I realize I'm over a month late in this, but I can't help but think of what I'm thankful for. Mostly, for Dad's melanoma cancer. As terrible as that sounds, if it wasn't for the full body scan after they discovered the melanoma, they would have never found his colon cancer. Dad wouldn't have gotten checked for colon cancer for another 5-10 years. By then, he would be gone. So, on a daily basis, I thank God for the melanoma.
While the melanoma was the worst of the cancer, the colon cancer has been the most difficult on Dad. While it was the easiest to get rid of, it was the most difficult to deal with. The colostomy bag (which he had for ages) was more than annoying for him, and just a few weeks ago (the weekend of my brother's wedding) he had it removed. This made everyone happy, until a few days after sewing him back up (he actually helped hold the hole shut while the doctor sewed. Awesome.), it became infected. I drove Dad in that day, hoping they would give him some medication and be done with it. I settled back into the waiting room and began watching the TV. They finally had something other than Oprah on. It was a show on Naturalization.
A little while later, Dad emerged hobbling and pale. He was still his cheerful self, but he needed his pain meds. They didn't just prescribe him medication for the infection. They had to take out the stitches and pull apart the hole (they needed to pry it apart because it had already begun healing together) in order to scrape out the infection. The hole is surprisingly large (Dad showed Marc and I one day before changing his bandages), so when Dad whimpered as I took his arm (no where near his stomach, but I'm sure the skin moving hurt), I was alarmed. Dad doesn't whimper, let alone hobble. I left Dad in Mom's office (she works at the clinic doing insurance forms and things) and I ran to see if the medication was ready. Of course, it wasn't. Not only wasn't it ready, but the doctor forgot to put directions down for how to take the pills. So they couldn't even fill it until he told them what to do. This didn't end up happening for another day, but I ended up running back and forth a few times before they told me to come back tomorrow.
This time, they didn't sew the hole back together. They want it to heal by itself. Dad hasn't had to take his pain meds as often anymore (for this, I am also thankful), and he has gone back to work full time.
So, as awful as it sounds, I am thankful for his stage two melanoma skin cancer. That damn golf ball on his upper arm. Because if that wasn't a warning sign from God, I don't know what is.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Semester Vacation
My semester vacation began (for me) on the 13th of December and will end the 9th of January. Almost a whole month! While I am loving the time to do absolutely nothing, I past the point of 'slightly bored' a while ago. My brain has shut off so completely that I am saying things I never thought would come out of my mouth. Yes, I am blond, but this is ridiculous. Just the other day I asked if the Kalua (we needed it to make chocolate ice cream) needed to be "refridgerized." This is an example of that yes, I love this vacation time, but I wouldn't mind being back at school either.
I can't complain about Christmas though. This year was the biggest one we've had yet. While there were enough presents that they stretched a good few feet out in front of the tree, that's not the point. Most were for my seven month old niece, Jade, anyway. Our family grew by a few people this year, and it made the difference.
My family has always been it's own unit. My mom, dad, brother and I occasionally stretch to include my mom's parents whenever we are in the Bemidji area, but outside of that, I rarely see any of our family. And I have been informed that we have a lot of family. It has always made me a little sad (okay, a lot sad) that feuds and distance (most my dad's family live on the west coast) have kept us apart, especially when I grew up knowing nothing of the arguments between them all. Just that one great uncle smokes like a chimney, another great uncle is German and therefore awesome, and my dad's sister and I used to write to each other all the time. . . ect.
So seeing our living room full of people this year made this Christmas special to me. Not to mention it was fun opening presents and not having everyone stare at me while I do it. When Jade is around, no one looks away from those dark sparkling eyes.
Speaking of Jade, I got a kick out of watching her with her presents. She started by trying to eat the wrapping paper, but when someone made a tear in it, she began smacking it and attempting to get a good enough grip to rip it apart herself. She was almost as eager as Nikki (our Pomeranian) was to open what I know she smelled to be her favorite bones. Nikki was so much in the way and licking my fingers it took three times as long to get it open. Man, that tickled.
Here's the rest of the family (Mom was taking the pictures):
Marc is happier with his juicer than I thought was possible. I mean, it's a juicer. But I don't like cooking of any kind, so perhaps that is why I can't fathom his excitement.
I bought Nilda this hilarious book called "Porn for Women." It's on Amazon, if anyone is interested.
Poor Jade looks a little irked in this snowsuit. It could be that her arms are a bit too short, but her torso is long enough that she might outgrow it before her arms grow into it. . . But at least she'll be warm!
This was also Marc and Nilda (and Jade)'s first Christmas together. They got married on the 12th of December.
Nilda made the cake herself. The top was vanilla, the bottom was chocolate. She's a talented woman. She even made the frosting from scratch. No wonder Marc is finally beginning to grow (width-wise) after all these years.
Nilda's mom, Alicia. The smallest, sweetest woman I've ever met. Dad wasn't able to make it to their wedding, but I video taped it and we all went to see him in the hospital so he could watch it. Funnily enough, he was discharged just a few hours later.
Time to ring in the new year! I've got to figure out what my resolution is going to be. Hmmmm. . .
I can't complain about Christmas though. This year was the biggest one we've had yet. While there were enough presents that they stretched a good few feet out in front of the tree, that's not the point. Most were for my seven month old niece, Jade, anyway. Our family grew by a few people this year, and it made the difference.
My family has always been it's own unit. My mom, dad, brother and I occasionally stretch to include my mom's parents whenever we are in the Bemidji area, but outside of that, I rarely see any of our family. And I have been informed that we have a lot of family. It has always made me a little sad (okay, a lot sad) that feuds and distance (most my dad's family live on the west coast) have kept us apart, especially when I grew up knowing nothing of the arguments between them all. Just that one great uncle smokes like a chimney, another great uncle is German and therefore awesome, and my dad's sister and I used to write to each other all the time. . . ect.
So seeing our living room full of people this year made this Christmas special to me. Not to mention it was fun opening presents and not having everyone stare at me while I do it. When Jade is around, no one looks away from those dark sparkling eyes.
This was also Marc and Nilda (and Jade)'s first Christmas together. They got married on the 12th of December.
Time to ring in the new year! I've got to figure out what my resolution is going to be. Hmmmm. . .
Monday, December 6, 2010
Myth
Today was the final day of myth before our final exam next Monday. Our professor showed us the one essay question we would be answering (it was more like an opinion on our own myths we created and it applies to what we've studied) and then had us vote for MVPs and runner-ups on group work. Then he gave a speech. Yes, it was a bit long, but it was great. I can not believe how passionate and optimistic he is. He spoke about hope for our futures, even if we might be handed a heavy load (economically and otherwise). He asked us to come away from challenges as heroes, like the ones we studied through the semester. He thanked us profusely for being apart of the class and allowing him to learn along with us, and was nearly in tears when he said we were some of the most creative students he had the pleasure to be amongst. He was breaking up when we all burst into applause (not that 'oh thank lord you are done' applause, but genuine, 'you were amazing' applause) and had to leave.
Talk about misjudging a person. In the beginning of the year, I thought he was insane. Who was this guy with the electrified hair and funny mustache and the extensive vocabulary that far outstretched any other? I almost resented him for making me work so hard in a class I thought was going to be a breeze. Who cared about Gilgamesh and what the meaning was behind his quest? Where were the explosions?
It was around the end of the first section (Eastern mythology) that I began to catch on.
This was college.
So I took notes as quickly as possible and began to research what I was fuzzy on in my spare time. Then I realized this man, this guy with the heavy smoker's hack that bothered me for ages, was not crazy. He was passionate. Taking notes became easier (though I still had to research some terms I couldn't write down fast enough) and I began to understand his sense of humor. I looked around me and saw sleeping freshman, people drawing or scribbling all over their notebooks. Then I looked to the front of the room and saw him laughing, making dirty jokes, and telling stories in funny voices so we could try to grasp what it would be like to listen to some Irish man singing a song. Literally, he sang to us in an Irish accent. That jump-started people awake. Who is this crazy, passionate guy? And how can I be like him? Or embody that spirit of passion that I have had the fortune to study under other teachers?
