this week i

surprised my father with an evening of storytelling.  rested the next day, but made it through the encore.

caught the bus to manhattan.  howard's been practicing years now, you could wake me up from deep sleep, convince me we met just yesterday.  we shared small plates and soju in a skyscraper, caught the liquor store with its metal gate halfway down.  teresa lost her toehold in the fireplace room so we sipped baby bourbon whiskey with a view from the eleventh floor until three.  the mid-day ferrymen to queens ushered us aboard, sold us chips with chile lime and vinegar.  hipsters cleared the artist collective's parking lot to circle their welded wheeled swingsets, we bought three dollar beers at one two breweries sandwiched around something soft and french for lunch.  back on the island we opened the restaurant door and smelled the dough of our three pizzas, food on the mainland does not taste as good.  we squeezed in a bar, listened to haunted jazz on the first of two halloween saturday nights when the 31st falls on a wednesday.  morning again, bacon egg cheese and we watched a new york scuffle over the quality of a new york bagel between a new york demanding customer and new york nonplussed cashier.  we drank nestle-owned lattes by the skating rink, frowned about the hegemony of wework, got ourselves lost in the new york public library, reminisced about a world where you just sit and think.

met gary for the artistic applications of artificial intelligence in the national portrait gallery atrium, sometimes captivating.  a few days later marcie met me at the same place to see a the day of the dead skeletal altar, the pavilion crowd more interested in talking among themselves.  we caught the chinatown night market's sour beer stand, biked across town to watch flour tortillas grow on the skillet, listened for the owl in the alleyway.


this week i

published the latest drug and private medicare plan statistics for the upcoming year.

spotted rupak down the station corridor.  traveling but not to pune for work, nih paid for our dinner, and unsettling good fortune on the atlas arts center sidewalk covered our drinks, dessert.  always been a professor in my eyes, now columbia university agrees.

put our names on the waitlist at six, drank in the evening breeze until the phone buzzed at seven thirty.  john ordered dry cider, we volleyed ideas through seven courses of northern thai served by mennonite hipsters.  our supplies limited to his elastic lights and carpentry goggles. surprisingly no facepaint at halloween season cvs, so bought two rolls of store-brand aluminum foil then rented bikes to glide downhill toward the white house.  docked across from the eisenhower building and started wrapping one another into silver mummies on the 17th and pennsylvania sidewalk, plainly stating to passersby, "we're daft punk."  on the steps of the corcoran gallery, the ticket-takers laughed with us.  "budget daft punk."  john's idea.  "student, alumni, or faculty?" "alumni" and i showed her the expired i.d. from my one week of phd enrollment, crashed in.  a confined noisy party, the display galleries cordoned off, the alcohol choices white wine or to split a corona, we stood for a few photos then shed our skins next to the recycling bin, and walked out, and north.  cold rain started near the connecticut lion bridge at the lower left entrance of rock creek park, not enough to pierce east coast broadleaves.  we clicked on our camping headlamps, walked toward the light.  john spoke about building trades and belize, i was happy to listen.  crossed the maryland boundary stone around two, and we said "see you later, don't know when" for the first time since darjeeling.