Team Hot Rock Hyannis style

Ahhh. So many of you have been wondering where has Evil Twin #2 disappeared to again? Yes, she has made a singular posting this year, but has returned to squirreling away her wisdom and stories to coworkers, friends, etc.. But luckily, this weekend I had an ET#2 sighting to report to all our readers.

About 2 weeks ago, B, S, Coach M and I were eating dinner at Rani, a local Indian restaurant. We were talking about running (jogging) and how B was ready to run something as long as it was not anything as crazy as the Derry, NH 16 mile Boston Prep. I mentioned that I had wanted to do the Hyannis Marathon relay, but was too lazy to assemble a team. Since there were four people sitting at the table, why didn't the four of us run it? Brilliant.

Unfortunately, S had to interview the disaffected youth of America for entrance into Columbia University. That meant a rapid search for a fourth runner. B, Coach M, and I had less than 8 hours to find this person. I cajoled, coerced, and pleaded with my friends in Boston and got nowhere. Then I remembered something: ET#2 can always be convinced to do something crazy. And what is crazier than taking a four hour train ride followed by an hour and a half in a car to run 5.8 miles in the freezing cold on the Cape.

Luckily, I was right. She was easily lured by the insanity of the idea, and thus Team Hot Rock was complete, ready to go.

Sunday was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the winds died down, and the temperature seemed mild compared to the sub freezing numbers of late. Captain B picked us up and we had a uneventful ride down. Well, ET#2 did find a long blond hair in the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I made, but she seemed to survive. Oh and my bladder almost burst in the car just as we hit Cape traffic. Good thing there is a Dunkin' Donuts every other block in Massachusetts.

We got our numbers at the Sheraton Four Points grand ballroom and set our strategy, which was to follow the course and run. Then ET#2 and B had to drive off to the second location because they were running the 2nd and 4th legs of the race respectively. I was to stay behind with Coach M at the start line to await ET#2.

After watching Coach M start the race, I roamed around the halls of the hotel, looking at the vendors wares. Everything was a must haves: sweat-wicking headbands, gps synchronizing watches, new orthotics, special shoes, special shirts, and high performance drinks. I drank some water and sat down when my phone rang.

Captain B said, "ET#2 just left 3 minutes ago. It was a funny hand-off. Coach M went right by me and I heard her say isn't that him. Anyway she should be there in an hour."

I went outside 50 minutes later. It was chilly and the relay line was teaming with people who did not belong. I tried to be zen about it, when all I really wanted to do was shove those spectators out of the way. Instead, I waited by a huge Korean contingent who were standing right before the relay start lane. Even without my glasses I saw ET#2 barreling towards me. I shouted her name to no avail. However, we did have a smooth hand-off and I was off.

When I got to the next relay station, I decided to fake sprint it in. I pumped my arms and started huffing and puffing. Captain B and Coach M were not impressed. Captain B was off and smoked the end of the race.

We all met B at the finish line and received our medals in a job well done. McDonald's and Dunkin' Donuts was our reward on our drive home.

So what is the moral of this story: you can always count on your evil twin and friends to do something crazy with you. Evil Twin #2's take on the weekend to follow shortly (or so she says).

Misadventures on the bus

The bus system plays a second class role to the subway. They have no cache. I recently learned that the Boston Green line never goes above 23 miles per hour. That means that the bus can actually be faster than the subway. However, they are never on time, they tend to be smellier, they make too many stops, so buses will always play second fiddle to the subway.

I take the bus frequently. Normally, I don't mind. I prefer being above ground and more stops tranlates into having stops conveniently located throughout the city. I also believe that the bus is one of the best deals in Boston. Not only is it a manner of transport but it serves as entertainment or at least leaves me a treasure chest of stories to share with you.

Psst...Mormons.
Two weeks ago I was on the 66 bus trying to get back to the lab from a class I teach in Harvard Square. I chose to take the public bus instead of the Harvard shuttle bus, because I wanted some pizza and the pizza parlor is across from the 66 bus stop. After two Sicillian slices, and approximately 4 songs on my iPod the bus came barreling around the corner. The bus was very full compounded by the fact that everyone was in bulky jackets and their bags. I managed to squeeze myself to the back. I sat next to a middle aged woman with greasy midlength brown hair and purple ski jacket. I still had my conspicuiously large earphones on my ears, when I felt a tap on my arm. The woman was apparently was talking to me. I nodded my head. I said, "Yes, it is cold out ." "Yes, it has been a mild winter." "No, I don't very much about the new bus commission."

After a few moments of silence from her, She tapped me a little harder. She pulled my arm close to her and in a loud whisper she said "Look." She pointed to the front of the bus to two boys in dark suits, black ties, and black messenger bags. "They are Mormons. They are trying to convert people."

Then one of the Mormon boys came to sit in the seat in front of us. He began to talk to the alternative looking boy with tatoos and shaved head. The woman next to me could not help but tapping me everytime the Mormon boy talked. I really wanted her to stop touching me. The alternative boy left the bus. Then the woman said the the Mormon boy, "Are you a Mormon?"

He was, well not exactly. He was a member of the Church of Latter Day Saints. So the two of them started talking, loudly. She was Jewish. He was okay with that because that meant she believed in God. Did she know the story of Joseph Smith? No. I saw my opportunity and asked if he would like to switch seats with me. He said "of course." The two of them continued their conversation happily until the Mormon boy had to go leaving all his religious pamphlets in his wake.