He managed to make me have fun listening to lecture, and then geared everyone up to create their own societies, to be the masters of their own kingdoms. He balanced the serious lectures and creative opportunities so well; why is this so easy for him and yet there are teachers out there that still drone on to the point I'm advised to just try to get things done and get out?
It isn't just my myth teacher who emanates passion either. I think professors have a bit more freedom to be eccentric. Even my astronomy teacher, though not so enthusiastic, has his moments of fun (the first day he played the Monte Python song about the universe, and then the other day he sang a wizard the oz song about courage. . . not sure why). Then there is my American Lit professor, who glows when she talks about history of any kind. I mean, literally, her wrinkles disappear and she looks twenty years younger. I wonder if Maybelline knows how to bottle passion into an anti-aging cream?
Anyway, I guess the point to my rambling is that it overwhelms me to see such passion even after so many years of teaching. It gives me hope. I like thinking that my love for the subjects I pursue isn't going to fade away from time. I like feeling excited about myth, reading, writing, and traveling. I'm happy to see that 40 or so years from now I'll still be just as excited. And maybe even have a head of electrified hair to accompany my enthusiasm.
Talk about misjudging a person. In the beginning of the year, I thought he was insane. Who was this guy with the electrified hair and funny mustache and the extensive vocabulary that far outstretched any other? I almost resented him for making me work so hard in a class I thought was going to be a breeze. Who cared about Gilgamesh and what the meaning was behind his quest? Where were the explosions?
It was around the end of the first section (Eastern mythology) that I began to catch on.
This was college.
So I took notes as quickly as possible and began to research what I was fuzzy on in my spare time. Then I realized this man, this guy with the heavy smoker's hack that bothered me for ages, was not crazy. He was passionate. Taking notes became easier (though I still had to research some terms I couldn't write down fast enough) and I began to understand his sense of humor. I looked around me and saw sleeping freshman, people drawing or scribbling all over their notebooks. Then I looked to the front of the room and saw him laughing, making dirty jokes, and telling stories in funny voices so we could try to grasp what it would be like to listen to some Irish man singing a song. Literally, he sang to us in an Irish accent. That jump-started people awake. Who is this crazy, passionate guy? And how can I be like him? Or embody that spirit of passion that I have had the fortune to study under other teachers?
He managed to make me have fun listening to lecture, and then geared everyone up to create their own societies, to be the masters of their own kingdoms. He balanced the serious lectures and creative opportunities so well; why is this so easy for him and yet there are teachers out there that still drone on to the point I'm advised to just try to get things done and get out?
It isn't just my myth teacher who emanates passion either. I think professors have a bit more freedom to be eccentric. Even my astronomy teacher, though not so enthusiastic, has his moments of fun (the first day he played the Monte Python song about the universe, and then the other day he sang a wizard the oz song about courage. . . not sure why). Then there is my American Lit professor, who glows when she talks about history of any kind. I mean, literally, her wrinkles disappear and she looks twenty years younger. I wonder if Maybelline knows how to bottle passion into an anti-aging cream?
Anyway, I guess the point to my rambling is that it overwhelms me to see such passion even after so many years of teaching. It gives me hope. I like thinking that my love for the subjects I pursue isn't going to fade away from time. I like feeling excited about myth, reading, writing, and traveling. I'm happy to see that 40 or so years from now I'll still be just as excited. And maybe even have a head of electrified hair to accompany my enthusiasm.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Encouraging
Today I had a final meeting with my Advanced Writing professor. He set up individual meetings for all twenty of us to discuss our writing and responses written though out the semester. All I can say is: what an encouragement. I've never been very confident about my writing; I always feel like something more needs to be improved. I never felt my writing was 'college level,' despite encouragements from high school teachers. It's nice to hear, from a college professor, that I am doing well. He told me my style is pretty well developed and that I have little else to work on, and "you're only a fu**ing freshman." I'm not sure about any of that (I know for a fact my formal writing needs improvement), but it made me laugh. He also encouraged me to pursue my BFA and BS majors. So all around, a great meeting.
Then there was Myth. Two more groups presented today. One, Hawaiki, actually put on a play. I love watching people come out of their shells to create these societies, especially when the only requirement my professor gave us was: "Make a society, make the myths believable, and make sure it is . . . half way decent." Even though our group had a hard time coming together to make things work, everyone was equally excited. The first day we were allowed to meet in class, everyone was talking over each other at once. "What if we were an evil society?" "What if we were centered around fire?" "What if we had a pleasant society front but really we were poioening everyone?" "What if we. . ." And so it continued.
What would happen if a teacher in a high school was to do that in a group of 30 kids? I wonder if they would run with it, or if kids that age aren't responsible enough? What's the difference between juniors, seniors, and college freshman? Have we really matured that much? I don't think kids are used to being in control to that extent, to have that much responsibility expected of them. I wonder what would happen if someone gave them that much power. I wonder if we are creating our own monsters; teaching kids to expect so little of themselves that they are confused when someone asks more of them. I wonder.
Then there was Myth. Two more groups presented today. One, Hawaiki, actually put on a play. I love watching people come out of their shells to create these societies, especially when the only requirement my professor gave us was: "Make a society, make the myths believable, and make sure it is . . . half way decent." Even though our group had a hard time coming together to make things work, everyone was equally excited. The first day we were allowed to meet in class, everyone was talking over each other at once. "What if we were an evil society?" "What if we were centered around fire?" "What if we had a pleasant society front but really we were poioening everyone?" "What if we. . ." And so it continued.
What would happen if a teacher in a high school was to do that in a group of 30 kids? I wonder if they would run with it, or if kids that age aren't responsible enough? What's the difference between juniors, seniors, and college freshman? Have we really matured that much? I don't think kids are used to being in control to that extent, to have that much responsibility expected of them. I wonder what would happen if someone gave them that much power. I wonder if we are creating our own monsters; teaching kids to expect so little of themselves that they are confused when someone asks more of them. I wonder.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Myth Presentation
Today was the day our group, Lyonesse, in my Myth class, presented our project. We've been working on this for a few months. It's worth 40% of our grade. And I was terrified. Three of the six in our group bothered to show up for any of the meetings we had over the past few months. We managed to meet once with about four or five of us, we made the outline of our creation and main myths in that time. I put together a script, with the help of Kelcy (who also made signs of who people were supposed to be); Casey made people and fire, Cady wrote out the outline so I could write the script and power point, and Steven brought enough swords for us to have epic battles with. Danielle brought her spontineity and lighthearted acting.
The following is the script and power point. While the first time we acted was while preforming for everyone, we only messed up a few times, and the audience seemed to enjoy it a lot. We even had Crocker (our Myth teacher) laughing. Enjoy!
Myth Power Point
Lyonesse Script w Kelcy's Edits
The following is the script and power point. While the first time we acted was while preforming for everyone, we only messed up a few times, and the audience seemed to enjoy it a lot. We even had Crocker (our Myth teacher) laughing. Enjoy!
Myth Power Point
Lyonesse Script w Kelcy's Edits
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Rollovers
I thought this was interesting. "Who sees the human face correctly: the photographer, the mirror, or the painter?" What is really behind those photo shoots of models we see in Vogue, Elle, or Como? I always knew that there was an art to those pictures; the touch ups, the make up, the hair, the computer editing that goes on. This site really hit me with the reality-- that these women do not have porcelain ivory skin of perfection, nor hair-dos that are free of stay hairs poking out everywhere. These women are real. And what is sad is that these magazines take what is unique about them and make them plain.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Update
Here are the newest pieces I have been working on. The braided research essay wasn't great, but I didn't want to post all three papers I made it from as this was the product I had been working toward. Suggestions? Comments?
Calming Down
Braided Research Essay
Calming Down
Braided Research Essay
Friday, November 12, 2010
How True. . .
