The panacea to all of the world's problems, it appears from my semester of learning, leads to just one thing: The Organic Garden.
Power to the people, an end to big corporations, a mean to improve community health, empowering the elderly, fresh vegetables, improving urban aesthetics, efficient agriculture, sustainable economy, a breaking of dependence, cutting down pollution... chemistry, globalization, health, dining hall advertisements- all roads lead to the organic garden. That same being that made me fork over so much extra money for the cucumber in Hannaford (ok, I don't really know the price of cucumbers and can't tell you how much I was really ripped off, but it seemed really expensive), that same plot that makes the dining hall serve limited but decent and ultimately healthy meals on select days (I mostly skip those meals, but support them in spirit), that same idea, is going to save the world.
I wonder if they've tried planting tomatoes in Iraq. It's worked wonders for the Bo'. Sure we can only eat them when the weather is warm, but we sure are peaceful.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Thank God We're Not In Hell
I wonder if kids at other schools complain about freshly made blueberry pancakes served with a side of mixed berry sauce that holds real Maine blueberries...
(For the less learned and/or those West of the Mississippi, Maine blueberries are much smaller and way better for desserts than the grotesquely large blueberries of the normal variety.)
But back to the title. Thank God we don't go to a school that skimps. And thank God we're not in hell. Or else we wouldn't have any breakfast. Have discovered that the next best thing to three-hour-long dinners and two-hour-long lunches, is the hour-long breakfast. It's perhaps the best meal for conversation, because it is too early in the morning and the mind is too tired to wander aimlessly and be distracted, and there are less people to say 'hi' to, so you can focus on the folks at the table. Was very, very heartbreaking this morning to discover that there were in fact, no banana pancakes today, despite the misleading entry in the online menu (what? I don't check breakfast menus the night before, what are you talking about?). Anthony, too, was disappointed, as someone had apparently called him the night before to inform him of the banana pancakes and gotten him really excited to wake up. In fact, when the rest of the table discovered that the menu had promised banana pancakes, everyone was pretty despondent. Except for Ranwei. But that's because she's a freak. And she liked the blueberry pancakes. And was content with the fried eggs cooked to order. And pumpkin muffin. (Ok, that she wasn't so content with, it was low-fat and tasted 'airy.') And she couldn't see why I couldn't just be happy about my yogurt with peaches. And omelettes. And fine, the blueberry pancakes weren't bad either.
It's amazing the food and times you get to have when you shell out forty-thou to go to school. You get to put the stresses about take homes and exames and papers on hold and sit along the long, wooden tables of Thorne, a black tray in front of each person, sharing stories of kids being stabbed because they were running with scissors, of gossip about professors and of the importance of protective eye gear and dads with a sense of humor.
Imagine how much better it could've been, had we had banana pancakes.
(For the less learned and/or those West of the Mississippi, Maine blueberries are much smaller and way better for desserts than the grotesquely large blueberries of the normal variety.)
But back to the title. Thank God we don't go to a school that skimps. And thank God we're not in hell. Or else we wouldn't have any breakfast. Have discovered that the next best thing to three-hour-long dinners and two-hour-long lunches, is the hour-long breakfast. It's perhaps the best meal for conversation, because it is too early in the morning and the mind is too tired to wander aimlessly and be distracted, and there are less people to say 'hi' to, so you can focus on the folks at the table. Was very, very heartbreaking this morning to discover that there were in fact, no banana pancakes today, despite the misleading entry in the online menu (what? I don't check breakfast menus the night before, what are you talking about?). Anthony, too, was disappointed, as someone had apparently called him the night before to inform him of the banana pancakes and gotten him really excited to wake up. In fact, when the rest of the table discovered that the menu had promised banana pancakes, everyone was pretty despondent. Except for Ranwei. But that's because she's a freak. And she liked the blueberry pancakes. And was content with the fried eggs cooked to order. And pumpkin muffin. (Ok, that she wasn't so content with, it was low-fat and tasted 'airy.') And she couldn't see why I couldn't just be happy about my yogurt with peaches. And omelettes. And fine, the blueberry pancakes weren't bad either.
