Huh.

Today I found out that doctors get to listen to music while they do surgery.

And the music they choose varies from doctor to doctor.  Some like classical, some like AC/DC.

What would you listen to while cutting into someone and trying to prevent them from dying?

 

 

Ann Arbor

So I feel partty relaxed. I don’t think it is so much that the workload has relaxed as much as I’m getting a little more used to it.

This weekend I visited Nick in Ann Arbor via Megabus; though I was a little nervous about going that way, it was fantastic and easy (like I knew it would be anyway).

We went to a U of M football game (with 106,999 other people), carved two-hour pumpkins (see pictures on facebook!) and roasted seeds, walked all over, went out for fondue, had a fantastic pizza, cleaned, and watched Back to the Future.  All in all, it was a very relaxing time that really helped me remember there is a world outside of Hyde Park.  Woohoo.

Now I am back in the throng of work; an endless stream of reading, papers, characters, the blur of notes on a page.  Tonight though I think a few of us are going to watch Volver.     This is a movie that reminds me of Alice and Mike (hello Alice and Mike!) and makes me happy for the time I get to spend with them.

Still not too sure about Thanksgiving plans.  Thinking about Blo-No most likely.  So…anyone doing exciting?  The Nick should be with me.  And maybe Luna?

ok.  This post is total crap.  But it is a post.  Back to my paper!

I just finished a two-page Chinese satirical essay about a “Chinese phenomenon” as exemplified through a humorous anecdote.  That is on top of the other 4.5 hours of Chinese I studied today.  That is on top of the entire book I read this weekend and the other online readings I did.  That is leaving out the book I have to read/critique I have to write of the book by Thursday.

And that was week one.

And I didn’t even finish my Chinese homework.  I probably have two more hours of work (or more) on it.  It would be less, but all of the homework is in simplified characters, so before I can even start on the context/meaning, I have to figure out with the traditional character equivalent is.  It means I am looking up every third word instead of every eight or more.  It really slows me down. 

Staying home, studying on a Saturday night.  That’s how I roll.  Not setting foot one outside from out of bed to back in bed.  Yea.

Today was nice, though.  I went with a friend on a walk.  We meandered to the Asian garden by the musuem of Science and Industry and then walked along the lake for a while.  It was sunny–on of the last beautiful days before the frosty plunge into seven months of unpleasent.

The joggers were out, the bikers were out–someone was acutally swimming.  It was like the collective understanding that this summer, too, shall pass.  And the charm of fall will soon give way into sludge. 

NOw I’m just feeling too…busy?  Time to get in the hang of reading again.  Blegh.

–In cutting this post off, rather abruptly.  Apologies.

Week 1

Haha.  For saying “my blog is back up and running” and then only posting once since then is kind of funny.  I guess I need to get back into the habit of blogging again and find time for writing (and for working out, and for reading, and for….).

A lot has happened since I moved here on the 21st.  My first two classes were only yesterday, but everyday I’ve been so buys just trying to get my affairs in order, get projects in jobs in line–the typical startings up of a new beginning. 

It was a little shaky at the start (as you could read by my blog post).  I didn’t know ANYONE where I lived and only one person at the school (though she was pretty busy and lives a bit far away).  It was lonely for a while, sitting alone, eating alone, making food alone.  Trying not to be overly desperate and friendly during short elevator conversations with other house members.

Now, I have somewhat of a network.

With the communal kitchen and everyone’s busy schedule, a lot of people form what are called Dinner Clubs.  I got together with a couple of strangers I met in orientation and we made our own little dinner society.  Basically, it is like a co-op.  Each person (or pair) cooks one night a week and buys the groceries for that meal.  Then everyone  helps set the table, wash the dishes, etc.  That way, you only have to cook once a week, but you get to eat nice, cooked hot meals every night.  It does save money, as there have seemed to be a lot of leftovers, so we can eat them for lunch and things.

I like everyone in our club, too.  They are all interesting, intelligent people.  Who can cook (or at least assist!) decent food.  That’s something else about UChicago.  Basically everyone I meet in a M.A. or Ph.D program here is amazing.  They all have crazy, fun backgrounds, are intelligent, nerdy, care about academic things, LIKE school, are eccentric, a little socially awkward…it is really fun.

