It is amazing
How quickly some people find
What they want to do.
Somehow it feels like
No matter what I study
I'll have to catch up.
Showing posts with label River. Show all posts
Showing posts with label River. Show all posts
Friday, April 10, 2009
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Do trees shed tears? Let's cut them down and find out
Back in Alaska
Back to the snowy blackness
Eugene is like gold
Back to the snowy blackness
Eugene is like gold
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Common Grounds, Common Vomit
Things I take pleasure in:
- Listening to the marijuana posession citations of my next door neighbor
- Amusing snippets of conversation from passersby on cell phones
- Forking queens in hall chess tournaments
- Taking off my shoes after a long day of classes
- Finding something new to put up on my wall, because it means I get to use the yellow sticky putty
- Watching Battlestar Galactica into the wee hours of the morning with hall mates
- Watching really good Eugenian street musicians
- Watching really bad Eugenian street musicians
- 6AM Starbucks runs after a long night of paper-writing
- Thinking I slept through my math midterm, only to learn that it's actually next week
- The lingering miasma of vomit in the hallway
- The intersection of 13th and University Street, where I am sure to die by bicycle collision
- Poorly constructed chicken pesto sandwiches from the cafe
- Only being able to register for 18 credits
- The agonizing wait for winter break
- Missing Alaska... just a little
Friday, November 7, 2008
Souvenir
It was another fine day in writing class, with another 20-minute research paper presentation from another student speaking in another segmented monotone voice. The presenter was sitting in the professor's chair, gesturing vaguely towards the powerpoint presentation projected on the wall above the circle of inattentive students. The professor, sitting among us, toyed with his pen and wiggled his leg. He had apparently written all the notes he needed to. I could see his clipboard from where I was sitting, and there was mostly blank white space and a few scrawled lines.
What was this one about again? I thought, dosing off a little. I was still exhausted from a bout of strep throat earlier in the week. Corporate-controlled media? No, that was the last guy. Potatoes? Ah, yes. Potatoes. They are quite tasty. I think the dining hall has potatoes. Irish potato famine?
I looked out the classroom door where there is a little window looking out on the library courtyard. It was pretty sunny outside, unusual for the often stormy Eugene. Frequently, on days like those, the local acorn harvesters are sprawled out in numbers across the lawn, plucking furiously through the grass for their little brown turd-prizes. I discovered, walking out the library one day, that Eugene has a small group of subsistence users whose primary food source is the acorns that fall from campus trees. I was told this by an old lady in an extra long, extra ratty denim skirt. "They're toxic, you know," she said, holding up one of the brown, elliptical spheres. "Unless you stew 'em up, no good. But very nutritious, you know. Not very well known, you know." I got the distinct sense that she wanted me to join in on her pickings. Instead I got coffee in the museum gift shop.
My attention turned back to the potato presentation. How long can someone talk about potatoes? I thought. Too bad there was no Irish Starfruit Famine. That might be more intresting.
I looked out the door again. Only this time, obstructing my little window to sanity was a guy in a dark blue coat and backwards-facing baseball cap. He was coming in the classroom, looking straight at me. Or at least I felt like he was, I can't really be sure. As he came across the doorway, he withdrew a strange-looking device, and pointed it at the class.
POP! POP! POP!
I covered my head. The gun was quite loud. That's what I thought it was at first. When the noise ceased, I looked down at myself. I had been hit with arsenal suction cup nerf darts. I looked up briefly, and saw a flash of white. My professor was up out of his chair, grabbing the intruder by the neck, and putting him in a headlock out in the hallway. Students in the class were wide-eyed. Nobody really understood what was transpiring. But I could see I wasn't the only one hit; the darts were scattered everywhere in the room. Apparently, this nerf gun was of the automatic variety.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" yelled the professor, maintaning a firm choke hold. "DON'T EVER FIRE A WEAPON INTO A CLASS! SOMEONE CALL DPS!" It was really frightening, but also reassuring to know our professor would defend us (those who were left, anyway) from a potential assailant. Before, he looked like your basic nerdy graduate student teaching a class; now, his height and athletecism were clear. Our professor was tough.
"But it was just a joke! It's just a toy! Why the hell are you choking me? Agggh!" squealed the attacker.
"I DON'T CARE WHAT IT WAS! NEVER BRING A WEAPON INTO A CLASSROOM!" Their struggle moved down the hall, out of sight and with less audible yelling.
This was all in the matter of fifteen seconds, so students were only beginning to register what exactly just happened. Some were smiling with raised eyebrows, and others were frowning. One student volunteered his cell phone to call campus police, as requested. And the student in the professor's chair seemed confused: should he continue his presentation? Or just call it a day?
