A question of honor

I've always been kind of annoyed by honors societies. I know I shouldn't complain that someone thinks I am worth honoring, but it really is quite silly. It's like, you do all this hard work throughout the school year (or years, as it may be), and someone thinks that's great, so they put you on some special list based on a numerical representation of your achievements, and then...

Then they start asking for stuff.

Money, usually. You're so darn special they want to take even more moolah from you before they can tell everyone else how special you are. The honors society I was just inducted into said it was for a certificate and that little yellow tassel you get to wear at graduation. Those are durn expensive pieces of paper and string if you ask me. In high school, we also had to do community service and go to all sorts of boring honors students meetings and events that took all the "fun" out of "function."

I say it's a conspiracy! It's really not about you at all. They just call it an honor society so prestigious students will be sucked into it thinking "finally, some reward for the blood sweat and tears that went into my education!" Oh no no no. If they really wanted to honor you, THEY'D be giving YOU money. They would leave you to your studies rather than demanding your presence at those truly awful functions (but then, I just hate that sort of thing - more on that soon when I rant about becoming a recluse).

One of my professors pointed out that the honor of honors societies is being selected as a role model. This makes some sense to me and explains the community service requirement we had in high school. Yet I LOL inside thinking of what the next crop of freshies will look like if they truly follow my lead.

They will paint their nails neon and wear jewelry made of zippers. They will wage Nerf warfare in footie pajamas and wear Pikachu slippers to work. They will stay up all night drinking coffee and watching Disney movies. They will climb buildings. They will occasionally get drunk in the shadow of the castle, and they will find this funny. They will fall asleep in places the administration does not want them to fall asleep. They will befriend kids who put toilets on roofs, or worse yet (in the administration's eyes), they will put toilets on roofs themselves. They will have no idea how to dance but they will do it anyway, and they will do so to songs like "Miami Trick" because they think it's funny.

In short, they'll be pretty much like any normal college student should be, and I have no problem setting that standard for them. There's more to life than sitting in the library all day. In the end it's not a grade point average that makes people valuable; it's the collection of experiences that comprise their lives and the relationships through which they change others and are changed. Those are things you can't quantify, and to reward them with a yellow tassel would be to belittle something grand.

O(k)toberfest

By a show of hands, who knows what Oktoberfest is?

OK, leave your hand up if you said it was a booze-free event.

Right.

Well, that's what my college decided it was. I opted to forgive them the misleading title and went with my roommates (including honorary roomie, Joanna) anyway. Hey, they promised me hot apple cider and cider donuts; how could I resist?

But there was no cider there when we arrived. No cider donuts. There was some kind of... bratwurst cooking over a grill and some root beer. Popular indie music and indie pop was blaring and three kids from the improv team were "dancing," otherwise known as flapping their appendages and writhing. You can imagine my ecstasy....

We grabbed some pumpkins from the pumpkin-coloring table; we intended to carve them and light them in our many windows. Then I bumped into my buddy Jarin and we were chatting when all of a sudden The Addict ran up and said to hurry up; the rest of my roomies were on the hay ride.

The tractor was already driving away. I went "okimcomingbyejarin!!" and chased after The Addict, who took a running leap onto the trailer's sideboard. I couldn't decide what to do with my pumpkin. I hated to lose it....

But the tractor was getting away, so I chucked Mr. Pumpkin into the woods and dove for it. The hayriders cheered and made room for us. Highlight of the night!

The ride ended 48 seconds later. How anticlimactic.

I can't help thinking this whole night would've sucked less if they'd just left the event at face value and passed out booze. At least we wouldn't have had to remember how lame it was. =/

Yeah, I live in a fishbowl. 's pretty sweet.

I want THIS for my birthday:



FANGS UP.

So I moved in at school on Monday. The process gets a little less painful each year, though they always seem to pick the hottest, most humid day of the year for this event. I'm starting to believe it's not a coincidence. Worse, I now live on the third floor of the same building I've lived in for the past two years. As if traipsing up one flight of stairs after a typically weighty meal at the dining hall weren't bad enough, now I get to lug myself up TWO flights of stairs! Lucky me! Who needs a gym when you live on the third floor?

