanics.  I ended up staying an hour later than I expected and realized I miss going out.  Not clubbing, because, in my opinion, it's not worth it in New York (too crowded and expensive), but just hanging out, playing pool, doing stuff you can't really do in our neighborhood in the Borough.  My friend, I think, felt the same way.  And since she's a granny like me who likes to go to bed at a reasonable hour, I think she'll make a good going out buddy in the future.  And I'm totally down with being her wing-woman.

Back to School!

Okay, confession time - I'm a nerd. Like, a huge nerd. When I was in kindergarten, I was jealous of my brother in 2nd grade because he got homework. I wanted homework! Before 6th grade, I remember using the map of the school to plan my route during passing period. To be fair, my middle school was 3 stories high and our passing periods were 4 minutes long. However, I also did the same before my freshman year in high school...and did what I could before freshman year in undergrad as well.

I will be starting school in 10 days, and while I don't have to worry about passing periods as I only have once class per night, I have planned for just about everything else. I've even poked around the site I'll use for my online course. I'm confident I'll be able to find the classrooms for my regular class as the buildings are identified by letters (A, B, C, and D). However, I was worried about where to go for my orientation, which is next Tuesday. I've known the date and time for weeks now but not the location. You can imagine how awkward and nervous I was getting until yesterday when I received a letter in the mail with all of the room locations for all of the program orientations. Most seemed to be in classrooms, a few in the amphitheatre, one in the faculty dining room. Mine was toward the bottom of the second page. SR 8. SR8??? I scrambled for the campus map online. Nope, no building S or SR. We're new students; how is this supposed to help? Sure, maybe there will be people there to direct me that day, but I'm going after work. I don't have an extra 20 minutes to get lost.

So today I called 3 different people at the school. Yes, I'm going to be that girl. First I needed to dispute a charge on my bill (why something called 'student refund' is a charge to me, the student, is beyond all reasonable logic). Then I needed to figure out how to get into my email which hasn't worked for weeks now. After that, I discover an email from an administrative assistant regarding mail to me that had been returned to them, and that I needed to reply by today. So, I quickly called her to straighten out the mail situation and afterwards slyly asked her, 'um, do you know where the SR rooms are'? And the mystery was solved - they're in the basement. 'SR' stands for 'Seminar Room'. Crisis averted.

On Calls and Curtain Calls

It's a quarter after midnight, and I just got home.  Mr. is not yet home.  He was on call today, and it looks like it's a late night.

As you see, it was also a late night for me, but for a much more enjoyable reason: I saw Boeing Boeing on Broadway!  Ah, the rough life of being married to a guy who's never home, always having to find ways to amuse myself...

Okay, really a sorority sister wanted to take advantage of her employer's theatre discount, so a few of us headed out after work tonight to see this brilliant comedy revival.

Boeing Boeing is about a man with 3 fiancees, all flight attendants, and the hilarity that ensues when an old friend stops by for a visit.

The show was great, but it has only a little to do with the writing and much to do with the acting, timing, and staging.  This production features respected performers Bradley Whitford, Christine Baranski, Gina Gershon, Kathryn Hahn and Mary McCormack, but the man who made the show with his deadpan delivery was Mark Rylance, playing the friend.

Far more seasoned critics have reviewed this piece, so I'm not going to do so here.  I just want to give it a thumbs up, declare it a must see, and to remind anyone who might be curious to always try to see a show with its original cast.  It truly makes a difference.

Mr.'s home now, and I'm ready for bed.  Good night!  

Point for me!

Anyone who knows Mr. knows that he can be incredibly difficult to argue with. In the past (and by 'past', I mean 2 weeks ago), this used to bother me. I just wanted to watch Project Runway without him over my shoulder claiming that the producers probably design all of the outfits themselves, controlling every single aspect to insure the highest level of entertainment.
However, the steeper the climb, the greater the satisfaction when you reach the top! That's right, Mr. conceded a point to me.

Saturday night before bed, I was reading Peony in Love in dim lighting.

Mr. MW: You shouldn't read in dim lighting, it's not good for your eyes.
MW: I thought I read somewhere once that was a myth.
Mr. MW: (scoffs) No, it strains your eyes. We should get you a reading lamp.
MW: (just wanting to get back to the novel) Okay.

