Moi: This table tent says 'how can you say no to a face like that,' but honestly, this baby isn't that cute. They should've gone with a different picture because she's not helping the cause.
Beth: No, she is cute. You just think so because she's black and white.
Matt: Nice save there, you were going to say because she's black, right?
Moi: Why're you so racist, Beth?
Monday, October 31, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Somebody's Son
Bumped into my Anal Chem professor today, on a Saturday, to my great surprise. It's Parents' Weekend on campus and his mom is here, too. If you've seen his picture (part of my professor stalking post) then you can understand my surprise in learning that he even has a mom. That he was once younger, not just shorter. Our Anal Chem class consists of only six people- an undeclared major (a sophomore leaning toward chem), a bio/German double major, a soc kid, an art history kid, a neuroscience kid, and one lone chem major. This phenomenon has always baffled Anal Chem prof, who often questions why we are taking Anal Chem, why we ask the ridiculous questions that we do, and why we give him so many blank looks. He continually expresses amazement that we take classes that require paper-writing; his greatest shock is not just that we don't live for the sciences, but that we don't live purely for chemistry. But this all changed yesterday, when he saw half of our class on stage during the Common Hour performances, dancing, stepping, and poeting.
Though the piece yesterday was a thrill to perform (way better than what you can hear on the audio post), though it mentionws two real influential soc profs (it's about my life as a soc major, after all), though it has gotten supportive feedback from friends and random parents, and though it was also critiqued as being 'too cute,' it was my chemistry professor's reaction that was the most satisfying. It was worth far more than letting my soc professors know they've inspired me. That stuff is trite. Bumping into Anal Chem prof, he was animated, chatty, and smiling. Vita-K, who watched him through most of the performances (except for her own), said that that was how he was for much of the show- beaming.
As she put it, he gets us now. He gets why we're in there, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Though the piece yesterday was a thrill to perform (way better than what you can hear on the audio post), though it mentionws two real influential soc profs (it's about my life as a soc major, after all), though it has gotten supportive feedback from friends and random parents, and though it was also critiqued as being 'too cute,' it was my chemistry professor's reaction that was the most satisfying. It was worth far more than letting my soc professors know they've inspired me. That stuff is trite. Bumping into Anal Chem prof, he was animated, chatty, and smiling. Vita-K, who watched him through most of the performances (except for her own), said that that was how he was for much of the show- beaming.
As she put it, he gets us now. He gets why we're in there, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Friendly Fire
The title really has nothing to do with the story, I don't think. We'll see. But first, we peed.
My life really revolves around more than school and urination, as you can see from the old posts, but recently, it's degraded to just that. So Joe and I just finished dinner and we're about to head to the C-store, but first I had to use the restroom. Turns out, he did, too. So as we both head into our respective rooms, I jokingly add, "We'll see who pees fastest." And I leave it at that. Because I say lots of dumb things throughout the day and expects folks to forget them as fast as I regret them.
But not Joseph. I come out of the room refreshed, and go by the coat rack, still in the dining hall, to pick up my jacket and when I turn around, Joe is just coming out...
Joe: I can't believe you beat me!
Moi: Um...
Joe: Girls always take longer than guys. But you actually, you peed faster.
Moi: Er, can we not do this so publicly? (Motions two fellow students, strangers to both of us, who have stopped talking to each other and started staring.)
Joe: I don't care. This is unbelievable, did you wash your hands? Girls are not supposed to pee faster than me.
Moi: Yes, I definitely washed my hands, didn't you? I even dried my hands. I had to do a lot more than you in that bathroom. But can you just let this go?
Strange girl: Yeah, so she wipes her a** faster than you do.
Moi: Thank you?
Joe: Wow, I respect you so much more now. (By this time, the two students have left and a professor is walking by with her toddler.) Imagine that, a girl peed faster than me.
Moi: Honestly, Joe, let's stop talking about this in the dining hall...
My life really revolves around more than school and urination, as you can see from the old posts, but recently, it's degraded to just that. So Joe and I just finished dinner and we're about to head to the C-store, but first I had to use the restroom. Turns out, he did, too. So as we both head into our respective rooms, I jokingly add, "We'll see who pees fastest." And I leave it at that. Because I say lots of dumb things throughout the day and expects folks to forget them as fast as I regret them.
But not Joseph. I come out of the room refreshed, and go by the coat rack, still in the dining hall, to pick up my jacket and when I turn around, Joe is just coming out...
Joe: I can't believe you beat me!
Moi: Um...
Joe: Girls always take longer than guys. But you actually, you peed faster.
Moi: Er, can we not do this so publicly? (Motions two fellow students, strangers to both of us, who have stopped talking to each other and started staring.)
Joe: I don't care. This is unbelievable, did you wash your hands? Girls are not supposed to pee faster than me.
Moi: Yes, I definitely washed my hands, didn't you? I even dried my hands. I had to do a lot more than you in that bathroom. But can you just let this go?
Strange girl: Yeah, so she wipes her a** faster than you do.
Moi: Thank you?
Joe: Wow, I respect you so much more now. (By this time, the two students have left and a professor is walking by with her toddler.) Imagine that, a girl peed faster than me.
Moi: Honestly, Joe, let's stop talking about this in the dining hall...
Friday, October 28, 2005
Creepy Crawlers
Ah, brings back memories of junior year at WA.
I just did a quick count and realized that so far this year, I have read 16 whole books for class. We're not talking about articles and e-reserve crap, I've read 16 books. Those are just the assigned ones, too, we're not talking outside reading, individual research, we're talking entire books for class. And I've still got a lot more to go through. They're all sitting on my shelf (in alphabetical order, of course), just daring me to catch up. I can't even remember the last time I've read 16 books. Can I even name 16 books?
I just did a quick count and realized that so far this year, I have read 16 whole books for class. We're not talking about articles and e-reserve crap, I've read 16 books. Those are just the assigned ones, too, we're not talking outside reading, individual research, we're talking entire books for class. And I've still got a lot more to go through. They're all sitting on my shelf (in alphabetical order, of course), just daring me to catch up. I can't even remember the last time I've read 16 books. Can I even name 16 books?
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
This Is C&E
Do you read C & E news? Because, apparently, you really should.
(Chatting with my chemistry professor this time, about the kilogram.)
Prof: Yeah, there was a recent article about the redefinition of mass in C & E news.
Moi: Oh yeah? C & E, you said?
Prof: Yeah. You know what that is, right?
Moi: Uh...
Prof: Oh come on, Chemistry and Engineering News. You're minoring in chemistry and you don't know read this?! That's like not knowing the Journals for the American Chemistry Society. These are industry standards!
Moi: Uh...
(Later)
Moi: So did you know what the C & E News were?
Lauren: No, never heard of it. Yeah, sorry, I probably should've stood up and mentioned that...
(Chatting with my chemistry professor this time, about the kilogram.)
Prof: Yeah, there was a recent article about the redefinition of mass in C & E news.
Moi: Oh yeah? C & E, you said?
Prof: Yeah. You know what that is, right?
Moi: Uh...
Prof: Oh come on, Chemistry and Engineering News. You're minoring in chemistry and you don't know read this?! That's like not knowing the Journals for the American Chemistry Society. These are industry standards!
Moi: Uh...
(Later)
Moi: So did you know what the C & E News were?
Lauren: No, never heard of it. Yeah, sorry, I probably should've stood up and mentioned that...
Falling to Fashion
En route to classes this morning, realized I was wearing a clever ensemble called, "How Much More Could I Clash?" I had thought the dark-khaki colored pants and the sweater worked earlier this morning, but those weren't the colors I was leaving the house with. Orange and white sneakers. Lavender rain coat. Light blue winter hat. Dark green/black backpack. And yes, that is the outfit I'll be walking around in for most of the day (except for the few moments indoors, when people can see that I was not indeed, dressed by the blind). I look special.
