From the Archives: Middle School Mayhem

[During my senior year of high school, I was asked to give a commencement speech for the graduates of my old middle school. Below is a copy of the ACTUAL commencement speech I orated back in 2006. It is so old, I only have a hard copy.

Notes:
1) The red marks are from my mother, who I asked to edit it.
2) Keep in mind, I ACTUALLY read this to dozens of teachers, hundreds of students, and even more parents.
3) It is curious that my humor has failed to mature in nearly five years.]

Topeka: The Apple That Never Sleeps

Well, here I am. I am far from the glory of Chicago, the riches and splendor of that glittering metropolis of Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts. And today, on this holy day of Turki-cide, I am back home. I am in Topeka, the jewel of Kansas.

The trip went smoothly enough. I was finally able to use my leather travelling bag and try out my special airport outfit.

Pictured above: I wanted to look good for the full body scanning, though I did forget to wear my lead tie.

The MD/PHD program's private jet was a great way to travel, but the champagne fountain really just became annoying above 15,000 ft. And just as I was lighting a Cuban cigar with a $100 bill in double-first-class, I wondered what it would be like to be a "normal" medical student.

Pictured above: If I were, I probably wouldn't have this in my basement. This is the first poster I ever presented at a scientific meeting. Oh science puns, I miss you.

When I arrived at home to my biological mother and brother, we gathered to join in that most magical of holiday traditions: manual labor. I worked to install four sets of drapes in two rooms and hauled furniture through hallways. I was just glad that I didn't have to work in the salt mines this year.

Pictured above: Ooh, this is one of my favorite holiday games! You remove the metal brace from the old drapes with a rusty hammer, and if you begin to bleed uncontrollably, it is said there will be five more weeks of winter. Just kidding, I don't actually believe that! I know that screws and bolts don't control the weather! Poseidon does.

After our feast of this year's tofu harvest and the ritualistic sacrifice of a jar of kim-chee, I departed my house to enjoy the company of my few remaining Topeka "friends." We all played something called "Trivial Pursuit", which is a "board game." From what I understand, these "board games" are a kind of PlayStation made out of cardboard and plastic. They are different in that board games cost less than $300 and do not require electricity. They are the same in that both distract us from our own mortality.

Pictured above: The "game." The version we played was published in the 1980's, so I was placed in a severe disadvantage. My knowledge of leg-warmers and mullets was noticeably limited, though I did do well in the "Hammer-pants" category.

(Failed) Speed Dating

For the most part, I write blog entries describing my medical school triumphs and sartorial eccentricities. But when something momentous occurs in my life, I will gladly share it with the internet. A personal dream of mine was fulfilled this week as I participated in my first-ever speed dating experience. I, and other medical student men, went on 4-minute dates with the lovely ladies of the nearby law school. We were given forms to fill out to indicate which men/women we found suitable. This may be a challenge to most men in my position, but I was prepared.

Pictured above: Just throw on your tuxedo jacket and let the peak lapels do the talking.

Actually, I arrived more casually, as to not frighten these kind women too early with the true nature of my metrosexuality. I wore a necktie and a v-neck sweater, which is the first step in my personal seduction system.

Step 1: Look like Mr. Rogers.
Step 2: Explain why you look like a grandpa.
Step 3: Apologize for spilling your drink.
Step 4: Go home alone.
[Note, the Sai Seduction System is still in its beta phase of field-testing]

Pictured above: Only deploy a velvet vest in emergency dating situations.

So, I ended up talking to nearly 15 different ladies from the law school. They were all quite sweet, but the awkwardness of the situation expanded as the night wore on, like some sort of awkward souffle. My conservations typically went like this:

ME: Place of origin?
GIRL: Place of origin.
ME: Joke about place of origin!
GIRL: Do not understand. Hobbies?
ME: List of hobbies plus joke hobby.
GIRL: Joking?
ME: Joking.
GIRL: Silence.
ME: Words.
[Time up!]

And after all the smalltalk could not be spoken any smaller, the male medical students parted ways with the female law students. While in the medical post-date huddle, I discovered that some of the men had chosen an interesting strategy. Many had responded "yes" to nearly every date. This gave me a great idea.

