supersmart zombies resist disqualefication

I think a thunderstorm is in the works.
I lurvs thunderstorms.

I have a confession to make, Mom. I didn't take your advice: I waited until yesterday to start looking for a doctor or clinic or somebody who could give me a physical exam. (No comments from the Peanut Gallery.) Syracuse Community Health Center said I could make an appointment for mid-May (and that was at their walk-in facility!); the SU Student Health Center doesn't take folks who aren't currently registered students; Dr. Koshy is out of town till May 2nd or 3rd, and the doctor who is taking her patients during this time can't see me on such short notice; Community General Hospital refers patients to doctors, but only if those patients are looking for a primary-care physician, a set of which I am not a member. Needless to say, I was in a small panic about meeting this Friday's deadline.
I called the JET Program office to ask if I needed to have the forms in their hands by the 23rd, or if it was enough to have them postmarked by then, and I explained my difficulty in completing the Certificate of Health on time. The woman I spoke with told me that I could send the forms and the passport photos ahead of the Certificate of Health, the latter of which needs to be in by May 3rd at the very latest. And the former can be sent first-class--no need to spend more for express mail. So that gives me some time. And this afternoon I found my way to the Crouse Prompt Care Center, where their walk-in exam really is walk-in. Unfortunately, there was no doctor present today, only nurse practitioners. The nurse I spoke with checked and said the doctor will be in tomorrow, but told me to call first thing in the morning just to make sure. So yay.

Oh, and the passport photos? Yuck. The guy who took my picture at Campus Copies stood one meter away from me, then counted to three before he took the first photo. I was anticipating the flash (because my photosensitivity is somewhat psychosomatic in nature), and I turned out all squinty, despite my best efforts to avoid just that. In the second photo my eyes were squinty and red. I looked less squinty in the third photo cos he took the picture without counting to three, but I looked stoned, and I imagine that can't be a good way to look when confronted by immigration officers. So after I and the photo guy looked at the digital copies of each picture, we decided that the second one was not so bad as the first. But now I wonder: my eyes look like little slits of blue ringed with red. Joe said, "You look like you have a head cold." Well I do, but I don't look that bad... do I?


Grammy and I got to talking while we were waiting in the Seattle airport for our flight back home. "Dad said you have family living in Sweden?" I said.
Yes, it turns out, her father emigrated from Sweden, and her mother from the British West Indies, where her family had moved from Britain. They each moved to Brooklyn, where her father worked in a shipyard and her mother worked keeping house for a doctor and his wife. They both attended the Baptist church there, which is how they met. After they married, they bought some land on Long Island where he built a bungalow. All five of their children were born there. They later built a two-story house next to the bungalow, and sold the latter.
Grammy herself met my grandfather when they were studying at SUNY Cortland--he was a senior and she a sophomore. She left school when he graduated and they moved to Iowa where he got his master's in education. That's where Jimmy and Peter were born (which explains why Peter's passport lists Iowa as his place of birth--even Dad was surprised; I'm telling you, my family doesn't talk much). They moved back to New York, where Dad, Jonathan, and Beth were born. The rest I've written elsewhere.
And here I'd been thinking that my family tree went back several generations before it could trace anyone outside of the US. Turns out my great-grandparents were immigrants. And now Grammy is a great-grandmother herself. She still has her mother's wedding photo--I'll have to ask if she can dig that up from somewhere.

Speaking of grandparents, my cousin Stephen's daughter Autumn (or was it Amy's daughter Katie?) ran up to my Uncle Jimmy at the wedding. "Hi, Grandpa!" she greeted him.
"Hi, Grandpa," I chuckled.
Dad and Jimmy laughed, too. "Yeah, about that," Dad said to me, "don't make me a grandfather just yet. I'm not ready to be that old."
Sure thing, Dad. I'm not ready to be that old, either.


"There goes identity theory. Zombies ate its brain." (from Plurp)
I haven't read it all. I don't know that I ever will.

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