Foot, Meet Mouth

Lunch was excruciating enough today, as is often the case when, though separated by generations, language, and culture, you are obligated to eat with people you have nothing in common with except a very thin familial tie. But Mother made it all the more painful by asking the ex-husband, and wife, in the presence of the man's parents no less, about how they first met.

Father: You knew that they were divorced. What possessed you to ask such a question?

Mother: What? I was genuinely curious!

Moi: Did you not see how uncomfortable they all looked?

Mother: It was a perfectly good question.

Name Game

What do you call your half cousin's stepchild? No, no, that seems too easy. What do you call your half cousin's husband's parents? Or your half cousin's husband's ex-wife?

Tell me that and I'll treat you to a beef patty. Or give you the monetary equivalent.

Half cousin's (second) husband and his parents are visiting today. From Chinar. Apparently, the ex lives close to us so it totally made sense to all of them to make the 40 minutes drive for all of us to get together. Lunch is going to be tons of fun.

Moi: I call the husband 'brother-in-law,' but what do I call his parents? Aunt and uncle? And what do I call the ex?

Mother: Just call her Sue.

Moi: Is that her name? Or is that the Chinese word?

20-20

Robert, I don't think that was a good stare coming from the girl...

Two favorite pictures from this year.

It's Tuesday and I am still cleaning my room. It's apparently a very large room. Summer is here and the bed and breakfast season has once again begun for our household. We have been home (parents included, they just came back from a loooong trip overseas) for less than a week and we've already had one overnight guest come and pass. We have another visit scheduled tomorrow and a big weekend ahead of us. The guest that came and left was a college friend of my dad's. We took her out for Brazilian barbeque. She wasn't impressed, but I almost always thoroughly enjoy a good Brazilian barbeque, especially the pudim at the end. I love it when Brazilian food reminds me of home in so many senses of the word. Spending the day with my parents and their friend, listening to them catch up and reminisce, made me feel ok about leaving the Bo'. Yes, it sucked that I spent the day away from my friends, going to the Christmas Tree Shop, tagging along with old people, and cleaning my room. I would have much rather spent it at the Bo'. But these old people gave me hope that my goodbyes last Saturday weren't final and that our promises really stand a chance of being kept. Sure, there will be moments when reality will strike and I will miss the Bo' terribly because the real world is hard and my far future is uncertain, but we are all growing up together and becoming our own people and that's pretty cool, too.

Living Lies

Some highlights from commencement, interspersed between pictures from senior week- pictures made black and white to add gravitas and make pictures seem better than they really are.

At the soc/anthro department open house, an hour that my family wishes I had never subjected them to, I introduced the folks to many professors because well, I knew all of them. I just didn't take all of their classes. When we got to Dickey and Mother saw me chatting, she assumed that I was tight with her and proceded to tell Dickey how I talk about her all the time. It seemed like a safe line to say, except that I had never had her and really would have absolutely no reason to write home about her, except to say that she's really nice, is good friends with Riles, and we chat when we see each other. It was thus incredibly obvious to all involved that Mother was lying. And suddenly, the open house got just a little bit more awkward and excruciating.

Arif is a name that is hard to pronounce. Thus, most people, I'm sure Arif included, expected it to be butchered during Commencement, when even the most obvious of names were mispronounced. Dean Foster may have had a steady voice, but he did not have much luck managing the letters. Yet no one could have expected how he pronounced Arif's name: He didn't. He called him Raiff (ray-fe) instead. And graduating with someone else's name? Sucks a lot more than having your name butchered.

The day before commencement, not wanting my middle name to be butchered or replaced, I, along with other 'hard to pronounce' kids went to see the dean after graduation rehearsal (before he switched Arif's name for Raiff). Dean Foster had a notebook with all of our names and a separate column for phonetics and pronunciation notes. Liberal name changes aside, I thought he had a system that worked for him and was hopeful that he wouldn't be too off when saying my name. After all, I was one of those select few who had to call a special voice mailbox and say my full name for him nine times. When I approached and asked how he was going to say my name, however, I could see that my optimism was misplaced. In the binder, he had no phonetics written next to my name, just a desperate note that said "read quickly."

Mini Me

I have been cleaning out my room this past couple of days in order to make room for all the collegial stuff I have accumulated in the past four years. Right now, my college room sits in the garage as I try to clear enough junk out of my childhood room so that grown up me could fit in childhood me's room.

Three things I have rediscovered about myself:

1. Junior high me made poor fashion decisions. There was lots of plaid and flannel. But surprisingly, the manly shirts were easy to handle compared to others in my closet. Mother seems to be under the impression that if a lime green dress looked cute on me when I was thirteen, I should still be able to wear it to work in a few days. "Some pieces never go out of style." That's true, Mother, but the dress did a decade ago.

