For the first time in a long time, I’m not just content. I’m—I’m optimistic. I don’t think I’ve looked forward to summer vacation this much since elementary school, back when summer still meant more fun instead of just less work. I remember looking forward to the neighborhood pools opening up, sleepovers at friends’ houses, day-long explorations of the woods behind my school’s soccer field, nighttime games of flashlight tag with the neighbors. In the same vein, I’m relieved that junior year and the RA gig are over with, but more than that, I’m legitimately excited about everything the next few months have to offer. I feel like I'm at the beginning of something, not the end.
I’m at home in Dallas right now, which is always great in small doses. I’m watching movies, reading for fun, catching up with the family, and making plans with a select few high school friends (because by now, other than that, what’s the point?). My bed is really, really comfortable; I’d almost forgotten. Next Wednesday, we’re heading up to Chicago for my cousin Eric’s wedding. I’m one of the groomsmen, so I’m just plain excited about getting to look all fancy in a tuxedo. Beyond that, though, Jones family get-togethers are always badass, on general principle. To people who don’t get me – spend ten minutes with this group, and you’ll understand why I am the way I am, and why I wouldn’t have it any other way. Cheesy, yes. Genuine, of course.
Two days after the wedding, I’m moving down to Austin. I’m staying with Sean, Joe, and Pad for the summer – anything’s better than the dorms, but this is a situation that I’m actually excited about, instead of one I can just live with (ba dum ching!). I’ve known all three of them since day one of freshman year, so I get the feeling that the four of us are going to have some good times together. A lot of my other friends are in Austin for the summer, as well. We’re finally all at the age (most of us incoming seniors, a few newly graduated, a few juniors) where we’re kind of expected to get jobs and apartments and to fend for ourselves. I’m cautiously optimistic that my birthday won’t suck this year, for a change. Plenty of people to hang out with, and plenty of time for it.
I have a job downtown at a nonprofit called the Fund for the Public Interest. I don’t know much about it, other than that I’ll be soliciting people for money and getting paid pretty well to do so. It’s a nine-to-five, meaning that I'm earning a constant and decent paycheck for the first time in my life. I do have rent to pay, after all. I even have to buy groceries, for Christ's sake. Beyond the job, what I do with my time is completely my own to decide. A friend of mine, Eric Welch, once made a joke that’s stuck with me: “I’d rather work at Wendy’s than go to school. Then, at least, I wouldn’t have to keep making chicken nuggets at home.” I’m feeling the same way – yeah, I have to get up early, and yeah, I’m working for eight hours straight, but once I get home, I don’t have to think about work again until I get there the next morning. You know those precious nights where you finish all of your homework well before dinner? Picture that, except every single night. I’m uncomfortably close to being an adult.
And it’s this free time with my friends that I’m looking forward to, more than anything else. I feel like I’m finally getting a taste of real life, now that every ounce of my time isn’t being consumed by homework or resume-enhancing extracurriculars or the dread that a resident is going to pound on my door the second after I’ve pressed “play” on the DVD player. I’m finally free to do what I want to do, whether it’s a day at Barton Springs or a night at home watching a South Park marathon on Comedy Central. It’s my choice, though, made independently of curfews or homework or external expectations. I feel like my real life is finally beginning (shoutout to the Colin Hay song). Here’s hoping that ten years from now, I remember the summer of 2009 not as the limbo between junior and senior year, but as the first time I stood on my own two feet.
Friday, May 29, 2009
The ABCs of Dorm Life
I’ve lived in the Quad for three years now, two as a resident, one as an RA. During my freshman and sophomore years, I tried to be an active member here – I hung out in lobbies, I met people, I went to events. By the end of each year, I knew a substantial portion of the community by face, major, and general personality, if not always by name. This year, on the administrative side, I’ve learned a lot about what it takes to make dorm life work. Having dedicated this much time to a single building and the people in it, I feel like I should have plenty to say about my experiences here. Some of it is common sense and some of it is probably truer for me than for anyone else, but I’d like to think that some of my musings are worthwhile enough to pass on.
Friends
There’s a period of about two weeks at the beginning of every school year when everyone is open to meeting new people. Take advantage of it. Leave your door open, meet all your neighbors, ask the girl in the lobby what book she’s reading, ask if you can tag along when you see a group going to dinner. No one knows anyone, so people are much more willing than usual to reciprocate any kind of effort that you make. The more seeds you plant at the beginning of the year, the more relationships you can potentially have later. You can be “that cool guy that I had dinner with that one time, who I always meant to get to know better” to as many people as you want. Once this window of opportunity closes up, trying to make friends with a stranger is just as awkward as it is in real life. Even if you and your next door neighbors and the guys across the hall form a tight group early on, people start showing their true colors around October or November, and you’ll realize that at least a couple of them are douchebags. You’ll want to branch out and make a new circle of friends, and it can happen, but it’s not nearly as easy as it would have been if you hadn’t closed yourself off early on.