Now, I've been scolded about reading in the dark since I was old enough to read. It doesn't hurt my eyes, it doesn't bother me, I don't mind. So, when I read an article or saw on the news (I can't remember) that reading in the dark doesn't actually have long term effects, I was triumphantly satisfied. I may have forgotten the source, but I don't forget being right. :)
Last night I decided to find verification, so I googled, and found this link. It seemed like a decent source, and pretty much said that reading in the dark can cause eye strain, which is exhibited by a bunch of symptoms I never experience. This is mostly short term anyway but can in some cases possibly cause long term effects in nearsightedness. I am nearsighted, but I doubt it's related to eye strain as I've never experienced any of the symptoms of eye strain. It took a little bit of arguing to quasi-persuade Mr. who was rattling on about how I haven't been studied in a controlled environment or something. But finally, he questioned my source and went to find his own. A few minutes later, he conceded the point, finding verification in a legit medical journal.
Woot.

In other news, we're officially married again! Okay, so we've been officially married for over a year now, but at the beginning of this summer, Mr. lost his ring in the ocean. He decided that his original ring had been too bulky and heavy and wanted instead to have a basic small band. So, last week I dropped by the Zales by my work, found and paid for a ring, got it sized, and picked it up yesterday. Hooray, we're married! And now even strangers will know it. ;)

Black Weekend

Mr. worked every day this weekend with his on call day on Saturday, so I was left to my own devices.

On Saturday, I caught an afternoon matinee of the documentary American Teen at Sunshine Cinema on the Lower East Side with one of my sorority sisters.

First, the theatre - I've always gone to the Angelika or Quad Cinema for independent films, but Sunshine is so much better! The lobby is still quirky, giving you the full experience, but the seats are actually a) comfortable and b) above ground. Woot.

Anyway, American Teen is about a few of the high school archetypes in a small Indiana town. Having grown up in an only slightly larger Midwestern town, I was curious to see how fair the portrayal was. I suspected the stereotypes would be exaggerated, but they weren't. This was a genuine slice of life look at seniors in high school.

What I found especially interesting (and accurate to my personal experiences) was that with one exception, there was very little intermingling of the groups despite the small size of the community. While Megan, the princess, was definitely a mean girl, her victims were often within her same circle. Likewise Jake, the geek, wasn't tormented by the jocks but by a more popular band geek. It's an accurate look at the pressures your typical American teenager faces. It's definitely worth checking out if you're as fascinated by the every day as I am.

After the movie, my friend and I grabbed some coffee, then dinner. It was fun to talk about just about everything and anything. I ended up getting home around 10 that night and felt bad abandoning Mr. ... until I got back to the apartment and realized he hadn't been home yet. The only thing that sucks worse than having to work the whole weekend is having to work late on the weekend. Poor guy; welcome to medicine.

Sunday morning I finished Peony in Love, which I had started on the subway on Saturday. It's set in 17th century China and is a fictional work about actual women who had all married, and widowed, the same man.

It's well written in first person with a voice that sounds like that which you would expect from the character. Perhaps because of the setting, very different from anything I've experienced, I wasn't drawn emotionally to the story. However, I was still captivated. I simply couldn't put it down and had to know what happened next.

It kept me interested - I'd recommend it if you need something to read on a plane.

After I finished the novel, I made and ate lunch, did the dishes, went grocery shopping (which I would stop doing on Sunday afternoons if it weren't so darn convenient!), made dinner (chicken parm - shockingly easy!), did the laundry, and worked on my scrapbook.

Mr. came home and took a nap. Only 5 more days until he gets a day off.