It's amazing the food and times you get to have when you shell out forty-thou to go to school. You get to put the stresses about take homes and exames and papers on hold and sit along the long, wooden tables of Thorne, a black tray in front of each person, sharing stories of kids being stabbed because they were running with scissors, of gossip about professors and of the importance of protective eye gear and dads with a sense of humor.
Imagine how much better it could've been, had we had banana pancakes.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
The Customer Is Always Dead
Yes, I have been away. Remember that old Xanga adage about how the number of entries decrease when I have better things to do? Yeah, well, that applies. Except by "better things to do" I mean "swamped with work." Honestly, the past couple of days have been stressful but also so freaking hilarious. It's too bad I can't share any of it. I can, however, tell you about Costco.Costco loves its customers. And that's why they offer the best selection of everything in bulk. On the Costco webpage (too lazy to link it for you), you can find tabs for sports and rec equipment, wine and food, electronics, and yes, of course, the ol' casket and urn.
I don't know about you, but the question, "WHY, COSTCO? WHY?!" came to mind when I first saw that, along with Rege's concern of "Do I have to buy in bulk?" Well, to answer those questions, here are select highlights from Costco's Casket and Urn FAQ selection.
Q: Why is Costco Wholesale selling caskets?
As a service to our members.
Q: Can we choose other colors or options?
Not at this time. We have selected the most popular styles and colors, with the highest quality linings.
THERE IS NO SCIENTIFIC OR OTHER EVIDENCE THAT ANY CASKET WITH A SEALING DEVICE WILL PRESERVE HUMAN REMAINS
Q: How long before I receive the casket?
A casket ordered on Costco.com will be delivered within three business days (Monday through Friday, excluding holidays) from the date the order is placed (for exceptions see below). If your order is placed by 12:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time (EST), that is considered as one business day.
All purchases are subject to credit card approval before the order is valid. Credit card holds or declines can delay the orders beyond the stated delivery parameters.
Additionally, Acts of God, weather-related conditions and states of emergencies can delay delivery beyond the stated delivery parameters.
(That's golden, the lecture about Acts of God to families of the deceased.)
Some other great questions frequently posed:
Q: Can you order a casket for preplanning purposes? (Save when you buy in bulk!)
Q: What is the sales policy/guarantee? (As in return policy... shudder)
Q: Where do the caskets come from? (When a mommy casket and a daddy casket love each other very much...)
I heart Costco.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Oh Thank Heaven
I could really go for a trip to a 7-11 right now. Not the one downtown, but a Taiwanese one.
Another Thanksgiving has come and gone, and what can I say about it? I read 800+ pages of assigned reading, and then some more pages for my two term papers I am avoiding, all the while completely ignoring my Anal Chem duties. Played Operation for the very first time and racked up some dough. Made a great pun about dough that has since been forgotten, but was no doubt appreciated at the time. Shook hands with members of a band that had better become a lot more famous to keep my story from sinking into lame (I think I was at their house?). Many a cracks were made at the expense of George W., ethnic minorities, and each other. I love being brought together by put downs. Spent a great portion of the week in a purple fleece poncho, because it kept me warm and so long as I closed my eyes whenever I passed by the mirror, I didn't have to see that it was dotted with bright yellow flowers and quite easily the tackiest poncho I have ever seen. In two weeks, I have had three different turkeys, at least four different pies, but not a single minute of Al Roker or the parade. I'm a little Thanksgiving-ed out. Returning from break, I am no more well rested or well prepared than before, but for what it was worth, it was worth all the while. Am I really quoting cheesy songs from the 90's to wrap up my entries instead of thinking up meaningful conclusions? Good riddance, I think I am.