2. Little me horded lots of things. I have homework assignments and cards and toys from years and years ago. Other than not having room for those things in my room, I really don't mind though, because little me had really cool toys. And stamps. And a Ninja Turtles ruler I am totally going to start using again.

3. Young me was rich. Filthy rich. Especially for a kid with no steady job but two lucrative years of babysitting. I remember that on those rare occasions I got birthday or grandparents money (and believe me, they were rare), I always made a conscious decision to set some aside and man, did I do a good job. I discovered a lot of green in my secret drawer. Young me must have had great discipline. I love young me!

The Graduate

That's me! I graduated from college, y'all! Everyone thought I would do it and I did, I proved everyone right. Now I can say I'm well educated and I've got higher learning under my belt. Of course, the learning isn't so high that I can actually be an expert at anything, but we'll ignore that for the time being.

It seems like just yesterday when Jillian, Liz and I were at the Band Man's house for dinner. We were drawing on Band Kid's awesome chalkboard wall when the Band Man came in. He surveyed the wall, a masterpiece called "What Maine Would Look Like With Global Warming" and saw that among the scenery was a note that said to give me honors (I tried to explain that his four-year-old daughter had written it but he didn't believe me). The Band Man shook his head, sighed, and said, "You know, if you're that desperate for honors, you're probably not going to get it."

But no wait, that wasn't yesterday. Because the day before yesterday, I graduated with honors in sociology. (This is a pic of Sonia and me putting on our happy faces on the sunny quad, an hour after our defenses, after we received note that we passed.)

Thicker than Water

... but thinner than a five dollar bill.

Moi: ... yeah, she's having a graduation party. That's how you make money- throwing those parties.

Mother: Really? Should we throw one, too?

Moi: But our relatives are all on the west coast and our family friends...

Father: ... will not give you any money.

Moi: That's right. Do my aunts and uncles even know that I've graduated?

Mother: Probably not. That's too bad that no one will give you money.

It really is indeed.

Spelling Bo'

Not sure if the misspelling was meant as a jab or an honest mistake by the installation people (don't really know what these blocks are), but how is anyone in the real world going to know where I spent the last four years if people who do business with us (or vandals?) can't even spell the name right?

Torn Asunder

Up until Sunday afternoon, Roommate Amy (not to be confused with me) and I lived in the same apartment. Our bedrooms were next to each other and though we were both wicked busy with our schedules and wicked sleep deprived, we saw a lot of each other by virtue of sharing a wall and always made time to gossip, whine, and engage in intellectual discourse. This week, however, we had to move into interim housing for senior week (housing with windows! yay! but also housing with long hallways and shared bathrooms, boo). Keeping in touch has been much more difficult. I don't even know what room she lives in any more and it doesn't help that in our time of need, Alexander Graham Bell has apparently failed us.

Moi: Brunch tomorrow?

Amy: Yeah. Can we just meet there?

Moi: Ok, I'll call you.

Amy: I don't have any minutes left. Can you text me instead?

Moi: My plan doesn't cover texting. It's really expensive.

Amy: Calling is really expensive for me.

Perhaps I'll just find a new friend tomorrow morning. Anyone need a brunch date?

Post Modern Prometheus

I believe the title was a geek test. Shame on all those that were busted.

In the beginning, humankind had no light. There was sadness and darkness in all the lands.

Then came Prometheus. Out of his fingertips came sparks from the gods.

Prometheus shared his fire with the humans. At first, some were not used to sharing and cowered in the background.

But eventually, people accepted the fire and lived happily ever after. I. Love. Sparklers.

Monkey Around

Was downtown with Megan, enjoying my supermarket sushi in the town gazebo (I know, so idyllic) when we spotted a man walking his monkey.

No joke. Nothing crude. The man had a little monkey on a leash and was walking it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. The children playing in the field did not squeal, the ladies sitting on their picnic blankets didn't stare, the teenage skaters did not point and laugh, everyone acted as if there was nothing to see. But there was! Megan and I saw it! There was a man with a monkey on a leash and harness! Later, they sat down on a park bench and ate some snacks. Best trip into town ever.

Proud to BE

Ah... senior week.

Pints with Poof

I love my class officers, I do. I understand how busy they are and how hard it is to please an entire class. I went through all that on a small scale in high school, way back when, and I get that planning for senior week is a huge responsibility and they're doing the best that they can.