Addendum: As the day progressed, I looked cooler and cooler, carrying a back issue of C & E News in one hand (for a research project) and a giant Bo' bookstore bag in the other (had to buy stuff for work, long story). Needless to day, amidst the rain and the colors and the cool objects, the day went swell.
Addendum: As the day progressed, I looked cooler and cooler, carrying a back issue of C & E News in one hand (for a research project) and a giant Bo' bookstore bag in the other (had to buy stuff for work, long story). Needless to day, amidst the rain and the colors and the cool objects, the day went swell.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Beating Around
(So I'm sending a few cards, but really a care package in disguise, to Amy, who is in Kenya and whose program doesn't allow care packages. They're too esteemed for such things...)
Moi: How much is it to send this to Kenya?
Post Office Man: Eight dollars.
Moi: What!? Why couldn't she just study abroad in Massachusetts? Who the freak studies abroad in Kenya anyway?
Post Office Man: George Bush?
Moi: Huh?
Post Office Man: Yeah, I don't know what that meant either.
Moi: How much is it to send this to Kenya?
Post Office Man: Eight dollars.
Moi: What!? Why couldn't she just study abroad in Massachusetts? Who the freak studies abroad in Kenya anyway?
Post Office Man: George Bush?
Moi: Huh?
Post Office Man: Yeah, I don't know what that meant either.
Giving You The Best Years Of My Life
I am missing a day's worth of emails. I don't know what happened to them or where they went, but between 3pm yesterday to today, I did not receive any emails from anyone at the Bo', not even the digest entries. It's just gone. And now the emails are back, but no traces of the ones from yesterday. There's a small part of my heart, in between the busyness of the pumping and living, shedding silent tears for them.
Speaking of time warps, definitely stepped into one tonight, at a dimly lit German restaurant (which, interestingly enough, had the best pork marsala ever) with a few classmates and writer Geoffrey Wolff. There was that sense of awe that crept in again, as it often does at the Bo', the sense of "This is someone that knows his stuff, that has been teaching and writing for years, and I am eating with him." There was a little bit of that with Walty, but he's not that famous (so he knows Sharpton and Jabbar, but who knows him?). Then there was the PuMan, who was much more famous (and more generous with his stories about Welty and Updike), but only to people that read contemporary fiction (or folks who happened to know recent Pulitzer winners). Then there was Wolff, comparatively similar fame to PuMan, but has a brother named Tobias. That's pretty awesome. I want to be ripped off by a production company filming a movie based on my brother's book. I would not mind being so successful that in making my brother's film, they steal some materials from my own book, no, I'd be kind of proud. Yet there I was, eating my kraut and spatzle, soaking it all in.
In the midst of the soaking, a different hunger awakened, not one of intellectual curiosity but an urgent, physical hunger. I ate the salad, the roll, the marsala, the noodles, the kraut, then another roll, then the chocolate covered strawberries (though not the random watermelon garnish), and still my stomach is begging me, prostrate before me, fists pounding, demanding more food. Can someone please cook me more pork?
Speaking of time warps, definitely stepped into one tonight, at a dimly lit German restaurant (which, interestingly enough, had the best pork marsala ever) with a few classmates and writer Geoffrey Wolff. There was that sense of awe that crept in again, as it often does at the Bo', the sense of "This is someone that knows his stuff, that has been teaching and writing for years, and I am eating with him." There was a little bit of that with Walty, but he's not that famous (so he knows Sharpton and Jabbar, but who knows him?). Then there was the PuMan, who was much more famous (and more generous with his stories about Welty and Updike), but only to people that read contemporary fiction (or folks who happened to know recent Pulitzer winners). Then there was Wolff, comparatively similar fame to PuMan, but has a brother named Tobias. That's pretty awesome. I want to be ripped off by a production company filming a movie based on my brother's book. I would not mind being so successful that in making my brother's film, they steal some materials from my own book, no, I'd be kind of proud. Yet there I was, eating my kraut and spatzle, soaking it all in.
In the midst of the soaking, a different hunger awakened, not one of intellectual curiosity but an urgent, physical hunger. I ate the salad, the roll, the marsala, the noodles, the kraut, then another roll, then the chocolate covered strawberries (though not the random watermelon garnish), and still my stomach is begging me, prostrate before me, fists pounding, demanding more food. Can someone please cook me more pork?
Monday, October 24, 2005
Rhyme and Meter
For the past two weeks, I've been mulling over ideas for my final project for non-fiction literary narrative, a twenty-five to thirty-page piece on anything, so long as it's good non-fiction. Tonight, I presented my idea: a profile on the kilogram. It's ideas like the kilogram, which is such a big part of our lives (often bigger than we'd like by just a few) that makes me shake my head at science and say, "Did you just do that? That's amazing." Of course, when I tell science kids this idea, that I'm writing a piece on the only remaining standard of measurement that's defined by a material object and not some funky relationships and numbers, the reaction is always a nonchalant, "Ok." They're not surprised that the kilogram is a little cylinder sitting under glass lids in an institutional in France, they already know that. To watch the reaction of the humanities majors, however, is quite another story. "There's a what? For reals? What does it look like?" "The very idea that something could be measured..." "I wonder what this system says about the psyche of the French." Ah. Just another day in my liberal arts bubble.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Can't Touch This
Dear Couple In Front Of Me And Couple Thrashing Around Behind Me During the Concert:
Please. Stop making out. It is disgusting and y'all aren't even attractive. You're sweaty. She's sweaty. You're pale. She's pale. You're grossing me out. And she's grossing me out. The group is absolutely rockin' on stage and I paid good money to push my way up front, so please, no more of this next time, ok?
Went to Jurassic 5 concert tonight on campus and had an awesome time jumping and waving and pretending I knew their songs (I recognized two!). Sure, I felt like Zacchaeus for half the night, craning my neck to see the group, but when I did see them it was all cool. They had nice heads. It's moments like that glancing around to see a sea of guys in khakis and collared shirts nodding their heads to the beat that makes me love the Bo', and by 'love,' I mean sigh at the New England-ness of my school. I did fall in love with Danielle tonight though, the way she yelled at people for making out and trying to get past us and touching her was awesome, repeatedly saying, "No, see this? My space, ok? You don't touch this."
Please. Stop making out. It is disgusting and y'all aren't even attractive. You're sweaty. She's sweaty. You're pale. She's pale. You're grossing me out. And she's grossing me out. The group is absolutely rockin' on stage and I paid good money to push my way up front, so please, no more of this next time, ok?
Went to Jurassic 5 concert tonight on campus and had an awesome time jumping and waving and pretending I knew their songs (I recognized two!). Sure, I felt like Zacchaeus for half the night, craning my neck to see the group, but when I did see them it was all cool. They had nice heads. It's moments like that glancing around to see a sea of guys in khakis and collared shirts nodding their heads to the beat that makes me love the Bo', and by 'love,' I mean sigh at the New England-ness of my school. I did fall in love with Danielle tonight though, the way she yelled at people for making out and trying to get past us and touching her was awesome, repeatedly saying, "No, see this? My space, ok? You don't touch this."
Friday, October 21, 2005
All I Know Is BSoc
BCF took a turn for the very difficult last night when Lance asked us to separate the passage into paragraphs. Ranwei, Brian, and I all got the same 'answers' (there may have been copying going on) but it turned out, Lance disagreed with all three of us, to Tim's great delight. (But then he found out he was the wrongest of us all. I don't think he knows what a paragraph is, or even how to read.) Indignant, and still believing that we were right, Ranwei and I abused the knowledge we pretended to have amassed in the past few years...
Ranwei: [Lance] is being hegemonic.