He opted to resume. But no one was really listening at this point, because the student calling the campus police had made contact.
"So, uhh... a guy just came in classroom with a toy gun. No. Yeah. Yeah. Ummm... he's out in the hall right now, dealing with the guy. No. Everyone's fine... 184 PLC. Yeah, it was nerf... little yellow darts. All right, thanks."
Several minutes later, the professor returned. He walked in nanchalantly, though visibly red in the face and with short breathing. "Our intruder has left. DPS will take care of it from here. Sorry for the interruption." He took his seat again. "All right, let's discuss Sean's project."
As students refocused and raised their hands for comments, I picked up one of the darts near me and put it in my bag. This could have been a bullet, I thought.
What was this one about again? I thought, dosing off a little. I was still exhausted from a bout of strep throat earlier in the week. Corporate-controlled media? No, that was the last guy. Potatoes? Ah, yes. Potatoes. They are quite tasty. I think the dining hall has potatoes. Irish potato famine?
I looked out the classroom door where there is a little window looking out on the library courtyard. It was pretty sunny outside, unusual for the often stormy Eugene. Frequently, on days like those, the local acorn harvesters are sprawled out in numbers across the lawn, plucking furiously through the grass for their little brown turd-prizes. I discovered, walking out the library one day, that Eugene has a small group of subsistence users whose primary food source is the acorns that fall from campus trees. I was told this by an old lady in an extra long, extra ratty denim skirt. "They're toxic, you know," she said, holding up one of the brown, elliptical spheres. "Unless you stew 'em up, no good. But very nutritious, you know. Not very well known, you know." I got the distinct sense that she wanted me to join in on her pickings. Instead I got coffee in the museum gift shop.
My attention turned back to the potato presentation. How long can someone talk about potatoes? I thought. Too bad there was no Irish Starfruit Famine. That might be more intresting.
I looked out the door again. Only this time, obstructing my little window to sanity was a guy in a dark blue coat and backwards-facing baseball cap. He was coming in the classroom, looking straight at me. Or at least I felt like he was, I can't really be sure. As he came across the doorway, he withdrew a strange-looking device, and pointed it at the class.
POP! POP! POP!
I covered my head. The gun was quite loud. That's what I thought it was at first. When the noise ceased, I looked down at myself. I had been hit with arsenal suction cup nerf darts. I looked up briefly, and saw a flash of white. My professor was up out of his chair, grabbing the intruder by the neck, and putting him in a headlock out in the hallway. Students in the class were wide-eyed. Nobody really understood what was transpiring. But I could see I wasn't the only one hit; the darts were scattered everywhere in the room. Apparently, this nerf gun was of the automatic variety.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" yelled the professor, maintaning a firm choke hold. "DON'T EVER FIRE A WEAPON INTO A CLASS! SOMEONE CALL DPS!" It was really frightening, but also reassuring to know our professor would defend us (those who were left, anyway) from a potential assailant. Before, he looked like your basic nerdy graduate student teaching a class; now, his height and athletecism were clear. Our professor was tough.
"But it was just a joke! It's just a toy! Why the hell are you choking me? Agggh!" squealed the attacker.
"I DON'T CARE WHAT IT WAS! NEVER BRING A WEAPON INTO A CLASSROOM!" Their struggle moved down the hall, out of sight and with less audible yelling.
This was all in the matter of fifteen seconds, so students were only beginning to register what exactly just happened. Some were smiling with raised eyebrows, and others were frowning. One student volunteered his cell phone to call campus police, as requested. And the student in the professor's chair seemed confused: should he continue his presentation? Or just call it a day?
He opted to resume. But no one was really listening at this point, because the student calling the campus police had made contact.
"So, uhh... a guy just came in classroom with a toy gun. No. Yeah. Yeah. Ummm... he's out in the hall right now, dealing with the guy. No. Everyone's fine... 184 PLC. Yeah, it was nerf... little yellow darts. All right, thanks."
Several minutes later, the professor returned. He walked in nanchalantly, though visibly red in the face and with short breathing. "Our intruder has left. DPS will take care of it from here. Sorry for the interruption." He took his seat again. "All right, let's discuss Sean's project."
As students refocused and raised their hands for comments, I picked up one of the darts near me and put it in my bag. This could have been a bullet, I thought.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Settled and Sore
So! I've procrastinated long enough. I'm finally making my first and long overdue post, per request and constant reminders of Samantha. Here goes!
For those of you who don't know, the University of Oregon starts about a month later than most other schools, so I was stuck in Anchorage until late September. Waiting those lonely extra weeks for college was sheer agony. I had been out of school for seven months and I became more than a little restless. But now, after a month of living in the dorms and attending classes, I feel like I have a little more purpose in life!
