Muffins, American Graffiti, and Matches

Yesterday was NRC day. The bigwigs descended, spoke, and awarded prizes for successful patent applications, and academic achievements such as getting your PhD, MSc, Etc. We, the underlings, sat in rows in front of large screens, televising the proceedings from the auditorium, in a scene that was disturbingly reminiscent of Apples iconic Big Brother ad, to me at least.

Alex was awarded a shiny watch for completing his masters - here's a massively grainy picture taken from the big-screen in the lobby.

This entailed Alex's being "on the inside" i.e., in the auditorium. He deserves a second award for opportunism, for as the formalities came to a cessation, he came away with two neglected muffins. These had been set aside for the principal speakers, the CEO & Chairman, and the Head of NRC. These were no ordinary tea-cakes. These were CEO grade buns. I can report that CEO grade muffins come with more nuts than proletariat muffins, and have an unexpected caramel centre; they are, in a word, tasty.

A few minutes later everyone left the building for the underground car-park, where the "American Graffiti" themed party was being held. Never having seen the movie, I can only assume it's an epic, set between the 50's and the late 70's, judging by the costumes. It was quite a cheesy affair, and in a gesture I found condescending but secretly delightful, they had a little r/c race-car track in the bottom corner - for the engineers...

The special guest turned out to be a "famous" Finnish Elvis impersonator, and the band were the house-band. They weren't bad, but it was just your average strangled covers. Myself, Agate and Alex pushed off early to go back to her place and watch DVDs and eat hot-buttered popcorn. Problems arose. Fearing the workforce, asymptotically approaching a state of pure inebriation, would come up with the brainwave of having an after-party in their office, or the sauna, The Powers That Be had blocked all access to the workspaces. This left my coat and myself estranged. Tonight that would mean slow, cold, death (it's about -6), but last night was a positively tropical +5 (cheers, God). All was good, and the journey home was uneventful, if chilly between the train station and my abode.

I'd always considered myself King of the Last Minuters, Prince of Procrastination. I humbly submit that this title belongs to another: Joonas. HUT have a policy of allowing students into an exam up to one hour after the commencement. Joonas studied for the exam during that hour, and that hour solely, entered the exam, and is satisfied with the outcome. Legend.

Finally, in a demonstration of "tis a small world", I now have the back of a pack of Cara matches, where it has the Seanfhocail as gaeilge and the english translation in my pocket. It was bequeathed to me by American Alex, who picked it up while at a marriage in Limerick a few weeks ago. Previously it became an object of wonderment when I read the inscription (haltingly) as gaeilge. Apparently my accent changed, and Irish sounds like Arabic, or just plain ugly, depending on whose opinion you seek. It's advice for life:

An té a luidheas
leis na madraidh,
éireochaidh sé leis
na dearnadaidh.

He that lies down
with the dogs
will rise up with
the fleas