My dollar sweater from Salvation Army.
Sure the sweater is magically charming, but I wonder about the labor practices in Fairyland.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Tinker Toys
My dollar sweater from Salvation Army.
Sure the sweater is magically charming, but I wonder about the labor practices in Fairyland.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Corrections
Bobs has informed me that my weekly habit, SuperSnacks, is a singular noun, as in Super Snack. I'd like to inform Bobs that this is my blog, not his.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
The Color Purple
This is a story about feeling red and seeing blue.
Last night, because the Bo' is the most adorable small liberal arts college in the world, an etiquette dinner was hosted for members of the senior class. About sixty of us were to dress in interview attire and, as the Band Man put it, "increase our social capital," by learning the things to do and avoid at a formal dinner. A great chunk of us, myself included, will never have the opportunity for formal business lunches or interviews, but the free food and chance to hang out with everyone all dressed up, that had all of us sign up in a heartbeat. And oh, etiquette is trickier than you might expect. We were all forced to introduce ourselves and fake networking (though we all pretty much knew everyone else in the room, this being the Bo' and our senior year) during the opening reception. The tricky part was that we had to have something in our left hand during the opening reception (food or drink, not both). I chose the white wine, forgetting that a. I had not had anything to eat for quite awhile (and couldn't, now that I'd committed to the wine), b. the room was quite warm, and c. I look like a lobster when I drink. So there I was, just half a cup in, listening to the President's wife, our hostess, lecture about not drinking too much at these events, and already noticeably red. Very proper indeed. I had to give up my wine at that point, not wanting people to think I was sauced at the reception. Jackie did ask our hostess if all of us afflicted souls should avoid wine at such events and surprisingly, she said for us to just go ahead and drink. Most people, she said, should understand. So please understand, people, I have an enzyme deficiency.
Today, discussing the pretty encouraging election results in our soc seminar, Chris commented on how much he admired the Band Man for just speaking the facts about the election.
Band Man: You mean hiding my absolute joy?
Chris: Yeah.
Band Man then goes into a long discussion about being honest about his beliefs but at the same time, not wanting students to feel intimidated about bringing up dissenting ideas or supporting a different system.
Band Man: ... if you ever have conservative views, feel free to be open about them and speak up... (pause)... before I slap you down.
Last night, because the Bo' is the most adorable small liberal arts college in the world, an etiquette dinner was hosted for members of the senior class. About sixty of us were to dress in interview attire and, as the Band Man put it, "increase our social capital," by learning the things to do and avoid at a formal dinner. A great chunk of us, myself included, will never have the opportunity for formal business lunches or interviews, but the free food and chance to hang out with everyone all dressed up, that had all of us sign up in a heartbeat. And oh, etiquette is trickier than you might expect. We were all forced to introduce ourselves and fake networking (though we all pretty much knew everyone else in the room, this being the Bo' and our senior year) during the opening reception. The tricky part was that we had to have something in our left hand during the opening reception (food or drink, not both). I chose the white wine, forgetting that a. I had not had anything to eat for quite awhile (and couldn't, now that I'd committed to the wine), b. the room was quite warm, and c. I look like a lobster when I drink. So there I was, just half a cup in, listening to the President's wife, our hostess, lecture about not drinking too much at these events, and already noticeably red. Very proper indeed. I had to give up my wine at that point, not wanting people to think I was sauced at the reception. Jackie did ask our hostess if all of us afflicted souls should avoid wine at such events and surprisingly, she said for us to just go ahead and drink. Most people, she said, should understand. So please understand, people, I have an enzyme deficiency.
Today, discussing the pretty encouraging election results in our soc seminar, Chris commented on how much he admired the Band Man for just speaking the facts about the election.
Band Man: You mean hiding my absolute joy?
Chris: Yeah.
Band Man then goes into a long discussion about being honest about his beliefs but at the same time, not wanting students to feel intimidated about bringing up dissenting ideas or supporting a different system.
Band Man: ... if you ever have conservative views, feel free to be open about them and speak up... (pause)... before I slap you down.
