Lots of things have inspired me this weekend. On Friday, I was at the annual performance of Harvard’s South Asian Dance Company, because every year they donate their proceeds to a single charity and this year they chose one of mine. While at a volunteer committee meeting just five days earlier, I’d somewhat inadvertently signed myself up to go to the event and give a presentation about the work we do — mostly because my skin happens to be an appropriate color. I was a little anxious, but Ross and JLove were kind enough to sit next to my nervous butt while I fretted over my notes and frenetic performers gyrated on the stage in front of us. Apart from feeling a trifle ancient (”The music is so loud! The audience is freakishly excitable! Oh shit, that girl’s ribbon fell out of her hair, I swear someone is going to trip on it in a minute and break their heads!”), the evening was a wonderful reminder of how gorgeous human bodies can be while they’re dancing, how much I like techno mixes of Punjabi music, and how much beauty comes from a positive attitude (the most riveting dancers to watch were the ones who were good and looked like they were having a kick-ass time). The best part of the night was when I was making my little speech (easily the least sexy part of the evening. I was expecting everyone to be asleep.) and, upon hearing that we’d helped over 500,000 children in the last five years, the entire audience erupted into claps, whoops and cheers. I have to say, college kids may be loud and annoying when you’re trapped on a train with them, but they can also be awful sweet. So, rock on, Boston-area South Asian dance groups and their supporters! You guys are inspiring.

Saturday morning dawned dark and early, the better to catch the 8am Chinatown bus to Noo Yawk City, where I was meeting one future political leader and one future editor in chief of The Dr. Champion Review of Mitocelloantibodichondrianic RNA — if their current trajectories are anything to go by. And being with Peter and Erica is always inspiring.

Walking down the street in Manhattan, a musician was handing out this tiny magazine — part self-promotion, part just-plain-adorable vehicle for putting smiles on strangers’ faces.

This issue contained a crossword! Ross and I couldn’t finish it between South Station and Kendall Square, but maybe you can help.

So that was inspiring. Why shouldn’t I too be a musician and make a magazine? Apart from the requirement of scraping together a modicum of musical talent, and the tedium of stapling together all those pages, I can’t think of a single reason why not!

Afterwards, we had coffee (or, in Erica’s case, milk) and extravagantly priced desserts at a cute little cafe in St. Mark’s Place, where the wall that Erica and I were seated in front of was papered with images of apples and hung with a large portrait of Scarlett O’Hara. Decorating inspiration!

Today we went grocery shopping at the Super 88, where the aisles full of the most wonderful ingredients are ever inspiring. As a result, not half an hour ago I was eating, with immense relish, a big bowl of tom yum soup — made from scratch — and an equally big bowl of fried rice.

I also saw Jenn today, and despite her stressed out state she managed to inspire me with her determination to transform herself, come Halloween, into the best damned pirate Brookline has ever seen. I wasn’t going to dress up, but now I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t.

Like I said, lots of things have inspired me this weekend.

So according to Einstein’s formula I’m a good 1% of the way towards genius.

P.S. S. and CT, who live in NYC — I am sorry I didn’t tell you I’d be in town. It was really only for 6 hours, and I promise next time I’ll come visit you. I miss you!