Puppy Please

Last night in the Village the hubby and I stumbled onto a pet shop with the cutest puppies ever. Seriously. The. Cutest. Puppies. Ever. And while I'm not so pro-pet shop (I'm all about the rescue shelters instead), I am pro dog.
But anyways, this post isn't about dogs, it's about the next set of criteria when it comes to choosing a residency. The pet shop started off this whole conversation about when we'll be able to get a dog (we can't now because there's a strict no dogs police in our med school housing). Eventually, the hubby decided he's not applying anywhere that doesn't allow dogs in the (mandatory) resident housing. I emphasize that he decided this, not me. But wanting a french bulldog more than just about anything, I heartily agreed with the new criteria.
So now it's my job to figure out what that rules out. So far St. Luke's-Roosevelt looks like it's the only program impacted, but that's just because I haven't really looked into all the others, yet. At least now I know what I'll be busy doing all weekend!

Book Review: Marley & Me

For our paper anniversary, Mr. gave me a couple of books. Knowing I've breezed through quite a few novels on my commute, he chose two New York Times Bestsellers: Marley & Me and Peony in Love. I'm certain he has not read them and likely either chose them because they were under a section called 'Great as Gifts' or because he was advised to do so by a Borders salesperson. Mr. is very bright, but a literary scholar he is not. To be fair, neither am I, but I would argue that my grandmother, both my parents, and my brother are. The bar was set high.

I started with Marley & Me by John Grogan because the title was more familiar and who can resist that adorable puppy on the cover? My first impressions were lukewarm. Sure, it seemed like a nice story and the writing wasn't bad, but it didn't strike me as great literature either. When I lived with my brother, an unpublished poet and unapologetic literary snob, he would lend me works by the likes of Dave Eggers, Tom Perrotta and Michael Chabon. When I read their books, I couldn't help but feel a sort of pride and pretension knowing that I had stumbled upon the works of great talents of our generation. I didn't have that reaction to Marley & Me.

However, I've read "US Weekly" shortly after finishing Anna Karenina; I don't demand that everything I read be brilliant, just entertaining, so I continued. Suddenly I was engrossed in the story. Disobeying the unwritten rule to remain stoic on the subway, I chuckled at the crazy antics of that wild yellow lab, Marley. Without pretension, Grogan brought me in with the clean, crisp writing of a columnist, and I fell in love with his family and their beloved pet.

This morning on my commute as I finished the memoir, while I managed to prevent the many tears in my eyes from falling down my cheeks, I wasn't able to prevent myself from sniffling. Even worse than giggling, I was crying on the subway. The classic rave review - I laughed; I cried - holds true in this case.

The purpose of art, no matter the medium, is to provoke and stir emotion. Sometimes there is a bigger agenda attached, such as a political message of some sort, but what good is that message if it doesn't stir people to act? Marley & Me met this objective head on, and I now see why it reached that coveted #1 spot on the New York Times Bestseller list. I'd give it a 4 out of 5.

And the awkwardness compounds itself

A few weeks ago, I was on the train home back to the borough when I made eye contact with a familiar-looking Asian man sitting across from me.  It wasn't until I returned to my sudoku puzzle that I realized he was the benefits guy from my office.  Knowing it would be awkward to initiate a conversation on a crowded train, especially since some time had past since we made eye contact, I decided to say goodbye to him once he got off the train.  

The commute continued and suddenly we were not just in the borough, but the train was above ground.  Since there were significantly fewer people on the train, I looked up and had the following conversation:

MW: I didn't know you lived all the way out here.

HR Guy: (Stands up to hear better) I live by [Borough Medical School]

MW: (Shocked at the coincidence) My husband's a student there!

HR Guy: Yeah, I live in [my building]

MW: Me, too!  I'm on [x floor]

HR Guy: I'm on [x+2]

HR Guy:  So, do you work in the city?

MW: (Realizing he's not actually my HR Guy) Yeah, I work at a law firm

HR Guy: Oh, that's cool

We continue in silence, him still standing, for the next two stops until we both get off the train.

Since that day, I have seen the guy around campus from a distance ...and promptly avoided him.  Today I almost got on the same bus as him from the train to campus.  Instead I just kept on walking to a different bus stop for a different bus that also takes me to campus.

Maybe not the most mature response to an honest mistake, but so far it's workin' for me.

Is there a doctor in the house? Part 2

One of the nice things about being married to a medical student is that there's an almost-doctor in the house.
Another nice thing about being married to a medical student if you live in student housing is that there are almost-doctors filling the whole building.