I may have grown up in this age of technology, but I remember when I had no knowledge of using it, or of what the heck a "Torrent" was. One of my first memories was of my brother, mom and I rocking out to a video on VH1 (it turned out to be MMmmBop by the Hansons) and having to wait to hear it on the radio or TV again before I could hear it. I wasn't old enough to have money to buy the CD. . . for that one song.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The Wonders of the Internet
Friday, November 5, 2010
The Fantastic and Odd
I haven't yet researched to find out if any of this is true, but it's making me marvel at how fantastic the world can be. From sandaled footprints fossilized in 110 million year old rocks to The Dropa Stones to sparkplugs found in 500,000 year old fossils. . . what does it mean? Has time travel been invented and we are finding evidence of messy futuristic beings? Or is all of it a big science fiction inspired hoax?
The Alchemy of Great Work - by Michael Bungay Stanier
The Alchemy of Great Work - by Michael Bungay Stanier
Whoever makes these videos does an amazing job with design.
This is my favorite:
Eight Irresistible Principals of Fun
Whoever makes these videos does an amazing job with design.
This is my favorite:
Eight Irresistible Principals of Fun
Bloody Brilliant and Inspiring
While on Ted.com I've managed to stumble upon this woman who just so happened to write "Eat Pray Love." . I didn't know who the heck she was because I didn't recognize her name; I haven't yet read the book. She is brilliant. Plus, she makes a Harry Potter reference, and who doesn't like a person for that? I could listen to this a hundred times over. She discusses an idea the Romans had about creativity, and I can't say I've ever agreed with them more.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Reading
Ughhhhh. Here I am, exhausted, and of course, it's my own fault.
I'm not even reading something new. I've started to reread the 'Blue Bloods' series by Melissa De La Cruz because I was given the newest in the line as a birthday present. I was up until 1:30 AM devouring my way through 'Masquerade,' the second in the series. After the next three and a half books I have left to read, I've been dying to dive into Stephen King's 'Everything's Eventual'. So, I am reading nonstop. Which is fine with me. But then I go to class. This is the flaw in my plan. . .
Because of extensive homework I haven't had a lot of time to read. I've connected this to the dry well of writing I have been living in for the past few months. So, I began to read again. Oh, how I miss fiction (not to mention writing it. I can't wait for a class that allows me to write it again--my true love). So, with a few chapters of some ficticious reading under my belt, I began typing up and revising two parts to a braided essay I plan to put together for my advanced writing class. While I still don't care for my first paper (probably because I stole previous material from a paper I wrote a few years ago and I finally realized how much my style of writing has changed in that time), the class seemed to. And they were glad to have the second piece on hand and ready--I left the first paper in a cliffhanger. I was pleased, yet felt bad, when a few kids started to cry. I'm really starting to appreciate having a whole class of people to bounce writing off of; I get a whole array of responses. Now, to write the researched explanation, the third and final part before braiding them together. But I've been too tired to write.
Thus, the flaw. I read (and become consumed in the need for 'just one more page') so I can feel inspired to write, and end up being too tired from reading to come up with what I need for class.
So, I am off to read some more. Perhaps to take a short nap. . .
I'm not even reading something new. I've started to reread the 'Blue Bloods' series by Melissa De La Cruz because I was given the newest in the line as a birthday present. I was up until 1:30 AM devouring my way through 'Masquerade,' the second in the series. After the next three and a half books I have left to read, I've been dying to dive into Stephen King's 'Everything's Eventual'. So, I am reading nonstop. Which is fine with me. But then I go to class. This is the flaw in my plan. . .
Because of extensive homework I haven't had a lot of time to read. I've connected this to the dry well of writing I have been living in for the past few months. So, I began to read again. Oh, how I miss fiction (not to mention writing it. I can't wait for a class that allows me to write it again--my true love). So, with a few chapters of some ficticious reading under my belt, I began typing up and revising two parts to a braided essay I plan to put together for my advanced writing class. While I still don't care for my first paper (probably because I stole previous material from a paper I wrote a few years ago and I finally realized how much my style of writing has changed in that time), the class seemed to. And they were glad to have the second piece on hand and ready--I left the first paper in a cliffhanger. I was pleased, yet felt bad, when a few kids started to cry. I'm really starting to appreciate having a whole class of people to bounce writing off of; I get a whole array of responses. Now, to write the researched explanation, the third and final part before braiding them together. But I've been too tired to write.
Thus, the flaw. I read (and become consumed in the need for 'just one more page') so I can feel inspired to write, and end up being too tired from reading to come up with what I need for class.
So, I am off to read some more. Perhaps to take a short nap. . .
Monday, October 25, 2010
A New Take
I found some pictures while surfing the internet a few days ago. They made me laugh because I had never thought of picturing some of my favorite fairy tales this way. . .
And then there were these, which put a new spin on the idea of cross country and swimming. . .
And then there were these, which put a new spin on the idea of cross country and swimming. . .
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Sleep and Fear
There has been a bit of a stir up around BSU, beginning, for me, with my Myth teacher a few weeks ago. He walked into the classroom with his usual jaunt, his hair still frizzy enough to have been electrocuted, and he began class with, "What a gloomy day out, and I'm sad to say it is reflecting the ol' Scout's mood of late as well . . ." (insert deep smokers hack every third word). He went on to say that his department, Art History, was under fire. He used a lot of mythic examples (Prometheus, among them) to talk himself into going down fighting. I was terribly confused at this point, and asked him what was going on. He told me our president (of BSU) was thinking of getting rid of the Art History department. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since then he has mentioned it at the start of class, a blip of an update, before storming into the day's topic.
It wasn't until two days ago that I finally found out what the heck was going on. BSU, as well as other universities/colleges like Mankato and St. Cloud, are suffering about a $5 million budget cut. Our student paper, Northern Student and The Bemidji Pioneer have run articles on a conference President Hanson held to discuss the plans so far. Hanson's powerpoint can be found here.
Though the meeting was meant for staff and the press only, the group that arrived to listen was made mostly of students. According to the Northern Student, "The Liberal Arts programs that are being considered for early termination of faculty are Art History, Chemistry, English, History, A.C. Clark Library, Modern Languages, Music, Physics, Professional Education, and Technological Studies."
A few comments in this article put me on guard. For instance, '"We are strongly focusing on the liberal arts and some of these programs will not be able to offer as a major -- and that is intentional," said Hanson. "We are moving forward to decrease the number of faculty." In responce, Keith Marek, associate professor of Chemistry, said, "You mentioned that this is about financial savings, are there other areas that will be reduced?" "Other than Liberal Arts and reducing majors, no," said Hanson.'
And then there is this: "This seems to be a complete flip from what has been the mission of our university in the past-- specifically, us being a 'Liberal Arts' university with select professional programs," said Jeff Ueland, associate professor of Geography. "I don't know that is is a flip, but I don't know that the other [mission] was accurately describing what this university is," said Hanson. The use of white space in the minutes implied silence from the committee.'
Then, reading the Bemidji Pioneer, I was able to read more of an explanation. "The plan [Hanson's] called for reducing, eliminating, or retaining programs in three areas: administrative services, academic programs and ancillary programs (supplemental programs such as athletics) . . . Programs that are not mandated by the governor, Legislature, or the chancellor and can be eliminated will be a high priority." This confused me, not knowing what programs were mandated and not, but I continued to read and saw, "Other programs that are likely to be eliminated are those with high costs, low enrollment, low program quality, or poor student outcomes." This makes sense to me. But it still stings, knowing my Myth teacher won't be back next year. The story will ring true with many other professors college students came to know and enjoy. There is so much more to this story, so I recommend picking up the above mentioned newspapers for more information, or go here to read the Bemidji Pioneer's article.
I stayed after class to talk to the chair of the English department, who told me that she (and every other department head) must defend the worth of their department in 600 words or less. This bit of news can be found in Hanson's powerpoint. 600 words or less? I thought it was ridiculous in a scholarship essay, now let alone if the lively hood of a person's major depends on such a limited amount. My professor, however, seems confident that the English majors will more than survive. She brought up a point an alumni of BSU emailed her, "Most other majors come as a square peg or a round peg... well, this economy is like a triangle hole and an English major is like clay. Shove enough of it in there and it will fit."
