A Boston education

Across the river from Boston is Cambridge. Cambridge is home to two famous colleges, Harvard and MIT, which of course stands for Made in Taiwan. We never did find MIT, but then we didn't try all that hard. We were more intent on locating and visiting every establishment that might possibly sell books. We had made a deal on our trip, Joe and I, that he would let me read every single plaque and sign at the historic sights we visited if I would let him examine every single math book in every single bookstore we encountered. Fortunately for me, many of these fine establishments had very comfy chairs in which to snooze.

We did manage to find the Harvard campus, and we entered those hallowed grounds with an appropriate sense of awe, which quickly turned to disappointment. Far from looking like they were part of a paragon of education, every student looked exactly like every other student on every other campus in America, which is to say they wore baggy, ratty jeans and dirty sneakers. The one difference between them and, say, elementary and high school students -- besides being a little taller -- was that their backpacks fit on their backs. As we all know, Congress has passed a law that younger students must transport their homework by suitcase. If it fits in an overhead compartment or under their schooldesk, teachers are not assigning enough homework! But be of good cheer, young students: Once you get to Harvard, you won't have nearly as much homework.

I admit I was expecting a few more nerdy-looking individuals on that famous campus. The only people fitting that description were Joe and I, and a couple of dogs wearing truly ugly handknit sweaters (although I suspect they did not have a choice in the matter).

Lunchtime posed a bit of a dilemma for us. Not where to eat, as our usual tactic is to wait until we are so faint from hunger that we just fall into the closest restaurant and beg them to bring us the quickest thing on the menu. No, our dilemma was what to do with the food I didn't eat. I have always vigorously resisted the idea of eating everything on my plate (preferring to leave some room "just in case" we should happen to find an ice cream place later), and usually about 17% of my meal ends up being uneaten. This inevitably causes some dissension among us, as Joe is firmly in the Ye Must Clean Your Plate camp. We hit upon a brilliant idea. We would have my leftovers wrapped up and scour Cambridge for someone who might need a meal.

And so we set out on our errand of mercy, and also to hit more bookstores. We came upon a gentleman asking for change. He looked kind of like the students at Harvard, only older and better dressed. Here was our chance, our great chance to do our part to solve world hunger.

"We have a sandwich," Joe said cheerfully, pointing to the bag I held.

The man quickly shook his head. "Nah, I'm good, man," he said.

So much for solving world hunger. Maybe he was looking for milk money.