The Accidental Pedestrian

It's not every day that I cause car accidents, but today was such a day. I had come to the edge of College Street, right by the Af Am, and paused, when a car (Car #1) slowed to a stop for me. I took that as my cue to cross. Halfway through crossing, the car beeped at me. In the dark of the night, I couldn't tell if it was a "Hey, I know you, you're my friend!" beep, or a "Could you hurry this up?" beep. I didn't have a chance to find out because right when I got to the other side of the tiny street, the car behind Car #1 (Car #2) screeched and banged into Car #1. Car #2 had hit Car #1 for stopping for me. It was quite the audible hit. Everyone seemed fine, and no cars were wrecked, but it sounded like more than just a few scratches to the car. I did not stick around to see either drivers get out and exchange information, and probably tidbits on how to track me down. At times like this, I really wish that my campus was just a little bigger, so that the ire of these two people could not be directed at me.

Now experts of the law (both of the USA and that of our Hebrew Lord)- I didn't actually do anything wrong, right? I don't think so at least. I didn't see any reason to stick around except to get yelled at, but apparently, my guy friends are a lot less sympathetic than their counterparts of the fairer sex when they hear my story...

Mac: That's like a hit and run. Except you didn't hit, you just ran.


Brian: You just left!? What if the police want to talk to you?

Moi: Well, I didn't hit the car.

Brian: Do you think it'd be ok if someone just jumped out in front of traffic and yelled "Whee! Look at me!" and caused accidents all day? They could just say, "I didn't hit the car!"

Next on my agenda: Forest fires.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

As a senior with a few responsibilities, kids are always approaching me with questions and expecting that I know the answer. When are the payments due? What are we doing in BCF this week? Am I extracting the right layer? What is the future of the Common Good on campus? Didn't we go to preschool together?

How do I respond to these questions in subjects I know nothing about? In order to cultivate my image as suave senior who knows what's going on, senior in control of campus, senior with oyster, I lie. A lot. A lot a lot. I nod my head and say things in a confident manner regarding subjects I have no business commenting on.

Case in point: Organic Chemistry labs. Last week, a kid asked me if aluminum chloride was corrosive...

Moi: Why? (All the time thinking: What the freak is aluminum chloride? How am I supposed to know? Doesn't sound very dangerous. Sodium chloride is our friend.)

Kid: I spilled some on myself.

Moi: Oh. Well, does it burn? (Not trying to be glib- I seriously asked that. Probably not best moment of my lab assisting career.)

Kid: Not really.

Moi: Well, um... it's probably ok. I wouldn't worry about it unless it burns. You should probably clean it off though.

Moments later, I turn around and spot a bottle of aluminum chloride by the scales. The instructor had put a big label on it that said "Corrosive!" Oops.

Tidbits about how dangerous it was once it got moist started seeping into my memory, something about how kids should be careful not to breathe it in because it'd burn the lining of the skin because of the moisture. Also remembered it as the reason I cleaned out all those dessicators last week, so students could store it in a safe, dry place... but by then, Kid had already left the lab, blissfully ignorant, probably off to eat dinner. That ought to teach him to put his faith in people when he should learn to pay attention to science.

Eternal Spring

At my interview for naturalization today (not neutralization), I was asked, among other things, if I have ever been a Communist, terrorist, drug trafficker, and prostitute. I was also asked if I have ever been married.

I won't tell you about the others, but regarding the last one, I answered no.

Adjudication Officer: But don't give up hope.

He also asked me to write a sentence for him. When I was done, he took my paper and said, "Let's see this college education of yours put to good use and read what words of wisdom you've got."

Personally, I thought I penned a moving story of individual struggle. But I think he was rather disappointed with my minimalist approach. It said: "I am hungry."

Famous Last Meals

Talking with Phillip and Sam last night, I realized that I needed to add one more item to my non-comprehensive last meal menu.

If I were persecuted for preaching the gospel, sentenced to death, and granted one final meal of my wishes before I passed, I would have:

Sweet and sour ribs with rice by Mother.

#19 with meatballs and coffee from Pho 88.

Jamaican beef patty with cocoa bread and Ting.

Man, I miss them patties. I need to hang out with more Jamaican kids.

Wayback Machine Goes Nonsensical

 

These farmers are drying out wolfberries. I took this picture on a trip I took with a 'cousin' who had just gotten married. In northern Chinar, it is customary for the bride and groom to visit the bride's home within three days of the wedding and eat a feast with the bride's family. The new bride must, however, leave home before sunset. I tagged along for the ride, the meal, and the communal squatter experience.