One can only hope.
It wasn't until two days ago that I finally found out what the heck was going on. BSU, as well as other universities/colleges like Mankato and St. Cloud, are suffering about a $5 million budget cut. Our student paper, Northern Student and The Bemidji Pioneer have run articles on a conference President Hanson held to discuss the plans so far. Hanson's powerpoint can be found here.
Though the meeting was meant for staff and the press only, the group that arrived to listen was made mostly of students. According to the Northern Student, "The Liberal Arts programs that are being considered for early termination of faculty are Art History, Chemistry, English, History, A.C. Clark Library, Modern Languages, Music, Physics, Professional Education, and Technological Studies."
A few comments in this article put me on guard. For instance, '"We are strongly focusing on the liberal arts and some of these programs will not be able to offer as a major -- and that is intentional," said Hanson. "We are moving forward to decrease the number of faculty." In responce, Keith Marek, associate professor of Chemistry, said, "You mentioned that this is about financial savings, are there other areas that will be reduced?" "Other than Liberal Arts and reducing majors, no," said Hanson.'
And then there is this: "This seems to be a complete flip from what has been the mission of our university in the past-- specifically, us being a 'Liberal Arts' university with select professional programs," said Jeff Ueland, associate professor of Geography. "I don't know that is is a flip, but I don't know that the other [mission] was accurately describing what this university is," said Hanson. The use of white space in the minutes implied silence from the committee.'
Then, reading the Bemidji Pioneer, I was able to read more of an explanation. "The plan [Hanson's] called for reducing, eliminating, or retaining programs in three areas: administrative services, academic programs and ancillary programs (supplemental programs such as athletics) . . . Programs that are not mandated by the governor, Legislature, or the chancellor and can be eliminated will be a high priority." This confused me, not knowing what programs were mandated and not, but I continued to read and saw, "Other programs that are likely to be eliminated are those with high costs, low enrollment, low program quality, or poor student outcomes." This makes sense to me. But it still stings, knowing my Myth teacher won't be back next year. The story will ring true with many other professors college students came to know and enjoy. There is so much more to this story, so I recommend picking up the above mentioned newspapers for more information, or go here to read the Bemidji Pioneer's article.
I stayed after class to talk to the chair of the English department, who told me that she (and every other department head) must defend the worth of their department in 600 words or less. This bit of news can be found in Hanson's powerpoint. 600 words or less? I thought it was ridiculous in a scholarship essay, now let alone if the lively hood of a person's major depends on such a limited amount. My professor, however, seems confident that the English majors will more than survive. She brought up a point an alumni of BSU emailed her, "Most other majors come as a square peg or a round peg... well, this economy is like a triangle hole and an English major is like clay. Shove enough of it in there and it will fit."
One can only hope.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Enough is Enough
I never thought I would have to deal with such crappy dorm life. Even my brother is surprised at how bad I have it on this floor. After last night, I'm ready to get out of here. Transfer to a new dorm or go off campus (the latter being my favorite option), either way, I shouldn't have to put up with such terrible living for the money I pay to be here.
From the screaming until 1:30AM to people coming in at random, slamming the door, to last night when someone crept into my room and blew an air horn. I was so scared that I didn't have the sense to leap down and catch them. I hope they are suffering from a hang over right now. I can't close my eyes without feeling like someone is going to be creeping in at any moment. Even with the door locked. I felt more safe in the German hostile under construction; all the workers had keys to the rooms, some locks didn't work. Either way, there was a good chance of being robbed in the night. And I felt more safe there. That's a big neon sign of gaudiness telling me something has to change.
Not to mention how the lack of sleep is effecting me in class. I almost failed a math quiz I should have aced and I nearly fall asleep sitting up in my chair during American Lit and Astronomy.
I have talked to a few friends, family, and I've been surfing the off-campus housing list and have found a few promising options. I am going to go talk to some people today and see about either getting my own room in Birch or getting out next semester. All I do is study and read. I'm not sure why I've become the target of drunken pranks, but it's got to end.
From the screaming until 1:30AM to people coming in at random, slamming the door, to last night when someone crept into my room and blew an air horn. I was so scared that I didn't have the sense to leap down and catch them. I hope they are suffering from a hang over right now. I can't close my eyes without feeling like someone is going to be creeping in at any moment. Even with the door locked. I felt more safe in the German hostile under construction; all the workers had keys to the rooms, some locks didn't work. Either way, there was a good chance of being robbed in the night. And I felt more safe there. That's a big neon sign of gaudiness telling me something has to change.
Not to mention how the lack of sleep is effecting me in class. I almost failed a math quiz I should have aced and I nearly fall asleep sitting up in my chair during American Lit and Astronomy.
I have talked to a few friends, family, and I've been surfing the off-campus housing list and have found a few promising options. I am going to go talk to some people today and see about either getting my own room in Birch or getting out next semester. All I do is study and read. I'm not sure why I've become the target of drunken pranks, but it's got to end.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Talk About "Identity"
This creeped me out as soon as I saw the headline: Mental Health Patient Overpowers Driver, Hijacks Van. This screams "Identity." That is the only scary movie I have found myself watching again and again (I stopped with the scary stuff after middle school) because of the ending. I might hide my eyes whenever a body is found, but I keep them peeled when they finally begin listening to the mental patient. Brrr.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Caffeine High
So this is what spilled out after Marc, Nilda, Jade and I hit Dunn Brothers. I still have issues with a few parts, so I will be revising it, but this is the rough draft the class seemed to like for now.
I would like to add that the last paragraph is an exaggeration, and I only added it because I liked the description. I think I embodied a heroine addict for the moment. It seemed to make a good ending. One fellow student pointed out that I should probably go for energy drinks instead of coffee to up the ante. Like I need more sugar. . .
Coffee Addictions
I would like to add that the last paragraph is an exaggeration, and I only added it because I liked the description. I think I embodied a heroine addict for the moment. It seemed to make a good ending. One fellow student pointed out that I should probably go for energy drinks instead of coffee to up the ante. Like I need more sugar. . .
Coffee Addictions
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
McDonald's
Just something I wrote a while ago, one of the things I turned in to Advanced Writing to gain a little time to think of something new. . .
And Again. . .
Scenery
Just something I wrote a while ago, one of the things I turned in to Advanced Writing to gain a little time to think of something new. . .
And Again. . .
Scenery
Monday, September 27, 2010
Bemidji
I had to meet up with my FYE class by the lake today (which our teacher didn't show for, so while most the class went to ColdStone, I went and sat in a chair by the lake) so I decided to snap a few pictures with my new phone to test out the camera. I am impressed. For a phone.
I love Fall. It was amazing out today; definitely the perfect Fall weather. A light breeze and 65 degrees. Perfect.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
The Weekend
Yes, I caved, I went home. Again.
I did have a very good reason: a birthday party. It was great. It was for Josh, my friend's now four year old. Eyes like emerald marbles, that kid has. All the little kids (I think there was a million, but it could have just been 6 or 7 very loud ones) were girls, aside from Josh, poor kid. Still, he didn't seem to mind. I think he had a lot of fun. Not counting the little ones, I was the youngest person there. This caught me off guard at first, but another teacher I knew was there with her two little girls, and she made me feel better when she struck up conversation about BSU and her graduate studies and my majors. The conversation turned more lighthearted when my friend (hosting the party and running around making sure everything was going well) joined in to talk about another certain teacher I had and their escapades. That with the amazing food, I had a great time.
Needless to say, I will be spending at least the next two weeks here at school (homecoming is this week and I should probably participate in that somehow. . .). Maybe I will actually get more than the minimum done on homework being here.