Moi: I know. He's controlling the discursive regime.
Somewhere, the Band Man is very proud.
Ranwei: [Lance] is being hegemonic.
Moi: I know. He's controlling the discursive regime.
Somewhere, the Band Man is very proud.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Stuck On You
Yes, having a lollipop stuck in your hair is funny. But having a skateboard stuck in your hair? That's just precious.
When Sarah was younger, she had hair down to her waist. That hair was perhaps to make up for the fact that not a lot was going on upstairs as she regularly slid down a hill on a skateboard, on her stomach, face forward, with her hair down. Her hair would cover her entire face and blocking her view until she got to the bottom, right up to the lake. One day, intelligent design finally caught up with her. (ooh, improper use of controversial words) Her hair got caught in the skateboard and she couldn't really see so and she was closing in on the river. To prevent a drowning, she whipped her body over, rolled a few times, and finally stopped sliding down her hill. Her mother had to cut her hair out of the skateboard. (All this was deliciously reenacted for us on Tam's longboard today, a tearjerking performance). Oh. Just the image of defeated little Sarah, slowly walking up the hill, dragging a skateboard in her hair...
When Sarah was younger, she had hair down to her waist. That hair was perhaps to make up for the fact that not a lot was going on upstairs as she regularly slid down a hill on a skateboard, on her stomach, face forward, with her hair down. Her hair would cover her entire face and blocking her view until she got to the bottom, right up to the lake. One day, intelligent design finally caught up with her. (ooh, improper use of controversial words) Her hair got caught in the skateboard and she couldn't really see so and she was closing in on the river. To prevent a drowning, she whipped her body over, rolled a few times, and finally stopped sliding down her hill. Her mother had to cut her hair out of the skateboard. (All this was deliciously reenacted for us on Tam's longboard today, a tearjerking performance). Oh. Just the image of defeated little Sarah, slowly walking up the hill, dragging a skateboard in her hair...
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Pathetically Professing
This is a long one, so hold on tight.
I don't take pride in discussing my professors so often. Or seeking them out so much. I don't even like them that much. But today, I conversed with six of my professors, all outside of class hours. I don't even take six classes. And I had only planned on seeing 1.5 of them. All this, is thanks to Professor The Sketch (whose actual name is Bell. This will become important later in the story. Much later. Let's call her BSketch from now on. )
You know that lonely feeling you get when you're locked out of your house or your room? Of wanting to be on the inside, but placed so exlusively on the outskirts? Well, it's thrice the loneliness when you're locked out of all three doors to the department offices you work for on campus. Not a forgotten key or forbidden meeting- everyone went out for something and I showed up for work all alone. Lost. Directionless. Now a normal person in my shoes would take advantage of the free time to read, relax, and maybe catch up on work. Not I. I headed to Riley House- home of the Sociology and Anthropology department, leaving my backpack and jacket at the Office. My defense? The department was the closest building on campus and I had to see BSketch anyway.
It's thirty minutes before The Sketch's office hours and I think, that's ok, she should be there anyway. See where this is going? She's not there. I check my email. Still not there. I go see Band Man (right next door) instead, though reluctantly, 'cause I'd already seen him on Monday. Ask him a quick question. Explain that I don't mean to show up at his office every other day, but circumstances gave me no choice. May have been labeled a "regular" in his office. Also possible that I suggested it'd be good if he got so sick he cancels class tomorrow.
Fifteen minutes to BSketch's office hours. Go downstairs. Check email again. Twiddle thumbs outside of her office. Chat with Prof. Riley (whose office is also right next door), who pities me for waiting for BSketch. Band Man walks by, "Can't you just leave already?" "I was hoping you'd walk by." "Do you just live here?" "I have to see BSketch, all right?"
Fast forward another twenty minutes. Still locked out of work. (Left my bag at the office. Too lazy to climb the stairs for them, so I had nothing to read/occupy myself.) It's BSketch's office hours, yet office door remains stubbornly shut. Longest student conference ever. Had I put my heart in it, I probably could've solved world hunger with that time. But no. More chats with Riley. Thumbs sore from twiddling. Bored, I go see Band Man again. "You've got to stop coming in. You're just stalking me now." "Look, I don't know why her office hours are so much more popular than yours." More chats about sociology, on the grounds research, and "what the f' will humility do?" (I'm not censoring here. He actually said the letter ef and he was equally worked up. It was very funny.). Then, I just give up. "I'm done bothering you, I'm going to try my other B professor again." "I'd like to think of myself as the A one." "Nope. Gonna stick with B."
Can you guess it? Was BSketch's door open? I scoff at your naivete. In dismay, head downstairs to check my email again. Resigned to return to work (office doors now open, copies await me), I step out of the lab and who do I see but BSketch, standing by the door. "You here to see me?" And I silently follow her back up the stairs.
That's ninety minutes of my life sociology owes me and I demand it repaid. Anthropology can pitch in too, but at a higher interest rate. Of course, no time can undo the damage of shifting my image from curious student to ultimate ardent stalker student in Band Man's eyes, or shifting from great potential as social researcher to pathetic pity waiting for help in Riley's eyes. So maybe Sociology ought to repay me in cash.
I don't take pride in discussing my professors so often. Or seeking them out so much. I don't even like them that much. But today, I conversed with six of my professors, all outside of class hours. I don't even take six classes. And I had only planned on seeing 1.5 of them. All this, is thanks to Professor The Sketch (whose actual name is Bell. This will become important later in the story. Much later. Let's call her BSketch from now on. )
You know that lonely feeling you get when you're locked out of your house or your room? Of wanting to be on the inside, but placed so exlusively on the outskirts? Well, it's thrice the loneliness when you're locked out of all three doors to the department offices you work for on campus. Not a forgotten key or forbidden meeting- everyone went out for something and I showed up for work all alone. Lost. Directionless. Now a normal person in my shoes would take advantage of the free time to read, relax, and maybe catch up on work. Not I. I headed to Riley House- home of the Sociology and Anthropology department, leaving my backpack and jacket at the Office. My defense? The department was the closest building on campus and I had to see BSketch anyway.
It's thirty minutes before The Sketch's office hours and I think, that's ok, she should be there anyway. See where this is going? She's not there. I check my email. Still not there. I go see Band Man (right next door) instead, though reluctantly, 'cause I'd already seen him on Monday. Ask him a quick question. Explain that I don't mean to show up at his office every other day, but circumstances gave me no choice. May have been labeled a "regular" in his office. Also possible that I suggested it'd be good if he got so sick he cancels class tomorrow.
Fifteen minutes to BSketch's office hours. Go downstairs. Check email again. Twiddle thumbs outside of her office. Chat with Prof. Riley (whose office is also right next door), who pities me for waiting for BSketch. Band Man walks by, "Can't you just leave already?" "I was hoping you'd walk by." "Do you just live here?" "I have to see BSketch, all right?"
Fast forward another twenty minutes. Still locked out of work. (Left my bag at the office. Too lazy to climb the stairs for them, so I had nothing to read/occupy myself.) It's BSketch's office hours, yet office door remains stubbornly shut. Longest student conference ever. Had I put my heart in it, I probably could've solved world hunger with that time. But no. More chats with Riley. Thumbs sore from twiddling. Bored, I go see Band Man again. "You've got to stop coming in. You're just stalking me now." "Look, I don't know why her office hours are so much more popular than yours." More chats about sociology, on the grounds research, and "what the f' will humility do?" (I'm not censoring here. He actually said the letter ef and he was equally worked up. It was very funny.). Then, I just give up. "I'm done bothering you, I'm going to try my other B professor again." "I'd like to think of myself as the A one." "Nope. Gonna stick with B."
