María Cristina García Lynch is a third culture kid of a third culture kid. Her mother’s womb brought her to America, and many years later a doctoral program brought her to New York City. She found both modes of conveyance rather confining and, in each instance, eventually did something about that. María Cristina may once again devote herself to that Theatre History Ph.D., but for the time being she’s overcorrecting by tutoring in math (“Cosine, secant, tangent, sine, 3.14159. Derivative to the left, derivative to the right. Integrate, integrate, fight, fight, fight!”). A lanky husband does all the cooking and immediately honors requests for silly happy dances; María Cristina is sincerely torn about which of those two virtues to lead with should she ever have to justify why the alien invaders should spare him and take her instead. He makes unreasonably cute babies (admittedly the sample size is small–pun intended). Cats Jean-François Lyotard and W. G. Grace have convened a support group now that they share the apartment with a crawling human who is laboring under the mistaken belief that she can speak their love language. Banjo is something María Cristina would learn in order to be a little more like national treasures Kermit the Frog and Steve the Martin, but banjo is a lot harder than you might think. Mandolin is close enough, right? She’s saving a bottle of champagne for when Tom Cavanagh gets nominated for an Emmy. Okay, that’s a lie; she’s going to have to go out for a bottle on that happy day because if she had any champagne laying around, she’d be making punch with it tonight and inviting everyone over to binge THE FLASH. When she has something to say about things other than comics, she rambles on her slapdash blog, Transparent Academic.