In more contemporary news: My father passed a kidney stone today while I am battling stomach troubles attributed to possible lactose intolerance (I'm not sure, because I eat cheeses, yogurt, and ice cream fine- but I eat all of those things in moderation. The milkshake though, I always feel sick after a milkshake). The way I see it, we've all had a rough week all around. Lord, why did you make lactose so tasty, yet my people so intolerant?

Seventh Inning Stretch

The day has been an unceasing delight. I mean, how often do you sit in the Pub and watch a high speed car chase with your advisor? (How often, also, does your advisor belittle you in front of your boss? Nay, to your boss? Oh wait, it's the second time it's happened in as many weeks.) From the fresh squeezed orange juice at breakfast, to the breadstick from the Pub at lunch, to the bounty of seafood at dinner, my meals and company today have been great delights (just to clarify, I didn't eat with my advisor, he wasn't a delight, we just watched the car chase together as we waited for our respective lunches).

But all that pales to what happened at dinner. Creeps, Kate the Mate, and I had sat at the edge of a long and mostly empty table. I had gotten up to get some more delicious carbonara and leftover mardi gras shrimp. When I returned, our table was completely full, brimming of underclassmen swimmers we didn't know. Having strangers encroach on your eating space is always a jarring experience, especially when they awkwardly stare at you the whole time, with a faint smile on their lips, as if they'd like to say something but can't quite muster the courage to do so. A little while later, while we were still working through dessert, a huge chunk of the table left, including the boy next to me. In fact, only one boy remained. He sat across from me and Kate the Mate tried to lure him into conversation with us, but he just awkwardly chuckled.

That is, until I tried to make a big point about how much space we had now that everyone had left. I scooched away from Kate the Mate, then pulled back the chair to my right. Fully staring at Creeps and Kate the Mate, for full theatric effect, I reached my right hand out to stretch over the chair next to me, ready to lean back with content-- only to discover that an Awkward Swimming Boy had returned and was settling into the seat I was stretching over. My hand actually hit his leg because he was sitting in so close just when I wanted to spread out. Without a word, or even acknowledgement of my presence, he sat down and resumed talking to his friends. Kate the Mate and Creeps bawled with laughter at my smooth move. Apparently, both of them had seen him approaching but decided not to tell me. V. suave all around. The only thing more painful than my stretching was the Awkard Swimming Boys' behavior. None of them saw the need to not be pressed against our trays once their friends moved, or to slide farther down once they saw us spreading out, or look our way when we started laughing at them. They just kept their eyes and minds focused on eating in their exact spot. Who does that!?

Caps Lock

 

This jug makes me wish that we had more occasion to drop caps into it. It's just so darn adorable. We don't drink nearly enough beer in this apartment.

I Will Remember You

I had a lot of time to think at dinner last night, mostly because it was too loud in Moulton for me to figure out anything that was happening at our double table. (Seriously, does anyone over 20 eat dinner at Moulton unless they have to? The place swims with freshmen.) I sat in the corner and spent much of the night asking Vannie to my left what was going on and why everyone was laughing. She'd offer one-word answers then turn to ask Mac, to her left, for more details. By the time everything got passed down, the conversation would have moved far, far beyond me. I thought a lot about what we choose to remember and forget about ourselves and what others remember of us. Gak had forgotten that I once dreamt that his facebook profile revealed that he was interested in Men. I had forgotten that Bird Man Ecologist Extraordinaire had once told me that looking at frogs mate would "make you wish you were a frog". Mac had forgotten that he had promised Julie that he'd earn A's for both of them in BSketch's class by giving up a little of himself (ok, I tried really hard to think of a nicer way to say 'sleep with the professor' but failed. Suggestions?). It's strange what stories survive. And how they shape what others think of us.

Hatless Horseman

 

Did this hat used to go on your head? Or the head of someone you know? If yes, please say so.

Sometimes, when I am drying my hair, I get distracted and feel the need to multitask. It's hard to multitask with a hair dryer in one hand and a towel in the other.

Realized today how big a part of my life pictures were when I was in Eddie Bert, and to an extent, Chinar. It's weird pulling out the camera to snap friends, buildings, and professors I see every day, but I wish I could. I wish I could capture them, too.