Now, I'm sure there were a few ladies who implemented a similar plan. Therefore, this is great opportunity for me to launch my bold new company Sai's Speed-Speed-Dating, where I will just give the emails of all the singles to each other (for a small fee) as soon as they sign up, without having to go through the trouble of "meeting" each other! Slogan: "Where love and sadness meet!"

Pictured above: With my adventure over, all I have to do is sit back, relax, eat my poppyseed-apple-eggnog pancakes, and let the results of the speed dating roll into my email inbox.

And they just came in! No matches. Well, I was planning on crying alone in my apartment tonight anyway, so that simplifies my plans for the evening. Hooray!

Vintage Voyage Vivacity

When people comment on my personal style, it usually comes down to two types of questions.

1. Why are you dressed like that?

2. How old are you?

The answer to the first question is easy enough ("Because I'm awesome."), but the second is more tricky. Apparently, my sartorial decisions have made me look like an old man, devoid of any youthful glow and content to complain about how the internet and fax machines are destroying family values.

It seems most Chicagoans assume that I am about 28 years old (approximately two Justin Bieber's), which over time has increased the standard deviation of age-related guesses beyond a comfortable level. But instead of trying to fight back against this image of senescence, I've embraced this truth about my appearance. Better to be old and bitter than young and beloved. Wait, that doesn't sound right...

Anyway, I've indulged in some recent vintage clothing purchases to cement my elderly personal philosophy and appearance. First, I needed a raincoat.

Pictured above: A beautiful, double-breasted, navy-blue trench-coat. I don't plan on engaging in much trench warfare during my 7-15 years in the MD/PHD program, but you never know when the Kaiser will strike.

I had to take in the sides a bit (London Fog tends to be a bit boxy), but when such a coat is only $6, it is definitely worth the effort.

Pictured above: The recommended washing instructions. To maintain its authenticity, however, I will be cleaning it the old-fashioned way: by indentured servant.

I also purchased a leather travelling bag ($5) and a khaki fedora ($10). Now, my ensemble is complete.

Pictured above: I wonder if there is such a thing as a "vintage nerd"...

Together, I now will look like a 19th century British explorer, ready to indulge in the silks and spices (and colonial oppression) of the orient or participate in big-game hunting (and colonial oppression) in the Serengeti. How extravagant!

Welcome to Northwestern! Put on Your 3-D Glasses Now!

This last Wednesday, I had the privilege of mingling with some interviewees for the MD/PHD Program, which quickly made me nostalgic. It seems like it was only a year ago I was applying to MD/PHD programs...

At first, they appeared a nervous bunch; they were all dressed in that prised oasis of American style: business casual. The ambiguity of dress code ranged from cardigans to full suits, a result that I greatly enjoyed watching unfold. It is much easier to make harsh judgments of people based on appearance if we force them to make such sartorial decisions. I remember I wore a gray, hounds-tooth blazer with a white pocket square over a white oxford shirt to my interview here. It was definitely the strongest part of my application.

Pictured above: Ah, those were the days. Now I am forced to deal with the dilemma of matching my stethoscope with my outfit. As expensive as stethoscopes are, I still imagine how awesome it would be to have multiple stethoscopes in different colors so I could match them with my ties.

The M1 class of the MSTP took it upon itself to take these applicants out on the town, specifically, to bar called Rock Bottom. I had fun, even though bars really aren't my scene. I tried to let the program bring the interviewees to my weekly cockfighting ring, but the program directors informed me that the NIH cannot fund non-mammalian violence without prior authorization. This such a tragedy, since you can't get a real feel for a medical school without seeing the strength of their underground gambling programs. US News and World Report now uses it as a metric for ranking schools.

Pictured above: Rock Bottom Bar and Lounge. Stabbing-free since 2002!

I talked a big game for Northwestern, partly out of obligation for the portion of my MSTP salary itemized as "deception". As one the MD/PHD program's star students ("star" because I am burning a sizable hole into the program and my core is made up mostly of fused protons), I felt qualified to describe my school with a hyperbolic pride.

Pictured above: This is Prentice Women's Hospital. About 100 million babies are delivered here EVERY HOUR. That's enough babies to destroy Harvard Medical School.