I did have a very good reason: a birthday party. It was great. It was for Josh, my friend's now four year old. Eyes like emerald marbles, that kid has. All the little kids (I think there was a million, but it could have just been 6 or 7 very loud ones) were girls, aside from Josh, poor kid. Still, he didn't seem to mind. I think he had a lot of fun. Not counting the little ones, I was the youngest person there. This caught me off guard at first, but another teacher I knew was there with her two little girls, and she made me feel better when she struck up conversation about BSU and her graduate studies and my majors. The conversation turned more lighthearted when my friend (hosting the party and running around making sure everything was going well) joined in to talk about another certain teacher I had and their escapades. That with the amazing food, I had a great time.
Needless to say, I will be spending at least the next two weeks here at school (homecoming is this week and I should probably participate in that somehow. . .). Maybe I will actually get more than the minimum done on homework being here.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Stressed
Stressed. The perfect word to describe me at this moment. My hands are shaking, my head is pounding. I have been trying to study all day for Astronomy and Myth for tests this week, and guess how I'm doing?
Not well.
Granted, the Astronomy test is a take home, but the Myth test. . . We'll see. I suppose the point of these first tests is to do horribly so I can figure out what needs to be done better. Like studying and obtaining a photographic memory. I've never been one to do so horribly on a test so not to pass it. But this test. I'm beginning to wonder. It doesn't help that I get the world's worst case of test anxiety. Even when it's on a subject I'm very good at and know enough about to take a test on it.
And forget about sleeping.
It doesn't help that my stress and anxiety is making it impossible to write. I've had to start taking papers I've written before, revised them, and turned them in Advanced Writing. One of three I've had to write so far have been original to this year. This is probably stressing me out the most. Writing is my thing, my enjoyment. And here I am, recycling old pieces, unable to figure out anything that would make a good topic. I'm taking suggestions.
I think it will help once I actually have a system of studying. I'm starting to figure one out for Astronomy, though it might be too late for this first test. As for Myth. . . taking notes off of his speed talking is insane. I've probably only been able to write down half the important names and minimal definitions and explanations. This class is mounting up to feel like how stressed I was throughout Pre-Calc. My brain is going to explode at some point. I just hope I scrape by like I managed in Pre-Calc. It can be an interesting class, it's the following at trying to take notes that I'm not used to. I can only take Dad's stance of optimism in life and say, "It can only get better."
Not well.
Granted, the Astronomy test is a take home, but the Myth test. . . We'll see. I suppose the point of these first tests is to do horribly so I can figure out what needs to be done better. Like studying and obtaining a photographic memory. I've never been one to do so horribly on a test so not to pass it. But this test. I'm beginning to wonder. It doesn't help that I get the world's worst case of test anxiety. Even when it's on a subject I'm very good at and know enough about to take a test on it.
And forget about sleeping.
It doesn't help that my stress and anxiety is making it impossible to write. I've had to start taking papers I've written before, revised them, and turned them in Advanced Writing. One of three I've had to write so far have been original to this year. This is probably stressing me out the most. Writing is my thing, my enjoyment. And here I am, recycling old pieces, unable to figure out anything that would make a good topic. I'm taking suggestions.
I think it will help once I actually have a system of studying. I'm starting to figure one out for Astronomy, though it might be too late for this first test. As for Myth. . . taking notes off of his speed talking is insane. I've probably only been able to write down half the important names and minimal definitions and explanations. This class is mounting up to feel like how stressed I was throughout Pre-Calc. My brain is going to explode at some point. I just hope I scrape by like I managed in Pre-Calc. It can be an interesting class, it's the following at trying to take notes that I'm not used to. I can only take Dad's stance of optimism in life and say, "It can only get better."
Friday, September 17, 2010
Good News!
Dad's melanoma seems to be totally gone! During his surgery a few weeks ago, they found cancer in one node they tested and decided to remove the rest around it; and it seems they got it all. The surgery on his colon was on Tuesday, and he seems to be doing well. They took out 22 inches, and we'll get the tests back on all of that in a couple weeks. I'll be going home this weekend so we can all go see him on Sunday. I can't wait. Talking to him on the phone is funny, they are managing his pain well so his words slur.
What with all the good news that seems to be coming our way, I can not forget that first day, the day I called him to see how his doctor's appointment went. I had to practically yank the information out of Dad. He wasn't going to tell me, but by asking the right questions (my dad has yet to utter a lie to me), he spilled. When I got home, Mom told me the doctor didn't give us any hope. That was the worst day of my life, hands down. With the memory of my grandpa (Dad's Dad) recently dying of a cancer so aggressive it took him within months, the idea of my dad having cancer of any kind was horrible. I hope that doctor is being smote right now.
On a less important note, I've got a new phone! One that charges! I probably would have been fine with my other phone, but the thing that plugs in to charge had broken off completely, and I was using my brother's old phone to charge my battery in. It's the Samsung Messenger, and I have yet to see about putting ringtones on it. I hope it's as easy as it was for my previous phone. . .
I've only got two classes today, Advanced Writing was at 9, and Myth is at 11. My algebra and astronomy professors will just be 'gone,' and my American Lit teacher (Rose Weaver) is attending her daughter's wedding in New York. She was pretty antsy to be gone on Wednesday (she left for Minneapolis right after our class). I asked her about New York because there is a chance for me to go on a Lutheran mission trip to NY over the Christmas break (if it's 20p I'm so there). She told me what I've always heard about the city; it's louder than anything I can imagine, the speed of life in incredible, and it's easy to get lost. I have an aversion to extreme noise, overwhelmingly quick paces, and I'm the most directionally challenged person I know. Why do I want to go to New York? I think it's just one of those places, one to see before I die. Though I have many other cities ahead of NY on that list (Rome, London, Barcelona, Paris, Tokyo, among many, many others), if there is going to be an opportunity, why not take it?
Speaking of traveling, I saw a flier at Career Services advertising a need for an English teacher in China (an English school). . . no need to have previous experience teaching, no need to speak another language, and the lowest degree they require is an AA . . .
What with all the good news that seems to be coming our way, I can not forget that first day, the day I called him to see how his doctor's appointment went. I had to practically yank the information out of Dad. He wasn't going to tell me, but by asking the right questions (my dad has yet to utter a lie to me), he spilled. When I got home, Mom told me the doctor didn't give us any hope. That was the worst day of my life, hands down. With the memory of my grandpa (Dad's Dad) recently dying of a cancer so aggressive it took him within months, the idea of my dad having cancer of any kind was horrible. I hope that doctor is being smote right now.
On a less important note, I've got a new phone! One that charges! I probably would have been fine with my other phone, but the thing that plugs in to charge had broken off completely, and I was using my brother's old phone to charge my battery in. It's the Samsung Messenger, and I have yet to see about putting ringtones on it. I hope it's as easy as it was for my previous phone. . .
I've only got two classes today, Advanced Writing was at 9, and Myth is at 11. My algebra and astronomy professors will just be 'gone,' and my American Lit teacher (Rose Weaver) is attending her daughter's wedding in New York. She was pretty antsy to be gone on Wednesday (she left for Minneapolis right after our class). I asked her about New York because there is a chance for me to go on a Lutheran mission trip to NY over the Christmas break (if it's 20p I'm so there). She told me what I've always heard about the city; it's louder than anything I can imagine, the speed of life in incredible, and it's easy to get lost. I have an aversion to extreme noise, overwhelmingly quick paces, and I'm the most directionally challenged person I know. Why do I want to go to New York? I think it's just one of those places, one to see before I die. Though I have many other cities ahead of NY on that list (Rome, London, Barcelona, Paris, Tokyo, among many, many others), if there is going to be an opportunity, why not take it?
Speaking of traveling, I saw a flier at Career Services advertising a need for an English teacher in China (an English school). . . no need to have previous experience teaching, no need to speak another language, and the lowest degree they require is an AA . . .
Friday, September 10, 2010
Unintentionally Awake
So here I am. 11:30PM.
Back home, my 'late night' was 9:30. Unless Dad and I were up watching the newest Top Gear or movie.
I live out in the country. It's quiet, aside from the occasional biker party across the river at the Saint Hilaire park. Which I've been to once, and apparently 'they' only want St. Hilaire residents using the park, so says the welcome sign. Anyway. The loudest noise, on average, is a bird. Or the rain. It's peaceful.