Roommates
The best part of my RA job, bar none, is that I get my own room. One of my favorite feelings in the world is waking up in the morning behind a locked door and dozing for hours, knowing that people can’t bother me unless I let them. Most residents aren’t afforded this privilege. Dealing with roommates is one of the classic college issues that most incoming freshmen are worried about, and there’s not really a correct answer to this one. Sometimes it works out great – one of my best friends went potluck her freshman year and ended up living with the girl for all four years of college, two in the dorm, two in an apartment. Sometimes it’s not so great – insert any number of roommate horror stories that you’ve heard here.
Your roommate is the person that you’re going to spend the most time with over the next year. As such, try to give each other as much space as possible. If you have the choice of studying in your room or at the library, choose the library every once in a while. Go over to your friend’s place instead of inviting him over to yours. Kill time outside or in one of the lobbies or at Starbucks; don’t sit at your desk and play Flash games for hours at a time. Don’t be that guy who never leaves the room except to eat and go to class. If your roommate notices that you’re making an effort to give him privacy, he’ll reciprocate. Privacy is very, very hard to come by, and it’s very, very precious. The first thing I used to do at the beginning of each semester was to look at my roommate’s class schedule to see when I knew he’d be out of the room. That was my naked time, and it was glorious. The point is, stay out of each other’s hair and in each other’s good graces as long as you can. A time will come (oh, yes, it will come) when you want nothing more than to find/replace the word “and” with the word “penis” in his paper that’s worth 50% of his final grade. Ignore it. Outward hostility, especially with three months left to go, is too stressful. It's not that your roommate's a bad guy; neither of mine were, by a long shot. It's just that he's always there.
Pianos
This one is small but important. One of your dorm’s lobbies is probably going to have a piano for student use. Let’s say that piano hours are from ten in the morning through midnight. Yes, technically, you’re allowed to sit down at 10:01 on a Saturday morning and start pounding out Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. Don’t. Please, please don’t. Don’t sit down to play when there are more than ten other people in the room. Don’t play scales for half an hour, up and down, over and over. Don’t practice the same two measures twenty times in a row (don’t laugh, I’ve heard it happen). Don’t think that struggling through a vague approximation of the chords to “The Scientist” is going to get you laid. And, most importantly of all, no matter how good you are, don’t think that anyone is going to be impressed. We’re cynical college kids. Nothing impresses cynical college kids.
The RA
First of all, let me explain that the RA gig is a pretty sweet deal. We get free room and board and all that, but more importantly, it’s to a graduating college student’s resume what the Eagle Scout Award is to a high-schooler’s. Leadership experience? Check. Conflict management? Check. Public speaking? Check. Working as a member of a team? Check. The list goes on. I’d highly recommend applying for the job if you get the opportunity. Companies fall all over themselves to hire someone with this much voluntary community service, in a very literal sense of the term. It’s a lot of work, but it’s already started paying off for me.
The most important thing to understand about RAs is that everyone has a boss. With the occasional exception, we’re not power-tripping sadists who write people up (or, in DHFS lingo, “document incidents”) and dump hundreds of dollars’ worth of alcohol down the drain for kicks. We’re just trying to keep the peace and do our jobs. If there’s a party going on and I let it slide, my boss is going to ask me why I haven’t done anything about the half-dozen noise complaints I’ve received. I’m not particularly inclined to put my job on the line for something as inconsequential as a dorm-room kegger.
And if you honestly believe that no one can tell what you’re doing behind these paper-thin walls, you’re kidding yourself. Maybe your next-door neighbor just wants to crash for sixteen straight hours after an all-nighter. Robbing a college student of sleep is a cardinal sin. You’re affecting more people than you think you are. Yes, you can pack fifteen people into your tiny dorm room, blast music, and drink yourselves sick, but is that really the most fun thing you can think of to do on a Friday night? In Austin? Really? And while we’re on this topic…
Alcohol
I would highly advise that your first drinking experience not be during your first weekend of college. As cool as your new friends are, and as well as you’re getting along, and as much as you know you’re all gonna be best buddies for the next four years, in the end, they’re the new neighbors that moved in three days ago. Odds are good that they’re more concerned with having a good time themselves than with baby-sitting you. They’re not gonna watch how much you’re drinking, they’re not gonna tell you to take it easy for a while, they’re not gonna suggest that you sit this round out, get some water. They just won’t care that much, and it’s not their job to, because if you don’t know what you can and can’t handle, you’re already miles behind. If you’re going to drink in college (and let’s face it, you probably will), know what you’re doing in advance. People who partied in high school won’t have a problem. People who didn’t, get together with a couple of friends over the summer, designate someone to stay sober, and experiment. Seriously. Save yourself the embarrassment.