Monday, November 06, 2006
A Dee Do Da
This morning, in an awkward roommate bonding moment, as Captain Kilowatt was unsucessfully helping me unzip a fleece jacket that was caught so high up the collar that I could neither see the snag nor fix it effectively:
Captain Kilowatt: [The Bo'] needs to make jackets for people who don't know how to use zippers.
Captain Kilowatt: [The Bo'] needs to make jackets for people who don't know how to use zippers.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
White Fight
How did I come to discover that I have such an unfortunate birthday? An insane woman held us hostage today.
This morning at church, a group of us usuals from the Bo' were just standing around after service, lamenting the absence of brownies at this week's refreshment table and how there are never enough bagel chips in the Chex Mix, when this lady came out of nowhere. She had seen 20/20's report on privilege in America and basically wanted us to admit to two things, that colleges are incredibly biased against poor people (to the point that they'd turn down a kid with a perfect SAT score, gasp!) and that colleges hate conservatives with passion. She also threw in some anecdote about the Bo' that I think speaks against affirmative action, but I can't be sure. She just spoke really aggressively, cornering us to agree with her. And basically, we stood around and listened politely, trying to answer when we could, until she dropped this bomb:
"They would never invite Ann Coulter to speak on campus, right? They would never let her come."
I tried really hard not to snicker up until that point. I was even going to be nice and concede that yes, crazy liberals are just as narrow minded as crazy conservatives, but when she said that, I had a really hard time keeping myself from shouting:
CRAZY, CRAZY WOMAN, WHO THE FREAK WOULD WANTS ANN COULTER? Who'd invite her!? Hsst. Hsst. Hsst. Away from me, crazy! AWAY!
But I couldn't. You never know what makes people click and what makes them crack. So I just frowned a little and put on a snide grin. And thank God, with a few more insults toward the Bo' and some loving words for the Reagan administration, the woman wrapped up her speech and pretty much just left without making anymore conversation.
When I returned from church, I naively thought that I needed to read up on Coulter before I could say nasty things about her. I turned to google, which presented me with the unfortunate birthday connection, but also reminded me that, oh yes, it's perfectly legit to hate Ann Coulter. It's been about twelve hours, but I still shudder just thinking about what transpired this morning.
This morning at church, a group of us usuals from the Bo' were just standing around after service, lamenting the absence of brownies at this week's refreshment table and how there are never enough bagel chips in the Chex Mix, when this lady came out of nowhere. She had seen 20/20's report on privilege in America and basically wanted us to admit to two things, that colleges are incredibly biased against poor people (to the point that they'd turn down a kid with a perfect SAT score, gasp!) and that colleges hate conservatives with passion. She also threw in some anecdote about the Bo' that I think speaks against affirmative action, but I can't be sure. She just spoke really aggressively, cornering us to agree with her. And basically, we stood around and listened politely, trying to answer when we could, until she dropped this bomb:
"They would never invite Ann Coulter to speak on campus, right? They would never let her come."
I tried really hard not to snicker up until that point. I was even going to be nice and concede that yes, crazy liberals are just as narrow minded as crazy conservatives, but when she said that, I had a really hard time keeping myself from shouting:
CRAZY, CRAZY WOMAN, WHO THE FREAK WOULD WANTS ANN COULTER? Who'd invite her!? Hsst. Hsst. Hsst. Away from me, crazy! AWAY!
But I couldn't. You never know what makes people click and what makes them crack. So I just frowned a little and put on a snide grin. And thank God, with a few more insults toward the Bo' and some loving words for the Reagan administration, the woman wrapped up her speech and pretty much just left without making anymore conversation.
When I returned from church, I naively thought that I needed to read up on Coulter before I could say nasty things about her. I turned to google, which presented me with the unfortunate birthday connection, but also reminded me that, oh yes, it's perfectly legit to hate Ann Coulter. It's been about twelve hours, but I still shudder just thinking about what transpired this morning.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
The Season On Everyone's Top Five
This evening, whilst riding my bike, I nearly lost my fingers to the cold. I now realize that I must carry gloves on me all the time if I am to ride the bicycle, and that thumb loops are poor substitutes for mittens. For the past few days, everyone has been talking about skin feeling dry, complaining about the harsh cold, and contemplating humidifiers and space heaters. Just today, I applied had to apply lotion three times to keep my skin intact.
In short, we are entering the winter of our year, and of our lives.