Well anyway, my three roommates have also moved into our former lounge of a dorm room. As far as on-campus housing goes, the Fishbowl (so named because two whole walls consist of nothing but windows) is truly the best you can get without making the step up to an apartment. Except for the furniture and visitation rules, I'd say it's even better because of the view. But, we aren't allowed to have upholstered furniture, which sucks because how are we supposed to entertain company without chairs, and we don't get apartment hours, which means we still only have 5 hours of visitation a day. For those of you who don't go to a Christian college, visitation hours are hours during which you're allowed to have guests of the opposite sex in your room or hall. Gay, right? Almost literally.

Since classes have yet to start, the only exciting bit of news I have to share is that I swam across Gull Pond and back yesterday. It's a heckalot bigger than it looks! And, there is a metropolis of seaweed in the middle, which likes to entangle breathless swimmers and force them to thrash about for their very lives.

I could have drowned.

I think I found my new workout regime!

The Evil Behind the Energy

Today I had to give an oral presentation on Rockstar Energy Drink and its marketing strategies. We gave out samples of Rockstar to everyone in the class, then proceeded to tell them why they shouldn't buy Rockstar because in doing so they're supporting Michael Savage, host of the Savage Nation radio show. Some of his worse moments include:

"Not all Muslims are terrorists, but all terrorists happen to be Muslims."
"I'll tell you what autism is. In 99% of the cases, it's a brat who hasn't been told to cut the act out."
And my personal favorite, directly to a gay man who called in with an airline horror story at Savage's request: "Oh, you're one of the sodomites. You should only get AIDS and die, you pig."

After we'd finished, there were a few shots of Rockstar left (we gave it out in ketchup cups XD), and I figured that since I now knew everything about the product except how it tasted, it was about time I tried some. That little shot was enough to make me choke. And THIS is the most popular seller in Gordon's bookstore?!

After class, Sam said to me, "I'll never forget the look on your face after you took your first sip of Rockstar...."

Glad to have been such good entertainment.

Oh yeah, and this morning I woke up from a dream in which I drank our glowing Mountain Dew concoction, and when I looked at my stomach, my innards were glowing. And then they were going to fall out, so I was like, "Guys, we gotta go to the hospital. Someone's gotta come with me. I'll drive, but someone's gotta come with me."

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Stupid poet rant:

Why can’t people understand that WRITING POEMS does not make you a POET? These days there are a million and one emo kids bleeding all over their notebook pages and calling it poetry. And I suppose it's a sort of verse, yes; but if all you ever do is bleed, kid, you’re not a poet.

A poet ought to paint her words with a feather or trace them on the surface of the sea. The process is fragile, as subject to change as clear skies in Boston – but you carve your words in granite with a chisel, never to be rescinded. Every one of them is there on purpose. You will not hear of changing them: heresy! You don't write for yourself. But you don't care if your words are any good, so you don’t write for anyone else, either.

How can you call yourself a writer when all you do is bleed?

Stupid boy rant (abridged):

I don't go out on a limb for just anybody. I would offer you my heart, but worse than breaking it, you'd just ignore that it was even there.

1000 Words

For Joe, because he's not allowed to use Facebook. =)

NIGHTLIFE


This is how weekend nights go down around here: skulking around and planting plastic green army men in random places.



SPIRIT WEEK:


"Rust Red" Day (which I modified to "wear a little 'rust' and a lot of 'red.'")


"Tartan" Day (and they'll give you points for anything with even a remotely checkery sort of pattern XD)


"Wear Your Gordon Gear" Day. Do you like my double glasses with the shmexy GC stickers?


Eli shows his school spirit on Gordon Gear Day.

THE WOODS


Gordon woods in the Fall.




A friend. =)

NODROG

Spirited Away

Happy Plaid Day!
(checkers and paisley also qualify for spirit points!)

The first thing that happened today was Katie hearing the bagpipes playing outside and me booking it to the mini-quad in my pajamas to get spirit points. There I found Eli Donis, serial hugger, and Ben Morrow, my former Harry-Potter-loving partner in crime. Ben lent me all his plaid clothes and Eli and I made plans to swap plaid clothing at dinnertime so we could both get maximum spirit points.

Then Katie painted my nails plaid and I colored checkers on my toenails. After that, the day pretty much proceeded normally except for my poetry class going to an orchard and not actually reading much poetry because we were too busy being [college] kids in an [organic] candy store. Mmm, cider donuts. =P And I bought hot pepper jelly to put on crackers with whipped cream cheese! I know that sounds bonkers, but it's delightful, I promise.

