Playing Doctor

Waitangi Day Dinner Party

Waitangi Day: a treaty signed (te tiriti o Waitangi), a nation founded. This has been painted as the swindling of a native people by the Crown, which it almost certainly was. Perhaps much of this dispute is being resolved peaceably these days if the Maori response to the 'protesters' this year is anything to go by.

Some how all this borderline nationalism has become an convenient excuse for a dinner party. Additionally, intrigued by this insightful analysis of a dinner party's significance, I realised that I had this one wrapped up: if brought my own culture to my own dinner party I could not be defeated.

The preparation of victuals became unexpectedly stressful. I thought I'd be able to do it all by myself and have plenty of time to do it. I was wrong. It wasn't a train wreck though. My house mates helped out, a couple of guests valiantly offered a hand and everything went swimmingly.

Starters consisted of some bruschetta, the usual garlic, tomato, olive oil thing, but also a few with marmite (to terrify the locals, except one who loves it, awesome). Plus there were olives, corn chips (for the coeliac posse) and salsa verde.These were enough to get people sitting eating, drinking (wine both mine and theirs) and talking amongst themselves, giving me enough time to get on with the mains (or entrée in American).

The main course consisted of roasted root vegetables (rosemary and thyme), boiled peas and carrots, lettuce salad, and coconut rice. Not the most glamorous menu, but a hint of NZ, easy and most importantly, everyone enjoyed it. Delaying dinner a bit might have encouraged them with hunger, but there was nothing left and everyone had a smile; the wine might also have helped.

Speaking of wine, never have I ever had so much (Marlbourough) sauvignon blanc in one sitting. It is the only NZ wine available in New Haven it seems and many people picked one up before arriving, in addition to the two I had procured myself. It isn't the most popular drop here, and it isn't really my preference either, but it was totally appropriate, and I was appropriate up to my eyeballs.

After the main course I was able to present ANZAC biscuits and a pavlova. A pavlova is a finicky dish to prepare, deceptively simple, the large meringue must be approached with caution. Unfortunately, as many before it, this one collapsed after baking. The centre trying to depart through the floor while the walls nonchalantly stood up only long enough to stage a dramatic tumble inward. I used the age old trick of keeping everything together with cream and most were none the wiser! The feedback from this dessert on the night and for days afterward was telling. Pavlova could have beaten Obama to office.

Give me some credit

Getting an American credit card initially seemed non-trivial. You need to have a 'credit history' apparently. How do you get a credit history? Get a loan or a credit card. Show that someone trusts you enough to lend you money, but of course that requires a credit history. Yes, the chicken or the egg, the old catch 22, the Australian house rental history game.

Fortunately there appears to be a wonderful subprime section on the credit history market for 'limited history' individuals. Just the thing for an apparently untrustworthy gainfully employed foreigner with no credit history. The APRs on these cards are all above 20 % and the actual credit limits aren't exactly astronomical, but they are a ticket to that first essential bit of credit history. I have since acquired one of these and I hope my spendthrift ways will soon be visible to at least one of the three credit reporting agencies that seem to rule middle class America's lives: Equifax, Experian and TransUnion.

So much of applying for a credit card seems to be about managing debt, and balance transfers, i.e. opening one credit card to service the debt on another. For example the APR rate is presented as an important consideration, because you are expected to carry a balance on your card. No wonder the credit market here is in trouble. This seems counter to the way the Australian government would advise you to use a credit card. When I activated my card I was also subjected to a hard sell on several options for the card which would all come with a monthly fee except the payment protection insurance which is only charged if there is a monthly balance carried forward.

Is there some incentive for a credit firm to have a lot of bad debt? Capital one is the vendor for the particular financial instrument I have bought into. I was idly wondering and googled it, turns out a lot of people don't like them, perhaps merely because it is easy to lampoon?

Run for refugees

Entered and ran my first officially conducted 5 km (3.1 mile) run this morning. What? Why try to run competitively at all? My motivation was partially to get a proper run in after having my weekly East Rock excursion delayed by snow and weather, and excuses. I was also cognizant of an impending super bowl party and the reputation this sort of function has for excess. I considered restraint unlikely and I was resolved to get the drop on those calories by burning a few of their friends beforehand.

