Well, that was interesting.

So while I was on the plane flying back to the UK, I got up to go to the bathroom, which happened to be right next to the baby-changing station. I was standing in line when a very Hispanic-looking woman came out of the bathroom, handed me her baby and said "Please... hold for one minute... just one minute" and ran off. I don't know how or why babies always instantly know when they're not being held by their moms, but they do, and this one was no exception. And holy god she was loud. So I was standing there in line, desperately needing to pee, holding a squirming, wailing baby that I was obviously not related to at arm's length, while people stared. I wanted to yell "I did not steal this baby, her mother is just an idiot!"

Also, there were about five other people in line, including a father with a 5-year-old son and a woman who looked about 8 months pregnant. She looked over all these people and decided that the best candidate to take care of her infant was not actual parents, but a 21-year-old dressed in an unwashed hoodie and salt-stained jeans doing the peepee dance. Awesome parenting, lady!

When I landed, though, I discovered that British Rail was repairing or rebuilding or destroying or having tea with all the rail lines in southern England. I had to transfer five times. And on every single transfer, I was followed by a crowd of extremely loud curry-scented brown people who decided that trains in England = trains in India, which means you need to yell to be heard. And also trains are excellent places to have really deep, involved conversations in your native language. But only if your native language is really, really grating. Also, showering is either optional or conducted in a large tub of curry paste.

Since yesterday was my birthday, I celebrated with a lot of Strongbow. When I woke up the next morning, there was popcorn everywhere and my laptop was covered in nacho-flavored popcorn seasoning.

Oh, and also I had a lab today. One of the catalysts was Chromium [VI] oxide. I asked the demonstrator what I should to do get rid of it. He told me to pour it down the sink, but quench it with MeOH first. Turns out that pouring MeOH into Cr[VI]O3 makes it explode. Violently. And it takes the beaker with it.

Irony

Okay, granted I'm not quite back yet, but I felt this warranted an update.

So I was in Knoxville for most of the break. Now, anyone who's ever driven in Knoxville knows that the roads are basically a labyrinth of Greek proportions, and all the other drivers are the Minotaur. (As Pat likes to say, "Driving in Knoxville is a crime punishable by death.") It is also a given that the wealthy in America are incapable of living in normal neighborhoods like the rest of us. They must instead live in subdivisions less than 10 years old that have been carved out of previously unspoiled wilderness, surrounded by golf courses, and given names like Shady Oaks Glenne when the last oaks were cut down five years ago to make way for the aforementioned subdivision and the only shade is cast by bulldozers that are busy carving up the last remaining nice hillside to put in a new Target / Starbucks / Cold Stone Creamery (Target Creamerybucks?). And all the roads have names like "Sparkling Creek Lane" and "Ivy Cove Drive" and "Rich Protestant Ave."

I decided that I needed some new clothes and, because I hate shopping by myself, I invited Pat to come too. But she had to go see her (rich, Protestant) grandmother first. So, I dropped her off at her grandmother's, which was in a subdivision called Verdant Creek or Glowing Oaks or Shady River or No Black People or something like that, and went off to dick around in Borders for an hour. When it came time to pick her up again, you can probably imagine what happened. I got hellishly lost for a full hour, driving around the artifically winding roads of Farragut, being passed on all sides by a weird mix of Lexuses and pickups that were held together entirely by a mixture of rust and McCain/Palin stickers. I don't know when we decided, as a society, that what really makes a neighborhood look upscale is when the roads meander all over the place for no adequately explained reason other than to make the lives of intruders more difficult, but it probably coincides with what we will later recognize as the downfall of western society and what we now recognize as when useless wicker items got popular as a design scheme.

Anyway, so I was utterly lost in Farragut, and stopped at a red light in preparation for my 5th U-turn of the last 20 minutes, when I happened to look around and noticed, ironically, a building labelled "Attention Deficit Center of Knoxville". I was staring curiously at it, when I noticed that the light ahead of me had changed, and there was now a 50-foot gap between me and the nearest car (rusty McCain pickup). Quickly, I slammed on the accelerator and promptly stalled the car out. Because holding still on the road in Knoxville is a sin punishable by loss of your back bumper to a toothless guy named Junior (why is nobody ever named Senior?), I put the car in gear and quickly drove away. So quickly, in fact, that I managed to squeal the tires in the most assholish way possible. I happened to look back in mid-squeal, and noticed that the car behind me was inhabited by the tiniest old lady I had ever seen, who was wearing the most priceless affronted expression ever. She looked like I was stealing candy from her grandchildren.

I'll be back in the UK on the 10th (roughly), so I'll probably have more tales of exasperation then. Whoo!

Also, I got an iPod Touch for Christmas. I now know the meaning of true happiness.