Healthy, strong, young people do not discuss humidifiers, ever. Nor do we talk about the race to the bottom at SuperSnacks. Nor should we act like Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me), whose highlight of the week comes when the new supermarket shopper comes out. Within these short weeks, all my friends and I have turned forty years old.
And so I make a list now, of more pleasant things to look forward to, sometime in the future. Not old-work=a=day-tired-grim future we are surely heading for, but a reckless-time-is-on-my-side-with-youth future. I am thinking warm sand on the beach, thick flannel blankets, a New Yorker with all the mailing cards inside already pulled out, tuna and yellowtail sashimi, spider rolls, salmon roe, avacado halves with soy sauce paste, and grass jelly. I am thinking serving meals at a shelter, and distributing toiletry items. I am thinking having a job so I can have more income to give away. I am thinking up things and I don't know when, if ever, they will come, but these thoughts are going to help me get through the winter. And if they don't, the thought of another Jenkins Family Reunion ought to.
Ah. Jenkins. With members like Cousin Vinny, Promiscuous Aunt Sally, Stoned Hippie Older Sister Summer, and Cousin Jane Who Doesn't Know She's Adopted or Asian (guess who that was), to name a few, we snatched the top prize at senior pub night easy. (They really had to give it to us, we represented one third of the people there. Plus, Sketchy Uncle Armand knows some people.) If you're good, I'll tell you about all this some day, but not right now. Your patience will be rewarded, young cockroach.
In short, we are entering the winter of our year, and of our lives.
Healthy, strong, young people do not discuss humidifiers, ever. Nor do we talk about the race to the bottom at SuperSnacks. Nor should we act like Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me), whose highlight of the week comes when the new supermarket shopper comes out. Within these short weeks, all my friends and I have turned forty years old.
And so I make a list now, of more pleasant things to look forward to, sometime in the future. Not old-work=a=day-tired-grim future we are surely heading for, but a reckless-time-is-on-my-side-with-youth future. I am thinking warm sand on the beach, thick flannel blankets, a New Yorker with all the mailing cards inside already pulled out, tuna and yellowtail sashimi, spider rolls, salmon roe, avacado halves with soy sauce paste, and grass jelly. I am thinking serving meals at a shelter, and distributing toiletry items. I am thinking having a job so I can have more income to give away. I am thinking up things and I don't know when, if ever, they will come, but these thoughts are going to help me get through the winter. And if they don't, the thought of another Jenkins Family Reunion ought to.
Ah. Jenkins. With members like Cousin Vinny, Promiscuous Aunt Sally, Stoned Hippie Older Sister Summer, and Cousin Jane Who Doesn't Know She's Adopted or Asian (guess who that was), to name a few, we snatched the top prize at senior pub night easy. (They really had to give it to us, we represented one third of the people there. Plus, Sketchy Uncle Armand knows some people.) If you're good, I'll tell you about all this some day, but not right now. Your patience will be rewarded, young cockroach.
Slackademics
A snippet from the morning's NYTimes on the vast amounts of money Division I universities are spending on academic centers for their athletes:
"Many universities have developed training and monitoring programs for tutors, and rules govern how much assistance they can provide. For example, tutors at Tennessee cannot type papers for athletes. Most universities make the tutors sign an integrity contract saying they will not perform work for athletes."
It tutors aren't allowed to type papers for athletes (after the athletes have hand-written the entire ten-page paper by hand, I presume), what are they allowed to do?
In other news, the Bo's much more studious student athletes made the news this week for a different reason. From Sports Illustrated's SI on Campus:
"Bowdoin College has enlisted the school's football team to help prevent dining hall theft. Once a week, football players will assist a dining hall employee to ensure that students present their ID cards. This may seem like a good idea, but considering that the team is 0-6 and has been outscored 127-13, they might not be able to protect a buffet any better than they protect the endzone."
The article fails to mention that these football players aren't just preventing 'dining hall theft,' they are protecting a sacred institution we call SuperSnacks.
"Many universities have developed training and monitoring programs for tutors, and rules govern how much assistance they can provide. For example, tutors at Tennessee cannot type papers for athletes. Most universities make the tutors sign an integrity contract saying they will not perform work for athletes."