In Which The Entire Parking Lot Thinks I'm A Stalker

 

"When some people live off campus," M. "DeLorean" Taylor tells me, "they have oceanfront views."

I get views of people putting their brown bags into the trunk.

Head Over Heels

 

Just what exactly qualifies my Super Short Socks as "Romantic Style?" I don't know. But I'm feeling the love.

Backdraft

I am sitting in my room now, sweating, in a tank top and shorts. We cannot turn the heat down because it is "automatic," which means that we are either wrapping two blankets over our sweats to stay alive, or undergoing weekend-long sauna sessions. I would open the window to relieve the heat, but I have no windows to open.

She's Having A Baby

Moi: ... because she's having a baby.

Alex: Really!? That's wonderful. When's she having a baby?

Moi: I don't know. Some time after graduation, she'll be maybe 7, 8 months along at graduation?

Selina: Yeah, she's going to be big at graduation.

Alex: Wait, so is she already pregnant now?

Scarlet Letter

 

Found this in my mailbox today. God's a pretty awesome pen pal. What? You didn't get one? Oh, this is awkward...

I Can See Clearly Now

I use the big clear bottle that's not unlike my big clear bottle. The skinny bottles kind of freak me out, like they're alchemy potions or something. That stuff isn't shampoo. I guess this means let's not tell Roommate Who Doesn't Read Blog.

Head Start

Dear Mad Hatter,
I am so sorry that you lost your hat. And I thank you for replying to our digest entry about a hat we'd found in our apartment. I could see how you put two and two together and realized thought that your lost hat may be our found hat, but before you start accusing us for harboring your hat, let me ask you something. Didn't we specify that it was found in our apartment? Don't you need to have been in our apartment to leave your hat here? Perhaps you needed to at least know one of the three of us for your hat to have ended up here, half a mile outside of campus? Just some basic details to think about. Because we have no idea who you are. So stop trying to claim the lost hat that's not yours. You're sort of silly.

Yours truly,

Aunt Hattie

PS: Is it wrong if I've kept an empty bottle of shampoo in the shower for a week now, just so my roommates wouldn't notice that I had no shampoo left and was secretly using theirs? Is that so wrong? Hello, Roommate reading this. Now you know!

All in All

Chinese New Year is fast arriving. For those of you who weren't aware, or who aren't familiar with the celebrations, have no fear. Hannaford, you friendly local grocer, is here to help.

Check out this week's helpful shopper:

(red text added to highlight the four essentials of a proper Chinese New Year.)

Apparently, ALL the ingredients you'd ever need to celebrate the New Year's are listed here. What a meal of tofu wonton wrapper stir fry it'd make, with a lovely ginger kumquat glaze to boot. Why, my family has enjoyed that tofu recipe for five thousand years. How did the Hannaford people know!?

Author's Note: I would like to thank Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) for bringing this item to my attention, and for combing through the weekly circular so I do not have to.

Power to the People

Lamenting on the lack of people at the jazz concert last night, I yelled at my church-ride companions for not opening themselves up to high culture.

Moi: Seriously, where were you people last night?

Brian: Excuse me? You people?

(Realize that my audience is Asian Boy, White Boy, and Black Girl, and that, since so many race jokes have transpired between us, they think I'm making a comment. I wasn't. I tried to defend myself against the overly-racially sensitive crowd, but they wouldn't let me, so of course, I gave in.)

Moi: Fine, I meant Black Girl. Where were you people?

White Boy: She was at the basketball game.

Black Girl: With my fried chicken.

Moi: (Turn to White Boy) And where were you?

White Boy: I was watching Friends. And reading Art in the Bible.

(Car chuckles at apropos White activity, including Asian Boy, who's largely left out of all this because he's focused on driving and committing as many traffic violations as he can in very little time)

White Boy: Seriously, though, I was reading Art in the Bible, I just got it.

Empanada Mama

 

She's not an Empanada Mama. This is Liz in part one of our grub crawl. Here, Liz is happy with her empanada, jubilant at its affordability, and blissfully unaware that she will treat her companions to a luscious tofu dessert course later in the evening. Behind Liz are Oy McCoyne's fingers. Before I snapped the picture, Liz and Oy were catching up in manners that suggested that they've had a pre-established relationship that warranted catching up. I was surprised by how well they got along and how they left me out of conversation entirely. Later in the evening, Oy would ask me what Liz's name was and Liz would ask me how I knew Oy and why Oy McCoyne was with us.

What's in a Name?