Ultimate cage match
Last October, I got on the 39 to meet A and SS in Jamaica Plain. We were going to carpool to bookclub. Now, A takes the 39 at least 2 times a day without incident. I myself have not been so lucky. On this particular day the bus was late. It was the 6pm rush hour, and a bus had not arrived for 40 minutes. Afraid I would be too late, I choose to squeeze into the bus. This was not an exageration. I had stepped into the back door, and I had to press flesh with a slightly overweight African American lady(OAAL). I apologized every time the door opened because it made me lurch a little into the crowd. Everyone was in fairly good spirits though and told me no apologies were necessary.

At some point along Huntington Ave, it was evident that no one not even Mini-Me would be able to fit on this bus. It was filled to capacity and more. We got to the Veteran's Hospital stop and encountered another large group of cold frustrated people. A tall blonde women in a black suit, tried to squeeze next to me but there was no room. She yelled at all the passengers to move in the bus. The OAAL in front of me then told the Blonde "We got no where to go. Wait for the next bus." This infuriated the Blonde, who replied with "Just f$#% move in. I've been waiting for 15 minutes." Which was met with "We've all be waiting. I waited since 5:30 so get off."

Now there are some cardinal rules in life and one of them is: do not pick a fight with a sistah. Obviously, the Blonde did not know this rule, because some racial and other epithets came out of her mouth. And as the ultimate move, the Blonde spat at the OAAL. Well, actually she spat all over the place as I felt driblets of her saliva on my cheek. I tried to get off the bus at this point, but my backpack was caught between the doors that were still open. I panicked and simply ducked as the OAAL lunged for the Blonde. The two of them started punching and kicking. (Once again, I got caught in the crossfire as someone kicked my leg.) Luckily, two very large men held them from each other. Then an old jewish woman told the Blonde back to walk to the bus stop otherwise, she would tell the large man holding the OAAL to let go. The Blonde walked back, and the bus door finally closed.

As we left the OAAL kept shouting, and tried to call the police on her cell phone. Nothing happened. As a matter of fact, the bus driver did not even acknowledge this 5 minute delay. Guess it was just another day on the 39.

The art of watching television

Like all arts, the art of watching television is partly hard work and partly talent. It takes dedication to follow a single show, patience to not use the remote too much, and sheer butt strength to stay on the couch for hours.

I must say that I am a master of television watching. The only time I ever got a headache from watching TV was when ET#2 and I attempted to watch all of "24" in 24 hours. But for the most part, I go without headaches and without restless leg syndrome. I can watch three programs simultaneously, or just one, because over the years I have honed my comercial sensing skills. Yes, it is all very impressive.

But suddenly, my world has changed. My favorite shows, Heroes, Ugly Betty, and Veronica Mars can all be seen on the web. So now I can watch them at school if I wanted too. Between boring hour incubations, I could slip in a little television instead of reading relevant scientific journals. This phenomena has put my whole world in a tail spin. Believe it or not I think it has made me a little more productive, because now I don't need to rush home to catch my program.

To add to this new found freedom, my roomate has gotten us cable and DVR. Even when I am on the couch vegging it is commercial free. Although it has reeked havoc with my kidneys as I now have no time to use the rest room, one cannot but appreciate the beauty of it.

The true question now is the art of television watching dead? Or simply changed into a new form of multi-tasking? I need a little more time to see.

Questionable science

Researchers in England have distilled the "beer goggle" effect to a formula.

Super excesses

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and a close third is Superbowl Sunday (I am particularly fond of the Fourth of July too). I know it is not officially a holiday, but I cannot help but think of it as one.

My criteria for a good holiday, has to do with the food that surrounds it and with the friends/family you share your time. Thanksgiving is rather wholesome with its turkey and homade fix'ns and the Fourth is all about BBQ. To me, Superbowl Sunday is all about salty snacks.

Sundays are always lazy days, it being the whole Sabbath and everything. Add on to that a pound of salt and fat and you have a day that barely moves. Or at least one you barely move.

At 4:30pm the TV was switched "on" to get the pregame festivities begin. I chose to stay home this year because it was cold outside and I had remenants of my cold from last week still lingering about me. I popped in a frozen sausage and peppers pizza into the oven and got ready to hunker down for the next 6 hours.

After eating half the pizza, I tried to stave off the hunger by noshing on some fruit salad. This strategy backfired on me as the sweet pinaple made me crave something salty again. I made what is known in the culinary world as "queso dip" which translates into melted Velveeta and Rotelle. Nothing but the finest ingredients for my gourmet palette. After polishing off a bowl of Tositos dipped in queso dip, I switched to B's Wavy Lays Potato with french onion dip. I was feeling a little parched from my salty snacks so I drank one can of Coca-cola classic. It was a tasty coke as I had forgotten the joys of soda, comething I gave up because I was trying to limit the amount of burping I did in a day.

At halftime, I was gettting ready to make my Totino pizza rolls, when I decided to stay on my sweet kick for a while. So I whipped out a pint of butter pecan ice cream and sat to watch the third quarter. My roomate made chocolate chip cookies, so naturally I ate one of those too becasue it would have been rude not to. I washed one cookie down with some milk.

During the fourth quarter, I realized that the roof of my mouth was sore from all the salt, and thick coating of dairy lingered on my tongue. I turned to B and asked if she thought I would get a tummy ache later that night. She simply nodded.

I drank some tea and orange juice during the presentation of the MVP award. A last ditch effort to get some vitamins in my system. Oh well maybe I'll sleep it off.

Today, I write this blog entry while eating a Snickers with Almonds bar. Weaning yourself off of a holiday takes patience, sugar and salt.