Another Thanksgiving has come and gone, and what can I say about it? I read 800+ pages of assigned reading, and then some more pages for my two term papers I am avoiding, all the while completely ignoring my Anal Chem duties. Played Operation for the very first time and racked up some dough. Made a great pun about dough that has since been forgotten, but was no doubt appreciated at the time. Shook hands with members of a band that had better become a lot more famous to keep my story from sinking into lame (I think I was at their house?). Many a cracks were made at the expense of George W., ethnic minorities, and each other. I love being brought together by put downs. Spent a great portion of the week in a purple fleece poncho, because it kept me warm and so long as I closed my eyes whenever I passed by the mirror, I didn't have to see that it was dotted with bright yellow flowers and quite easily the tackiest poncho I have ever seen. In two weeks, I have had three different turkeys, at least four different pies, but not a single minute of Al Roker or the parade. I'm a little Thanksgiving-ed out. Returning from break, I am no more well rested or well prepared than before, but for what it was worth, it was worth all the while. Am I really quoting cheesy songs from the 90's to wrap up my entries instead of thinking up meaningful conclusions? Good riddance, I think I am.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
The Game That Dare Not Speak Its Name
One thing I heart about coming home, in addition to the food and the endless flow of shampoo, is getting to see my former Sunday School buddies. Tonight, the Lins were kind enough to invite the college kids over and we had turkey, stuffing, the works, as well as the most amazing sweet potato dish ever that had a fabulous pecan crust. But most of all, we played games, like Operation, Spelling Bee, and Jon and Eric Hurt Each Other With Stuffed Animals. And there's just something about when a group of likeminded Christians get together for Taboo...
Monica (Giving the clues): Uh... when you're eighteen... you can buy this...
Paul: Statutory!
Later...
Jeff: When you've been going out for a long time... when two people are in a relationship for a long time...
Eric: Going all the way!
Monica (Giving the clues): Uh... when you're eighteen... you can buy this...
Paul: Statutory!
Later...
Jeff: When you've been going out for a long time... when two people are in a relationship for a long time...
Eric: Going all the way!
Monday, November 21, 2005
Corrections
I confess. I was not entirely forthright in my last post. I didn't want to appear as a glutton, so only one of the three images I posted was a food item. But really, these were the three things I had in my mind as Walty lectured:
Like Beads Of Blood
Rajiv: What's your class about?
Moi: Globalization. Imperialism of the white man. Sweatshop labor. The usual.
Rajiv: Well, somebody's gotta make them sweatpants.
True dat.
Moi: Globalization. Imperialism of the white man. Sweatshop labor. The usual.
Rajiv: Well, somebody's gotta make them sweatpants.
True dat.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Dear Boys Next Door,
Please use words to express your feelings and emotions. That's right, words. Not grunts. Not expletives. And certainly not shouts or loud whooping that catch me offguard as I'm trying to do my homework. You are giving me a heart attack. And please, learn to speak one at a time instead of all crying out at once because you can't really hear each other when you do that and have I mentioned that you scare the bejeebus out of me every time you do that? How many of you are there anyway? You sound a lot louder than three skinny boys. Please review simple phrases like, "I am glad he scored," or "wow, look at that pass," or even, "I am frustrated that he is not playing per my expectations today," and refrain from the simultaneous and spontaneous hollering you all feel compelled to rip. I hope, with simple daily practice, you will one day learn to channel your excitement and frustrations in healthier manners. And maybe my heart will 'ast me until then. Please, I implore you, use words. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Shaking in Terror, But Expressing It With Words
Sincerely,
Shaking in Terror, But Expressing It With Words
Catch It While You Can
I posted an entry for about an hour last night. Then took it off because I didn't like it. But not before Dusty, with his speedy Mid-Western fingers, commented. So now the world will never know what he said. Or what I said. And it's delicious. Just like corned beef hash. And biscuits. And gravy. Man, other than the whole too physically weak and lazy to do any work, and preferences for staying and waking up late, and possible allergies to animal dander and just dusty conditions overall, I would be awesome on a farm. Just plain awesome. Anyway, what was I saying? Not something snarky. I'm not that kind of person.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Perhaps We Should Swap Names
So I'm telling Little Boss #3 (Sarah) my name tag stories. And her refrain throughout the whole set is, "God, that must be so embarassing," and "That is so inappropriate for a sociologist to say."