It tutors aren't allowed to type papers for athletes (after the athletes have hand-written the entire ten-page paper by hand, I presume), what are they allowed to do?
In other news, the Bo's much more studious student athletes made the news this week for a different reason. From Sports Illustrated's SI on Campus:
"Bowdoin College has enlisted the school's football team to help prevent dining hall theft. Once a week, football players will assist a dining hall employee to ensure that students present their ID cards. This may seem like a good idea, but considering that the team is 0-6 and has been outscored 127-13, they might not be able to protect a buffet any better than they protect the endzone."
The article fails to mention that these football players aren't just preventing 'dining hall theft,' they are protecting a sacred institution we call SuperSnacks.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
She's A Sophisti-Cat
There are a lot of things we could say about Halloween. The ever increasing popularity and commercialization of Halloween (if it's possible to make a 'holiday' centered around candies and costumes even more commercial, that is), its occultic ties, the psychology behind assuming costumes and identities, we could debate these things for days. But we're not going to discuss any of that now.
Instead, we're going to 'awn' because one little girl is going to be rhubarb (rhubarb! that's precious!), a little boy is determined to be "ketchup with eyes," and the Band Man's kid was "big purple monster" last year.
And then, there're Martha's kids.
For those of you unaware, Martha is perhaps the best lab instructor in the universe. Not just this side of the Milky Way, but every side of the Milky Way. Even better than Baures, if you can imagine that. She's patient, not easily frazzled, but always quick to make fun of you.
This year, Martha's older daughter (who we'll call Progeny A) decided she wanted to be a witch. Not just any old, ugly, witch though, a glamour witch. (Maria: So she's a princess in black? Exactly.) Martha made Progeny A a very simple yet lovely costume, with a cool wig and cape and lots of shiney, pretty things. This made younger daughter, Progeny B, quite jealous. She had only planned on being a cat for Halloween, but that was before she knew of the pretty things. Now instead of being a cat, Progeny B will be a glamour cat, that is, a cat with a back story. She's not just feline, she's a cat that likes to go dancing and she's very well groomed.
Sometimes, I wish I could steal stories from Progeny B's childhood and make them mine. Oh wait, I just did.
Instead, we're going to 'awn' because one little girl is going to be rhubarb (rhubarb! that's precious!), a little boy is determined to be "ketchup with eyes," and the Band Man's kid was "big purple monster" last year.
And then, there're Martha's kids.
For those of you unaware, Martha is perhaps the best lab instructor in the universe. Not just this side of the Milky Way, but every side of the Milky Way. Even better than Baures, if you can imagine that. She's patient, not easily frazzled, but always quick to make fun of you.
This year, Martha's older daughter (who we'll call Progeny A) decided she wanted to be a witch. Not just any old, ugly, witch though, a glamour witch. (Maria: So she's a princess in black? Exactly.) Martha made Progeny A a very simple yet lovely costume, with a cool wig and cape and lots of shiney, pretty things. This made younger daughter, Progeny B, quite jealous. She had only planned on being a cat for Halloween, but that was before she knew of the pretty things. Now instead of being a cat, Progeny B will be a glamour cat, that is, a cat with a back story. She's not just feline, she's a cat that likes to go dancing and she's very well groomed.
Sometimes, I wish I could steal stories from Progeny B's childhood and make them mine. Oh wait, I just did.
No, no, no, Travis
Someone else in our junior/senior seminar misread the syllabus today. She didn't just write a paper she wasn't supposed to, she also did the wrong reading. That fact cheered me immensely. Someone was more stupid than I am.
Silly Kid: I'm sorry, I did the wrong reading for today.
Band Man: I'm going to have to shoot you.
(Moments later, backing down from his decision to kill)
Band Man: Actually, don't worry about it. Just BS your way through discussion.
Moi: That's what we do!
Band Man: Yeah? That's what you do? Right, couldn't tell.
Silly Kid: I'm sorry, I did the wrong reading for today.
Band Man: I'm going to have to shoot you.
(Moments later, backing down from his decision to kill)
Band Man: Actually, don't worry about it. Just BS your way through discussion.
Moi: That's what we do!