Can you guess it? Was BSketch's door open? I scoff at your naivete. In dismay, head downstairs to check my email again. Resigned to return to work (office doors now open, copies await me), I step out of the lab and who do I see but BSketch, standing by the door. "You here to see me?" And I silently follow her back up the stairs.
That's ninety minutes of my life sociology owes me and I demand it repaid. Anthropology can pitch in too, but at a higher interest rate. Of course, no time can undo the damage of shifting my image from curious student to ultimate ardent stalker student in Band Man's eyes, or shifting from great potential as social researcher to pathetic pity waiting for help in Riley's eyes. So maybe Sociology ought to repay me in cash.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Samson Went to Heaven and His Brother Went To...
This has been a particularly sacrilegious week here at Blogger...
Discussing whether I'm suitable to be in a movie as Jesus' sidekick-
TPatters: Maybe someone less threatening, like Jackie Chan.
Moi: Fine. I'll do my own stunts.
TPatters: That's a big statement to make.
Moi: Well, sidekicks don't get whipped and/or crucified, right?
TPatters: Probably not. You just have to be there to say things like, "Look out Jesus," and "Right on, Jesus," or "Good call, Jesus." Nothing too strenuous, right?
I can dig that, Jesus.
Discussing whether I'm suitable to be in a movie as Jesus' sidekick-
TPatters: Maybe someone less threatening, like Jackie Chan.
Moi: Fine. I'll do my own stunts.
TPatters: That's a big statement to make.
Moi: Well, sidekicks don't get whipped and/or crucified, right?
TPatters: Probably not. You just have to be there to say things like, "Look out Jesus," and "Right on, Jesus," or "Good call, Jesus." Nothing too strenuous, right?
I can dig that, Jesus.
I Sing the Body Electric
If my body was a public institution, it would be the library. It would be the public library that I love but ultimately abuse because it can take it. I use it to its max. It's the library that I keep taking books from without return. The library where I print papers from but never write papers in. The library where I watch reserve videos because it won't let me check the video out. Where I sneak food in. Where the printers refuse to cooperate.
Ways I am bad to my body: Skipping breakfast. Not eating lunch until 2pm. 3pm. 4pm. Not exercising. Not sleeping. Not stretching before I do anything. Late night tuna, mayo, soy sauce paste, and rice. Pringles. Basically, my love affair with carbs. And peanut butter. My ice queen treatment of fruits and vegetables. Standing in front of microwaves/ playing with chemicals in lab. Washing my hair too often/not often enough. Caffeine. Sitting in front of the computer a lot.
Ways I am good to my body: Keep it clean. Don't drink soda. Straight edge lifestyle. Er, this is a rather short list...
Here's hoping that the cure for all diseases and ailments are found before I burn out.
Ways I am bad to my body: Skipping breakfast. Not eating lunch until 2pm. 3pm. 4pm. Not exercising. Not sleeping. Not stretching before I do anything. Late night tuna, mayo, soy sauce paste, and rice. Pringles. Basically, my love affair with carbs. And peanut butter. My ice queen treatment of fruits and vegetables. Standing in front of microwaves/ playing with chemicals in lab. Washing my hair too often/not often enough. Caffeine. Sitting in front of the computer a lot.
Ways I am good to my body: Keep it clean. Don't drink soda. Straight edge lifestyle. Er, this is a rather short list...
Here's hoping that the cure for all diseases and ailments are found before I burn out.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Best Halloween Costume Ever
(That is, if I ever celebrate that sort of thing)
Abstinence.
Sarah wanted ideas for a cast of characters. Dan suggested different types of rocks, cuts of meat, weapons of mass destruction, mistakes, and organs. Not because those would be best ensembles ever (though they totally would), but because the thought of Sarah riding the Greyhound to New York and walking around the streets in giant, cumbersome, embarassing costumes was too hilarious. (There were also the possibly offensive costumes for the various stages of Michael Jackson idea, which we pushed mainly because the idea of Sarah being beat up in the streets of NYC was equally hilarious.) Dan's next idea was just gross: different forms of birth control. Upon hearing it, I, of course, objected. That is, until I thought of the golden ticket: Abstinence.
Abstinence.
Sarah wanted ideas for a cast of characters. Dan suggested different types of rocks, cuts of meat, weapons of mass destruction, mistakes, and organs. Not because those would be best ensembles ever (though they totally would), but because the thought of Sarah riding the Greyhound to New York and walking around the streets in giant, cumbersome, embarassing costumes was too hilarious. (There were also the possibly offensive costumes for the various stages of Michael Jackson idea, which we pushed mainly because the idea of Sarah being beat up in the streets of NYC was equally hilarious.) Dan's next idea was just gross: different forms of birth control. Upon hearing it, I, of course, objected. That is, until I thought of the golden ticket: Abstinence.
Curiosity for Sociology
Went to see the Band Man today. Nothing important. Traded some sarcastm. Then the conversation disintegrated when we stumbled upon discussing what I wanted to be when I grew up. The answers, "I don't know," "something non-profit-y" and "I think I'll be cool with whatever," did not seem to impress the advisor. Explained how I was still toying with the doctor bit, but if that doesn't work out... sociology? This turned the conversation into lame as he explained that (thanks for the enlightenment) you can do whatever you want to do with sociology, and that I could focus on public health, as I have already "shown an interest in environmental injustices and effects on public health." (Er, you mean, write four papers on the subject because you assigned it? Then, yes.) Oh, the joys and freedom of liberal arts.
With my broad interest in "pretty much whatever," (I really proved myself to be articulate today. And by the way, so none of the entries have been grammatically correct? Can can you stand reading this?), I boiled it down for the Band Man: with a combination of sociology, sciences, and creative writing skills, I could either meld it into this one awesomely informed career, possibly as a doctor, or I'll end up mediocre in all three areas. Hey, mediocrity ain't bad.
Speaking of creative writing, Walty announced today the chance to dine with him (shudder) and famous writer Geoffrey Wolff (for the less learned, he is, though hates to be known as, brother of Tobias, a great in his own right). He announced the time of Wolff's reading (4pm), the date (next Tuesday) and asked if anyone was interested.
Student: Where will it be?
Walty: I don' t know. That's the kind of information I don't need to concern myself with until 3:30 next Tuesday.
Here's to an awesomely awkward dinner next week.
With my broad interest in "pretty much whatever," (I really proved myself to be articulate today. And by the way, so none of the entries have been grammatically correct? Can can you stand reading this?), I boiled it down for the Band Man: with a combination of sociology, sciences, and creative writing skills, I could either meld it into this one awesomely informed career, possibly as a doctor, or I'll end up mediocre in all three areas. Hey, mediocrity ain't bad.
Speaking of creative writing, Walty announced today the chance to dine with him (shudder) and famous writer Geoffrey Wolff (for the less learned, he is, though hates to be known as, brother of Tobias, a great in his own right). He announced the time of Wolff's reading (4pm), the date (next Tuesday) and asked if anyone was interested.
Student: Where will it be?
Walty: I don' t know. That's the kind of information I don't need to concern myself with until 3:30 next Tuesday.
Here's to an awesomely awkward dinner next week.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Stressing and Depressing
This was a scene that was played many times throughout dinner. We'd be sitting down, quietly eating our chicken piccata pasta (sometimes, leftovers taste better than the main course), and somebody would slump their black tray down and join us (because let's face it, any time I'm at is the cool table), we'd all nod in acknowledgement, and Shaez would say, "Man, you look stressed. Are you stressing out lately?" Because Shaez has no qualms with telling people they look bad, even when they don't feel bad.
Here are some common indicators that your life is depressing and that you are indeed, a science student:
... you log onto the computer in the science library and discover you were the last person to have logged on. As in- the rest of campus had better things to do than use the science library during all that time, but not you.