The winter is dragging on, the temperatures sticking tightly to the lower end of the scale. It's starting to feel old, but we're only in February. I've been looking forward to summer, applying for jobs and combing for signs of baseball. But there are no baseball stories this time of the year, only obituaries for greats I never knew. Spring training is coming though, and I am waiting expectantly, deep in my Maine winter.

If you could have any baseball player's autograph, whose would it be?

"Au autograph is so impersonal," Mac says, a lifelong Red Sox fan who cheers for the Mets at times. Plus, he already has a few Red Sox legends. "It's just a name."

Fine, if you could meet any baseball player, who would it be?

David Ortiz. He seems like he would be so much fun to be around, a genuinely great guy. As of opposed to Manny, who is temperamental, whose fun seems less real.

Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) chooses Jackie Robinson, who she calls "the first black guy to play baseball."

Father surprises me. He makes no mention of history or childhood heroes, claiming he's forgotten them all. "Chien-Ming Wang," he says. Why? "Because I know him." If not Wang, then Schilling.

As for me, I don't care what my home state is or where I go to school. I want to meet Mariano Rivera. His greatness and class are undeniable, and even Mac, with his chemistry book and Red Sox blanket on his lap, excuse the choice of a Yankee. That means something coming from a bleeder, whose red blood means more to him than it does most people.

Wit's End

After advising the Cafe ladies on the intricacies of Bubble Tea (now available at the Bo'!), I brought my sushi down to the Pub for lunch (the ambience is so much better there, so classy). Standing in line, I spotted the Band Man ahead of me, picking up his food. We were in the midst of the lunch time crowd, so what did he do? Not a half wave (as I chose to do), a nod of recognition, or just a plain old hello. No, he chose to speak up loudly, for all to hear.

Band Man: Could you stop following me around?

(Many chuckles and stares turned toward my general direction, at my general expense.)

Moi: I go to school here. I paid good money to be here.

(Many more chuckles from the hungry line, this time directed away from me.)

Band Man: Yeah, you're right. I don't pay them anything.

(Crowd cheers at my triumph and the Band Man's admit of defeat. The lunch line circles around me, jubilant at my sharp line. Someone starts clapping, slowly at first, and soon the whole student union crowds in, joining the irresistable beat. I am lifted unto someone's shoulder, it's all a blur now and I don't remember whose, and I am paraded throughout the pub whilst the Band Man sits in the corner, a look of contrition and awe in his face.)

Time in the Joint

I promised I'd tell you about the Grub Crawl through New York. But now that it's almost a month later, I don't quite feel like it. I may, I may not, you're living on my graces. I will, however, give you a picture from the Crawl. This is from Pt. 2 of our journey, the main course at Burger Joint. It's an unmarked burger joint off to the side of the posh, marbeled lobby of Le Parker Meridien. You go behind some walls, following a silent Tim who won't divulge where you're going, thinking that Tim has led you astray and will probably take your cash once you go behind the coat check out of sight of the security cameras, then out of nowhere, Burger Joint appears and your faith in Tim is restored, just a teensy bit, especially when you see that he has brought you to a land of juicy burgers and Ben & Jerry shakes, and that he pretends he's not looking when you steal his fries. (But faith in him is once again lost, of course, when he opens his heathen mouth and you hear nothing but eternal wailing in his future.) For this photo, I told Oy McCoyne and T Chu here to "act sketchy" to fit the decor while James the Giant Freshman looks like he's thinking of staying in the Joint and ditching the group. Like they needed to be told to act sketchy. I should've just said, "Hey, Sketches, look here."

Damage Control

The Set Up:

Moi: So basically, your rumor comes from the fact that we saw them together at the Ball, and that he told you they'd be spending time together? That's not really gossip.

The Resulting Mini-Meltdown:

Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me): I don't know how to spread gossip! I only say things that are true that I think is interesting. I don't know how to make up stuff. I'm so bad at being a girl!

Overkill

Dearest Cold:

You are sharp, quick, and powerful. You- you stop hearts and break off fingers in ways that Heat could never do. Your attack is fast and not cruelly drawn out, as Heat is often apt to. There is, no doubt, nothing common about you.

With the recent uproar over global warming, however, I can sense that you are growing defensive, and understandably so. They were saying that you just weren't going to be the same old Cold anymore, and we had missed you in the few previous months but oh, what a comeback you are staging now! Brutal winds and arctic chills- you're putting on a good show against the 'unequivocal' hoopla, and I applaud your efforts. But I must caution you, dear Cold, coming from one friend to another, that perhaps you should tone it down (or rather, up!) just a notch.

