Snippets from a Visit to Texas

Having just returned from the first of three grad school recruiting weekends I'll be going to this spring, I have the following to share:

To the crazy guy on Marta, no matter how many times you say "hey, light bulb!", the light bulb is not going to answer you. Nothing against you or anything--the light bulb just isn't a very talkative fellow. Also, you probably won't convince him, or me, or anyone else on the train that Jay-Z is walking the streets of West End at 6:30 am.

To all the men standing around in the terminal wearing cowboy hats and talking in drawls about the Rangers' fate for the 2009 baseball season, I could hardly tell I was about to board a plane to Texas.

To the guy who was sitting across the aisle from me on the flight to Austin, I wonder how many people feel like they're in an episode of 24 when they see you. That you're a dead ringer for Ike Dubaku is only the beginning. Texting those guys with shady French African sounding names, and covering up your phone when the flight attendant walked by, is much stronger evidence. Your fashionable but unconventionally-colored dress shirt didn't hurt either.

To whomever gave Austin the area code 512, your subtle and geeky mock trial reference made my weekend. (Oh, I know that the Austin area code was probably around long before the Longhorns were ever team 512, but it's the order I found those out in that counts.)

To the professor who shall go nameless for the sake of avoiding self-incrimination, you seemed like a really nice guy, and your research sounded sort of interesting. Then you saw my name tag, found out that I was from Georgia Tech, and asked me about a certain professor I may have had for a class at some point. I'm glad I didn't share my feelings about that certain professor (they would have been something strongly worded) because it seems you two are friends.

To the grad student that I met downtown, one of a couple dozen, how you got such a fantastically pretty and pleasant girlfriend is totally beyond me. Oh, wait, it's probably because your school has 26,000 women, and mine has 6,000.

To Delta Air, I appreciate your clever and novel euphemisms, but it's okay with me if you call it a "trash bag". "Service bag" is really not necessary.


Currently listening: "Robots", Flight of the Conchords