I also may have exaggerated a few things about the city.

Pictured above: This is the Hancock building. It was named after John Hancock who, after achieving fame as having the largest signature on the Declaration of Independence, built this tower to house his giant pen. This also is why the Boston Massacre is re-enacted every morning when it opens for business.

Okay, enough lies for now. Back to studying.

150 Uses of the Gourde

Ah, Halloween. As a child, I learned quickly the important lesson that deception grants us the ability to get what we want. But now that I am a grown-up, I no longer have the privilege to knock on the doors of strangers and demand candy. This is mostly because of my increased maturity, but partially due to the restraining orders.

Nevertheless, I met up with my brother and sister-in-law last weekend to make some festive, decorative gourds. We had a lot of work ahead of us.

Pictured above: By "work" I mean "pumpkin guts." After having my hands in an embalmed cadaver last week, I enjoyed the chance to rip out moist innards without having to worry about severing the phrenic nerve.

Did you know that pumpkin carving was actually invented by George Washington Carver who, drunk off his prestige as a legume scientist, published a pamphlet titled: "150 Uses of the Gourde and Gourde Products"? It turns out it was just a series of carvings of his own face into pumpkins. This was met with poor reviews by the scientific community, which eventually caused him to invent the peanut allergy in a vengeful rage. Later, he was also unsuccessful in changing the name of the pumpkin to "orange super-peanut."

I went in another direction with my pumpkin. I wanted to create a pumpkin with elegance, grace, and style.

Pictured above: Nerd pumpkin. Or perhaps Andre 3000 pumpkin.

My brother, an electronic-videographic gaming enthusiast, chose instead to depict one of his favorite characters.

Pictured above: My brother now cannot stop making this face.

My sister-in-law perhaps gave the most thought to her creation. After careful thinking and internet soul-searching, she finally finished her own self-portrait.

Pictured above: I can see the resemblance, but I don't think her tentacles are as long as she thinks.

All in all, it was a great experience. I got a chance to bond with my family through a wholesome activity, and I also got the opportunity to examine the vascular structure of my hands as I cut several arteries and veins trying to give a pumpkin a bow tie with a fillet knife.

How to Order Dolphin in Chinatown

Although I've been living in Chicago for nearly 5 months now (that's 22.5 monthometers for you metric system users out there), I had never yet ventured to Chinatown. This is mostly because I was told that if I traveled anywhere south of the loop in Chicago, I would be instantly mugged, stabbed, shot, forced to join a gang, and, worst of all, be confronted by my own white guilt. Luckily, on this my first trip to Chinatown, I had "friends" to protect me. Or at least people more easily stabbed than me.

Pictured above: C'mon, guys! Getting stabbed isn't that bad! Think of it as being hugged by a knife.

We went to a 24-hour Chinese diner, which turned out to be very similar to American diners, with some key differences. For instance, instead of everything being deep fried, everything was covered in soy sauce. And instead of a jukebox playing in the corner, we were flanked by dual televisions playing bizarre Chinese soap operas. I was secretly hoping that a bunch of Chinese Jets would challenge the Chinese Sharks to a quaint gang battle while we were there, but sadly no one joined in when I started snapping and dancing around the hostess.

Regardless, I was happy to escape my medical school bubble. It was fun to spend time with friends who don't flinch at the word "histology."

Pictured above: Best friends forever!

First, we started with an appetizer. We wanted to eat the most dangerous animal on the menu, but since they had unfortunately run out of murder-fin tuna, we ordered the jellyfish.

Pictured above: Jellyfish tastes like neither jelly nor fish, but rather like a tentacled turnip. But just like when you are consuming any cnidarian, you are just happy that your mouth isn't being filled with venomous barbs.

I, of course, asked for a dish on the secret menu, which required that I give the secret passcode ("I'm Asian. No, really.").

Pictured above: It was a bit of a hassle, but not many places can bring you dolphin meat this fresh.

Overall, it was quite the satisfactory meal. We even went to a nearby bakery to top off the night.

Pictured above: Green tea cheesecake? Now I've seen everything! Oh wait, never mind. I still haven't seen Iron Man 2. But I imagine that it would be similar to eating green tea cheesecake.