Ending Suffrage

(discussing a new Advisor Who mentee who has moved into my neighborhood)

[Who describes the block]

Moi: Oh yeah?  She must be across the street from me then.

Who: You live in the Peabody library?

Moi: Yes.  Me and George.  We're roommates.  It's George, right?

Who: It's actually a woman.

Moi: No, I meant George Peabody, not the person who's coming.  

Who: Not many people know this but actually, George Peabody was also a woman.

Donut holes

I was in DC for a fantastic wedding last night and before leaving the city this morning, I decided to continue my new habit of picking up donuts and chicken biscuits from the deliciously delightful GBD in Dupont (no one is paying for this unnecessary endorsement- but I think GBD should).  

The last time I got donuts from there, I meant to share with Anna but ended up eating everything myself.  Today, I knew that if I did not bring the donuts to school, history would repeat itself.  And history mustn't repeat itself because I had already upped my biscuit order from 1 to 2.  I honestly would have made wedding favor candies and donuts my breakfast had Bryant not made a joke about candies not being public health and prompted internal balanced breakfast guilt.  So I had generic raisin bran for breakfast and brought two donuts to school.  

Moi: I brought donuts.

Advisor Who: You are a great student.

Because the donuts were large and frosted well, and both flavors were indulgent (chocolate cream with chocolate frosting and maple bacon), Who placed both donuts on a plate then, saying that he shouldn't have so much, he cut one into half.  Then quarters.  Then eighths. This decision made me secretly glad because thought I knew sharing was in my best interest, I wanted both donuts.  But as our meeting went on, one eighth disappeared, then another, then a quarter, and a half.  Until finally, the whole thing was gone.

Moi: I'm glad that portion control worked out for you.

Who: You should be glad that there's still one left.

Uphills Both Ways

On a car ride tonight, my father and I talked about fire flies and how we don't really see any in Massachusetts.  When I asked him whether he, as a child, caught any in glass jars, the way I'd heard of my friends doing as little kids, he looked at me as if that was a bizarre suggestion.  "Glass jars?  We didn't have glass jars.  I didn't even have a plastic bag to catch them with." 

Silly me and my hegemonic worldview, making wild assumptions like the availability of spare glass jars in a household (seriously, what?).  Every once in a while, talking to my father catches me completely off guard like that.  The man loves his Red Sox, has an iPad, and drives an SUV.  We've lived in the same house in the Massachusetts suburbs for years, yet that was my childhood, not his.  His was spent shooting rubber bands and running around barefoot on the edge of town in Chong Li.  

Snap, Crackle, Please Vacate Your Seats

On Friday night, I went to Camden Yard with Rachael, Jess, and Nancy. It was the most Oriole-y experience I've had yet, starting with crab mac'n cheese hot dogs and pit beef sandwich. There were fireworks galore that night, partly because the O's kept hitting home runs (first against poor Justin Masterson, who I was pleasantly surprised to see again, after hearing him speak at Park Street's 200th Anniversary, back when he was a young not-starter for the Red Sox and doing better than he did on Friday) and also because it was the team's 60th anniversary.  They brought out many Oriole greats, including, of course, Cal Ripken Jr., and the place, which was already a little nuts cheering for people I didn't know, predictably and collectively all lost its mind in euphoria when he came out.  The most Baltimore moment of the night, however, had to be the announcement that came in the 7th inning. Because the fireworks were going to be set by the scoreboard, a swath of the park, including our cheap seats, had to be evacuated. They asked us simply to move to a different section (where? anywhere that wasn't there). And that was how the 4 of us came to enjoy Orioles history is much better seats than we'd normally been able to afford, and welcomed in by our neighbors.