Weekend Report

Friday- Chowed down at my new favorite cheap Mexican joint, a tiny little shop called El Triunfo in the South End. I believe that the owners are actual from El Salavdor, due to the presence of pupusas on the menu. After that, I joined my fellow grad students for a Nerds Gone Wild night of celebration, as one of our brethren successfully defended his thesis that afternoon. Such occasions are joyous for two reasons: 1. you feel happy for your friend and 2. Participating in a 5, 6, or dear-God-no 7 year program with no finite ending can get depressing at times, and when someone you know actually finishes, it provides hope that yes, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and someday, you too may finish. We started out sipping cocktails at the Red Fez and ended up playing drinking games into the wee hours at a friend's apartment. Specifically, I ended the night falling down in the street (because getting drunk, wearing high heels, and falling down is the new black) and passing out the in back of a taxi. Sweet.

Saturday- Did some shopping (new running shoes!) and went to Mike's 30th birthday party in the Ham. I partied like an eight-year old, stuffing my face with chips and cake and candy and hot dogs, and best of all, Framingham Bakery Pizza. Anyone from the Ham instantly recognizes the square, bready slices, ubiquitous at graduation parties and birthdays, and absolutely delicious. Then I told inappropriate jokes and we all made fun of a certain someone for owning a framed map of Mordor (if you don't know what that is, congratulations, you are not a nerd). I won't name names, but his first initial is M and he just turned 30. Later on, I watched Match Point, a Woody Allen movie that is different from most because it's not set in NYC, not a comedy, and not starring him. It's all about infidelity and murder in upper-class England, kind of like Gosford Park meets Closer, but not as good as either of those films. On thing in the movie's favor is that it stars Jonathan Rhys Meyers, who some of you may recall as the hot Irish coach in Bend it Like Beckham. Personally, I've never understood the attraction to Colin Farrell. I'd take Jonathan Rhys Meyers or Cillian Murphy over him anyday. I prefer my Irish heartthrobs with prominent cheekbones and good personal hygiene.

Sunday- Went for a run and laid out just long enough to get a sunburn (approximately 30 minutes). Then, I spent all day in the lab, which, although productive, was kind of a drag. My spirits were lifted when I received a phone call from Aimee D, who moved to San Francisco a year ago. She was in town for a wedding, so we met up for beers at the Publick House (no, not the Pubic House, as Aimee kept calling it) where are friend JR was working. Here's a goofy photo of us holding up Aimee's business card: