My Cardboard Balcony

I Hate Cucumbers by Belinda Roddie It was around the time I hit double digits, and my aunt took care of my siblings and me when my parents escaped to French cafés and London towers, that I realized how much I despised cucumbers. Those atrocious little sliced buggers hidden among the leaves that I was already forced to munch on just tickled and tortured the premature lobe of my underdeveloped brain, and I cried after I had to eat them. When I got older, I became less of a picky eater, and a lot of the food I consume now is the color green, from pastel to forest - spinach, avocado, zucchini. Hell, I even got into pickles, those crazy crunchers marinated in brine over time. But never the things pickles used to be, never the creature before reincarnation; not cucumbers. I just couldn't stand 'em. So really, when I think about it, as the wheels in my head grow rusty sometimes and I need just a little bit of creative oil to get them t...

My uncle brought up a term called oblique correction at the dinner table one gloomy April night, and to this day, I still don't know what it means. All I know is that he was a particle physicist, beginning his work pretty early compared to other scientists in his field. The truth was, after that night, he never really talked about physics or scatter processes or anything of that nature anymore. He just talked about fish.