Book : The Worthing Saga

The Worthing Saga took me by surprise. I had read Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game (highly recommended), but knew that WS was a very early work of his. Much of it smacked unabashedly of Asimov's Foundation -- though not a bad influence to have. There was also an obvious Mormon influence in the book.

WS is about freedom and, suprisingly, it gave me much pause to reflect on the war, which is so easily justified as the spreading of "freedom." The moral of the story (if one were to call it that) also had weighty spiritual and/or religious implications.

The general issue could be summed up as eastern versus western thought; specifically, Taoism versus Platonic idealism. While I am in fact married to a Greek, after reading this book I felt inclined to lean towards the Chinese concept of the ying and the yang -- the belief that there is no joy without pain.

After all, if you never had to go work, there would be no such thing as a weekend -- and that, dear reader, would be the biggest travesty of all.

Harvard Natural History Museum

Yesterday Jenine and I trekked north to Cambridge, Mass., to visit Harvard Square and the Harvard Natural History Museum. Amazingly enough, we actually found our way there, and unscathed in my new (not really new) 1998 Saturn station wagon that drives all the honeys wild with desire.

The museum was an amazing place. For $7.50 a pop you can wander between endless display cases, housing hundreds if not thousands of stuffed specimens, from hummingbirds to dinosaurs to the most fearful of all, the dreaded Mongolian tiger! Needless to say we have a lot more respect for Patches now, lest she ever summon one of her big cousins to come rake our faces off.

But wait, there's more. Besides endless stuffed marvels, you can walk through the 'Hall of Bones' (not really called that), and see where horsies came from, as well as a giant sloth that could also rip your face off, though only in slow motion. Finally, there is an amazing collection of glass plants and flowers, created by a father and son who had perfected an art of glass crafting now lost to our barbaric age. The collection, while impressive in execution and attention to detail -- you can't even tell they're made of glass(!) -- was sensory overload for us at the end of a long day, and we had to flee the exhibit before our brains splattered all over the display cases which were, less remarkably, also made of glass.



After paying our $20 for parking (let no one call me cheap again!) we headed home and drank our 68 ounce growler of beer, putting Jenine to sleep and making me tired and surly. Patches, however, still seemed oblivious to the powerful allies she had at her call, so for another night we were spared and lived to see the morning.

Wedding = Family Overload

Last weekend, Jenine and I drove down to the south side of Massachusetts (twice, actually) to see my cousin Peggy get married, and of course for the accompanying festivities as well.

On Saturday we sat around in the hotel lobby enjoying various continental breakfast remnants, and then proceeded to the late-afternoon ceremony. The wedding was, if I am right, Episcopalian in nature. My cousin Jamie, who is currently in seminary, gave a nice Homily. It was nice to be at a wedding but not in it for a change, because though I have certainly enjoyed the honor of participating in my friends' weddings, not having to worry about my performance was a pleasure.

The reception featured a fabulous array of food including, of course, great champagne and wine. My sister drove back with us that night to see our apartment and chat, and the next morning we all headed out for a delicious breakfast and more socializing. Finally, after a few more inevitable conversations on spirituality and the like, we headed home, glad to see all the family but mentally exhausted from all the social activity.

My parents stayed with us on Monday evening, and we all stuffed our faces with seafood at Legal Sea Foods for dinner, the key lime pie somehow sliding down my gullet into the last available nook, right between the lobster and the scallops.

Sleepy Hollow

Two weeks ago, on New Year's Eve, Jenine and I drove down to New York state to visit friends. Halfway there a snowstorm made the drive extra adventurous but, with windows retracted for defogging and tempers high, we eventually slipped and slid to our destination.

Saturday night was for chatting, catching up, reading Calvin & Hobbes, and watching Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve Special move one more step towards the pale and the eventual Ryan Seacrest's Rockin' New Year's Eve Special overhaul.

What could be more fun than watching Hillary Duff magically change between 'glam' and 'sassy' outfits during commercial breaks? You guessed it! Graveyards!

On Sunday we drove to Sleepy Hollow, where apparantly, by law, every business must prefix its name with the town's infamous monicker or be shut down. We spent most of our time amidst tombstones, sarcophogi, and mausoleum. The earlier snowstorm meant that we were treated to a serene and quiet scene, the leafless trees and soft blankets of snow all echoing the peace of the grave.





Up to no good.


Not even the dead can escape the prying lens of my Olympus!


Is nothing sacred?!



Finally, before driving home on Sunday, we had a tasty lunch at a little Greek restaurant,where I got scowled at for knocking over a bottle of ketchup. Overall it was a lovely visit and a good time for catching up.