In Conclusion
I’m going to miss the Quad. I really am. You know how sometimes, you’re at a party, and you suddenly realize that all your friends left while you were on the back porch chatting up the cute girl who turns out to have a boyfriend, and you’re not ready to call it a night, but you don’t know anyone at the party anymore, and that’s kind of awkward, so you drive home and watch a couple South Park reruns on your computer before going to bed? I suspect that’s the feeling that I’m going to have every day next year when I finish class, the resignation to spending the rest of the day in the netherworld that is my West Campus apartment. I’m going to miss knowing everyone. I’m going to miss reading by the statue. I’m going to miss LOST parties in the Q. I’m going to miss Tuesday Night Midnight iPod dancing. I’m going to miss chatting with Rey (the night guy with the beard) till four in the morning ‘cause he’s there and I’m not tired. I’m going to miss that designated spot where my group of friends meets every night without fail to hang out and pretend to do homework.
Dorm life has its drawbacks (i.e., sharing your bathroom with fifty-five other dudes and not being allowed to have friends over past 11:30), but there’s nothing else like it at any point in your life. You have to enjoy it while you can, because once it’s gone, you can never get it back.
Friends
There’s a period of about two weeks at the beginning of every school year when everyone is open to meeting new people. Take advantage of it. Leave your door open, meet all your neighbors, ask the girl in the lobby what book she’s reading, ask if you can tag along when you see a group going to dinner. No one knows anyone, so people are much more willing than usual to reciprocate any kind of effort that you make. The more seeds you plant at the beginning of the year, the more relationships you can potentially have later. You can be “that cool guy that I had dinner with that one time, who I always meant to get to know better” to as many people as you want. Once this window of opportunity closes up, trying to make friends with a stranger is just as awkward as it is in real life. Even if you and your next door neighbors and the guys across the hall form a tight group early on, people start showing their true colors around October or November, and you’ll realize that at least a couple of them are douchebags. You’ll want to branch out and make a new circle of friends, and it can happen, but it’s not nearly as easy as it would have been if you hadn’t closed yourself off early on.
Roommates
The best part of my RA job, bar none, is that I get my own room. One of my favorite feelings in the world is waking up in the morning behind a locked door and dozing for hours, knowing that people can’t bother me unless I let them. Most residents aren’t afforded this privilege. Dealing with roommates is one of the classic college issues that most incoming freshmen are worried about, and there’s not really a correct answer to this one. Sometimes it works out great – one of my best friends went potluck her freshman year and ended up living with the girl for all four years of college, two in the dorm, two in an apartment. Sometimes it’s not so great – insert any number of roommate horror stories that you’ve heard here.
Your roommate is the person that you’re going to spend the most time with over the next year. As such, try to give each other as much space as possible. If you have the choice of studying in your room or at the library, choose the library every once in a while. Go over to your friend’s place instead of inviting him over to yours. Kill time outside or in one of the lobbies or at Starbucks; don’t sit at your desk and play Flash games for hours at a time. Don’t be that guy who never leaves the room except to eat and go to class. If your roommate notices that you’re making an effort to give him privacy, he’ll reciprocate. Privacy is very, very hard to come by, and it’s very, very precious. The first thing I used to do at the beginning of each semester was to look at my roommate’s class schedule to see when I knew he’d be out of the room. That was my naked time, and it was glorious. The point is, stay out of each other’s hair and in each other’s good graces as long as you can. A time will come (oh, yes, it will come) when you want nothing more than to find/replace the word “and” with the word “penis” in his paper that’s worth 50% of his final grade. Ignore it. Outward hostility, especially with three months left to go, is too stressful. It's not that your roommate's a bad guy; neither of mine were, by a long shot. It's just that he's always there.
Pianos
This one is small but important. One of your dorm’s lobbies is probably going to have a piano for student use. Let’s say that piano hours are from ten in the morning through midnight. Yes, technically, you’re allowed to sit down at 10:01 on a Saturday morning and start pounding out Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. Don’t. Please, please don’t. Don’t sit down to play when there are more than ten other people in the room. Don’t play scales for half an hour, up and down, over and over. Don’t practice the same two measures twenty times in a row (don’t laugh, I’ve heard it happen). Don’t think that struggling through a vague approximation of the chords to “The Scientist” is going to get you laid. And, most importantly of all, no matter how good you are, don’t think that anyone is going to be impressed. We’re cynical college kids. Nothing impresses cynical college kids.