Sarah: I feel you get made fun of a lot. Well, no. But professors like to make fun of you a lot.
Sarah: I feel you get made fun of a lot. Well, no. But professors like to make fun of you a lot.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Say Goodbye, Hello
Because the Bo' is an adorable small liberal arts college, we have things like The Bo' Hello Day, where every student gets a name tag in their mailbox and chances to enter raffles, enjoy popcorn and free pizza, all for wearing the name tag and trying to make campus a friendlier place. And because on top of an absolute geekoid and resident awkardity, I'm also a dork (mostly, I felt bad for the student gov kids that put this together), I actually participated in the day and wore a name tag all day, thus setting me up as an easy target... for professors.
So there we sat, Rege, Mac, and I, all in a row with our name tags on. Apparently, in our class of thirty, only one other kid had a name tag on.
(Professor) BSketch: (reading name tag) Hello, my name is- Why, hello Anthony (Rege). Why do you have that on? Oh hey, you have one, too. And Mike, too! What's this for? Why isn't anyone else wearing one?
Moi: (Feeling the scrutiny and silent snickering of an entire class) It's name tag day.
BSketch: What's name tag day? Why, what's the day supposed to accomplish?
Moi: We don't really know. This is the first one we've ever had.
(someone says something about bring back "the Bo' Hello," and getting to know each other.)
BSketch: That sounds wonderful. Now, who doesn't know Anthony? Raise your hand. (Awkward pause. Someone reluctantly raises a palm.)
BSketch: Ok, now Mike, you two switch seats so they can get to know each other. (BSketch then calls me out, as well as the two Mikes, by name, asking who in the class didn't know us and switching all of us around, so we can have ten minutes to get to know each other. V. cute.)
---- That was one sociologist's approach to name tag day. A chance for a social experiment, and a chance to raise the question of "what does knowing each other really mean," as well as a neat chance to students to interact. Contrast that with Band Man...---
Band Man: How's everyone doing? Again, I don't really care, just obligated to ask.
Class: (mumbles responses)
Band Man: Big Thanksgiving plans?
Moi: Do you care?
Band Man: With Thanksgiving? A little.
(At this point, Pritch gives the Band Man a name tag he made in the Union, where there were stations for name tag decoration. Also attached was a sticker of a globe, because the class is Globalization and Social Change. Band Man asks what the deal is, puts on the name tag, and we explain it...)
Band Man: So you're being bribed to socialize? That's great.
---Then, there was Riley... ---
Riley: Ah. You're one of those kids.
Moi: ?
Riley: The ones with the name tag. Who's putting this together?
Moi: Student government.
Riley: So you're a student government kid.
Moi: No, no, I'm just wearing the tag.
Riley: One of those kids, huh?
Moi: Um...
One day, they will see me as semi-intelligent, articulate, and respectable. One day.
So there we sat, Rege, Mac, and I, all in a row with our name tags on. Apparently, in our class of thirty, only one other kid had a name tag on.
(Professor) BSketch: (reading name tag) Hello, my name is- Why, hello Anthony (Rege). Why do you have that on? Oh hey, you have one, too. And Mike, too! What's this for? Why isn't anyone else wearing one?
Moi: (Feeling the scrutiny and silent snickering of an entire class) It's name tag day.
BSketch: What's name tag day? Why, what's the day supposed to accomplish?
Moi: We don't really know. This is the first one we've ever had.
(someone says something about bring back "the Bo' Hello," and getting to know each other.)
BSketch: That sounds wonderful. Now, who doesn't know Anthony? Raise your hand. (Awkward pause. Someone reluctantly raises a palm.)