Band Man: Yeah? That's what you do? Right, couldn't tell.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
The Mask
So Creeps and Kate were contemplating stealing shoes from the shoe drive for shoeless children for their Halloween costume...
Creeps: What're you going to be for Halloween?
Moi: I don't know if I'm going to be anything. Maybe a ninja.
Kate: An Asian being a ninja, like no one has ever thought of that before.
Moi: But it's so expected that it's unexpected.
Creeps: That's right. I like that.
Moi: It was either that or go as kid who's really good at math.
Creeps: Spelling bee champ.
Kate: Poindexter.
Moi: It's mainly because instead of writing my paper, I found this website that teaches you how to make a mask out of a t-shirt.
Like this:
Creeps: What's so hard about that? You just cut a-
Moi: Without cutting the t-shirt.
Creeps: Oh!? I'm intrigued.
Moi: Yeah, it's a great mask for a ninja. Or a Muslim woman. I haven't decided.
Kate: Or both. A ninja under cover as a Muslim woman.
Creeps: What're you going to be for Halloween?
Moi: I don't know if I'm going to be anything. Maybe a ninja.
Kate: An Asian being a ninja, like no one has ever thought of that before.
Moi: But it's so expected that it's unexpected.
Creeps: That's right. I like that.
Moi: It was either that or go as kid who's really good at math.
Creeps: Spelling bee champ.
Kate: Poindexter.
Moi: It's mainly because instead of writing my paper, I found this website that teaches you how to make a mask out of a t-shirt.
Like this:
Creeps: What's so hard about that? You just cut a-
Moi: Without cutting the t-shirt.
Creeps: Oh!? I'm intrigued.
Moi: Yeah, it's a great mask for a ninja. Or a Muslim woman. I haven't decided.
Kate: Or both. A ninja under cover as a Muslim woman.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Nay, Nay, D’Orsay
Before I start, let me just say how much I appreciated my free flu shot. Wednesday was the first day of vaccinations and I thought that getting there a few minutes before opening would save me time in line, but no, these Bo' kids are serious about their flu shots. There were about ten kids already waiting, and a steady stream followed behind me. But come on, free flu shots plus a goody bag of candies and a toy? Life does not get better than that. Unless of course, you count grandfather being released from the hospital, brother finding a job, finally narrowing down my honors topic, cafe milkshakes (that're really frappes) and the prospect of homemade paella. Those are good things, too.
The Musee D’Orsay, up until a few days ago, was my favorite museum in the entire world. People, I don’t use that phrase lightly. I’m a retired Sri Lankan textiles worker and I have seen a lot of the world. (As my mother explains, I go to an expensive school, where I have learned to like expensive things because I think expensive = good.) My eyes have seen the ancient treasures of China in its millenniums-old palaces, and also the real treasures from those palaces stored safely in Taiwan. I have seen the the Met in NYC, the Smithsonian and the Museum of Natural History in DC, not to mention Boston’s smaller offerings. The were the numerous National Galleries throughout Great Britain, the Tate Modern, the Red Cross Museum in Geneva, and there was even that random one in Quebec. I have seen a lot of museums, people. And I chose Musee D’Orsay as my favorite.
That is, until I realized that they royally ripped me off.
Take a gander at this beautiful picture I have here from the museum gift shop, a copy of Piet Mondrian’s work. It’s small. It's cheap. No one will ever mistake it for the original. But it is still Mondrian and tasteful, an affordable piece of 'art' for say, a high school junior on her first trip to France.
Until, I took the picture out of its plastic wrappings last week, flipped the picture over and remove its cardboard backing that's not even attached. This is what I discovered:
A postcard!? Masking tape!? They couldn't have bothered to at least use clear tape? To print off reproductions instead of use a postcard? Even world class museums with all the money in the world isn't above ripping its patrons off.
The Musee D’Orsay, up until a few days ago, was my favorite museum in the entire world. People, I don’t use that phrase lightly. I’m a retired Sri Lankan textiles worker and I have seen a lot of the world. (As my mother explains, I go to an expensive school, where I have learned to like expensive things because I think expensive = good.) My eyes have seen the ancient treasures of China in its millenniums-old palaces, and also the real treasures from those palaces stored safely in Taiwan. I have seen the the Met in NYC, the Smithsonian and the Museum of Natural History in DC, not to mention Boston’s smaller offerings. The were the numerous National Galleries throughout Great Britain, the Tate Modern, the Red Cross Museum in Geneva, and there was even that random one in Quebec. I have seen a lot of museums, people. And I chose Musee D’Orsay as my favorite.