The undergrads, for the most part, are a different story.

To their credit, they haven’t really had a chance to strike out and do anything on their own, but there is definitely a kind of attitude among them.  This is an institution with 10,000 grad students and 5,000 undergrads.  They only people I’ve met so far that have any kind of Ivory Tower syndrome are the youngin’s.  And this is something they’ll grow out of I’m sure.  So.  Everyone is pretty down to earth, though giddily excited about really esoteric things (like Taiwanese funeral customs…). Heh.

Living at the ihouse is nice.  I was a little taken aback at first–since it is kind of like a dorm and all, but really it is kind of fun.  You really don’t spend too much time in your room (which was designed to be ‘monastic’), so you spend a lot of time in the lounge (there are some AMAZING musicians here who just sit down and play piano whenever) or the dining room (complete with ping pong, foosball, pool…), the library (take a book/leave a book policy, publications from all over the world) the kitchen (SO many ovens/stoves).  It is really fun to be downstairs around 6-8 pm, because the  kitchen is just FLOODED with people that are running around, cooking, washing dishes, frantically stirring, etc.

Another thing I’ve noticed about UChicago is that there is a piano in EVERY room.  Everywhere you go practically, any room that holds more than thirty people, will have a piano in it.  Ivy on every building and a spinnet in every room.  Aw. 

I usually get up early in the morning and work out.  I mean, I always work out, I just sometimes do it later in the day.  The pool is beautiful and exactly 1 mile away.  Almost every morning around 6:30 am, I make the trek to the athletic center and swim.  I love it–lots of windows, olympic-sized, newish. And the locker rooms have really nice saunas!  Plus, I get two miles of walking in just to go swimming (let’s see how much I like that in January…).  I walk maybe 4+ miles a day.  I’ve lost four pounds. And I feel great.

The thing that is the WORST about here is that there is no Nick.  Having him here would make it just about perfect. 

OK.  I think I’ve written about all anyone could stand to read at the moment.  Once I get a little more into class, then I’ll explain about that.

Oh! Also!  I got a job! Yea!  Basically I’ll be an assistant events coordinator for the creative writing department.  Hoorah for events planning and writing.

Adios!

Holy Chicago, Illinoise.

Well.

So I’m here.

Yes.

I’m here.  In a dorm room overlooking Hyde Park.  The view is great, the room is small. 

I’m on the ninth floor.  I’ve been here for about five hours.  Pretty much all unpacked and organized.  I’ve sorted all my sortables into the cubbies and shelves and drawers that will constitute their and my home for the next, oh, nine months or so.

My mom dropped me off.  It’s like a tradition.  She took me to my first day at Millikin; she took me to O’Hare the first time I went to Taiwan.  And today she dropped me off at the University of Chicago.

After she left I looked around at the beautiful, sunny day.  The green parks and the gothic architecture.  I breathed in the colorfully tagged street signs and ivy-covered town homes.   I have to admit, tears welled in my eyes.  I walked back up to my room and felt lonely.

I felt…isolated in a way, marooned.  It was the exact same feeling I had my first night in Taiwan–alone in the unknown.  No real friends so far, no clue of what is beyond or how everything will work out.  New place.  New bed.  New view.  New city. 

I know everything will work out–it always does.  My dad called me and reassured me that, give it a week, and the city and the new life will be “old hat”.  That i’ll have an ever-expanding social circle; that I’ll always have someone there to call if it gets to be too much in a moment.

For really loving the people in my life so much, I have a bad habit of trekking out on my own and then hating it…for about 2 days…and then loving it.  I wish Nick were here, though.  Looking out onto Chicago by night; each lamp, each light is like a little island, a warm, telling beacon in a sea of sooty darkness.  He would like it. 

When I felt lonely at night in Taiwan I used to sit on top of the old dresser on the bay window, overlooking city and the mountains; watching the never-ending stream of headlights on far away streets; picking out the roads that the black had turned to Icicle Light lined canals; seeing the dim, shining windows of faraway apartment towers.  The view comforted me.  It made me feel altogether small and powerful, like I was a miniscule speck in an unspeakable whole, but a whole that only I could witness, a whole that only I could understand.

