flavor molecules

I just got back from the Reading Terminal Market in Philly, where I was ecstatic to find a fresh juice bar that had a carrot, celery, and beet-combo, as well as some good, cheap hummous, tabouli, and baba ghanoush.

I'm currently in town for the Big Academic Conference that many, many scholars dread because it means 1) being on the job market and having to block out the thousands of neurotic grad students all whipsering to themselves in the corners of hotel lobbies who are rehearsing their interview scripts while, simultaneously, doing it yourself; or, 2) being the person on the other end, watching the endless stream of stressed out job-seekers try to ease their way through what we all know is a very difficult and highly charged 30-minute interview; or, 3 [and the best reason to be here]) to participate in or attend one of the many, many organized panels on cutting-edge work in literary and cultural studies, and to catch up with old friends. That's why I'm here (although I have been made aware of rumors circulating that contradict this truth).

I rode in a car with my folks up from Delran up to my older sister's child-filled house in the big woods in northern NJ for Christmas day, and then took off to NYC where my younger sister lives with her husband in a tiny, little apt. in the West village. It was a busy, two-day period of family overload and couch-surfing, and when Kathy put me on a bus to Philly late this morning, I was grateful to be alone, with my thoughts.

I've arrived ahead of my friend, Gretchen, who will also here for the third reason listed above. She's not in, yet, so I made the executive decision to purchase the $10/day wireless connection in the hotel room.

Where we are staying is, uncannily, *right next door* to the Big Pharma building where my mother worked in a variety of non-pharma-related positions for her entire adult life. During the summers of my junior and senior years of college, I scored a paid internship with a trade publisher at 401 North Broad St., and shared a ride with her. The internship, though, was so tedious that I had to invent ways to keep myself awake and entertained, including the time I called the Clearly Canadian beverage company on the 1-800 number that is listed on the side of the bottle -- the one that the bottles ask you to call if you have Questions? Comments? -- and asked them to account for how a pear-flavored soda in a glass bottle was in any way "all-natural." The answer, and I will never forget this, was that the company "extracted the flavor molecules" from the fruit, and that was why it was natural. O, right -- the flavor molecules . . . On the last day after two summers of paid work, during my exit-interview, the editor-in-charge told me that she was happy to hear I was going to graduate school since I clearly did not belong in the 9-to-5 world.

I'm getting side-tracked, though. I'll see what emerges during the conference and figure out a way to post it in an anonymous way.