The run was the IRIS run for refugees. It was a run on the road up the to the top of East Rock. Shorter and less incline than my usual run, I knew I could handle it. The question was merely how fast would I be? Previous results in New England 5 K runs indicated that somewhere close to a five minute mile would be a winning pace. I didn't have any illusions that I would be running that fast, but I was going to give it everything that I had.

A rock climbing buddy and his fiancée were running too. They had done this sort of thing before. It became important to me that morning to beat my rock climbing friend. I hadn't really expected that motivation but I can't hide a competitive streak.

I had pre-registered, but I had to go pick up my number to be safety-pinned to my shirt on the day. Once I had that number I was allowed to get my free t-shirt which seems to be considered half of the reason people do this sort of thing: if you fail to run the race you can still get your t-shirt later (if you pre-registered).

All shirted up and numbered I was ready to race. It was clear that a lot of people at the event were taking this very seriously. It wasn't the warmest morning but the guy who won was dressed like it was 60 degrees F. I decided to start near the start line, since there wasn't an individual timing mechanism in place, just the race stop watch.

It was interesting that all the other runners present and the official set up got the adrenaline going. I was psyched to run. I told myself to keep my intended 8 minute mile pace. I started too fast. Keeping pace with other runners at the start it wasn't so bad for the first half of the race. However, immediately after turning around to come back down the hill for the second half other runners were noticably passing me. I was definitely slowing down and in the last quarter of the run my lungs were burning and I could taste blood in the back of my throat. I kept going.

Forcing myself to lift the pace for the last 50 m or so toward the finish, it felt pretty good to stop and stretch out. Almost immediately I came up on a huge runner's high, I was grinning, happy and 'bouncing off the walls' as my friend put it for the next two hours.

Free food and drinks from the race organisers ensued and that was very pleasant. I forgot about the running until it was pointed out that the times had been posted. I had to know. Pushing myself had paid off, running about a seven minute mile instead of an eight. I was happy about that.

Bring on the superbowl.

That's New Haven!

Starting the night off at at a violist friend's concert (Bartok Viola Concerto), then heading to a house party, followed by a move into town to dance until the bars close at 2 am. Huddling inside from the cold and eating an 'original hamburger' (or two) at Louis' Lunch. While you are doing that, you are completely oblivious to the fact that someone was shot in the leg right outside, while you were eating.

Gitmo

It's not everyday you get a phone call from a friend saying that they are hours away from a visit to Guantanamo Bay. I thought that was pretty exciting. Maybe I'm living vicariously through my friends since winter here has turned me into a shut in.

The swing of things

Wake up! 9 am. I strangle my cell phone's alarm. It's best not to think too much at this stage. Just set up the stove top espresso and have a shower. That's it, don't consider the cold or how tired you feel. Hazard a shave with a rapidly dulling razor, promise myself to buy some new blades already knowing that I will forget. Make up an outfit for the day from the clothes on my floor. The house's decrepit fridge was warming up last night but it has cooled down again while I was sleeping. I have the remains of some preserved apricots with my oatmeal and the usual espresso. My laptop fan grinds into life, the internet is my morning paper now. The dull glow of the LCD does little to open my eyes. It is too early for the Gaza footage from Al Jazeera that didn't make US television. I resign myself to the icy embrace of the North East winter, rushing up to meet me at the front door. The snow has been joined by two freezing inches of standing water, from the rain last night. I step out. It is a great morning to discover the leak in both your shoes.

Don't Dream It's Over

Manhattan from Brooklyn
Originally uploaded by phdstudent

China Town - Canal St, all the cheap cologne, perfume and hangbags you handle for as far as you can see. Working against the the vast lumbering crowd we managed to cross the street for some xiao chi at Tai Pan bakery. A butter milk bun sounds weird but it is pretty good: a steamed bun with a filling in it like sweetened condensed milk, but almost chewy. I would eat it again, maybe not for breakfast.

