She's A Sophisti-Cat

There are a lot of things we could say about Halloween. The ever increasing popularity and commercialization of Halloween (if it's possible to make a 'holiday' centered around candies and costumes even more commercial, that is), its occultic ties, the psychology behind assuming costumes and identities, we could debate these things for days. But we're not going to discuss any of that now.

Instead, we're going to 'awn' because one little girl is going to be rhubarb (rhubarb! that's precious!), a little boy is determined to be "ketchup with eyes," and the Band Man's kid was "big purple monster" last year.

And then, there're Martha's kids.

For those of you unaware, Martha is perhaps the best lab instructor in the universe. Not just this side of the Milky Way, but every side of the Milky Way. Even better than Baures, if you can imagine that. She's patient, not easily frazzled, but always quick to make fun of you.

This year, Martha's older daughter (who we'll call Progeny A) decided she wanted to be a witch. Not just any old, ugly, witch though, a glamour witch. (Maria: So she's a princess in black? Exactly.) Martha made Progeny A a very simple yet lovely costume, with a cool wig and cape and lots of shiney, pretty things. This made younger daughter, Progeny B, quite jealous. She had only planned on being a cat for Halloween, but that was before she knew of the pretty things. Now instead of being a cat, Progeny B will be a glamour cat, that is, a cat with a back story. She's not just feline, she's a cat that likes to go dancing and she's very well groomed.

Sometimes, I wish I could steal stories from Progeny B's childhood and make them mine. Oh wait, I just did.

No, no, no, Travis

Someone else in our junior/senior seminar misread the syllabus today. She didn't just write a paper she wasn't supposed to, she also did the wrong reading. That fact cheered me immensely. Someone was more stupid than I am.

Silly Kid: I'm sorry, I did the wrong reading for today.
Band Man: I'm going to have to shoot you.

(Moments later, backing down from his decision to kill)
Band Man: Actually, don't worry about it. Just BS your way through discussion.
Moi: That's what we do!
Band Man: Yeah? That's what you do? Right, couldn't tell.

The Mask

So Creeps and Kate were contemplating stealing shoes from the shoe drive for shoeless children for their Halloween costume...

Creeps: What're you going to be for Halloween?

Moi: I don't know if I'm going to be anything. Maybe a ninja.

Kate: An Asian being a ninja, like no one has ever thought of that before.

Moi: But it's so expected that it's unexpected.

Creeps: That's right. I like that.

Moi: It was either that or go as kid who's really good at math.

Creeps: Spelling bee champ.

Kate: Poindexter.

Moi: It's mainly because instead of writing my paper, I found this website that teaches you how to make a mask out of a t-shirt.
Like this:














Creeps: What's so hard about that? You just cut a-

Moi: Without cutting the t-shirt.

Creeps: Oh!? I'm intrigued.

Moi: Yeah, it's a great mask for a ninja. Or a Muslim woman. I haven't decided.

Kate: Or both. A ninja under cover as a Muslim woman.

Nay, Nay, D’Orsay

Before I start, let me just say how much I appreciated my free flu shot. Wednesday was the first day of vaccinations and I thought that getting there a few minutes before opening would save me time in line, but no, these Bo' kids are serious about their flu shots. There were about ten kids already waiting, and a steady stream followed behind me. But come on, free flu shots plus a goody bag of candies and a toy? Life does not get better than that. Unless of course, you count grandfather being released from the hospital, brother finding a job, finally narrowing down my honors topic, cafe milkshakes (that're really frappes) and the prospect of homemade paella. Those are good things, too.

The Musee D’Orsay, up until a few days ago, was my favorite museum in the entire world. People, I don’t use that phrase lightly. I’m a retired Sri Lankan textiles worker and I have seen a lot of the world. (As my mother explains, I go to an expensive school, where I have learned to like expensive things because I think expensive = good.) My eyes have seen the ancient treasures of China in its millenniums-old palaces, and also the real treasures from those palaces stored safely in Taiwan. I have seen the the Met in NYC, the Smithsonian and the Museum of Natural History in DC, not to mention Boston’s smaller offerings. The were the numerous National Galleries throughout Great Britain, the Tate Modern, the Red Cross Museum in Geneva, and there was even that random one in Quebec. I have seen a lot of museums, people. And I chose Musee D’Orsay as my favorite.

That is, until I realized that they royally ripped me off.