... when your birthday dinner has to be scheduled a week after your birthday because everyone, yourself included, is too busy with midterms to go out and celebrate. (Not me, folks, somebody else. And I expect presents when my day comes.)
... when kids stare at you then shake their heads smiling when they hear you discussing homework problems in the library lobby because what you're saying just sounds way too ridiculous. Alpha-1-phophate-galactose? What? Where does the UTP come in? Is it energetically unfavorable for the D-glucose to convert to D-galactose? What!?
A'ight. I've ignored my papers, homework assignments, lab report, and problem set all due tomorrow for long enough. I'm off.
Here are some common indicators that your life is depressing and that you are indeed, a science student:
... you log onto the computer in the science library and discover you were the last person to have logged on. As in- the rest of campus had better things to do than use the science library during all that time, but not you.
... when your birthday dinner has to be scheduled a week after your birthday because everyone, yourself included, is too busy with midterms to go out and celebrate. (Not me, folks, somebody else. And I expect presents when my day comes.)
... when kids stare at you then shake their heads smiling when they hear you discussing homework problems in the library lobby because what you're saying just sounds way too ridiculous. Alpha-1-phophate-galactose? What? Where does the UTP come in? Is it energetically unfavorable for the D-glucose to convert to D-galactose? What!?
A'ight. I've ignored my papers, homework assignments, lab report, and problem set all due tomorrow for long enough. I'm off.
The Sharper Image
I love Pastor Thorpe. And word on the street is that he bakes great peanut butter cookies.
Talking about how Jesus has no problems with his image and is not afraid to come across as harsh, but rather, is comfortable describing himself as coming like "a thief in the night"...
Pastor Thorpe: So what's your religious leader like? Oh, mine's a thief.
Talking about how Jesus has no problems with his image and is not afraid to come across as harsh, but rather, is comfortable describing himself as coming like "a thief in the night"...
Pastor Thorpe: So what's your religious leader like? Oh, mine's a thief.
Let's Eat
Father is many things- ice cream and baseball aficianado, ping pong player, pastor to many- but he is not quick-witted. Father speaks slowly with many pauses. (Much like Walty.) Last week, Father attended an Alliance Prayer Meeting of many area churches and was called upon to pray in Chinese. It was a multi-lingual service and congregants from many churches were joined together to pray and worship in their own styles and tongues. Father started praying, then characteristically paused to search for a word. Unfortunately, the majority of those in attendance did not speak Chinese and assumed he was done. He was done cut off and Amen'ed.
Oh, the shock and confusion it brought to all the Chinese-speakers in attendance. And the appreciative looks of everyone else, assuming they'd just agreed with a beautiful prayer. Classic. And now I've decided to cut off everyone I find too long-winded with an abrupt, 'Amen,' dismissed. Let's move on.
Oh, the shock and confusion it brought to all the Chinese-speakers in attendance. And the appreciative looks of everyone else, assuming they'd just agreed with a beautiful prayer. Classic. And now I've decided to cut off everyone I find too long-winded with an abrupt, 'Amen,' dismissed. Let's move on.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Bottom Dollar
Schlotty, my Habitat Co-Honcho, and I always bemoan the fact we table in the Union too much. One week it's volunteer recruitment for the CSC, then it's ending poverty, or supporting Peace, and of course, raising money. But it comes with the territory and yesterday, our duties called us to table for Habitat.
And there I was, selling donated CDs for a buck, and Habitat t-shirts for ten dollars (eight for short sleeves), and giving away depressing stickers in the Union. When I table in the Union, I do not sit back and catch up on readings. I hawk. I call out your name. I schmooze. Because what's at stake is important. There was stiff competition yesterday- a table for homecoming registration, selling homecoming t-shirts, a couple of teams selling their own shirts, Sustainable giving out free light bulbs, an outside vendor selling expensive hats, scarves, edgy shirts, and the like. And the rich homecoming crowd we were counting on never materialized. But the challenges also made it fun, like pushing CDs with 'not for sale' stickers on them by artists you've never heard of (my proudest one: having Matt excited over the 'original' English Asian dance fusion group), or telling tour groups that it'd be easier to get into Bowdoin if they just buy my merch, or the sense of that double win when folks don't buy CDs, but drop a couple of dollars into the jar. Or stifling my laughter as I chatted up this old alum whose breath reeked of alcohol though it was only just past noon.
The afternoon was wrought with frustrations, the hardest perhaps being having to pretend I wasn't frustrated, but enjoyed yelling "Dollar CDs?" at whoever passed by. I refrained the mantra so many times that I had half a dozen kids say back at me, smiling, "It's just a dollar," repeating the line in a tone they'd already heard ring throughout the Union.
All afternoon, I met random assorts of people, many of whom acted as if they knew me, and who I chatted with, pretending to remember who they were. It was hard to be friendly for so long. Like when one girl stopped by to peruse through CDs, telling me she was tired from three hours of dance this morning (no classes), and so was taking a two hour break, before heading off for yoga, which, though physically demanding, she found very relaxing. I nodded along with her, and echoed that yeah, it really sucked that she hadn't had lunch until now, all the while keeping my hands behind my back, knowing that if my fists edged just a little past my side, I would not be able to restrain them and I'd find my fingers tightly clenched around her neck, explaining to her that I'd had two morning classes, a hurried lunch, so I could table in the Union, and what awaited me after all this was not a nap, but Anal Chem homework. But still that wasn't my lowest point. That, was when Bobs appeared with Anthony, wearing the exact same outfit as me. Bear Aids t-shirt. Fleece. Jeans. Sneakers. You don't need great minds to think alike.
After the two and a half hour stint, however, I got the thrill of counting the money. Schlotty and I, in our total of five hours, had wringed out $164 from campus. A small amount, yes, but a miracle considering the gross absence of money-wielding alums, and that most Bo' kids don't even carry cash. In fact, that exceeded what we had made earlier, in 12 days of tabling in the Union. And really, what's the purpose of all this awareness spreading and money raising and habitat building if not for the simple satisfaction of having a huge wad of cash at hand?
And there I was, selling donated CDs for a buck, and Habitat t-shirts for ten dollars (eight for short sleeves), and giving away depressing stickers in the Union. When I table in the Union, I do not sit back and catch up on readings. I hawk. I call out your name. I schmooze. Because what's at stake is important. There was stiff competition yesterday- a table for homecoming registration, selling homecoming t-shirts, a couple of teams selling their own shirts, Sustainable giving out free light bulbs, an outside vendor selling expensive hats, scarves, edgy shirts, and the like. And the rich homecoming crowd we were counting on never materialized. But the challenges also made it fun, like pushing CDs with 'not for sale' stickers on them by artists you've never heard of (my proudest one: having Matt excited over the 'original' English Asian dance fusion group), or telling tour groups that it'd be easier to get into Bowdoin if they just buy my merch, or the sense of that double win when folks don't buy CDs, but drop a couple of dollars into the jar. Or stifling my laughter as I chatted up this old alum whose breath reeked of alcohol though it was only just past noon.
The afternoon was wrought with frustrations, the hardest perhaps being having to pretend I wasn't frustrated, but enjoyed yelling "Dollar CDs?" at whoever passed by. I refrained the mantra so many times that I had half a dozen kids say back at me, smiling, "It's just a dollar," repeating the line in a tone they'd already heard ring throughout the Union.