I've always longed to live closer to town. Somewhere within walking distance to everything. A bit like my situation here at college. Lord, how I miss the quiet.
It's 11:40. And the banging around in the rooms around us haven't let up. Nor has the yelling, laughing, grunting, or the rampaging elephants. Usually, I'd plug in my headphones and watch Bones, my latest obsession. But around 9:30 I ended on an episode that I am going to go ahead and assume it's going to be my favorite of all three seasons so far (IE: Brennen and Booth share their first kiss, which I thought wasn't until season five at which Brennen rejects Booth and they go their separate ways. This idea broke my heart. So season three's kiss, added to the theme of the episode, was brilliant!). I didn't want to ruin that awesomeness by watching another one just yet. With that in mind, I began to write. Something I should have been doing all day today, but I hate the feeling of being rushed. I've got a bit of an idea for my final paper in my Advanced Writing class; I just have to get it on paper. A paragraph down the page, the door behind me swings open. I expected Missy, or one of her friends peeking in. It may have been a friend, but it wasn't just to peek in.
"Krissssssteeeennnnnn,"
I yanked my head up, out of my reverie, and looked to see the door slam shut. I heard some sniggering outside, and before whoever it was did it again, I leapt over and slid the lock home. Missy could damn well knock if she's forgotten her key.
I miss home. I miss knowing that when I have my door open and my windows wide to coax a breeze, my name will not be hissed from somewhere unwelcome. At least since my brother moved out. Ha. I miss having to get up to check and see if everyone is still breathing. I miss the quiet. I miss my 9:30 bedtime.
I love the town I've come to. I just have to get used to living around other people. It was silly of me to assume an apartment-like living arrangement would be silent as an abbey full of nuns. Nuns that swore a vow of silence.
It's midnight. I have to be up in six and a half hours.
There seems to be a rave just outside my door.
Cheers.
Back home, my 'late night' was 9:30. Unless Dad and I were up watching the newest Top Gear or movie.
I live out in the country. It's quiet, aside from the occasional biker party across the river at the Saint Hilaire park. Which I've been to once, and apparently 'they' only want St. Hilaire residents using the park, so says the welcome sign. Anyway. The loudest noise, on average, is a bird. Or the rain. It's peaceful.
I've always longed to live closer to town. Somewhere within walking distance to everything. A bit like my situation here at college. Lord, how I miss the quiet.
It's 11:40. And the banging around in the rooms around us haven't let up. Nor has the yelling, laughing, grunting, or the rampaging elephants. Usually, I'd plug in my headphones and watch Bones, my latest obsession. But around 9:30 I ended on an episode that I am going to go ahead and assume it's going to be my favorite of all three seasons so far (IE: Brennen and Booth share their first kiss, which I thought wasn't until season five at which Brennen rejects Booth and they go their separate ways. This idea broke my heart. So season three's kiss, added to the theme of the episode, was brilliant!). I didn't want to ruin that awesomeness by watching another one just yet. With that in mind, I began to write. Something I should have been doing all day today, but I hate the feeling of being rushed. I've got a bit of an idea for my final paper in my Advanced Writing class; I just have to get it on paper. A paragraph down the page, the door behind me swings open. I expected Missy, or one of her friends peeking in. It may have been a friend, but it wasn't just to peek in.
"Krissssssteeeennnnnn,"
I yanked my head up, out of my reverie, and looked to see the door slam shut. I heard some sniggering outside, and before whoever it was did it again, I leapt over and slid the lock home. Missy could damn well knock if she's forgotten her key.
I miss home. I miss knowing that when I have my door open and my windows wide to coax a breeze, my name will not be hissed from somewhere unwelcome. At least since my brother moved out. Ha. I miss having to get up to check and see if everyone is still breathing. I miss the quiet. I miss my 9:30 bedtime.
I love the town I've come to. I just have to get used to living around other people. It was silly of me to assume an apartment-like living arrangement would be silent as an abbey full of nuns. Nuns that swore a vow of silence.
It's midnight. I have to be up in six and a half hours.
There seems to be a rave just outside my door.
Cheers.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Old School
I never thought I would see a sign like this:
The honor system. I wonder if I'll ever see this elsewhere in the world.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Home and Away
8.26.10
Home and Away
I need to get out of here. I stare around at the flat, deadened brown earth surrounding me, my shoulders slumping at the only obstruction of my view; a single line of trees miles away. My spirits rise when I remember the host of trees and hills that occupy Bemidji, the ancient oak trees and the towering pines. Minnesota might not be near the Alps or the ocean, but the university overlooks a lake and there are several state parks I can walk around.
The sun begins to rise as the train of cars belonging to my best friend, my dad and I drive into Beltrami County. We crest a hill and groves of trees rise up around the highway. The pinks and purples of the sunrise flash through the rare gaps of trees. I roll down my window and smell the fresh scent of pines and stick my tongue out at my best friend as she pulls into the left lane, level with me. Euphoria courses my body, my fingers tingling as they flex from the wheel. Nerves keep my stomach tumbling. It’s not perfect, but it’s not home, I think happily. A change of scenery is all I want.
I smile at my dad as we walk back to the van.
“Are you going to be okay?” His voice is soft.
“Of course.” I hug my dad goodbye. “Thanks for helping me move in. I’ll miss you.”
He gives me a one-armed hug back. “I’ll miss you too.”
With that, he left. I turned back to my dorm and a feeling of awe swept over me. I am on my own. I get to decide when to wake up, what I have for dinner, where I go, what I do. The feeling of freedom bubbled up inside. I consider skipping back to my room.
I stare at the clock. 1:30 AM beams red, mocking my sleep deprived body. Closing my eyes for a moment, I sigh. Looking back, I rub my eyes. 2:30 AM.
I blink. 3:30 AM.
4:30 AM.
5:30 AM.
A squawking jolts me awake, and I fumble for my phone. I flinch from the blue screen and dismiss the alarm. A groan comes from my left, and I almost jump out of my skin. My roommate throws herself to her other side, an arm flinging a pillow to the floor. I stumble to the floor, pulling the sheets off the bed with me. I flip-flop across the room, shut the door so not to wake my roomy, and make my way to the communal bathroom.
I pull back the green shower curtain and step inside, my arms weighed down by my clothes, a towel, my shampoo and conditioner, face wash, body wash, and other toiletries. Hanging up my clothes on the two small silver pegs, I freeze. Turning back to the shower head, I snort in frustration. What, did I walk into the short person’s stall? I walk back out and peek into the other (unused) stalls. I return, my morning foggy head unable to see the point of a three and a half foot tall shower head.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw something to make me recoil, making me tread on my shower caddy.
Hair. Another unknown person’s hair. Long ones, blonde ones, tiny ones that looked like--
I step on my shower caddy again, desperate for the nightmare to end. The too-loud radio caught my attention when the time was announced. I felt the grease sludge in my hair, my pores clogging with the beginnings of giant stress caused pimples. There was no other way. Curling my limbs close to my body I leap under the arctic pressure wash.
I power walk to my class, 50 pounds of books and notebooks digging into my lower back. The wet cuffs of my jeans rub against my ankles, sure to leave an irritated rash in its wake. I’ve no time to think up a more efficient way to shower because I’ve lost myself in Hagg-Sauer Hall. The maps on the walls make no sense—YOU ARE HERE is posted off to the side of the building. Sure I was on the second floor and not, in fact, floating outside, I start off again, not sure who labeled the classrooms but knowing I was going to hit them when I found them.
The day progresses and not only is 50 pounds of books digging into my back, but now I have the knowledge that I have 50 pages of reading to get through by Wednesday. Whoever thought high school was going to prepare us for that one . . . other bitter thoughts crossed my mind as I head back to the dorm.
Happy to have only one class in the early morning the next day, I begin my homework. Lost in underlining another sentence in my American Literature book, I wonder when my dad is going to call me down for food. My stomach growls. Looking up, I realize once again where I am, and I look at the clock. Wally’s is closed. Great. I crawl over my chair to get away from the desk and take out the stash of granola bars.