BSketch: Ok, now Mike, you two switch seats so they can get to know each other. (BSketch then calls me out, as well as the two Mikes, by name, asking who in the class didn't know us and switching all of us around, so we can have ten minutes to get to know each other. V. cute.)
---- That was one sociologist's approach to name tag day. A chance for a social experiment, and a chance to raise the question of "what does knowing each other really mean," as well as a neat chance to students to interact. Contrast that with Band Man...---
Band Man: How's everyone doing? Again, I don't really care, just obligated to ask.
Class: (mumbles responses)
Band Man: Big Thanksgiving plans?
Moi: Do you care?
Band Man: With Thanksgiving? A little.
(At this point, Pritch gives the Band Man a name tag he made in the Union, where there were stations for name tag decoration. Also attached was a sticker of a globe, because the class is Globalization and Social Change. Band Man asks what the deal is, puts on the name tag, and we explain it...)
Band Man: So you're being bribed to socialize? That's great.
---Then, there was Riley... ---
Riley: Ah. You're one of those kids.
Moi: ?
Riley: The ones with the name tag. Who's putting this together?
Moi: Student government.
Riley: So you're a student government kid.
Moi: No, no, I'm just wearing the tag.
Riley: One of those kids, huh?
Moi: Um...
One day, they will see me as semi-intelligent, articulate, and respectable. One day.
Getting It On
It was an ungodly hour to be on campus. Especially to be in a dining hall. But I had a pre-frosh to drop off and needed some sort of warm liquid to run through my body. So I grabbed a cup. Held it under the drink machine. And pressed for Hot Chocolate. Nothing but gurgles. "I know," EB said, "Sucks, eh?" So I settled for coffee. As I was adding sugar, however, EB walked away, replaced by a new girl who, too, reached for the hot chocolate. Gurgle. Gurgle. "Yeah, I just tried that," I said, trying to sympathize the way EB had done earlier.
And here's the strange part- the girl then pressed this "On" button. And magical things started happening. The machine lit up. It gurgled some more. Then, when the girl pressed for hot chocolate, hot chocolate came forth. I kid you not, I saw it with my own eyes. It was amazing. And there I stood, awestruck, dumbfounded, looking every bit like I didn't know the button existed nor how it operated.
And here's the strange part- the girl then pressed this "On" button. And magical things started happening. The machine lit up. It gurgled some more. Then, when the girl pressed for hot chocolate, hot chocolate came forth. I kid you not, I saw it with my own eyes. It was amazing. And there I stood, awestruck, dumbfounded, looking every bit like I didn't know the button existed nor how it operated.
Our Space
Little Bosses #3 and #4, sometimes known as "Sarah" and "Dan," we all share an office space together. The office doesn't really belong to me, as I'm just the little student intern/brat that makes copies, but I don't like to dwell on that aspect. Without much experience in the "real world," (except those weekend marathons), we're just now understanding how we fit into office dynamics and politics, what our exact essences are as office-types.
As of yesterday, here's what we've got:
Sarah: Resident seat of deep embarassment.
Moi: Resident awkward-ity. (I know that's not the real world, genius, that's why it's special.)
Dan: Resident bitterness. (Striving to some day be a real Resident.)
I'm just happy no one sees me as embarassing or bitter. And no one has asked me to trim any ferns yet this year.
As of yesterday, here's what we've got:
Sarah: Resident seat of deep embarassment.
Moi: Resident awkward-ity. (I know that's not the real world, genius, that's why it's special.)
Dan: Resident bitterness. (Striving to some day be a real Resident.)
I'm just happy no one sees me as embarassing or bitter. And no one has asked me to trim any ferns yet this year.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
They Call Him Cheer
Band Man (addressing the class): Everyone have a nice weekend? I feel obligated to ask, but honestly, I don't really care.