All afternoon, I met random assorts of people, many of whom acted as if they knew me, and who I chatted with, pretending to remember who they were. It was hard to be friendly for so long. Like when one girl stopped by to peruse through CDs, telling me she was tired from three hours of dance this morning (no classes), and so was taking a two hour break, before heading off for yoga, which, though physically demanding, she found very relaxing. I nodded along with her, and echoed that yeah, it really sucked that she hadn't had lunch until now, all the while keeping my hands behind my back, knowing that if my fists edged just a little past my side, I would not be able to restrain them and I'd find my fingers tightly clenched around her neck, explaining to her that I'd had two morning classes, a hurried lunch, so I could table in the Union, and what awaited me after all this was not a nap, but Anal Chem homework. But still that wasn't my lowest point. That, was when Bobs appeared with Anthony, wearing the exact same outfit as me. Bear Aids t-shirt. Fleece. Jeans. Sneakers. You don't need great minds to think alike.
After the two and a half hour stint, however, I got the thrill of counting the money. Schlotty and I, in our total of five hours, had wringed out $164 from campus. A small amount, yes, but a miracle considering the gross absence of money-wielding alums, and that most Bo' kids don't even carry cash. In fact, that exceeded what we had made earlier, in 12 days of tabling in the Union. And really, what's the purpose of all this awareness spreading and money raising and habitat building if not for the simple satisfaction of having a huge wad of cash at hand?
Dear Boy Picking At His Scab During Biochem,
That's just nasty. So stop it.
Peace, and
Let It Heal Naturally
Peace, and
Let It Heal Naturally
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Social Science? Not A Science
In Sociology of Health and Illness, there are two types of students. The sociology kids interested in the sociology part, or because they need credits for their majors. Soc kids are loquacious, sensitive to injustices, and generally fears science (stats are ok, but pushing it, but no other math and certainly no molecules). Then there are the pre-med kids, who need a social science course but still wants to focus on medicine. These kids write papers that are dull and difficult to edit, and would rather do problem sets than summarize a book. Once in awhile, you get a kid whose interests are so perfectly melded into the course that they straddle between both groups, like Awong. Or yours truly. This story is not about those kids. You can decide for yourself which group this following girl belongs in.
So we're discussing standards in class and giving examples of them. Someone motions the thermostat and the professor, the sketchball drawing one henceforce known as "The Sketch," uses it to illustrate her point...
The Sketch: Ok, so this says 74.5. What does that mean?
Class: Temperature.
The Sketch: There's this little 'F' here, what does that mean?
Girl: Degrees?
No. It doesn't.
So we're discussing standards in class and giving examples of them. Someone motions the thermostat and the professor, the sketchball drawing one henceforce known as "The Sketch," uses it to illustrate her point...
The Sketch: Ok, so this says 74.5. What does that mean?
Class: Temperature.
The Sketch: There's this little 'F' here, what does that mean?
Girl: Degrees?
No. It doesn't.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
For Accuracy's Sake
I'm not a stalker, I swear. But correction on a previous entry, when I mentioned that Band Man liked blue doritoes and that, "well, who doesn't?" Turned out, Band Man, that's who. Apparently, some people eat food they don't like. I always just picked out the carrots and celery and cilantro and raw peppers and water chestnuts and brussel sprouts, but some people are willing to eat stuff they don't like.
My arms are weak even as I type and I can barely muster the strength to press down on the keys. Tomorrow, I will wake up not only with sore arms, but my wrists are more than done. Definitely spent quality time this afternoon moving pumpkins. And by quality time, I mean freezing my fingers off passing pumpkins to and from middle school kids for the annual Habitat fund raiser. Oh sorry. I forgot that I used to post amusing stories. Er... then I went down the street and got giant slurpies? Does that make it all better? Speaking of slurpies, Taiwan has the third highest number of 7-11 stores in the world, only behind Japan and US/Canada (the two nations combined). How scary is that, considering how much smaller Taiwan's population size is in comparison to these two (three) countries? I could really go for some Taiwanese 7-11 right now.
My arms are weak even as I type and I can barely muster the strength to press down on the keys. Tomorrow, I will wake up not only with sore arms, but my wrists are more than done. Definitely spent quality time this afternoon moving pumpkins. And by quality time, I mean freezing my fingers off passing pumpkins to and from middle school kids for the annual Habitat fund raiser. Oh sorry. I forgot that I used to post amusing stories. Er... then I went down the street and got giant slurpies? Does that make it all better? Speaking of slurpies, Taiwan has the third highest number of 7-11 stores in the world, only behind Japan and US/Canada (the two nations combined). How scary is that, considering how much smaller Taiwan's population size is in comparison to these two (three) countries? I could really go for some Taiwanese 7-11 right now.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Disappointing Dusty
I wonder if Dusty reads this. I forget. In any case, I'm shocked that you (not you, lone reader, I meant Dusty) would insinuate that I'd call my beloved brother a jackass. I have too much Christian love, respect, not to mention too great a familial tie to call him such a name. Growing up, I worshipped the ground the man walked on and its fifty yard radius. I'd never, ever, refer to him as jackass, or even an ass.
It's assface.
It's assface.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Hat Trick
"You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did, thrice refuse."
Fact number 1: That's from one of my favorite Shakespeares. Most likely because it's the only one I can snobbishly quote extensively to pretend I know Shakespeare. That and, "If music be the food of love, play on."
Fact number 2: Contentment is not being home on a break, wearing a raggedy, hooded plaid shirt from junior high, and baking late at night because I'm sick of reading. But it's the moments shortly after- sitting on the couch and sampling the decadent, still too hot, flaky, chocolate cookie bar, being comfortable and scrubby in a shirt I've had for too long.
Fact number 3: I thought I was moved and inspired by a song I'd heard on the radio, especially the part about "I run for the truth, for all of Israel." Turns out it's Melissa Etheridge singing about cancer, she runs "for the truth, for all that is real." So not as cool.
Fact number 1: That's from one of my favorite Shakespeares. Most likely because it's the only one I can snobbishly quote extensively to pretend I know Shakespeare. That and, "If music be the food of love, play on."
Fact number 2: Contentment is not being home on a break, wearing a raggedy, hooded plaid shirt from junior high, and baking late at night because I'm sick of reading. But it's the moments shortly after- sitting on the couch and sampling the decadent, still too hot, flaky, chocolate cookie bar, being comfortable and scrubby in a shirt I've had for too long.
Fact number 3: I thought I was moved and inspired by a song I'd heard on the radio, especially the part about "I run for the truth, for all of Israel." Turns out it's Melissa Etheridge singing about cancer, she runs "for the truth, for all that is real." So not as cool.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
A Thousand Words
So I was just thinking, you know what would be wicked stalker-ly of me? If I posted my professors' pictures here. And people could connect names to faces. But mostly, it's because my professors look hilarious. Well, maybe not. And maybe I'll regret this when they google their own name and this place (because of the hundreds of billions of hits it gets per day) shows up, and they get creeped out and ask me not to go back to class or worse yet, start reading what I think of them. But I'm feeling reckless, so here goes:
This is the Band Man. And the randomest/creepiest professor picture ever. The Band Man uses words I vaguely understand and phrases comments in wordy ways, like, "Not unlike the neo-classicalists, the hegemony of the modernizationists over this global dialogue..." He's always quoting somebody. It's astounding. And not the way I quote Newsradio, I mean these are legit quotes that shed light on important matters. While most diehard soc activist kids (esp. the girls) describe him as "so good" and "so nice," Ranwei more accurately describes him as "awkward," and I'd like to throw "sarcastic" into the mix (See: conversation on 'chilling'). Has a fondness for blue doritoes. Then again, who doesn't?
There used to be a picture here for BSketch. Now there isn't. Googleimage had linked her name to a few half naked and some not naked oil portraits (they were clothed, but partying and drinking Pepsi- a rather un-soc soft drink), but it was later discovered that she did not indeed paint those portraits. A disappointment, yes, but more of a relief than anything else.