I mean, I get that you still matter. I've felt it for weeks. And I now dread leaving my cozy apartment to get to campus. I never want to leave my blessed blankets. To all that I say, bravo. Way to take the attention away from Heat. But, as you keep this up, which they say you will for at least another week, it's starting to look like you're trying too hard, ok? It's starting to show that you're overcompensating. Must we really go below zero for another week? And must the wind chill be so chilly? We would be just as impressed with you if you just kept up in the twenties, with an occasional dip into the teens- wouldn't that be wonderful? You wouldn't be over-exerted and we'd have plenty of cold left for future years. Nobody wants to see you burnt out by the end of the season. I know it's hard to bow to global warming, and believe me, we all appreciate the effort you're putting in, but honestly, it's getting a bit old. Let's cut the iceman act and make it so that I can walk to class with my ears intact, all right? And if I learn anything about slaying global warming in class, maybe I'll report back to you, ok, big boy? Good work. Now, scat.

Sincerely,

Hoping for Heatstroke

PS. Go U Bears and Glaciers!

Time Warp

Reading through my entries, I realize now that I have no command over the English language whatsoever. And that my verb tenses shift as often as public opinion on the health implications of eating fish. Seriously, it's as if time moves not in a linear direction but whirls around me like a tornado. I don't know how you read this stuff. Oh wait. You don't.

Bowling for the Bo'

It's Superbowl Sunday. I missed the first 2/3 of the game because of an ASB seminar (totally better use of my time than the game, by the way, v. Common Good of me). And as I walked to the main library, lamenting how I was about to spend the next 1/3, I see Karina walk out. A fellow Soc & Anthro honors kindred spirit. "She's done with her work and ready to go enjoy the game," I think bitterly. But, to my delight, Karina was as miserable about her work as I was! She was just going to the cafe for a break. And as we stood in the chill of the night, our faces whipped by the wind, who should come walking by but Will? Yet another anthro honor kid. Also ready to spend Superbowl Sunday at a carrel in H&L. Where were my fellow soc nerds, I wondered for a brief moment, but it didn't matter. 60% of the Soc and Anthro kids were typing away on this fine evening, and if you round that figure up to 100%- everyone was suffering along with me! Who needs friends, junk food, and entertainment when you can sit alone at a desk in the library, where the halls are silent but for the sounds of your fingers tapping away at the keyboard, but where you push on, warmed by the thought that you are not the only geek in the world, but there are at least two others struggling right now, just like you.

Rumor Has It

(Discussing a girl at the Bo' named Nelly...)

Moi: Yes, Nelly... the famous music artist.

Tim: Ah, yes, she is also the black rapper that released the 1999 (actually, 2000) hit 'Country Grammar'.

Salina: Really?

Moi: Um... no. Nelly is the white girl with red hair. We just said that.

Salina: No? You can't just say that then, this is how rumors get started.

Moi: How will it get started? You're right here. You know she's not a male, black rapper!

Salina: I don't know. It might slip out of my mouth when I'm talking with my friends. These things happen.

Sniff and Rescue

This morning, at an hour even earlier than yesterday, I saw two dogs on the quad rink, surrounded by no one. The place was empty except for those two. A lab and a beagle, each beautiful and looking just as you'd think a pure lab or beagle should. They would run a few steps then slip, front legs leaning forward, and noses to the ground, as if they were sniffing for survivors of yesterday's tragic fall-through.

Sunken Treasure

The title is perhaps a bit grim.

In the AM hours, under the light of grey clouds and a tiny shimmer of sun, the quad shuffles with people along its many paths. For the most part, however, people stay to the periphery and away from the snow. The morning light reveals a black glove stranded in the middle of the ice rink, palms down, and inches ahead, a hat. They are still, and the moving throngs of people seemingly unaware, as if someone had fallen through the rink, reached out a hand for help, then was frozen, under the pond and in the midst of time.

Now for something completely different:

(So I'm coming from the ice rink of dull death and talking with Nickolai, we walk through the doors in single file.)

Moi (to stranger): So what's up with you?
(Turn around to realize, to my horror, that I just asked that of a complete stranger.)
Moi (to Nick): So you fell behind and I just asked that kid-
Nick (to me): Yeah, I know. It was pretty funny.