The RA
First of all, let me explain that the RA gig is a pretty sweet deal. We get free room and board and all that, but more importantly, it’s to a graduating college student’s resume what the Eagle Scout Award is to a high-schooler’s. Leadership experience? Check. Conflict management? Check. Public speaking? Check. Working as a member of a team? Check. The list goes on. I’d highly recommend applying for the job if you get the opportunity. Companies fall all over themselves to hire someone with this much voluntary community service, in a very literal sense of the term. It’s a lot of work, but it’s already started paying off for me.
The most important thing to understand about RAs is that everyone has a boss. With the occasional exception, we’re not power-tripping sadists who write people up (or, in DHFS lingo, “document incidents”) and dump hundreds of dollars’ worth of alcohol down the drain for kicks. We’re just trying to keep the peace and do our jobs. If there’s a party going on and I let it slide, my boss is going to ask me why I haven’t done anything about the half-dozen noise complaints I’ve received. I’m not particularly inclined to put my job on the line for something as inconsequential as a dorm-room kegger.
And if you honestly believe that no one can tell what you’re doing behind these paper-thin walls, you’re kidding yourself. Maybe your next-door neighbor just wants to crash for sixteen straight hours after an all-nighter. Robbing a college student of sleep is a cardinal sin. You’re affecting more people than you think you are. Yes, you can pack fifteen people into your tiny dorm room, blast music, and drink yourselves sick, but is that really the most fun thing you can think of to do on a Friday night? In Austin? Really? And while we’re on this topic…
Alcohol
I would highly advise that your first drinking experience not be during your first weekend of college. As cool as your new friends are, and as well as you’re getting along, and as much as you know you’re all gonna be best buddies for the next four years, in the end, they’re the new neighbors that moved in three days ago. Odds are good that they’re more concerned with having a good time themselves than with baby-sitting you. They’re not gonna watch how much you’re drinking, they’re not gonna tell you to take it easy for a while, they’re not gonna suggest that you sit this round out, get some water. They just won’t care that much, and it’s not their job to, because if you don’t know what you can and can’t handle, you’re already miles behind. If you’re going to drink in college (and let’s face it, you probably will), know what you’re doing in advance. People who partied in high school won’t have a problem. People who didn’t, get together with a couple of friends over the summer, designate someone to stay sober, and experiment. Seriously. Save yourself the embarrassment.
In Conclusion
I’m going to miss the Quad. I really am. You know how sometimes, you’re at a party, and you suddenly realize that all your friends left while you were on the back porch chatting up the cute girl who turns out to have a boyfriend, and you’re not ready to call it a night, but you don’t know anyone at the party anymore, and that’s kind of awkward, so you drive home and watch a couple South Park reruns on your computer before going to bed? I suspect that’s the feeling that I’m going to have every day next year when I finish class, the resignation to spending the rest of the day in the netherworld that is my West Campus apartment. I’m going to miss knowing everyone. I’m going to miss reading by the statue. I’m going to miss LOST parties in the Q. I’m going to miss Tuesday Night Midnight iPod dancing. I’m going to miss chatting with Rey (the night guy with the beard) till four in the morning ‘cause he’s there and I’m not tired. I’m going to miss that designated spot where my group of friends meets every night without fail to hang out and pretend to do homework.
Dorm life has its drawbacks (i.e., sharing your bathroom with fifty-five other dudes and not being allowed to have friends over past 11:30), but there’s nothing else like it at any point in your life. You have to enjoy it while you can, because once it’s gone, you can never get it back.
Don't see that every day...
Originally posted on Facebook on Wednesday, March 4, 2009.
I'm writing down what happened while I still remember the details. A homeless guy crashed my nonverbal class this morning, just to freak everyone out, I think. He came in about ten minutes into class and climbed the stairs to sit up in the back row. Obviously not a student - older, dirty, haggard. He sipped from a juice box that couldn't possibly have contained just juice. He lit up a cigarette, puffed on it, put it out, sprayed Febreeze to cover the smell. I didn't see that part, but my neighbor told me about it - she's the one who pointed him out to me to begin with.
His behavior was so erratic that he was making the entire class (75+) uncomfortable. It must have showed, because Professor Dailey finally stopped her lecture in the middle of a point and asked, "Is there something going on?" Total silence. No one wanted to point him out for fear of invoking his wrath. "Yes!" someone from the back shouted. More silence. "What?" Dailey asked. More silence. Finally, a girl gestured towards him and said, "I think we have a, uh, a guest speaker."
He looked up; he'd been found out. Dailey immediately processed the situation. He stood up and started to walk down towards her. Not menacing, but the total unpredictability of what might or might not happen had everyone on edge. "You're welcome to stay if you want, sir," she said. What else could she say?"
I just want to tell a joke," he said, as if the idea had just occurred to him.
