Astro baby

Alex Filippenko is a rock star of an astrophysicist, at least that was the impression I was under. Almost everyone I knew at Berkeley had taken his Astro 10 course and said that it changed the way they thought (this even came from the English majors and philosophers). His course was the one that the university catalogues showcased. Little did I ever know that I’d be at his wife’s baby shower at Chevy’s.

Ryan had asked me to accompany him to his advisor’s wife’s baby shower. For some reason, I agreed. All the better judgment in me would have said no. How much did I really want to spend my Sunday morning among pink ribbons and balloons, playing lame games that were meant to be cute, chatting with people who would undoubtedly be more astrophysicists and therefore socially awkward, and most likely being one of the youngest persons there? But, I had said yes. And when Ryan called me in the morning to check if I was awake and still willing to go, I had said yes again, despite being slightly hung over with an off-kilter stomach and wanting to crawl back into bed. I am just that good of a friend.

He showed up at my house with the promised coffee in hand (from Momi Toby’s and with the perfect amount of milk and sugar), and we headed over to the Embarcadero Center.

We were greeted by a grandmotherly kiss on our cheeks by a woman who neither of us knew and the ubiquitous pink balloons. I shook hands with strange and foreign-looking men, smiled and laughed, awed at very pregnant bellies, chatted about schools and backyard pools—all the requisite date duties. And, throughout all of it, I eyed the food and drink.

Baskets of tortilla chips with salsa and platters of chicken wings, guacamole, sour cream, and quesadillas decorated the tables. Pitchers of lemonade, iced tea, and margaritas covered another. Was eleven o’clock too early for a margarita? Was more alcohol the best hangover cure? I didn’t want to risk it and opted for iced tea. The food was too far away and looked too difficult to eat gracefully. And, I was stuck among a group of soon-to-be parents and the newly engaged to adeptly wrangle my way to the food table. Chevy’s tortilla chips never looked so good yet so sadly unattainable.

Fortunately, those chips and chicken wings were only appetizers and real food was on its way. I was holding my stomach and making faces at Ryan, hoping that he’d be able to figure out that the last time I ate (not counting the three in the morning single taco) was at four o’clock the previous afternoon. After hearing about Alex’s eighth grade automatic pencil eraser invention, we made it over to get some food. I loaded my plate with grilled chicken, beans, rice, tortillas, sour cream, salsa, and guacamole. And, we sat with an Asian astrophysicist with the friendliest face and Alex’s childhood friend. I made little chicken wraps and didn’t worry about oozing sour cream and guacamole. It felt so good to eat.

After a game of Baby Bingo where it seemed like everyone but me won a prize, slices of chocolate cake with too much sugary white frosting were passed around. We ate the light but rich cake as Alex and Noelle opened presents. We oohed and ahhed at the crib that could be turned into a bed, the adorable booties with heart-shaped buckles, and the baby boo-boo ice pack, as Alex commented on the translucency of the tissue paper, the practicality of the kiddie hamper, and snuggled pink blankies.

Only then did I realize that this Alex fellow, Ryan’s advisor, was the Alex Filippenko, renowned Berkeley professor. There was something about watching him put a stuffed puppy on his head that somehow clicked things into place. He wasn’t a rock star, but a man with a bad haircut that looked like a toupee, a beautiful wife with a baby on the way, and a roomful of people who cared about him and his family enough to wake up early on a Sunday to eat jarred beef and wear nametags with cartoon bunnies. And, I, strangely, was happy to be there.