Tonight, I look out on the buses and buildings, the sirens and stoplights of a city in motion and it feels like I don’t understand it at all.  Or perhaps, to be more accurate, I don’t understand it yet. 

Here I’ll give myself one night–one night of solitude, one night of isolation and nostalgia, one night of mourning an Old and tomorrow, tomorrow I will be celebrating a New.

Chinese Stories

I’m reading a translated collection on ancient Chinese Fairytales & Fantasies–actually that is exactly the title of the book–edited by Moss Roberts.   It’s an interesting collection, but a little…uh…lacking context for the modern age.  Just a little hard to get behind.

Anyway.  Most of the stories so far have been about mystery wine maidens turning into green bees when they are out of sight and then getting eaten by spiders, or else men that fall into comas and became carp, wake up and tell their story, and then become county magistrates before dying a happy death.

Here is a story that I liked for some reason.  It is a bit shorter than the rest:

The Lost Horse

A man who lived on the northern frontier of China was skilled in interpreting events.  One day for no reason, his horse ran away to the nomads across the border.  Everyone tried to console him, but his father said, “What makes you so sure this isn’t a blessing?”

Some months later his horse returned, bringing a splendid nomad stallion.  Everyone congratulated him, but his father said, “What makes you so sure this isn’t a disaster?”  Their household was richer by a fine horse, which the son loved to ride.  One day he fell and broke his hip.  Everyone tried to console him, but his father said, “What makes you so sure this isn’t a blessing?”

A year later the nomads came in force across the border, and every able-bodied man took his bow and went into battle.  The Chinese frontiersmen lost nine of every ten men.  Only because the son was lame did father and son survive to take care of each other.

Truly, blessing turns to disaster, and disaster turns to blessin: the changes have no end, nor can the mystery be fathomed.

Bu da DAAAAAHM!

I am torn to write.

Another Dream…

So last night I had a dream that Nick and I were scuba diving in Truk (or some equally tropical place).  We were with a group of about a dozen and just finishing up our dive in a kind of protected inlet area that was surrounded by a deck and restaurants.

It was about this time that I noticed nick had left his jacket, backpack, and air tank (don’t ask me how he managed to ascend) at the bottom of the ocean.  When I went to find him to explain the blunder, he was already dressed in dry clothes and finding some people to eat with.

I volunteered to go get it for him because the guides didn’t feel like it, but they wouldn’t let me go in without a fresh tank (even though I could seriously see the bottom).  And then I was having trouble with my mask, and then I forgot to put my regulator in, etc etc.

By the time I was ready to go, the sun had set.  I asked them if someone would go with me (“No, we’re all going to dinner”) or if they had a flash light I could borrow (“Nope.”).  With no companion and no light source, I hopped in, pointing in the direction where Nick had left his belongings (he was nowhere to be found this entire time).

The underwater area was surprisingly well-lit.  It was a bit shallow (30-40 feet), and the light reflected from the restaurants.  I don’t know what service would actually encourage you to dive alone at night, but either way–I was there.

I kicked to the place where Nick’s stuff had been earlier, only it was nowhere to be found.  Perhaps mistaking that corner for another corner, I spent about 30 minutes floating around and looking for the air tank, backpack, and jacket.

Finally, I had no choice but to surface empty-handed.  After I got dried off and put my stuff away, I found a friend from work sitting alone near a group of menacing-looking men.  I stopped by and we started chatting.

We overheard the group of men talking about business–they were gangsters.  They were talking about how they had one of their boys steal Nick’s stuff and he had really done a shoddy job of it.

I was angry!  I spent the night diving around in the dark for Nick’s stuff, but these gangsters had already stolen it!

I excused myself from my friend and went to find Nick.  He was also sitting with a large group of people–several of whom I knew–eating dinner without me.

He asked me if I had any luck finding his belongings.  I didn’t want to spill the beans about the mobsters involvement, so I started telling him what happened in Chinese.  Unfortunately, there were a few of my Taiwanese friends there and they were like, “WHAT?! What happened!” and they told everyone in English what had happened.