This is the Anal Chem professor. Not to be confused with 'the anal Chem professor.' (Have I already explained that Analyt Chem= Anal Chem?) Wages daily battles with the computer and his record is barely on the winning side. Has deep bitterness toward our textbook ("Some people call this the constant while others the coefficient. What does the book say? Coefficient? Then I'll call it the constant. The book and I will be in disagreement.") and teaches the class with great confidence ("I haven't taught this class since 1984."). Is at his best when his remarks are deprecating.
This is Page. The Biochem Man. Every lecture starts with him scanning the room as we chat ("this is the chattiest group I've had in a long time. That's a good thing, don't lose that innocence.") and him clearing his throat saying, "Now that we've reached a critical mass, I think we may begin." Adorable professor full of quips and car analogies mixed in with metabolism talks. "Ok, but the bacteria don't vote, so let's take a look at ourselves instead." (Explaining why our make-up lecture was longer than the normal class: "It's really more of ao rush for me to get the extra fifteen minutes, so please, just let me bask in that.")
This picture takes the cake when it comes to portraits of any sort, especially considering his personality. This is Walty. Responds to things that please him in loud, bellowing laughs that stop as abruptly as they began (he went through an entire semester two years ago without laughing, and it is only now, because he's in "a good mood this semester," that we see smiles and hear laughter). Has written a book with Jabbar and Sharpton, but I can't wrap my mind around that quite yet. Uses a duffle bag in place of a suitcase. Holds office hours early in the morning to weed out visitors (excellent). And seems to be the antithesis of his good friend the PuMan. Speaks in a soft, flat monotone, and allows for many, many pregnant pauses often interrupted only by his own sighs.
This is the Band Man. And the randomest/creepiest professor picture ever. The Band Man uses words I vaguely understand and phrases comments in wordy ways, like, "Not unlike the neo-classicalists, the hegemony of the modernizationists over this global dialogue..." He's always quoting somebody. It's astounding. And not the way I quote Newsradio, I mean these are legit quotes that shed light on important matters. While most diehard soc activist kids (esp. the girls) describe him as "so good" and "so nice," Ranwei more accurately describes him as "awkward," and I'd like to throw "sarcastic" into the mix (See: conversation on 'chilling'). Has a fondness for blue doritoes. Then again, who doesn't?
There used to be a picture here for BSketch. Now there isn't. Googleimage had linked her name to a few half naked and some not naked oil portraits (they were clothed, but partying and drinking Pepsi- a rather un-soc soft drink), but it was later discovered that she did not indeed paint those portraits. A disappointment, yes, but more of a relief than anything else.
This is the Anal Chem professor. Not to be confused with 'the anal Chem professor.' (Have I already explained that Analyt Chem= Anal Chem?) Wages daily battles with the computer and his record is barely on the winning side. Has deep bitterness toward our textbook ("Some people call this the constant while others the coefficient. What does the book say? Coefficient? Then I'll call it the constant. The book and I will be in disagreement.") and teaches the class with great confidence ("I haven't taught this class since 1984."). Is at his best when his remarks are deprecating.This is Page. The Biochem Man. Every lecture starts with him scanning the room as we chat ("this is the chattiest group I've had in a long time. That's a good thing, don't lose that innocence.") and him clearing his throat saying, "Now that we've reached a critical mass, I think we may begin." Adorable professor full of quips and car analogies mixed in with metabolism talks. "Ok, but the bacteria don't vote, so let's take a look at ourselves instead." (Explaining why our make-up lecture was longer than the normal class: "It's really more of ao rush for me to get the extra fifteen minutes, so please, just let me bask in that.")This picture takes the cake when it comes to portraits of any sort, especially considering his personality. This is Walty. Responds to things that please him in loud, bellowing laughs that stop as abruptly as they began (he went through an entire semester two years ago without laughing, and it is only now, because he's in "a good mood this semester," that we see smiles and hear laughter). Has written a book with Jabbar and Sharpton, but I can't wrap my mind around that quite yet. Uses a duffle bag in place of a suitcase. Holds office hours early in the morning to weed out visitors (excellent). And seems to be the antithesis of his good friend the PuMan. Speaks in a soft, flat monotone, and allows for many, many pregnant pauses often interrupted only by his own sighs.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Swift and Good To The Eye
Sturdiest calculators ever: TI-86. I drop it at least once a day. Studdiest calculator, too.
I predicted this would happen weeks ago, but it still makes me sigh: The old ladies downstairs (older than me, now that's old) know me as, "Oh, the Oriental girl?" And they're best friends with nrmL.
I predicted this would happen weeks ago, but it still makes me sigh: The old ladies downstairs (older than me, now that's old) know me as, "Oh, the Oriental girl?" And they're best friends with nrmL.
The Prof Is All Right
Professor Wheelwright's lecture today was titled "Tramps, Roadkill, and Asymmetrical Incest Avoidance- What I Did With My Sabbtatical" and it was freaking awesome. There were pictures of koala bears and little blue penguins and Tam and I are taking the first flights out of here to go to New Zealand as soon as possible and retracing his footsteps. Forget soc, services, English, chemistry, medicine- I want to spend my days being a orinthologist just like Nat Wheelwright, especially if all that entails is taking gorgeous pictures and going on hikes around the world.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Changing Lanes
So last Saturday, LoJo and I arranged to dine together. This was confirmed by email the following day. By Monday, because the heights of both of our popularities, we had arranged so that both of us would have friends joining our dinner. Lovely. Then came the day of the dinner itself. Tuesday. A couple of calls to remind each other and finalize the details of our dinner.
Six O'clock Thorne?
I had said five thirty, at Moulton.
But I told them six at Thorne.
But my emails and phone calls all said five thirty, Moulton, and you agreed. Plus I'm meeting my friend at Moulton at five thirty.
Oh.
Oh.
Six O'clock Thorne?
I had said five thirty, at Moulton.
But I told them six at Thorne.
But my emails and phone calls all said five thirty, Moulton, and you agreed. Plus I'm meeting my friend at Moulton at five thirty.
Oh.
Oh.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Sidewalk Conversations, In Three Acts
I love a campus full of people you can talk to as you pass each other on the way to class.
Early Morning- walking by Baxter House, spots Bobs running out of the tower.
Moi: (shouting toward Bobs) Where are you going?
Bobs: (mumbles/mouths random words)
Moi: I'm sorry I can't hear you, I'm too busy listening to my iPod!
Late Morning
Standing with Lojo outside of Druck. She's leaving Geo and I'm heading into Anal Chem.
Lojo: Hey, here comes your wife. (Pointing at Vita-K coming towards us.)
A little after noon. Walking out of the Union with Mac and Vita-K, Jared looming behind.
Jared (loudly): Ugh! What's that awful smell!? (pauses, in normal voice) Oh hi, it's you.
Moi: Guys, don't look back at him, your eyes will hurt.
Jared: You'll turn into a pillar of sand.
Early Morning- walking by Baxter House, spots Bobs running out of the tower.
Moi: (shouting toward Bobs) Where are you going?
Bobs: (mumbles/mouths random words)
Moi: I'm sorry I can't hear you, I'm too busy listening to my iPod!
Late Morning
Standing with Lojo outside of Druck. She's leaving Geo and I'm heading into Anal Chem.
Lojo: Hey, here comes your wife. (Pointing at Vita-K coming towards us.)
A little after noon. Walking out of the Union with Mac and Vita-K, Jared looming behind.
Jared (loudly): Ugh! What's that awful smell!? (pauses, in normal voice) Oh hi, it's you.
Moi: Guys, don't look back at him, your eyes will hurt.
Jared: You'll turn into a pillar of sand.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Slugging Slurs
(I swear we all work together to serve people.)
Dan "I work in Adam" Hall: Just wanted to let you know that earlier, when I told you to make the copies, 'chop, chop' I didn't mean it as a racial slur or an ethnic thing. I was just making fun of you to go faster.