After the orchard, I got shirts from Dan and John and layered myself in plaid stuff. I also made sure to bring the sword I improvised out of a cardboard box I found in the recycling room last night (they said you get points for dressing up like Braveheart characters. I guess I should mention that we're pretty Scottish around here, hence the plaid, bagpipes, and Braveheart references.) I couldn't fit any more shirts on my body, so I started tying them around my waist and neck. I had four pairs of pants, I think. I wore one of them on my head. Eli draped a few more shirts over me at the last second, and then the judges started counting. The sword was worth 75 points. I think I got like 130 total. HELLO, SOX TICKETS!

Except I just realized that most of my Gordon attire is at home. BUMMER! Who wants to lend me their clothing tomorrow???

Halloween 2007: Stranded in Salem

It’s weird to think that every other year of my life, I would look forward to Halloween festivals and trick-or-treating; I would plan my costume out and make sure I had someplace to go for the night. But the whole season sort of passed me up this year. I dressed up as a panda to save a dollar off the improv show last night (oh, the lengths to which I will go to save money!), but I never made any plans to go out today. Now, I know it looks like I must cross dress a lot, considering I borrowed huge black sweatpants from Matt and plaid clothes for spirit week from some other guys on the floor. But it’s totally not what it looks like.

I was in the lounge this morning, trying not to be upset by the fact that there were needles in the show everyone was watching or by the fact that the boys, including Homer Simpson (who I liked from back in the summer when we went on La Vida together, and who had nothing in common with the real Homer Simpson), were all commenting on how “hot” the girls were even before they got plastic surgery. I heard some of the guys talking about going into Salem. I had ruled out that option because my roommate said it was scary, but it would be fun if Homer was going (even if he was making stupid comments about the girls in the show), so I asked to join.

No one was really sure of their plans and it looked like I might not be able to get a ride to the train station. In the end I went with some kids I barely knew, but thankfully Homer and his roommate Jew, who also did La Vida with us, were there. The driver, Ryan, was dressed as a cow and drove more erratically than The Brit (a friend of mine from home who likes to zig zag between lanes even when sober). Fortunately, we made it to the station in one piece and loitered in the parking lot until the train arrived.

The conductor directed us to the back of the car because the kids in the rest of the car were out of control, but there wasn't enough space for our horde, so some of us, including me and Homer, took seats up front. In the end we were glad we did. It was like the Polar Express from hell. Most of the other kids were completely trashed. One of the girls sitting near me told me that several of our companions were planning on drinking when we got into town. Surely not Homer, I thought. I couldn't believe what I’d gotten myself into.

Then the train ahead of us got stuck and everyone started chanting, “Let us smoke! Let us smoke!” The conductor told them, “Absolutely not,” but after ten or fifteen minutes, someone lit one up anyway. Someone else hijacked the loudspeaker and taunted the rest of the passengers. On top of everything, my phone was missing. I specifically remembered feeling it in my pocket when we were in the car, so I hoped that it was in the back seat where I’d been sitting, not crushed in the parking lot or on the railroad tracks.

Finally, we pulled into Salem. The place was swarming with drunkards, cops, and evangelists that were telling everyone they were damned to hell. One of them tried to give me a pamphlet. I was offended, since I'm already saved, not to mention I clearly had some principles as I was dressed as a cute panda and not a prostitute, nor had I tasted a sip of booze all night. But obviously the fact that I had come into Salem at all tagged me as a Satanist.

The whole experience was like a hideous clash of the Vans Warped Tour with Anime Boston. And honestly, I would have preferred the punks and nerds of those festivals to these sleazeball-packed streets. The worst part was the fact that there was nothing to do. It was just a mob swarming, drinking and smoking. I guess there might have been some haunted houses, but we didn't go to any. A couple of girls and I needed to use the restroom, but the soup café we went to tried to charge us money to go pee, and there was a drunk guy who was like, “I’ll give you a dollar....” So we basically ran out of there, resolving to hold it until we got back to school.