This morning, shortly before 7:00am after Mr. had hit the snooze a few times, we heard some thuds and then a minute later a woman yelling "Can somebody help me??" while banging on our neighbor's door. Mr. and I both sprung up, and while he put on pants, I ran over to the apartment. The woman needed someone to bang down a door. The other neighbor ran to get something from his place to pry a locked door, and I cam back to my place and started fumbling around in my purse to get a card or something to card the door. I told Mr. that she needed someone to kick down the door, and he ran over. Realizing that the neighbor now had 2 male medical students assisting her, I didn't return. Mr. can card a door better than I can, and he and the other neighbor are surely both more capable of kicking in a door than I am.

The woman's husband/fiance/boyfriend had collapsed in the shower and was unresponsive. It's unclear what made him collapse in the first place, whether it was a slip and fall situation, or if he fainted.
Mr. ran downstairs to tell the security guard in our building and I assume to call 911. He then grabbed his stethoscope and went back next door. Either he or the other neighbor performed chest compressions; I could hear them counting. Mr. eventually came back to say that he was stable and the paramedics were on their way.

Meanwhile, I did everything I could for Mr. so that he wouldn't be late to work (packed his lunch, laid out his scrubs). I'm sure they'd understand, but there was certainly no need for him to have that added stress.

The paramedics came at 7:15. Why it took them so long, I have no idea. We live directly next to a huge hospital and across the street from another. There's yet another hospital 2-3 blocks away. Luckily Mr. and our other neighbor were able to help in the mean time.

I'm not sure we'll find out how this story ends as we don't know our neighbors, but my thoughts and prayers will definitely be with them.

First Anniversary

Dear Mr.,

What a ride! This past year has been filled with ups and downs, successes and disappointments.

You tackled 2nd year while we paid off my producing debut, changed careers, and then changed careers again. Now you're waking up before me to hit the wards, and soon I'll be taking classes, too, leaving us each to balance working and studying. With conflicting schedules, we probably won't get to vacation anytime soon, so instead we'll cherish the time we have, baking cookies, watching Curb Your Enthusiasm onDemand, and simply 'hanging out'.

Together we've set up our place, tackled our finances, and settled into our routines. It's not always easy for this independent girl to share things, but it's worth it to get to share my life with you.

Happy anniversary! Only 49 years until our golden anniversary... but your homepage already told you that. :)

Love,
MW

Hold That Line

Last night I went to the workshop of a new musical, Cheer Wars at my alma mater.  A friend of mine had one of the larger roles, and I was excited by what I'd heard of it.

While the music wasn't necessarily as strong as that from last week's production, it was catchy and sufficient.  The story was great, and I was literally laughing out loud at a lot of it.  I'd like a little more character development, better costumes and much stronger choreography.  But, this is why we workshop pieces!  Kudos to all involved; I really enjoyed myself.  And I've had one of the songs from the show in my head all morning... Hold that line; hold that, hold that line...

I had hoped Mr. might join me, but he had to work.  In fact, because he got to drain a patient's peritoneal fluid (or something like that), he didn't get home until 8:30.

No worries, though - that's what gay boyfriends are for!  My gay boyfriend from home moved to the city earlier this year, so he came with me to the musical.  I'm pretty sure he enjoyed it much more than Mr. would have, anyway. 

Is there a doctor in the house?

One of the nice things about being married to a med student is that there's an almost-doctor in the house.

One of the bad things about being married to a med student is that he's almost never in the house.

Today in an act of utter clumsiness involving a ceramic soap dish, I managed to get a small but gnarly gash on my back.  There were little ceramic pieces around the broken soapdish which made me concerned that there might be some around the wound as well.  Since Mr. was at the hospital, I awkwardly called STM to come take a look.  She successfully identified a tiny ceramic crumb and went back home.

Okay, so not exactly like borrowing a cup of sugar, but it's good to know your neighbors... especially when those neighbors are fellow student spouses who are familiar with the hours involved in being a med student.  Thanks again, S!

Speaking of Dreaming...

Last night I dreamt that Mr. had too much studying to do and couldn't make it out to our anniversary dinner. However, he encouraged me to still go out to dinner by myself, which I did.

wtf does that mean?