Take a gander at this beautiful picture I have here from the museum gift shop, a copy of Piet Mondrian’s work. It’s small. It's cheap. No one will ever mistake it for the original. But it is still Mondrian and tasteful, an affordable piece of 'art' for say, a high school junior on her first trip to France.



Until, I took the picture out of its plastic wrappings last week, flipped the picture over and remove its cardboard backing that's not even attached. This is what I discovered:


A postcard!? Masking tape!? They couldn't have bothered to at least use clear tape? To print off reproductions instead of use a postcard? Even world class museums with all the money in the world isn't above ripping its patrons off.

Night Light

 

















On some weekday evenings, roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) moonlights as Captain Kilowatt, fearless leader of Team Tungsten, combatter against the dark forces and of course, always at the center of the spotlight. 

Watt's in a Game

 













O Sweet, electrifying irony. Even Captain Kilowatt isn't immune to the shock of the world's greatest game, eXtreme Lightning Reaction. 

The Sunshine Band

It's been too long since we've had any direct mention of professors. They've been on such good behavior lately. And I have been so un-awkard. Here, finally, some recent highlights of the Band Man.

(In our junior and senior seminar, setting up a meeting time with the Band Man.)

Band Man: I'm free all day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and on Fridays.

Moi: That's a lot of free time.

Band Man: Well, yeah, I don't really do much. I've got a wet bar set up behind my desk and I just start drinking at noon. All by myself.


(Trying to find a spot at lunch)

Band Man: I try to sit as far from students as possible.

Moi: In the student dining hall?

Band Man: Yeah...


(Regarding our readings on tax reform...)

Band Man: What'd you guys think of the readings?

Class: (Lots of groans and mumbles)

Band Man: I apologize for assigning that. I don't know what I was thinking. The first time I read it, I thought it was ok, but going back this week, reading it gave me a rash.

Inner Beauty

Bobs has too much time on his hands. I don't. I have many stories to tell, some vaguely amusing, some not so much, but I don't have the time to process them for you. Instead, I will share with you this delight from Bobs. Because he had time to urbanup the Bo' when he was bored. Because he had the time to be bored. Note the carefully placed arrows. His carefully placed arrows make my day. Please click on the image for the full, glorious page.















Honestly, I feel violated. Somebody took that entry straight out of my diary. But no, I will not get bitter at this characterization of my school because that's just being predictable, he expects me to get angry, so I won't. Because I have a great personality, unlike the ugly butthead that posted this.

The Wayback Machine's Cool Kicks

I am devoid of anecdotes. My life consists of work and not sleeping. I had lunch with the Band Man this week (when he asked me, for the fifth time, what my plans were for next year, because that's his natural small talk instinct, and oh God we're only in October) and there was not a single awkward moment I could take away to share. Except when, in a sweet reversal of fortune, we discussed the fact that he had no friends in college. And even then, it was less funny than just... odd?

And so we look to the glorious past in this entry, harken back to a time when life was simple, when my choices in food were between lamb and lamb, and my choices in companion were between distant aunt number one or distant second cousin number four- namely, we are going back to China.















This is a distant uncle I like to call "Vic," because his name means victory in Chinese. Seated next to Vic is his wife, who I like to abbreviate as "VW." As you can see from the picture, Vic has led and still lives a life of hard work. His arms are strong and his hands calloused. In his sixty-some years, Vic has been an accountant, a cart driver, and a farmer, but his time as a farmer far more surpasses his other careers. He has a mule, chickens, cows, a few kids (the goat kind) and a few kids (the human kind). Vic's life is simple, as is his dress. His older sister tells me that he never buys clothes for himself so she sometimes buys shirts for him. But despite all this, Vic has a very cool pair of sneakers.















Honestly, I wish I had my distant-farming-old-uncle's sneakers.

Partridge and Au Pair Tree

When Neurobiologists Include A Video In Their Presentation, It Must Be Important



It's been awhile. That's because my life is busy and important. Tremble at my significance.

Last night, I found myself sitting on the floor of the trunk of a van with an au pair from Austria as our vehicle winded through the dark country roads of Massachusetts subrubia. When's the last time you did that, people? That's right. I have very important things to do.

Last week, much of my conversations with Vita-K revolved around the lecturer at the neuro talk we had to attend. And how intelligent and funny he was. (He showed us the clip above as part of a lecture on the olfactory bulb.) And how I found out he was our neurobio professor's boyfriend. And how much Vita-K now hated our professor.

Last weekend I was mistaken for the mother of my former roommate Rio.

Like I said, very busy and important. Now tremble, tremble at my significance.