I Ain't Afraid of No Professor
Many times, I think about my yesteryears and come to believe that I have become older, wiser, less easily intimidated, and certainly more beautiful. Then I step into reality and discover all is not so, well, except for the beautiful part. That's always true.
Last year, the Soc/Anthro department hosted several colloquiums, inviting professor candidates to present their research to a intimate group of faculty and students. Being young, short, and stupid, I checked one out, not knowing what I was getting myself into. That one fateful colloquium got me sucked in to a series of three lectures with three candidates. Most intimidating was the fact that only 1-2 other students showed up for the events while at least 4 professors showed up each time, and that after I had shown up once, I was expected to show my face over, and over, and over again. And you thought office hours were awkward. Worst part was that at the end, almost everyone asked questions regarding the lecture and I, too, was expected to raise something intelligent.
Now many moons and suns pass and once again, the department invited select students to meet professor candidates. Believing myself to have matured in my sociology, I decided to check one out again, thinking I knew what to expect. Unfortunately, present me is not much smarter than young me. And this time, I was the lone student in the group. I would not have minded that with an intimate gathering of the Soc folks (as most of them believe me to be their stalkers anyway) but the professor-to-student ratio in the room was 10:1. I was surrounded on all sides. And when it came for the Q&A time, the profs were viscious with their question raising it was impossible to get a hand in, let alone formulate some remaining intelligent question while they all one by one, asked the good ones. By the time I got my words in, I was the pathetic last kid with the weak question that may have vaguely been valid had I had a chance to speak up earlier (Professor the Sketch was expecting me to raise an intelligent question, so I had to have a stab at it). All ten professors had their eyes and ears fixed on me. And I'm pretty sure their attention wasn't worth it.
(Sigh) Now I'm that 'special' kid that shows up to random lectures I'm not supposed to. And tries to fit in by asking awkward questions. And they look at me with eyes of pity and confusion. Most intimidating hour ever.
(And to wrap up the session on an even brighter note, Chinese prof, who was also there, commented that after reading my lame card in poor Chinese thanking her for writing a recommendation on how strong my Chinese skills were, I should go back to taking Chinese language courses...)
Last year, the Soc/Anthro department hosted several colloquiums, inviting professor candidates to present their research to a intimate group of faculty and students. Being young, short, and stupid, I checked one out, not knowing what I was getting myself into. That one fateful colloquium got me sucked in to a series of three lectures with three candidates. Most intimidating was the fact that only 1-2 other students showed up for the events while at least 4 professors showed up each time, and that after I had shown up once, I was expected to show my face over, and over, and over again. And you thought office hours were awkward. Worst part was that at the end, almost everyone asked questions regarding the lecture and I, too, was expected to raise something intelligent.
Now many moons and suns pass and once again, the department invited select students to meet professor candidates. Believing myself to have matured in my sociology, I decided to check one out again, thinking I knew what to expect. Unfortunately, present me is not much smarter than young me. And this time, I was the lone student in the group. I would not have minded that with an intimate gathering of the Soc folks (as most of them believe me to be their stalkers anyway) but the professor-to-student ratio in the room was 10:1. I was surrounded on all sides. And when it came for the Q&A time, the profs were viscious with their question raising it was impossible to get a hand in, let alone formulate some remaining intelligent question while they all one by one, asked the good ones. By the time I got my words in, I was the pathetic last kid with the weak question that may have vaguely been valid had I had a chance to speak up earlier (Professor the Sketch was expecting me to raise an intelligent question, so I had to have a stab at it). All ten professors had their eyes and ears fixed on me. And I'm pretty sure their attention wasn't worth it.
(Sigh) Now I'm that 'special' kid that shows up to random lectures I'm not supposed to. And tries to fit in by asking awkward questions. And they look at me with eyes of pity and confusion. Most intimidating hour ever.
(And to wrap up the session on an even brighter note, Chinese prof, who was also there, commented that after reading my lame card in poor Chinese thanking her for writing a recommendation on how strong my Chinese skills were, I should go back to taking Chinese language courses...)
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