That is, until I realized that they royally ripped me off.
Take a gander at this beautiful picture I have here from the museum gift shop, a copy of Piet Mondrian’s work. It’s small. It's cheap. No one will ever mistake it for the original. But it is still Mondrian and tasteful, an affordable piece of 'art' for say, a high school junior on her first trip to France.
Until, I took the picture out of its plastic wrappings last week, flipped the picture over and remove its cardboard backing that's not even attached. This is what I discovered:
A postcard!? Masking tape!? They couldn't have bothered to at least use clear tape? To print off reproductions instead of use a postcard? Even world class museums with all the money in the world isn't above ripping its patrons off.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Night Light
On some weekday evenings, roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) moonlights as Captain Kilowatt, fearless leader of Team Tungsten, combatter against the dark forces and of course, always at the center of the spotlight.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Watt's in a Game
O Sweet, electrifying irony. Even Captain Kilowatt isn't immune to the shock of the world's greatest game, eXtreme Lightning Reaction.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
The Sunshine Band
It's been too long since we've had any direct mention of professors. They've been on such good behavior lately. And I have been so un-awkard. Here, finally, some recent highlights of the Band Man.
(In our junior and senior seminar, setting up a meeting time with the Band Man.)
Band Man: I'm free all day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and on Fridays.
Moi: That's a lot of free time.
Band Man: Well, yeah, I don't really do much. I've got a wet bar set up behind my desk and I just start drinking at noon. All by myself.
(Trying to find a spot at lunch)
Band Man: I try to sit as far from students as possible.
Moi: In the student dining hall?
Band Man: Yeah...
(Regarding our readings on tax reform...)
Band Man: What'd you guys think of the readings?
Class: (Lots of groans and mumbles)
Band Man: I apologize for assigning that. I don't know what I was thinking. The first time I read it, I thought it was ok, but going back this week, reading it gave me a rash.
(In our junior and senior seminar, setting up a meeting time with the Band Man.)
Band Man: I'm free all day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and on Fridays.
Moi: That's a lot of free time.
Band Man: Well, yeah, I don't really do much. I've got a wet bar set up behind my desk and I just start drinking at noon. All by myself.
(Trying to find a spot at lunch)
Band Man: I try to sit as far from students as possible.
Moi: In the student dining hall?
Band Man: Yeah...
(Regarding our readings on tax reform...)
Band Man: What'd you guys think of the readings?
Class: (Lots of groans and mumbles)
Band Man: I apologize for assigning that. I don't know what I was thinking. The first time I read it, I thought it was ok, but going back this week, reading it gave me a rash.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Inner Beauty
Bobs has too much time on his hands. I don't. I have many stories to tell, some vaguely amusing, some not so much, but I don't have the time to process them for you. Instead, I will share with you this delight from Bobs. Because he had time to urbanup the Bo' when he was bored. Because he had the time to be bored. Note the carefully placed arrows. His carefully placed arrows make my day. Please click on the image for the full, glorious page.
Honestly, I feel violated. Somebody took that entry straight out of my diary. But no, I will not get bitter at this characterization of my school because that's just being predictable, he expects me to get angry, so I won't. Because I have a great personality, unlike the ugly butthead that posted this.
Honestly, I feel violated. Somebody took that entry straight out of my diary. But no, I will not get bitter at this characterization of my school because that's just being predictable, he expects me to get angry, so I won't. Because I have a great personality, unlike the ugly butthead that posted this.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
The Wayback Machine's Cool Kicks
I am devoid of anecdotes. My life consists of work and not sleeping. I had lunch with the Band Man this week (when he asked me, for the fifth time, what my plans were for next year, because that's his natural small talk instinct, and oh God we're only in October) and there was not a single awkward moment I could take away to share. Except when, in a sweet reversal of fortune, we discussed the fact that he had no friends in college. And even then, it was less funny than just... odd?