I stare into the shower. Day four of living in a dorm and I’m fighting to overcome my need for a hygienic shower for my need of a hygienic body. Finally, I go down to dinner, my hair smelling like shampoo again. I sit at a table and dig into my Chinese and salad. I don’t look around, I let the feeling of loneliness creep over my mind, and I can almost smell my dad’s home cooked food. I can see the gleaming hair-less shower.
There’s no place like home.
*Ideas for improvement anyone? Also, I need to find a way to post these papers without having to copy paste. . . it doesn't work very well!
Home and Away
I need to get out of here. I stare around at the flat, deadened brown earth surrounding me, my shoulders slumping at the only obstruction of my view; a single line of trees miles away. My spirits rise when I remember the host of trees and hills that occupy Bemidji, the ancient oak trees and the towering pines. Minnesota might not be near the Alps or the ocean, but the university overlooks a lake and there are several state parks I can walk around.
The sun begins to rise as the train of cars belonging to my best friend, my dad and I drive into Beltrami County. We crest a hill and groves of trees rise up around the highway. The pinks and purples of the sunrise flash through the rare gaps of trees. I roll down my window and smell the fresh scent of pines and stick my tongue out at my best friend as she pulls into the left lane, level with me. Euphoria courses my body, my fingers tingling as they flex from the wheel. Nerves keep my stomach tumbling. It’s not perfect, but it’s not home, I think happily. A change of scenery is all I want.
I smile at my dad as we walk back to the van.
“Are you going to be okay?” His voice is soft.
“Of course.” I hug my dad goodbye. “Thanks for helping me move in. I’ll miss you.”
He gives me a one-armed hug back. “I’ll miss you too.”
With that, he left. I turned back to my dorm and a feeling of awe swept over me. I am on my own. I get to decide when to wake up, what I have for dinner, where I go, what I do. The feeling of freedom bubbled up inside. I consider skipping back to my room.
I stare at the clock. 1:30 AM beams red, mocking my sleep deprived body. Closing my eyes for a moment, I sigh. Looking back, I rub my eyes. 2:30 AM.
I blink. 3:30 AM.
4:30 AM.
5:30 AM.
A squawking jolts me awake, and I fumble for my phone. I flinch from the blue screen and dismiss the alarm. A groan comes from my left, and I almost jump out of my skin. My roommate throws herself to her other side, an arm flinging a pillow to the floor. I stumble to the floor, pulling the sheets off the bed with me. I flip-flop across the room, shut the door so not to wake my roomy, and make my way to the communal bathroom.
I pull back the green shower curtain and step inside, my arms weighed down by my clothes, a towel, my shampoo and conditioner, face wash, body wash, and other toiletries. Hanging up my clothes on the two small silver pegs, I freeze. Turning back to the shower head, I snort in frustration. What, did I walk into the short person’s stall? I walk back out and peek into the other (unused) stalls. I return, my morning foggy head unable to see the point of a three and a half foot tall shower head.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw something to make me recoil, making me tread on my shower caddy.
Hair. Another unknown person’s hair. Long ones, blonde ones, tiny ones that looked like--
I step on my shower caddy again, desperate for the nightmare to end. The too-loud radio caught my attention when the time was announced. I felt the grease sludge in my hair, my pores clogging with the beginnings of giant stress caused pimples. There was no other way. Curling my limbs close to my body I leap under the arctic pressure wash.
I power walk to my class, 50 pounds of books and notebooks digging into my lower back. The wet cuffs of my jeans rub against my ankles, sure to leave an irritated rash in its wake. I’ve no time to think up a more efficient way to shower because I’ve lost myself in Hagg-Sauer Hall. The maps on the walls make no sense—YOU ARE HERE is posted off to the side of the building. Sure I was on the second floor and not, in fact, floating outside, I start off again, not sure who labeled the classrooms but knowing I was going to hit them when I found them.
The day progresses and not only is 50 pounds of books digging into my back, but now I have the knowledge that I have 50 pages of reading to get through by Wednesday. Whoever thought high school was going to prepare us for that one . . . other bitter thoughts crossed my mind as I head back to the dorm.
Happy to have only one class in the early morning the next day, I begin my homework. Lost in underlining another sentence in my American Literature book, I wonder when my dad is going to call me down for food. My stomach growls. Looking up, I realize once again where I am, and I look at the clock. Wally’s is closed. Great. I crawl over my chair to get away from the desk and take out the stash of granola bars.
I stare into the shower. Day four of living in a dorm and I’m fighting to overcome my need for a hygienic shower for my need of a hygienic body. Finally, I go down to dinner, my hair smelling like shampoo again. I sit at a table and dig into my Chinese and salad. I don’t look around, I let the feeling of loneliness creep over my mind, and I can almost smell my dad’s home cooked food. I can see the gleaming hair-less shower.
There’s no place like home.
*Ideas for improvement anyone? Also, I need to find a way to post these papers without having to copy paste. . . it doesn't work very well!
Monday, August 30, 2010
Appreciation and Surviving
I'm still alive.
Barely.
It's not the 60+ pages of reading per class that has me down, or the assignments in Algebra (on the contrary, I find most of the reading riviting and the algebra slightly fun because it's easy-so far), and I can't begin to say how much fun I have learning to respond to other people's writing in Advanced Writing. No, it's not my classes that have me flinching in fear.
They are hairy, they are small, and the arctic pressure wash inside is almost painful. It's the showers. I'm not a germaphobe. I've never flung to the side of a mud hole in soccer and I've considered dust bunnies my friend. I'll play with my cats and dog and eat a sandwich after, without washing my hands. But this is a different matter. It's other people's hair. Long hair, blond hair, red hair, moose hair on the shower wall practically lines the tiles. And refuses to wash away. I spend a quarter of my allotted time staring into the dark space, fighting to overcome the urge to not shower for my urge to feel hygienic. Though thinking I'll feel hygienic after a shower in there seems to be counterproductive. I spend another half of my time trying to fling enough water at the walls so I can see stop feeling like the walls are lined in fur rather than tile. I have seen the janitor in the bathrooms, his bright yellow sign warning that he is in there and we are not to enter. So I have to assume that he cleans the showers at least some of the time. So does the hair grow back? Or do the girls sense the tiles are finally clean and rush forth to make it otherwise? Needless to say, going home this last weekend was amazing. I've never missed a clean shower so much. I will never ever take advantage of a shower without hair ever again.
I'll be posting a piece I wrote for Advanced Writing soon, after I edit it. My professor didn't want to rush through it in the 6 minutes we had left because he said "it's too good to rush through." I took this as a sign that he didn't hate it. Score one. Now I have to brave my armor for Wednesday's read through and listening to what people thought. I've never had to do that before, aside from kids in my Literary Arts class vague "Yeah, that was good." This group seems a bit hardcore. It's going to be interesting.
Time to get back to work: 60 pages of reading for one class, several more for another, studying to do in astronomy, a math assignment to do, and a 'personality quiz' to take for my FYE class. Should be fun!
Barely.
It's not the 60+ pages of reading per class that has me down, or the assignments in Algebra (on the contrary, I find most of the reading riviting and the algebra slightly fun because it's easy-so far), and I can't begin to say how much fun I have learning to respond to other people's writing in Advanced Writing. No, it's not my classes that have me flinching in fear.
They are hairy, they are small, and the arctic pressure wash inside is almost painful. It's the showers. I'm not a germaphobe. I've never flung to the side of a mud hole in soccer and I've considered dust bunnies my friend. I'll play with my cats and dog and eat a sandwich after, without washing my hands. But this is a different matter. It's other people's hair. Long hair, blond hair, red hair, moose hair on the shower wall practically lines the tiles. And refuses to wash away. I spend a quarter of my allotted time staring into the dark space, fighting to overcome the urge to not shower for my urge to feel hygienic. Though thinking I'll feel hygienic after a shower in there seems to be counterproductive. I spend another half of my time trying to fling enough water at the walls so I can see stop feeling like the walls are lined in fur rather than tile. I have seen the janitor in the bathrooms, his bright yellow sign warning that he is in there and we are not to enter. So I have to assume that he cleans the showers at least some of the time. So does the hair grow back? Or do the girls sense the tiles are finally clean and rush forth to make it otherwise? Needless to say, going home this last weekend was amazing. I've never missed a clean shower so much. I will never ever take advantage of a shower without hair ever again.
