Thanks for the Memories

I received a letter from the alma mater today.  It was a generic letter thanking me for my contribution.  Though this one was distinctive in the hand written note that went along with it.  That was very unusual.  Turns out, such are the thanks you get when you give $500 to the school.

That's right.  Due to a clerical error, I gave the school a full $500 more than I originally intended.  I did not notice until the thank you note remarked on my generosity.  No one has ever characterized my previous givings as generous.  

And now, I get to have the embarrassment of trying to get that money back.  Because disputing finances with non-profits is always fun, especially when it's with an institution you absolutely cherish.  And then there's that second embarrassment, of saying out loud how little I had originally planned on giving the school.  

I'm sorry, Bo', I know you've given me a lot.  Though to be fair, I've also given you hundreds of thousands of dollars (well, not me-- thanks again for the aid-- but you did charge somebody).  But one day, Bo', I will graduate (again).  I will have a job.  I will repay my loans, have a place to live, and maybe, just maybe, I'll give to the alumni fund without asking for any back.

Picking Up Where We Left Off

Dear Pretzels.  Sorry for the long, long absence.  I will be back, I promise.  My life will almost be sane again.  

Note to Self: When offering a piece of homemade cake to Advisor, it is perhaps wise to not announce it as "suck up cake," even if sucking up was the original intention.

(discussing the frustrations of a project in which I stalk docs online-- this following a life insurance collaboration where not enough people died for us to model mortality)

Moi: Waiting for med students to mess up.  And waiting for people to die.  That's pretty much my research agenda.

Advisor: Hope springs eternal!

Politics Is Local

Long time no see, Pretzels.

In today's segment of Rants Against the Times, I bring you this: a story of a high school student council election.  At a very expensive school.  This is what young journalists today can aspire to.  The article tries to frame it as something more than that, but the students speak for themselves:

"Ms. Peale said that she had been Mr. Williams' campaign manager — until he chose to run with Mr. Perkins. "He picked a boy and I got mad, so I decided to run myself," she said. "Junius picked Clark because he thought he would appeal most to girls who think he's cute, and to jocks."

Mr. Perkins took offense at this suggestion, saying that he and Mr. Williams ran together based on their previous student council experience and leadership qualities. -- NYT"