The rest of the dream is a little blurry.  It involves a swimming pool, vacationers I met in a different dream, and getting yelled at by an underwater arsenal guard.

By the end of the ordeal, we did not have any of the unclaimed items back, but Nick didn’t seem to care too much.  We just laid on the beach and laughed about it, which is probably what would’ve really happened anyway.

On the River

A large doe stands at the bank of a small river.  With head buried in the rocky, grassy scuff of the riverbank, she chews and stops and quitely watches our passing.

We are in kayaks, silent in the water; we are no threat and she knows it.  Now it is just a mutual chance to study, to observe.

It is Sunday afternoon.  The on-and-off-again chilled downpour keeps the usual weekend crowd of drunken tube riders and jubuliant canoes piled high with children and life jackets at bay.  The water is also cold, but by no means still.

This is what I like–alone on the water.  You can sit in the boat, a solitary vessel, larger and more vibrantly colored than the sleek armadas of  ducks paddling their way through the current.  The air is full of bird song and frogs, water flowing against downed tree branches and lapping up against the hollow sound of a tall bank.  We don’t talk.

As we paddle, the rain pours down; heavy but even, frequent but unobtrusive, muffling the sounds while still somehow amplifying them.  It’s relaxing–it’s Sunday.

The weekend partiers in their fun boats and floaties full of beer have their appeal, too.  Friends in the sun, on the water, cracking jokes and tossing cans–these are the trappings of a loud and fun existence.  A refusal to go quietly, to behave.  They can and will enjoy themselves.  They will eat, drink, be merry and meet the water on their own terms–grinning with arms full.

But today, the bottle openers, the wild charms of comradery stay silent.  Today is for isolation, for reflection, for noticing the tiny water bug tap-dance it’s way across a fast spot.  For seeing the doe and letting her see you.  For taking in the woods on its own terms.

It has never been so beautiful.

Half-Asleep in Cog Pajamas

“ZOT!” Nick shouts at me while I’m half-asleep at 3 a.m.
“Nick, whoa! What’s wrong?” I touch his arm.
“Flowcharts…*mumble mumble whine* the SPREADSHEETS… *incoherent syllables* the flowchart is OK!”
“Uh…Nick?”
“MMrrrrehgj! Leave me alone!”
“Ok, sorry. Go back to sleep.”
“… … … spreadsheet.”

I can’t even imagine what kind of lame nightmares Nick endures. I imagine giant Excel documents raining all of their little divider lines down on him; or a bunch of organizational charts using their little umbrella arms like Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em robots and pummeling the guy.

I’m a accustomed to Nick’s active night activity and I really should be used to snapping awake because he is either shouting something (like “ZOT!” or “Nooo!” or “Spiders!”), but it still gets me everytime.  Also, I like to have an explanation for his outburst, so I can confront him about it when he is awake.  He usually just gets grumpy and whines about castles or super conductors until I leave him alone.

His mom told me about how she once found him trying to go outside in the dead of winter, hand on the doorknob, in nigh but his superman skivvies and snow boots.  That Nick…

Sometimes, he gives me advice (“Don’t tip the board, Jen!”) or warnings (“Don’t.  Move.” a la Daniel Stern in Home Alone) or life-and-death-situation awareness (“Shhh! There’s someone in that apartment.”), but NEVER has had had to warn me about oncoming Power Points and attacking data entries.

My conclusion is that Nick needs a new job–at last it will be more interesting for me.  Afterall, I’d much rather be woken up by some excitement (“The dog is on fire!”) over the dull and boring world of corporate spake (“The fonts! The FONTS!!).

Though honestly (and sadly) this will only continue for a few short weeks.  We again will be parting ways and rediscovering what life is like without each other, which is like saying what it’s like without a sense of taste–you can still function, but everything you eat is just kind of bland.

In the meantime, we’re going to be making the rounds, traveling, and going to about 17 family weddings.  Miles will be added, gas will be exhausted, cake will be eaten, robots will be danced, and, of course, flowcharts will be OK.