Moi: Yeah. I pretty much got that. How would 'chop, chop' be racial anyway? If you wanted me to do kung fu tricks?
Dan: No, 'cause then I'd just say, 'hop to it, ninja girl.'
---
Sesame (thinking up icebreakers for a training): Maybe we could play two truths and a lie. Are you guys good at that?
Moi: I like to help people.
ps. Walty: totally nice. I: totally rock. Editing papers: totally unnecessary... well, not for my 10-pager, but probably deserved more attention...
Dan "I work in Adam" Hall: Just wanted to let you know that earlier, when I told you to make the copies, 'chop, chop' I didn't mean it as a racial slur or an ethnic thing. I was just making fun of you to go faster.
Moi: Yeah. I pretty much got that. How would 'chop, chop' be racial anyway? If you wanted me to do kung fu tricks?
Dan: No, 'cause then I'd just say, 'hop to it, ninja girl.'
---
Sesame (thinking up icebreakers for a training): Maybe we could play two truths and a lie. Are you guys good at that?
Moi: I like to help people.
ps. Walty: totally nice. I: totally rock. Editing papers: totally unnecessary... well, not for my 10-pager, but probably deserved more attention...
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Frankenly Speaking
Al Franken swung by campus today. As did the Governor. And some other semi-important folks, all for a college dems convention. Yeah, I don't know what's up with that either. But the Gov and ex-Gov are both at the Bow' a lot. And I think the Governor declared today as College Dems day? Honestly, I had no idea what was going on during his Franken introduction. Though I had to work out to stifle violent laughter when he commended the College Dems on their work with Habitat for Humanity. If I recall correctly, last year they kept on trying to bump out a group of our volunteers so they could volunteer during convention weekend. And this year, they definitely didn't work with us. So maybe they're the lying liars telling the lies? Franken was all right. The standing ovation he got definitely wasn't the same as the one Paul Rusesabagina got, but hey, not everyone can save their countrymen from genocide. I was looking for him to be funnier and less political- not because I don't like his politics, but because I was sick of agreeing with him. I didn't want to smile snidely as he told me how the government is wrong, I wanted him to be hilarious. He did draw one huge laugh though, when he was talking about how his trial (sued by FOX News) was so ludicrous that folks in the courtroom were peeing from laughter, and peeing so much that they needed to lay down plastic sheeting. Consider the past week's events, the pee joke was especially amusing.
Gov: You know Al, we do this so often (referring to how often he has introduced Franken lately), I could go on tour with you.
(Pauses for a second and turns to Franken, expecting laughter from the audience.)
Al Franken: (Waits for Gov to turn back to the audience, then just shakes his head, mouthing 'no.')
Gov: You know Al, we do this so often (referring to how often he has introduced Franken lately), I could go on tour with you.
(Pauses for a second and turns to Franken, expecting laughter from the audience.)
Al Franken: (Waits for Gov to turn back to the audience, then just shakes his head, mouthing 'no.')
The Heavens Declare
I was going to write a comment on Monica Yellow's blog. But it would've taken too much room. So I'm posting it here. This is an exception to the rule and I promise a return to stories about poop and pee soon. I don't think there's anyone here to actually object to this. I don't think there's anyone here...
In my younger days, ("you remind me of the young me, short and stupid") I was afraid of natural disasters. Hurricanes and typhoons especially, because that's what we saw the most. One day, in the spring of eighth or ninth grade, I was walking down the driveway to fetch some mail on a Saturday, and once I stepped out, I could feel the winds just pounding and pounding at whatever that came in their way. I could feel the wind pulling on my legs, trying to knock me down. I ran to the mailbox, fearing the wind would overtake me if I moved to slowly. As I opened the box, I remembered thinking (in the melodramatic, fatalistic way I often did), "The wrath of God is upon us; the anger of the Lord is here." I don't know why I did. Maybe it's 'cause the phrases had a nice ring to it. But those lines ran through my head over and over that day, even after I went inside the house, where, from the safety of my room, I could survey the full majesty of the winds- the way ancient trees were waving their arms in surrender, the way leaves long dead were stirred up to fly again, the way the windows shook and sounded in alarm. The wrath of God is upon us; the anger of the Lord is here. I was in frightful awe all night. The next day was Sunday, and as we drove to church, I kept staring out the window at the rain, the dark, swirling sky, and the blown branches scattered across windy roads, not knowing what to make of this force except tremble. Then came Sunday service, and a song that never held meaning for me before, one I never understood or liked. "Lord, I have heard of your fame. I stand in awe of your deeds, Oh Lord-" as the praise band played, still those first words meant nothing, until the chorus- "In wrath, remember mercy. In wrath, remember mercy."
Then it clicked. And it was beautiful to feel the rush of the click. Yes, my God is a destructive one but by God, he's a merciful one. He is the God of peace that calms the storms. I looked out the window at that instant, expecting to catch another glimpse of His wrath, but saw a stilled outdoors- and sun.
Now that I've scared everyone away... in wrath, remember mercy.
In my younger days, ("you remind me of the young me, short and stupid") I was afraid of natural disasters. Hurricanes and typhoons especially, because that's what we saw the most. One day, in the spring of eighth or ninth grade, I was walking down the driveway to fetch some mail on a Saturday, and once I stepped out, I could feel the winds just pounding and pounding at whatever that came in their way. I could feel the wind pulling on my legs, trying to knock me down. I ran to the mailbox, fearing the wind would overtake me if I moved to slowly. As I opened the box, I remembered thinking (in the melodramatic, fatalistic way I often did), "The wrath of God is upon us; the anger of the Lord is here." I don't know why I did. Maybe it's 'cause the phrases had a nice ring to it. But those lines ran through my head over and over that day, even after I went inside the house, where, from the safety of my room, I could survey the full majesty of the winds- the way ancient trees were waving their arms in surrender, the way leaves long dead were stirred up to fly again, the way the windows shook and sounded in alarm. The wrath of God is upon us; the anger of the Lord is here. I was in frightful awe all night. The next day was Sunday, and as we drove to church, I kept staring out the window at the rain, the dark, swirling sky, and the blown branches scattered across windy roads, not knowing what to make of this force except tremble. Then came Sunday service, and a song that never held meaning for me before, one I never understood or liked. "Lord, I have heard of your fame. I stand in awe of your deeds, Oh Lord-" as the praise band played, still those first words meant nothing, until the chorus- "In wrath, remember mercy. In wrath, remember mercy."
Then it clicked. And it was beautiful to feel the rush of the click. Yes, my God is a destructive one but by God, he's a merciful one. He is the God of peace that calms the storms. I looked out the window at that instant, expecting to catch another glimpse of His wrath, but saw a stilled outdoors- and sun.
Now that I've scared everyone away... in wrath, remember mercy.
Dear Students Eating Apples In Class,
Please stop it. I didn't get the memo, so I missed how this was the cool thing to do all the sudden. (And don't you dare use the apple-picking season as an excuse. Dining services has them every single day and you know it. It's not like you'd actually leave the bubble for apple-picking. I tried that once and came back with blueberries.) The crunching of each bite creeps me out. Apples are loud. Distracting. And disgusting when their juices are sprayed all over the desk. The way your teeth sink in and slice down the apples at the beginning of bite- that makes me cringe the most. So please, no more interfering with my learning atmosphere. It's hard enough to focus on my doodles with the professors ranting on, I don't need you disturbing my artwork.
Yours truly,
Stomping on the Appleseed
ps. I like apples. If I could only choose five fruit to have, I'd choose apples. But not in class. In the classroom, I'd choose a quiet banana.
Yours truly,
Stomping on the Appleseed
ps. I like apples. If I could only choose five fruit to have, I'd choose apples. But not in class. In the classroom, I'd choose a quiet banana.
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