It was getting to brunch o'clock and the Rough Guide directed us to Mott St, supposedly full of restaurants. It had a few. There were lots of other shops that you might expect in Chinatown such as the odd apothecary and a store that exclusively sold chop sticks, seriously expensive chop sticks. Still trying to get a feel for the place, we kept walking.

Happy Ending

Happy Ending
Originally uploaded by phdstudent

A good friend who I hadn't seen for ages came by NY recently on business and had a free weekend. Of course I was more than happy to hang out in the city for a couple of days, especially when it meant catching up on the last two and a half years.

I arrived in NY well ahead of her on Saturday morning. She was coming from 'chilly Boston' as she put it. New York was bloody chilly as well. It was only about 4 ºC before the lacerating wind chill at midday. Winter here is definitely shaping up to be a new experience.

Small fears

Hypodermic needles make me nervous. I also don't like getting the Flu. I decided to face my fear and voluntarily get a free Flu shot from the Yale Health Plan. There was a roaming clinic that offered immunisations on different days all over campus. On the day the clinic would be runnning closest to my office I headed down to the site. I read the information sheet, completed and signed my details sheet then was rapidly directed to the person who would conduct the immunisation. She told me to roll up my sleeve and relax. One 25 gauge needle and 2 mls of innoculant later I wondered what my problem was. It was the most painless immunisation I've ever experienced.

Another thing that has been worrying me is how my very limited Mandarin is going to go in Beijing. One of the great things about the Yale community is that they have these language tables where people go for lunch or dinner and talk in a foriegn language. I took advantage of one last Friday. Eating in an undergrad hall of residence was new too. Most of the people at this table seem to be either first year students picking up Mandarin for the first time or Chinese people taking advanced Mandarin. We could understand each other, a little. Needs work.

Ball game

Shea Stadium
Originally uploaded by phdstudent

So it turns out that baseball is awesome. Yes, fun.

To watch a baseball game I have to get up reasonably early to get the 9:30 train from New Haven to New York, which takes nearly two hours. Then get lunch at Grand Central followed by the 7 train out to Flushing meadows in Queens, where Shea Stadium lurks.

On the 7 train, a 20 minute trip at least if you get the local (whoops) instead of the express, a band of mariachi looking guys got on and played a tune. It was sort of cool and lightened the experience. This is however a form of busking and the singer cruised the train car after the song for a contribution. Going on a train to busk on game day is a great idea. That train is packed.

Eventually I arrived a Shea stadium. This place is huge. I found it was like any large stadium in terms of the walk in and the concession stands inside.

Concerning the game itself: This match was what is called a rubber game (the determining match of a series) this being the third game in a three game run that was at a one all tie. The two teams playing were the New York Mets (no, not the Yankees!) and the St Louis Cardinals.

At the beginning on the game, just before the first pitch, the anthem sung. In this case by two twins simultaneously. I'm sure someone thought it was cute. I guess it was. Not sure why the star spangled banner was sung for a game between two US teams, but there you have it.

During the game it rained, then later on there was some lightning and thunder! They finished all nine innings despite that.

So it turns out that baseball is actually pretty interesting to watch. The strategic elements are quite interesting and the basics are easy to grasp. Of course, there a similarities to cricket, but I don't think it is fair to compare the two games. They are both great.

So I got a one of the food vendors on the stands to give me a hot dog. For $5 you get hot dog and bun. This guy didn't have any ketchup or mustard. To get beer you had to get out of your seat, negotiate the perilous steps and then pay $8 for a 330 mL bottle of Bud Light. Ouch.

So there is this thing called the seventh inning stretch. They stop the gam just before the bottom of the seventh (which means after the visiting team has batted their seventh innings, but before the home team begins) and everyone gets out of their seats to stretch. The whole crowd (and I!) sang 'take me out to the ball game' during this break as well. They put the words up karaoke style on the big screen which made it easy to participate. This time is also used to launch T-shirts into the crowd out of a t-shirt cannons. Yes, that really happens.

It was a great day out and I'll definitely do it again sometime.