I'll be posting a piece I wrote for Advanced Writing soon, after I edit it. My professor didn't want to rush through it in the 6 minutes we had left because he said "it's too good to rush through." I took this as a sign that he didn't hate it. Score one. Now I have to brave my armor for Wednesday's read through and listening to what people thought. I've never had to do that before, aside from kids in my Literary Arts class vague "Yeah, that was good." This group seems a bit hardcore. It's going to be interesting.
Time to get back to work: 60 pages of reading for one class, several more for another, studying to do in astronomy, a math assignment to do, and a 'personality quiz' to take for my FYE class. Should be fun!
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Starting Fresh
My friend wasn't kidding when she said if I looked around, it would be hard not to find at least one party a night. I haven't had to look. Already, someone has come in offering to go take some shots, someone talking about a hockey party, a basketball party, and some other random party someone else found out about though someone in another dorm. It's my second night at BSU and classes haven't started yet.
I am starting to realize that knowing what goes on in a college and actually being at a college and having it all around me are two different things. I knew that there would be partying. I now know that I don't look like I drink (whatever the heck that was supposed to mean) and that while everyone is telling me to go socialize, there is no point when I'm the only person who isn't drinking.
When I look out my window I see the setting sun, a horizon of dull salmon drifts across the sky; a similar but more colorful fog to what I awoke to at seven this morning. Looking a little lower, it looks like a field of dark leaves stretch to mingle with what is left of the setting sun. Something closer to home (or the dorm), is a car park, the place my yoga class is supposed to be (I say supposed to be because no one really knows where it is. The instructor isn't listed on the BSU website either), and a highway. Not exactly a lake side view (that's on the other end of my dorm), but from the ninth floor of a twelve floor dorm, it's not exactly looking into the bowels of a leech either.
I'm excited to start my classes. Right now, it feels like there is too much down time. I wonder if the partying will slow any once the semester begins. I'm going to assume not. I'm sure I'll be begging for down time by the time I have to start studying, but for now, going to class would be a nice break in the monotony. Luckily, my friend and her kids will be coming by to see the dorm tomorrow and to go for a coffee at Dunn Bros. I'm going to try track down the non-existent Yoga classroom and my other Ed Arts, Stuttgart, and Hagg-Sauer classrooms.
So I'm starting fresh. Something I've always wanted to do (while living in one place my whole life is nice, it also left me begging for a new face, one who didn't watch all my embarrassing moments growing up). Let's see how long I survive.
I am starting to realize that knowing what goes on in a college and actually being at a college and having it all around me are two different things. I knew that there would be partying. I now know that I don't look like I drink (whatever the heck that was supposed to mean) and that while everyone is telling me to go socialize, there is no point when I'm the only person who isn't drinking.
When I look out my window I see the setting sun, a horizon of dull salmon drifts across the sky; a similar but more colorful fog to what I awoke to at seven this morning. Looking a little lower, it looks like a field of dark leaves stretch to mingle with what is left of the setting sun. Something closer to home (or the dorm), is a car park, the place my yoga class is supposed to be (I say supposed to be because no one really knows where it is. The instructor isn't listed on the BSU website either), and a highway. Not exactly a lake side view (that's on the other end of my dorm), but from the ninth floor of a twelve floor dorm, it's not exactly looking into the bowels of a leech either.
I'm excited to start my classes. Right now, it feels like there is too much down time. I wonder if the partying will slow any once the semester begins. I'm going to assume not. I'm sure I'll be begging for down time by the time I have to start studying, but for now, going to class would be a nice break in the monotony. Luckily, my friend and her kids will be coming by to see the dorm tomorrow and to go for a coffee at Dunn Bros. I'm going to try track down the non-existent Yoga classroom and my other Ed Arts, Stuttgart, and Hagg-Sauer classrooms.
So I'm starting fresh. Something I've always wanted to do (while living in one place my whole life is nice, it also left me begging for a new face, one who didn't watch all my embarrassing moments growing up). Let's see how long I survive.
Monday, August 16, 2010
In the Beginning
Enter: freshman college student, struggling writer, and idealist.
I've started this blog as a window view into my new experiences as I throw myself through college, attempt to travel the world, and struggle to write my way into the unknown. I'll be posting new pieces as they come to life and now and then interrupting with my two cents worth as the world spins madly on.
I'm about to enter a college that has been so highly recommended, so highly regarded by those who fed my obsession with literature and writing. This is not the only reason I chose to attend Bemidji State. No, just because this college has been talked up since (almost) the day I walked in to Lincoln High as a freshman, doesn't mean it was the top of my list. Almost. I decided on enrolling into one of the nation's highest ranked schools for earning educational degrees (as the announcer claimed at orientation) for several reasons.
One: it's on a lake, so the campus is very pretty. Great place to write and be inspired by while sitting under a giant tree. It's the closest thing to the ocean I'll get to in MN.
Two: there are hills. The closest thing to mountains I'll get in MN.
Three: It's close to my family (my grandparents, parents, brother, his fiance, and their beautiful daughter Jade) but not so close that I might as well just live at home.
Four: I can major in English education and also earn a fine arts degree in creative and professional writing. I've found not a lot of schools offer fine arts degrees.
Five: Eurospring. Ah. Traveling. If I could make a career by traveling, I would. I've been to Europe once before on the German Trip my German class went on a few years ago. We went through Germany (of course), Switzerland, Austria, France, and the northern tip of Italy. Italy by far is the most beautiful country I've ever seen, though the Alps we saw in France were pretty threatening and looming with beauty themselves. They definitely took the majority of the 2000 pictures I took on that two week trip.
So here I am. About to enter a world of studying, studying, and more studying. And hopefully learning. Should be an interesting first week. I haven't been able to breath a word since I had my tonsils out about six days ago. Literally. I hope that by time I move in on Friday I'll be able to mutter a word here and there. Don't want my roomie to think me rude.
I've started this blog as a window view into my new experiences as I throw myself through college, attempt to travel the world, and struggle to write my way into the unknown. I'll be posting new pieces as they come to life and now and then interrupting with my two cents worth as the world spins madly on.
I'm about to enter a college that has been so highly recommended, so highly regarded by those who fed my obsession with literature and writing. This is not the only reason I chose to attend Bemidji State. No, just because this college has been talked up since (almost) the day I walked in to Lincoln High as a freshman, doesn't mean it was the top of my list. Almost. I decided on enrolling into one of the nation's highest ranked schools for earning educational degrees (as the announcer claimed at orientation) for several reasons.
One: it's on a lake, so the campus is very pretty. Great place to write and be inspired by while sitting under a giant tree. It's the closest thing to the ocean I'll get to in MN.
Two: there are hills. The closest thing to mountains I'll get in MN.
Three: It's close to my family (my grandparents, parents, brother, his fiance, and their beautiful daughter Jade) but not so close that I might as well just live at home.
Four: I can major in English education and also earn a fine arts degree in creative and professional writing. I've found not a lot of schools offer fine arts degrees.
Five: Eurospring. Ah. Traveling. If I could make a career by traveling, I would. I've been to Europe once before on the German Trip my German class went on a few years ago. We went through Germany (of course), Switzerland, Austria, France, and the northern tip of Italy. Italy by far is the most beautiful country I've ever seen, though the Alps we saw in France were pretty threatening and looming with beauty themselves. They definitely took the majority of the 2000 pictures I took on that two week trip.
So here I am. About to enter a world of studying, studying, and more studying. And hopefully learning. Should be an interesting first week. I haven't been able to breath a word since I had my tonsils out about six days ago. Literally. I hope that by time I move in on Friday I'll be able to mutter a word here and there. Don't want my roomie to think me rude.
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