It's not that I don't know how to cook. No, I occasionally bust out the pots and pans and make enough ziti or latkes to feed a small army. It's not that I can't — it's just that I don't want to. And over the past three years at MIT, I've learned how to avoid it very well. A bit too well some might say.
By the end of last week's column I was cold, soaking wet, and alone in the streets of Moscow, faced with the prospect of spending my first night abroad desperately huddled up under some old cardboard in an entryway somewhere. But the good luck I'd had in navigating the public transportation system held up, and I didn't end up spending the night in the streets after all. Not that night, anyway.
Last Thursday, Scarlett Johansson was in Cambridge adding The Hasty Pudding Theatricals' "Woman of the Year" Award (also known as the Pudding Pot) to her entourage of titles for this year, which include <i>Esquire's</i> "Sexiest Woman Alive" and <i>Playboy's</i> "Sex Star of the Year." The Hasty Pudding, a Harvard student organization known for its performance of student-authored plays of a vaudevillian and burlesque nature, awards the Pudding Pot "annually to performers who have made a 'lasting and impressive contribution to the world of entertainment.'"
“I’ll be starting in Moscow,” I explained to the girl from Maine in the seat beside mine, “and from there I’ll take the Trans-Siberian Railway east across Russia to Lake Baikal.” The girl from Maine in the seat beside mine was headed for Israel for a year abroad, though she hardly seemed prepared. She had made my acquaintance by boarding the plane with four large bags and arranging herself awkwardly amongst them in her seat, next to mine. Shortly before takeoff, the man across the aisle was kind enough to inform her of the existence of overhead bins and the space under the seat in front, and together we helped her stow her belongings.