Back out in the streets, some of my companions were passing around a bottle of Coke. I wasn't born yesterday; I knew what was really in it. I didn't expect to be offered any, and wasn't offended when I wasn't, but I was more fixated on whether Homer would partake. The bottle made its way around the circle, finally passing into his hands. With a horrible sinking sensation, I watched him take a swig. I had a good self-scolding session then. Why did you assume he was above all that? When will you learn that people aren't always what they seem? I told myself I wouldn't speak to him for the rest of the night, not so much to teach him a lesson as to wean myself off the crush I had on him.

Someone decided they had had enough standing around and we moved out. The crowd was so dense and I was so afraid of getting stranded without my cell phone that I clung to the sleeve of whoever happened to be nearest. At the time, it happened to be Homer. He put his arm around me to make sure that I didn't get separated from him, which made me way happier than I wanted it to. I wanted so badly to be angry with him for what I’d seen, but I found that I couldn't.

After a little bit, I wound up clinging to Jew's arm and we took a nice little trip down memory lane, talking about the time we had to carry a canoe 1.5 miles. Then some guy who passed us offered Jew a cigarette in exchange for a light-up. Not only was I dismayed that all these people I had assumed to be above the influence were, in fact, not, but also, I have a lot of trouble breathing when there’s cigarette smoke in the air. It makes me choke a little (or a lot, depending on the brand). So I was walking along, breathing through my sleeve and wondering why I had assumed that just because these kids were Christians, they were above worldly influences, when Jew noticed that I had my sleeve to my face and promptly put out his cigarette. Well at least he’s got manners.

Finally, to my immense relief, Homer said he was going back to the train station and asked if anybody wanted to come. I jumped on the chance to get the heck out of there. On top of being all-around miserable, I had massive amounts of Old Testament homework that night. Four of us wove our way back to the station, only to discover that the next train didn't depart for home until 11:11. It was just past ten. But at least we got to watch a spectacular fireworks show while we waited! It was the highlight of my night. I told Homer that it made up for missing out on the Fourth of July when we were all on solo in the woods.

The 11:11 finally pulled in. Everyone wanted a spot on the train, so a mosh pit of epic proportions ensued. The personnel screamed at us that no one would get on the train if everyone kept pushing, so my companions and I wisely refrained and waited for the shovers ahead of us to funnel into the car. And then the conductor announced that there was no more space on the train. I couldn't believe the injustice of it.

When the train pulled away, the four of us were the only ones from our group left in Salem, and we were the ones who wanted to leave the most. I was also worried because the girl who was supposed to be designated driver for the people who had left was still with us. The next outbound train was not scheduled to depart until 12:30 AM. I had half a mind to track down one of the evangelists and ask to borrow a Bible to do my Old Testament homework. Fortunately, an inbound train pulled in shortly after and changed direction to accommodate all the travelers going north. By this time, I was tired enough to ask Homer if I could use his shoulder as a pillow for a minute.

It wasn’t until we were pulling out of a station in the next town over from school that someone thought to ask the conductor where our stop was. It seemed like we should have been there already. Surprise! This train wasn’t going to our stop, and we had just pulled away from the last station that was anywhere remotely close to school. The conductor told us to get off at Ipswitch, so we did. What other choice did we have – stay on the train all night long?

Ipswitch was a ghost town. Not even the teenagers were out roaming this late on Halloween night. Not a shop front was lit, not a door unlocked. No convenience store shone a beacon of hope for our hungry stomachs and full bladders. Even the gas station was closed. There was nowhere to go while we waited for our ride to pick us up, which would take at least half an hour.

Then, all at once, we noticed the aroma of doughnuts. We couldn't imagine where it would be coming from at such an hour, but as it turned out, there was a little doughnut shop that was open from midnight til 3PM. What a Godsend. We used the restroom and stuffed our faces and warmed our souls with cocoa until our ride arrived.

Our driver, not knowing the route from our school to Ipswitch, had brought a co-pilot, leaving me and my three companions to pack ourselves into the back of a five-seater. Lucky me got to sit next to Homer. I spent most of the ride trying not to think too hard because part of me was really happy about sitting so close to him, and I wanted that part of me to win for the moment.

We got back to school around quarter of two and had to park out in Woodland. It was a balmy night for November first and the stars were as bright as I could remember seeing them. I would have loved to stay out, maybe take a walk with just Homer and enjoy the sparkling sky. But, as I mentioned, it was nearly two, and all of us were more than happy to turn in.

The end.