Interecepted
If ever there is a biopic of my time in grad school, the opening scene was surely written early this evening, as I stood by the buffet table at the Harvard Teachers’ Reception, third glass of champagne in one hand, mound of melting cheese cubes in the other, stealthily avoiding a man with a name tag that read “Florian” and trying to figure out where I could stash the eclairs.
Here's what I'm learning in grad school 
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