Instead of trying to summarize everything that's happened in the past month, I think I'll just tell you about my busy week instead.
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are my busy days. I have all my classes, which include calculus, writing, Medieval Literature, and symphony orhcestra. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I pretty much don't have to do anything but a discussion section and a cello lesson. So my life alternates between frantically running back and forth across campus (dodging the multitude of bicyclists) and using the off-days to prepare for the frantic ones.
On Monday and Wednesday I had tryouts for club tennis, and about fifty people showed up. This was somewhat problematic, as there was limited court space and only two "scouts" to see how everyone played. So the first day, with a pair of arbitrary scissors, the scouts cut half of the prospective team members, of which I was not included! (This was a wonderful turn of fortune.) So I got to come back Wednesday... except that on Tuesday, I started a 5-page analysis of Beowulf and Judith... at around 1 am. Which means I got 2 hours of sleep which means... I didn't make the team. But it's ok, because most of the players there were just below division 1 level, (I'm more on the intermural level) and practices were on aforementioned frantic Mondays and Wednesdays. So I don't think it would have worked out.
On Thursdays, which are by far my favorite day of the week, I have cello lessons with a GTF (Graduate Teaching Fellow, a graduate student who also teaches classes) who is also our section leader in the symphony. Her name is Wan-Ting, and I've learned that I basically play cello completely wrong (not surprising) and have much work to do. Hm.
Today, Friday, I played an intense game of chess with Drew, my RA, who is two levels below Grandmaster (which he explains as "just an Expert"). I went into it feeling confident in my chess-playing abilities, but my cowardly royalty and their various defenders were promptly wiped off the board and we ended with a handshake. I have a little studying to do, I think. I guess I'll just have to become a Grandmaster.
And later that night I went to a ballroom dancing session, which was taught by an extremely enthusiastic instructor who loved to tango. A lot of people dressed up, but I did not. I have no fancy clothes to speak of. So, wearing my OREGON sweatshirt, dark jeans, and socks with sandals, I danced my way through three tango steps and some cha-cha moves. Good times.
I'll write about some more specific anecdotes later. Also, I seem to have found a counterpart for just about everyone I know. I will write about them as well. Goodnight!
For those of you who don't know, the University of Oregon starts about a month later than most other schools, so I was stuck in Anchorage until late September. Waiting those lonely extra weeks for college was sheer agony. I had been out of school for seven months and I became more than a little restless. But now, after a month of living in the dorms and attending classes, I feel like I have a little more purpose in life!
Instead of trying to summarize everything that's happened in the past month, I think I'll just tell you about my busy week instead.
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are my busy days. I have all my classes, which include calculus, writing, Medieval Literature, and symphony orhcestra. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I pretty much don't have to do anything but a discussion section and a cello lesson. So my life alternates between frantically running back and forth across campus (dodging the multitude of bicyclists) and using the off-days to prepare for the frantic ones.
On Monday and Wednesday I had tryouts for club tennis, and about fifty people showed up. This was somewhat problematic, as there was limited court space and only two "scouts" to see how everyone played. So the first day, with a pair of arbitrary scissors, the scouts cut half of the prospective team members, of which I was not included! (This was a wonderful turn of fortune.) So I got to come back Wednesday... except that on Tuesday, I started a 5-page analysis of Beowulf and Judith... at around 1 am. Which means I got 2 hours of sleep which means... I didn't make the team. But it's ok, because most of the players there were just below division 1 level, (I'm more on the intermural level) and practices were on aforementioned frantic Mondays and Wednesdays. So I don't think it would have worked out.
On Thursdays, which are by far my favorite day of the week, I have cello lessons with a GTF (Graduate Teaching Fellow, a graduate student who also teaches classes) who is also our section leader in the symphony. Her name is Wan-Ting, and I've learned that I basically play cello completely wrong (not surprising) and have much work to do. Hm.
Today, Friday, I played an intense game of chess with Drew, my RA, who is two levels below Grandmaster (which he explains as "just an Expert"). I went into it feeling confident in my chess-playing abilities, but my cowardly royalty and their various defenders were promptly wiped off the board and we ended with a handshake. I have a little studying to do, I think. I guess I'll just have to become a Grandmaster.
And later that night I went to a ballroom dancing session, which was taught by an extremely enthusiastic instructor who loved to tango. A lot of people dressed up, but I did not. I have no fancy clothes to speak of. So, wearing my OREGON sweatshirt, dark jeans, and socks with sandals, I danced my way through three tango steps and some cha-cha moves. Good times.
I'll write about some more specific anecdotes later. Also, I seem to have found a counterpart for just about everyone I know. I will write about them as well. Goodnight!
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Friday, September 5, 2008
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