Shit. The spotlight was on him now, he knew it, and he was ready to milk it for all it was worth.
"I'm afraid we don't have time for that," she said. "But you can sit back down if you want."
"I just want to tell my joke," he slurred again in a deep southern drawl.
"We can't do that," she said, "and I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Total, complete, deafening silence. He started back up the steps to his chair. He was clearly affronted, angry. That was the worst part. "What do you call a B.S.?" he asked. "Bullshit."
"Sir, you need to leave, or I'm going to call security," said Dailey. No trace of hesitation or fear, to her immense credit.
He was back at his seat, gathering his things, brushing off the table, putting on his jacket. "What do you call an M.S.? More shit."
My cell phone was already out of my pocket, and I was scrolling through my contacts, ready to call UTPD if necessary. I put my head down on the table - too tense, too uncomfortable, too unpredictable, and yeah, a little scary. Dailey threatened to call security again.
"What do you call a Ph.D.?" he asked. He mumbled the answer to this one, realizing for the first time how embarrassing the situation was for him and how uneasy he was making all of us. Every eye in the class was on him as he slowly trudged down the stairs, around the corner, and out the door. We heard it slam. The room exploded in nervous and relieved laughter.
A student in the class, a bigger guy, left the room to call the cops at Dailey's request. When he came back in, he said that students outside had seen him go down the hallway and out of sight. The assumption is that he left the building via a back elevator before he could get caught. He left his wool cap behind.
Only in Austin.
P.S. Saul suggested that a better punchline for this one might have run something like, "I looked the guy's joke up on Google when I got back to my room a couple hours ago. Turns out that 'Ph.D.' stands for 'Piled Higher and Deeper.'"
I'm writing down what happened while I still remember the details. A homeless guy crashed my nonverbal class this morning, just to freak everyone out, I think. He came in about ten minutes into class and climbed the stairs to sit up in the back row. Obviously not a student - older, dirty, haggard. He sipped from a juice box that couldn't possibly have contained just juice. He lit up a cigarette, puffed on it, put it out, sprayed Febreeze to cover the smell. I didn't see that part, but my neighbor told me about it - she's the one who pointed him out to me to begin with.
His behavior was so erratic that he was making the entire class (75+) uncomfortable. It must have showed, because Professor Dailey finally stopped her lecture in the middle of a point and asked, "Is there something going on?" Total silence. No one wanted to point him out for fear of invoking his wrath. "Yes!" someone from the back shouted. More silence. "What?" Dailey asked. More silence. Finally, a girl gestured towards him and said, "I think we have a, uh, a guest speaker."
He looked up; he'd been found out. Dailey immediately processed the situation. He stood up and started to walk down towards her. Not menacing, but the total unpredictability of what might or might not happen had everyone on edge. "You're welcome to stay if you want, sir," she said. What else could she say?"
I just want to tell a joke," he said, as if the idea had just occurred to him.
Shit. The spotlight was on him now, he knew it, and he was ready to milk it for all it was worth.
"I'm afraid we don't have time for that," she said. "But you can sit back down if you want."
"I just want to tell my joke," he slurred again in a deep southern drawl.
"We can't do that," she said, "and I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Total, complete, deafening silence. He started back up the steps to his chair. He was clearly affronted, angry. That was the worst part. "What do you call a B.S.?" he asked. "Bullshit."
"Sir, you need to leave, or I'm going to call security," said Dailey. No trace of hesitation or fear, to her immense credit.
He was back at his seat, gathering his things, brushing off the table, putting on his jacket. "What do you call an M.S.? More shit."
My cell phone was already out of my pocket, and I was scrolling through my contacts, ready to call UTPD if necessary. I put my head down on the table - too tense, too uncomfortable, too unpredictable, and yeah, a little scary. Dailey threatened to call security again.
"What do you call a Ph.D.?" he asked. He mumbled the answer to this one, realizing for the first time how embarrassing the situation was for him and how uneasy he was making all of us. Every eye in the class was on him as he slowly trudged down the stairs, around the corner, and out the door. We heard it slam. The room exploded in nervous and relieved laughter.
A student in the class, a bigger guy, left the room to call the cops at Dailey's request. When he came back in, he said that students outside had seen him go down the hallway and out of sight. The assumption is that he left the building via a back elevator before he could get caught. He left his wool cap behind.
Only in Austin.
P.S. Saul suggested that a better punchline for this one might have run something like, "I looked the guy's joke up on Google when I got back to my room a couple hours ago. Turns out that 'Ph.D.' stands for 'Piled Higher and Deeper.'"
I should be sleeping...
Still consolidating...
