Just a quick one from a phone call yesterday:


On why he shouldn't be carrying heavy giant boxes to and fro: "Because I have the back of an old lady... with a bad back."


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And a BRILLIANT email exchange:


From: Me
To: Mom, Dad, Chris
Subject: HAHAHAHA


Speaking of probability and statistics, there is the story of a statistician who told a friend that he never took airplanes: "I have computed the probability that there will be a bomb on the plan," he explained, "and although this probability is low, it is still too high for my comfort."  Two weeks later, the friend met the statistician on a plane. "How come you changed your theory?" he asked.  "Oh, I didn't change my theory; it's just that I subsequently computed the probability that there would simultaneously be two bombs on a plane.  This probability is low enough for my comfort.  So now I simply carry my own bomb."


!!!!!!!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Hope this makes you laugh as much as me.  Love you!


Tina







Immediate response from Chris:


From: Chris
To: Me, Mom, Dad
Subject: RE: HAHAHAHA


I hope that was worth landing all of us on the no fly list, Tina...

This set of zingers really requires a bit of background.  My brother and I were just in San Francisco doing the tourist thing.  Friday was super fun and productive.  Saturday was definitely less so.  The day started with Barcelona losing the Clasico, which means I was immediately put into an irreversible funk.  We spent the day in the Mission district, and finished the evening by walking through the Castro to get to a Cuban restaurant for dinner.  This was a decent walk, and it ended with a trek up a decently steep hill.  Good Cuban food would compensate for all of this, but unfortunately, we did not find good Cuban food.  So of course, zingers galore!

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Chris (on what he plans to say to the server about our flavorless black beans): We know you have two pots back there, one for the Cuban people, one for the white people.  You gave us the wrong one.

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Chris (in response to my comment that the spices are hard to get right): Tina. Goya.  If you're not familiar with the language, it's spelled like it sounds.

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Chris: This is worse than Taco Bell.  At least at Taco Bell you know what you're getting into.

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Chris: I need to call Mom.  This is like my Barcelona.  I need someone to walk me through this.  Like a sponsor.  'I don't know what I'm going to do next.  You have to come and rescue me.'

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Tina: They do have a Cuban flag in the back.
Chris: There's a 50/50 chance that it was the Puerto Rican flag.  'Guys, it's red, white and blue, and there's a triangle.  Go get it.'

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Chris (pretending to speak to the waiter): Are your mom and dad Cuban?

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Chris: You want to know the worst thing?--not the worst thing, but the next in line of crappy things--is that I'm stuck here drinking crappy Sangria trying to get over this.  I walked up a mountain, through the valley of death, just to get struck down.  It's like the Odessey if it had ended in tragedy.

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Chris: They probably don't realize that the ripe plantains are the gross-looking ones.  (pretending to be the waiter in a grocery store:) 'Ew, gross.  But those green ones look pretty.  Black beans?  There's a can.  And done.  But wait!  Cuban people like Sangria.  There's a bottle that says Sangria.  Google Cuban music, and we're done.'

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Chris: Tina, look.  It's a Buddha head.  On a stick.  It's our God.