Jet-lagged and exhausted from the 45 hour journey from the other side of the globe, Rick and I started his few days vacation here with a culture shock: pasta without chopsticks! ("where are they? I can't eat pasta with a fork anymore!")
From there, we went all-American and made both chex mix and puppy chow for the next evening's festivities in the Penthouse. Life? Deliciously American.
On Tuesday, we ended up walking across the bridge (hello, arms, you so white! No worries, mom, the 15 minute walk gave me the only sun I'll be getting sans sunscreen this summer).
And oh goodness--we also played unsanctioned ultimate frisbee at midnight, propping doors open to make sure we could. There was also the fact that the boys playing were shouting random things for the charge after every point (kind of like the kick off in football) and this degraded into shouting about one of my friends "---- is hot!" as well as applying this to other young ladies in the crowd, even yours truly. I can't remember, though, exactly why. My memory is obviously fading in my old age, for I can't remember if Gena told one of the guys to do it to make me feel better, or if I made some smart aleck comment, or if they just cycled through the names of the brave young lasses who decided to join them for the fun. Ah well, that is one story lost to time. (in trying my best to remember what actually happened that night, I did some checking into old emails and my word, what gossip I have forgotten. Ha!)
Rick, in particular, was a character. He walked around with a little black book, taking down funny stories, addresses, people, soaking it all in. He and the other percussionists had a great time together, and in their exploring found the University of Minnesota at Duluth Art Museum, which just happened to be showing an extended documentary about Dale Chihuly. And then they watched the entire thing, no joke. They invited us all to watch with them, and we kind of looked at them like they were nuts. (and they were). Since then, Chihuly has been a great joke between Rick and I, hence the visit to the MFA's exhibit being of paramount importance.
The night ended with dinner at the Cambridge Brewing Company followed by a couple rounds at Drink, a local establishment with somewhat Prohibitionist decor (the guys wear suspenders, be still my heart!) Drinks are expensive, especially for a grad student that doesn't go out much. But, they are worth the money, and the bartenders are wonderful. Knowledgeable and friendly, I don't think they'd do this job unless they loved it.