Most of the Plan II Junior Seminars (TC 357s) take place in the two classrooms in the Joynes Reading Room in Carothers. I’ve been seeing old dorm friends from freshman year around the Quad a lot lately, and it’s always fun to chat for a couple minutes and catch up before they head into class. “Which TC are you here for?” I’m always asked at some point in the conversation.
“I’m not in one this semester, actually,” I respond. “I, uh, I still live here.”
Now, granted, I’m an RA, which means that I have my own room and that I live for free. But I live where I work, I can’t cook my own meals, I can’t have friends over past 11:30 p.m. on weeknights and 1:00 a.m. on weekends, I share my bathroom with fifty-five other dudes, and I’m put under house arrest a couple times a month.
I got hungry last night at around one-thirty in the morning. I considered my usual feast of Teddy Grahams and peanut butter, the only food I currently have in my room, but instead, I walked over to 7-11 and bought myself a ham sandwich. Jury-rigging a meal out of leftover snacks isn’t as appealing as it used to be.
I’m taking fifteen hours this semester, my usual load, but school doesn’t consume my life the way it used to. I go to classes and do all my homework, but that can only take up so many hours of a day. Maybe it’s because of the job, maybe it’s because I’m spending more and more time off campus, away from this whole academic world, or maybe I’ve just stopped caring altogether, but classes have started to seem more like just another part of my life and less like my life.
Every Thursday night, I meet up with some friends at the Crown & Anchor Pub for beer and cheese fries. The bouncer has stopped checking our IDs because he sees us every week. We go through a few pitchers, shoot the shit about our weeks and plans for the upcoming weekend, joke about sports or politics or girls, and then go our separate ways to finish whatever residual homework we might have. Nothing particularly exciting, just another way to pass time on a random weeknight.
Maybe what I’m trying to say is that things that used to seem new and exciting, things I used to look forward to, aren’t anymore. Every high school senior looks forward to moving into a dorm, living on his own and meeting new friends, but the time when living in a dorm is “cool” has come and gone for people my age; I usually don't bring up where I live unless I'm asked. I don’t dislike it and I don’t wish I were somewhere else, but the whole experience is familiar enough that it’s lost its original appeal. Kind of a “been there, done that” attitude by now. The same goes for the RA gig, midnight snacks, school, bars, friends. Nothing I do excites me – it doesn’t depress me, but I don’t feel like I have anything to look forward to, either. It is what it is, for better or worse.
I used to believe that growing up was a lot like hair growing – you get it cut short, you notice it’s short. You see it in the mirror every day and don’t pay attention to how it’s always getting a little bit longer. One day, months later, you compare yourself in the mirror to a picture of the day you got it cut, and you say, “Wow, I look totally different.” And maybe I still believe that, I don’t know. But now, I’m starting to think that growing up happens in distinct stages. I think you know you’re moving from one stage to another when you realize that you've gotten used to everything in your life. Every aspect of it is familiar, comfortable, commonplace. And I think that that’s a good place to be and all, but sometimes, you need something exciting on the horizon to get you through the day. That’s what I'm lacking at the moment.
But I think realizing that that’s what I'm lacking is half the battle.
Most of the Plan II Junior Seminars (TC 357s) take place in the two classrooms in the Joynes Reading Room in Carothers. I’ve been seeing old dorm friends from freshman year around the Quad a lot lately, and it’s always fun to chat for a couple minutes and catch up before they head into class. “Which TC are you here for?” I’m always asked at some point in the conversation.
“I’m not in one this semester, actually,” I respond. “I, uh, I still live here.”
Now, granted, I’m an RA, which means that I have my own room and that I live for free. But I live where I work, I can’t cook my own meals, I can’t have friends over past 11:30 p.m. on weeknights and 1:00 a.m. on weekends, I share my bathroom with fifty-five other dudes, and I’m put under house arrest a couple times a month.
I got hungry last night at around one-thirty in the morning. I considered my usual feast of Teddy Grahams and peanut butter, the only food I currently have in my room, but instead, I walked over to 7-11 and bought myself a ham sandwich. Jury-rigging a meal out of leftover snacks isn’t as appealing as it used to be.
I’m taking fifteen hours this semester, my usual load, but school doesn’t consume my life the way it used to. I go to classes and do all my homework, but that can only take up so many hours of a day. Maybe it’s because of the job, maybe it’s because I’m spending more and more time off campus, away from this whole academic world, or maybe I’ve just stopped caring altogether, but classes have started to seem more like just another part of my life and less like my life.
Every Thursday night, I meet up with some friends at the Crown & Anchor Pub for beer and cheese fries. The bouncer has stopped checking our IDs because he sees us every week. We go through a few pitchers, shoot the shit about our weeks and plans for the upcoming weekend, joke about sports or politics or girls, and then go our separate ways to finish whatever residual homework we might have. Nothing particularly exciting, just another way to pass time on a random weeknight.