And so we look to the glorious past in this entry, harken back to a time when life was simple, when my choices in food were between lamb and lamb, and my choices in companion were between distant aunt number one or distant second cousin number four- namely, we are going back to China.
This is a distant uncle I like to call "Vic," because his name means victory in Chinese. Seated next to Vic is his wife, who I like to abbreviate as "VW." As you can see from the picture, Vic has led and still lives a life of hard work. His arms are strong and his hands calloused. In his sixty-some years, Vic has been an accountant, a cart driver, and a farmer, but his time as a farmer far more surpasses his other careers. He has a mule, chickens, cows, a few kids (the goat kind) and a few kids (the human kind). Vic's life is simple, as is his dress. His older sister tells me that he never buys clothes for himself so she sometimes buys shirts for him. But despite all this, Vic has a very cool pair of sneakers.
Honestly, I wish I had my distant-farming-old-uncle's sneakers.
And so we look to the glorious past in this entry, harken back to a time when life was simple, when my choices in food were between lamb and lamb, and my choices in companion were between distant aunt number one or distant second cousin number four- namely, we are going back to China.
This is a distant uncle I like to call "Vic," because his name means victory in Chinese. Seated next to Vic is his wife, who I like to abbreviate as "VW." As you can see from the picture, Vic has led and still lives a life of hard work. His arms are strong and his hands calloused. In his sixty-some years, Vic has been an accountant, a cart driver, and a farmer, but his time as a farmer far more surpasses his other careers. He has a mule, chickens, cows, a few kids (the goat kind) and a few kids (the human kind). Vic's life is simple, as is his dress. His older sister tells me that he never buys clothes for himself so she sometimes buys shirts for him. But despite all this, Vic has a very cool pair of sneakers.
Honestly, I wish I had my distant-farming-old-uncle's sneakers.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Partridge and Au Pair Tree
When Neurobiologists Include A Video In Their Presentation, It Must Be Important
It's been awhile. That's because my life is busy and important. Tremble at my significance.
Last night, I found myself sitting on the floor of the trunk of a van with an au pair from Austria as our vehicle winded through the dark country roads of Massachusetts subrubia. When's the last time you did that, people? That's right. I have very important things to do.
Last week, much of my conversations with Vita-K revolved around the lecturer at the neuro talk we had to attend. And how intelligent and funny he was. (He showed us the clip above as part of a lecture on the olfactory bulb.) And how I found out he was our neurobio professor's boyfriend. And how much Vita-K now hated our professor.
Last weekend I was mistaken for the mother of my former roommate Rio.
Like I said, very busy and important. Now tremble, tremble at my significance.
It's been awhile. That's because my life is busy and important. Tremble at my significance.
Last night, I found myself sitting on the floor of the trunk of a van with an au pair from Austria as our vehicle winded through the dark country roads of Massachusetts subrubia. When's the last time you did that, people? That's right. I have very important things to do.
Last week, much of my conversations with Vita-K revolved around the lecturer at the neuro talk we had to attend. And how intelligent and funny he was. (He showed us the clip above as part of a lecture on the olfactory bulb.) And how I found out he was our neurobio professor's boyfriend. And how much Vita-K now hated our professor.
Last weekend I was mistaken for the mother of my former roommate Rio.
Like I said, very busy and important. Now tremble, tremble at my significance.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Coloured People
I never realized this until Maria, the CSRC's wonderful department coordinator, who never spots me on my way to the library, pointed this out today. And now I can't stop thinking and shaking my head about the office's paper recycle tray. It is racist. I am not allowed to use half of the papers in the tray.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Three Poeteers
It's the first Poeting meeting of the year, we're going around the circle playing a long and arduous alphabet game. It's Darren's turn and he has the letter X.
Darren: Xenophobic Darren.
I thought this was an interesting choice, especially given that Darren is the only white kid in the group. The rest are brown, black, or me.
Me: What!?
Tony: Xenophobic, one who is afraid of xenons.
Jonique: But she was a warrior princess!
Darren: Xenophobic Darren.
I thought this was an interesting choice, especially given that Darren is the only white kid in the group. The rest are brown, black, or me.
Me: What!?
Tony: Xenophobic, one who is afraid of xenons.
Jonique: But she was a warrior princess!
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