The Manhattan Project

I like to cook, and depending on who you ask, some would even say that I’m good at it.  I make myself a full dinner almost every night, which is pretty necessary because I don’t eat much during the rest of the day.  I haven’t eaten breakfast regularly since high school, and my lunch is usually just some leftovers or a sandwich.  This week’s been a little different as I’ve gone out to lunch 3 days in a row.  Tuesday was supposed to be a working lunch with Debby, but I think we talked more about personal stuff than we did about science.  Wednesday was Asian cuisine with Mala and Dave the Jew, post-Bog People.  Today was lunch with the family.

My aunt and uncle (and pretty much the entire Bochman clan minus me, the old man, and the sisters) live in Jamestown, NY.  With both of my dad’s parents and two of his three siblings dead, my uncle Phil is really the only link to the original Bochmans that my dad has.  Now, the old man isn’t really a social creature, but he does keep in quasi-weekly contact with his brother.  They talk on the phone, and usually once a month, Phil and his wife Barb will drive down for lunch.  For some reason (?), these visits always happen on Thursdays, and because I’m always busy with work/school, I can seldom attend.  But finally, after more than a year, I finally just skipped work for a day and drove to the Saxonburg Hotel for lunch with my dad, aunt, and uncle.

Uncle Phil is one of my favorite Bochmans.  He’s got a good head on his shoulders.  He was full of questions since I haven’t seen him for so long.  How’s school going (crazy)?  What do I think of the South Korean stem cell debacle (love it)?  Do I ever go to the museum (just yesterday)?  Does my car have all wheel drive (4WD bitches)?  You know, the normal stuff.

I guess most of all I like to listen to my dad and uncle talk.  They jog each other’s memories, so I get to hear stuff that they individually never would’ve thought of.  For instance, I never knew that my dad loaded nukes onto bombers when he was in the Navy.  

My dad, a confusing cross between a hippie and a northern red neck, had access to nuclear weapons…

My dad, the man who’s still heartbroken that the Genesee brewery discontinued its 36 pack, was in close proximity to megatons of destruction…

My dad, who asked me what “anal retentive” meant, who asked my little sister what “the shocker” was, who occasionally sharts (runs in the family) while wearing cutoff jean shorts, was keeping the Red Menace at bay with Fat Man and Little Boy on an aircraft carrier…

If nothing else, I guess the radiation at least explains my birth defects since my mom still refuses she took any thalidomide.