Holidaze

Ah, the holidays...since there's no Thanksgiving in the UK, and since we live far enough from the shopping centers to avoid seeing all the twinkly lights, I'm actually enjoying this year's build-up. Our Friday celebration was wonderful, and I'm actually glad I cooked everything from scratch -- except the nut loaf, which I should have. Ours was good, but I bet it would have been better if it also met the home-produced standard. Below, witness our wonderful biscuits, cranberry sauce (yay for the sound of bursting berries on the stove), garlic-and-muscat-wine basted potatoes, and the aforementioned nut loaf.


The real sign of a good Thanksgiving?


We spent the ensuing hours lolling on the couch, rising only when required (e.g., when we really wanted some of the pumpkin pie we made together).

Last night was a little more adventurous, as it was the Geneticals Christmas Dinner. Ever been in a room full of 40 people who spend most of their time talking about tagSNPs and linkage disequilibrium? Oh, and cricket: a disproportionate percentage of CB's lab cohort is Australian, and the Asher's is on right now. It's a massive cricket test between England and Australia. All I know is that the English got killed -- and the ones at our table were so irritated that they got up and left whenever the Aussies brought up the subject.

Naturally, as a very non-genetical person, I'd forgotten that a "dress up" event means "wear your best jeans and leave the Lord of the Rings tie at home." At least CB humored me and dressed up as well.


Then, after being pennied (see me chugging a full glass of red wine below), it was off to the Purple Turtle, a cavernous student union bar which epitomizes the term "dive bar." Swing dancing to bad '80s British rock ensued...that's what happens when CB's good bud is a former member of the uni dance team, and when you combine him with former swing-cat me.


We left the club around 1:30 and walked back to Bryan's office, where I'd wisely stashed a pair of tennis shoes for the walk to the bus. On the way, it became apparent that my feet really didn't appreciate wearing heels for the first time in months. Dancing might not have been the best idea. And that is why any late-night stragglers saw a well-dressed girl walking in nylon stockings through wet streets, heels squishing in the sunken areas where half-frozen mud and leaf muck had accumulated for weeks. By the time we reached the office, all the bits of my feet which weren't blistered were numb, and the nylons were sodden. I can only imagine the conversations his office-mates had this morning when they came in to find a pair of torn, dirty nylons in the bin.

Measuring the cultural divide

Last night, our jack-o'-lanterns blazed on the front window ledge, and our porch light illuminated the short front walk. I'd donned a hasty costume to prepare for any kids who stopped by, and I have to admit that I was eager to meet a few neighbors, or at least see little ghosts and goblins running around the street.

By the time 10:00 rolled around, the candles burned out and my makeup-enhanced scars were starting to smear. I might have been severely disappointed, if not for discovering this story about England and Halloween in the NYT. Way to kill the spirit of the event, guys. And who in their right mind encourages kids to pressure adults for cash instead of candy??

Halloween Showdown

Overheard on the living room floor tonight:

Me: "So, you've never carved a pumpkin with official pumkin carving tools?"
CB: "Nope."
"Well, I guess you're at an advantage. Do you think I could use this short knife as a scraper?"
"A what?"
"You know, to scrape away the skin so parts glow."
"Oh, erm, sure."
"It's okay. All in fun, remember? It's not like we're having a contest."

Figuring that whatever I made would impress him, I set to work on a bird. Arguably, it is meant to be an English robin, but you try making one of those when all you have is a stubby knife and a potato peeler. A short time later, I showed CB my finished product:

For the record, I actually felt quite happy with my bird, considering I had not carved a pumpkin since sometime in high school. Meanwhile, CB fiddled in the corner, intent on his design, refusing to let me see. Finally, he finished and with one casual turn of the squash in my direction, he revealed my bird for what it was: a valiant effort by someone with the carving skills of a five year-old.

I looked at my pudgy bird as my artistic spirit shriveled.

"How the hell did you do that?"
CB, shrugging: "I'm good with geometric figures."

Fingers...hurty...

I'm not entirely sure what part of the cosmos decided it would be hilarious to give me a body that can't sit in normal chairs for more than a few hours at a time without stiffening into the shape of an archer's bow, but I finally caved and purchased a dodgy-looking ergonomic chair on EbayUK. For the price, I'm guessing the extent of its ergonometry is that it comes with a broken back and a roll of duct tape; with a few sticky strips, I'll be able to make it fit my contours. Until the tape melts off, which is likely here because our apartment, while wonderful (which it is, trust me), currently resembles a tropical rainforest.

The one significant downside our older building is its serious dearth of insulation. Combine that with poor ventilation, and the windows sweat buckets on cold nights, leading to all sorts of horrific fantasies involving my clothes and cotton-loving mold. After a little experimentation, I figured out that one can reduce the condensation by turning up the heat, which warms the window glass. Alas, another downside to an old building is an eccentric heating system which *only* operates as follows:

1. Turn heat storage on at 7pm, because it is only possible to have the heater on from 7 to midnight under our council energy plan. No, I don't have the slightest clue what that means, either, but it is apparently very expensive to do anything else.
2. Turn heat storage off in the morning.
3. Wait for heater to emanate the heat it has stored. Wait about 30 seconds.
4. Stand before heater in awe as hot air pours from its innards.
5. Grow slightly dismayed when heat doesn't stop, which it won't until 7pm.
6. Open all the windows and hang out in agony
7. Repeat

It's great, really. I also purchased a dehumidifier which is supposed to be large enough to work on a place bigger than ours. It's been filled to capacity three times today, and I'm pretty sure it's about to fill again...how my clothes aren't dripping wet, I'm not sure.

That's about all I can write tonight -- I've been writing all day, and my shoulders are protesting.