Embracing my heritage

That is, having a coffee at the Bourgeouis Pig over a game of Scrabble last January. Despite the marvelous opener of "uvula", I believe I came in second to last (last being I, who came to the table late but magnificently spelled out his three-letter name with his last three letters).

My own set has been lost, or stolen, if you will, by an absentminded acquaintance. Geologist friend A mailed it to me the summer before Oxford so that we could play Scrabble-by-Mail, a somewhat laborious interpretation that involved making a move, taking a photograph, and mailing the photograph to the other player. He was in New Zealand; I was in England; the game was battered among time zones, essays, mountain-climbings, and international posts before it was laid to rest by the aforementioned disappearance.