Maybe what I’m trying to say is that things that used to seem new and exciting, things I used to look forward to, aren’t anymore. Every high school senior looks forward to moving into a dorm, living on his own and meeting new friends, but the time when living in a dorm is “cool” has come and gone for people my age; I usually don't bring up where I live unless I'm asked. I don’t dislike it and I don’t wish I were somewhere else, but the whole experience is familiar enough that it’s lost its original appeal. Kind of a “been there, done that” attitude by now. The same goes for the RA gig, midnight snacks, school, bars, friends. Nothing I do excites me – it doesn’t depress me, but I don’t feel like I have anything to look forward to, either. It is what it is, for better or worse.
I used to believe that growing up was a lot like hair growing – you get it cut short, you notice it’s short. You see it in the mirror every day and don’t pay attention to how it’s always getting a little bit longer. One day, months later, you compare yourself in the mirror to a picture of the day you got it cut, and you say, “Wow, I look totally different.” And maybe I still believe that, I don’t know. But now, I’m starting to think that growing up happens in distinct stages. I think you know you’re moving from one stage to another when you realize that you've gotten used to everything in your life. Every aspect of it is familiar, comfortable, commonplace. And I think that that’s a good place to be and all, but sometimes, you need something exciting on the horizon to get you through the day. That’s what I'm lacking at the moment.
But I think realizing that that’s what I'm lacking is half the battle.
25 Things About Me
Reposted from Facebook. I'm consolidating. I'm especially proud of this one, though.
1. I sing, hum, and whistle unconsciously. It’s a habit I gave up trying to control a long time ago.
2. I have an encyclopedic knowledge of Lost, Saturday Night Live, Scrubs, and seasons one through ten(ish) of The Simpsons.
3. Speaking of Lost and Scrubs, if a work of fiction can get me to care about the characters, I’m hooked no matter how horrible and/or confusing the plots get. See also: Firefly, Arrested Development, and Animorphs.
4. I went to an all-guys’ Catholic school for eight years, from fifth through twelfth grade, and I state this fact as a blanket excuse every time I end up in an awkward social situation. It's scary how often it works.
5. When I can’t think of anything else to say, I spout off a movie quote. One usually just jumps to mind as I’m trying to work out something original to say. I feel validated as long as one person in the group gets it.
6. My top two “dream careers” are probably to be a novelist and a Broadway singer, but I’m too much of a realist to seriously pursue either of them.
7. I recently discovered that I can, in fact, function without my morning cup of coffee. That doesn’t mean I’m quitting or cutting back, but it’s nice to know that I have the option.
8. “That’s what she said” jokes and any joke about poo will always, always, always be funny.
9. I haven’t cried since February of my sophomore year of high school.
10. I’m cursed with maturity beyond my years. Whenever I fail a test, my reaction is always to shrug my shoulders and realize that I must not have studied hard enough.
11. I’m a grammar Nazi thanks to four consecutive years of English Lab at the aforementioned all-guys’ Catholic school. A simple sentence consists of a subject and a verb. A compound sentence consists of two simple sentences separated by a comma. Therefore, "Bob ran and then went to the store" and "Bob ran, and then he went to the store" are both correct.
12. I will never eat at Wendy’s again as long as I live. I haven’t been able to eat their burgers since sixth grade, when three friends and I participated in what we called the “Triple Burger Challenge.” I was sick for a week. I’ve gotten burned out on everything else on their menu, especially chicken nuggets, over two years’ worth of late-night Wendy’s runs with dorm friends. Sorry, Sean.
13. I was born eight weeks prematurely, without my esophagus. Over three years of surgeries, doctors removed my transverse colon, turned it into my esophagus, and sewed my ascending and descending colon together. I have a second belly button, which is where my feeding tube was for eighteen months or so. I can eat and drink normally now, but I don’t have peristalsis, meaning that biologically, I can’t throw up. This is a problem sometimes.
14. I’m very task-oriented – once I start working on something, I hate being interrupted. When I sit down to watch a movie, it irks the crap out of me when I can’t get fifteen minutes in without getting a call or a text message. Likewise, when I dive into a pile of packages to check in at the front desk, people wait to call me until right after I’ve fallen into my groove.
15. In a crowd, I’d rather not be noticed than be singled out, either positively or negatively.
16. One of the greatest compliments I’ve ever gotten was from my friend Saul, who once told me, “Part of your charm is that you think you’re much more socially retarded and awkward than you actually are.”
17. That being said, I do have a tendency to say non-awkward things in the most awkward way possible. Example: at the end of last semester, we had a box of three-dozen cookies at the front desk. I was starting my shift as Amara was ending hers, and she wondered aloud whether she should take any cookies to go. What went through my head was, “Between the option of no cookies and free cookies, one should always choose free cookies,” and what I said was, “Amara, you always take as many cookies as you can carry.”