With all that said, however, I still find it hilarious that our afternoon reception professor had quite a poor faculty turnout today because it just happened to coincide with the last of the monthly campus-wide faculty meetings of the school year, which will conclude with its own special reception. It really takes a rare breed of perfect planning for the two events to overlap so completely and for one to affect the other so much: essentially little to no professors (I think I saw 3 or 4) could attend our senior reception because all the faculty members still on campus (as well as any relevant staff members) were in the same meeting together. Kudos, officers.

Richard/Richardina

Because all good things happen at Richard's, we headed over the Richard's authentic German fare restaurant last weekend to celebrate Karina's birthday and for some of us at least, the beginning of senior week. Top: Ted and Sam putting on their happy faces. Middle: Evan the only one to act happy or to pay any attention to the camera on his side of the table. Bottom: The Asian Trio (two legit and one aspiring).

Some of us are visual learners, some of us have learned to read...

Jenny: Guys, the signs here are so confusing that I just accidentaly went to the wrong bathroom.

One of Us: Doesn't it say 'Ladies' and 'Gentlemen' on it in English?

Jenny: Yeah, I know. I read it. But the pictures were so weird that I got confused and I went into the wrong one.

Measure of an Office

The Community Service office is moving out of old Adams and bidding goodbye to its lung-burning staircases. In anticipation of the move, everyone in the office is signing their name on the wall on a height chart. Somehow, I ended up being the shortest of the bunch. Probably because the office is freakishly tall and not because I am embarassingly short.

Would You Like Leg Room With That?

Went to my first drive-in movie last night for a double feature of Shrek 3 and Blades of Glory. We had everything we needed for the windy and rainy night- blankets, junk food and friends. Oh, except for space. See how just barely comfortable all three of us were in Jenny's trunk? Well, yeah, that was before Jenny got into the backseat with us. Damn the tall boys and their stupid long legs and wide shoulders. Sometimes, boys and girls, it is worth it to hurt the planet a little and drive an extra car. Sometimes, boys and girls, it's also very important to dress in many, many layers, even when the calendar says May, because you never know just how cold and windy a night at the drive-in will get and how useless blankets can be. Mostly, though, Jenny was an incredibly thoughtful planner and however sore my butt and back are this morning, and despite the fact that I went to sleep in Smart Wool socks and long pajama bottoms and my thumb-loop shirt to raise my body temperature back to normal, I had a beautiful night. Boom!

The Good Fight

This game that Tim just passed along is pretty much everything I loved about my childhood pieced together. Among the many things I loved, two of them were: Bible stories and Street Fighter. Soon to become an all-consuming obsession, especially since I'm not very good quite yet (we never had fighting games on our own video game systems), I just had to share it with you.

It Is Finished

(Envelopes waiting for us in the department office two weeks ago, when our drafts were due to the department. Each honors candidate had their own envelope and once we filled our envelope, we could pick up a jar of Miracle Bubbles with our initials on it and blow them to our heart's delight.)

The idea first came in my sophomore year. Before I even met Riles, I started toying with the idea of getting a Freeman and going to Chinar. I met her in the spring, in her course on research methods. And so we plotted and planned and I read up on Chinar. The rest, they say, is history. I came back from Chinar this summer, weary, but ready to write, write, write. And read, read, read. And struggle, struggle, struggle. Somehow, all the pieces fell together. The department has read it, I have given my defense, the recommendations have been made, the pages formatted then reformatted then reformatted again (never have I been so full of rage toward a librarian until the past two days) and I have officially turned in my copy of my honors thesis to the college library.

I know that this is small and certainly hope that this will not be the most significant thing I will ever write, but it was still a great moment today, when the librarian finally shook my hand and congratulated me on finishing the nearly three-year journey. Thanks for everything, Riles.

Sloppy Seconds

After four years and literally hundreds of thousands of dollars, I am now inches away from a second-tier education. Thank you, NY Times article. I knew that the Bo' was never the best school in the country, and it used to be where all the rich Ivy rejects went, but we kept rocking those rankings and being said in the same breath (though with some hesitations) as Amherst and Williams. Apparently though, that was all in vain. Once a second-tier, always a second-tier. Gosh, I hope we don't have to start respecting Colby students because of this.

The Namesake

I just saw that movie tonight. After a lovely Indian meal. It was a very white thing to do but a very good night.

I was in the restroom of the theatre when I overheard an adorable little girl (~4 years old) with big sunglasses talking to her mom while her older sister Maggie (~5 years old) was in the restroom.

Little Girl: Mommy, what's Maggie's name?

Mommy: (laughs) Sylvia. (after a moment) Of course it's Maggie, what do you mean?

Little Girl: (very serious voice) I mean her last name!

Mommy: It's the same as yours.

Little Girl: Oh. Really?

I love little kids. Their worlds expand every day.