http://www.wired.co.uk/news/archive/2013-08/09/liquid-jewel

Pretty cool stuff

Time and time again it comes down to this. Stuffing our faces and then eating some cake.
Other problems fade away gradually. From "I think I am going to be cut off" or "I still haven't heard back from that job app" and "I'm not sure if I am over him yet" it comes down to "These slices of cake are smaller now. It's not value for money any more, we have to go elsewhere" and "These cupcakes are slightly dry in the middle but these ones aren't."

Good friendships and sugar rushes. One year of Masters has been almost survived.

Almost.

Now to survive a month more of being an intern. However the following lunch conversation gives me hope that behind the formal emails (no smileys!!) and ties are real people.

"How do you find this weather? You said you always find it cold here."
Me-"I'm really enjoying it."
"But it's so hot!"
Me-"But I am really enjoying it."
"It's a heat wave. People are dying."
Me-"I don't see why"

There is a moment of silence and in my head I tell myself "Good job. Another chapter of the what not to do at work manual".

I stare out the window at the fleet of planes and tell myself to eat in silence and just look at the planes.

Then the conversation moves on to kids who died while swimming. Were there currents, how did they die, did they not know how to swim too well?
Another one of the guys contributes a story about an acquaintance he used to sail with. He ate a lot. ALmost choked. Then he tried to swim out to meet the boat and almost drowned even though he knew how to swim.
A brief pause and then a rejoinder,"He was an awful guy really. Wouldn't have been much of a loss."

Musings post Boston Marathon Incident

My 8 year old cousin looks at my room with grave interest. It seems like she is making an evaluation. I watch her, waiting for her to pass judgement with.. I think the word I want to use here is trepidation. She is eight. She will not tactfully phrase her sentence, but tell me I live like a pig if that is what she thinks.

I spent the half the day cleaning and hiding things to make my room appropriately PG-13 in honour of this visit. 

"Hmm." She looks at me and points at the wall where I have put all my post cards that friends sent me, stubs from train tickets and boarding passes, a picture of a dinosaur. "Who is that?". There is only one picture of a person on the wall. But stalling for time, I go,"Which one?". She points and looks at me calmly. My question is too stupid to even dignify with a response. There is, after all, only one picture of a person on the wall. "It's my friend," I say. And then, because that doesn't really explain anything, I continue.

Why would I have a picture of only one friend pinned up. I do have more than one friend. Why is the picture printed not on glossy photo paper but on what looks suspiciously like newsprint. Why am I taking so long to answer.

If she is old enough to be thinking these questions, she is probably old enough for the truth. And in this world we are living in, I cannot protect her from these truths. I sigh inside.

"She was a good friend of mine. She was killed in a terrorist attack." 

My favorite asshole

Today was a sunny day in London. In London, a sunny day is an occasion to celebrate. Sitting by the riverside, we've managed to reach the bar at happy hour. Sipping on colorful drinks we are bringing each other up to date on everything that has happened in each other's lives in the fifteen hours since we last met.

I'm telling K about the midnight birthday cake and drinks for a friend at my place.
"Yeah so that happened. I almost fell asleep before it but it happened."
K-"Oh yeah. I forgot about that. How was it?"
"It was just four of my favorite people. So it was nice."
And then, because I am mad at one of them.
"No it was one asshole and three of my favorite people."
K- "But let's be real. He's your favorite asshole."
Me-"Yeeeah.........."
Some deep reflection and then,"Actually. No. My second favorite asshole. I'm my favorite asshole."

Last day of term. The victorious feeling brought on by us making it through ten weeks of bad weather, a terrible professor and way too much work. Alive. And reasonably sane. Or atleast, not significantly less so than when we started term.

We pick up wine and a pizza. We come home.
Me- "Let's take the elevator up. Part of the celebration." (normally I conscientiously use the stairs except when injured)
We get in. The door shuts.
K- "What if we get stuck in the elevator?"
Given our recent run of luck, combined with recent elevator history of our building, this is a possibility with a high probability.
Me- "We have food and drink. And we have my laptop for entertainment. We could survive here for days."
K- "What if we need to pee."
There is a moment's silence and thought.
But nothing will rain on our sunshine.
"We will drink up the wine and pee in the bottle."
Problem solved. Let the festivities begin.

"I look like shit, I feel like shit and I probably smell like shit too, given that the field was covered in it."

Hurting yourself at football can be humbling.
Especially when while you are lying on the ground with your eyes shut, trying to not cry or pass out, you can hear the boys whisper about whether they should warn you to not roll to your right while writhing. There is dog poop on the right.
And then halfway home, when you tell your friend to leave you there to die because you are too tired to limp any more, your friend decides that you are light enough to be carried home the rest of the way and scoops you up and marches down the street. And you, while being carried down the street like a baby, being a stubborn ass of sorts, explain to passers-by that it's only because you hurt your knee.

I hope this will be funny once the pain recedes. 

In India the sentence 'we talked about the weather.' means that you are describing a boring conversation.
You run out of things to talk about, you exhaust every single possible avenue to take the conversation in, and you say, 'It's so hot these days' or something similar.
If you're witty you say 'I'm not sure if this is sweat or if this is me slowly melting.' The other person usually gives you a dirty look and walks away at this point.
Or responds with a 'Yeaaah. so hot! hmm. yeahhh' and then looks around for new people to talk to.
When describing why you can't possibly meet a boy again, how extremely ineligible he is for more of your attention, you say 'But we were so bored. We even talked about the weather." Your roommate/lab partner/whoever-you-talk-to-about-boys(or girls if you're into girls) nods gravely. She/he understands. Enough has been said to illustrate the level of boredom. "THE WEATHER?! Really? My my."

In London.
It is a different story.
The most visited window on your browser is the bbc weather forecast.