18. I’m very easily startled but almost impossible to scare.
19. I indulge myself in nostalgia a lot, whether it’s buying the first season of “The Adventures of Pete and Pete” on DVD and watching it all in one sitting, Facebook-friending all of my elementary school friends that I haven’t seen in ten years, or making it a point to drop by Kids’ Kastle (the local park) every time I go home. I think it’s because I still consider elementary school and middle school as the happiest period of my life thus far.
20. I overthink everything, especially when it comes to girls.
21. My name is Matt, and I’m a Facebook addict. To say that I check it multiple times daily is an understatement. I like feeling caught up with what’s going on in everyone’s lives, even people I don’t talk to anymore.
22. I write a lot. I’ve written a couple short stories this semester, and I think they’re pretty good, but I’ve only shown them to a couple people. This isn’t because I don’t want people to read what I’ve written, because I do. It’s mainly because I don’t want readers to feel obligated to tell me I’m the reincarnation of Ernest Hemingway if my story turns out to be another mediocre effort by some student writer.
23. I see grad school as a means of prolonging the inevitable.
24. I can see both sides of any issue, sometimes to the point where I have no clue what I personally believe.
25. Three songs never fail to put me in a good mood: “Purpose,” from Avenue Q; the Across the Universe version of “I’ve Just Seen a Face;” and The Barenaked Ladies’ “If I Had $1,000,000.”
1. I sing, hum, and whistle unconsciously. It’s a habit I gave up trying to control a long time ago.
2. I have an encyclopedic knowledge of Lost, Saturday Night Live, Scrubs, and seasons one through ten(ish) of The Simpsons.
3. Speaking of Lost and Scrubs, if a work of fiction can get me to care about the characters, I’m hooked no matter how horrible and/or confusing the plots get. See also: Firefly, Arrested Development, and Animorphs.
4. I went to an all-guys’ Catholic school for eight years, from fifth through twelfth grade, and I state this fact as a blanket excuse every time I end up in an awkward social situation. It's scary how often it works.
5. When I can’t think of anything else to say, I spout off a movie quote. One usually just jumps to mind as I’m trying to work out something original to say. I feel validated as long as one person in the group gets it.
6. My top two “dream careers” are probably to be a novelist and a Broadway singer, but I’m too much of a realist to seriously pursue either of them.
7. I recently discovered that I can, in fact, function without my morning cup of coffee. That doesn’t mean I’m quitting or cutting back, but it’s nice to know that I have the option.
8. “That’s what she said” jokes and any joke about poo will always, always, always be funny.
9. I haven’t cried since February of my sophomore year of high school.
10. I’m cursed with maturity beyond my years. Whenever I fail a test, my reaction is always to shrug my shoulders and realize that I must not have studied hard enough.
11. I’m a grammar Nazi thanks to four consecutive years of English Lab at the aforementioned all-guys’ Catholic school. A simple sentence consists of a subject and a verb. A compound sentence consists of two simple sentences separated by a comma. Therefore, "Bob ran and then went to the store" and "Bob ran, and then he went to the store" are both correct.
12. I will never eat at Wendy’s again as long as I live. I haven’t been able to eat their burgers since sixth grade, when three friends and I participated in what we called the “Triple Burger Challenge.” I was sick for a week. I’ve gotten burned out on everything else on their menu, especially chicken nuggets, over two years’ worth of late-night Wendy’s runs with dorm friends. Sorry, Sean.
13. I was born eight weeks prematurely, without my esophagus. Over three years of surgeries, doctors removed my transverse colon, turned it into my esophagus, and sewed my ascending and descending colon together. I have a second belly button, which is where my feeding tube was for eighteen months or so. I can eat and drink normally now, but I don’t have peristalsis, meaning that biologically, I can’t throw up. This is a problem sometimes.
14. I’m very task-oriented – once I start working on something, I hate being interrupted. When I sit down to watch a movie, it irks the crap out of me when I can’t get fifteen minutes in without getting a call or a text message. Likewise, when I dive into a pile of packages to check in at the front desk, people wait to call me until right after I’ve fallen into my groove.
15. In a crowd, I’d rather not be noticed than be singled out, either positively or negatively.
16. One of the greatest compliments I’ve ever gotten was from my friend Saul, who once told me, “Part of your charm is that you think you’re much more socially retarded and awkward than you actually are.”
17. That being said, I do have a tendency to say non-awkward things in the most awkward way possible. Example: at the end of last semester, we had a box of three-dozen cookies at the front desk. I was starting my shift as Amara was ending hers, and she wondered aloud whether she should take any cookies to go. What went through my head was, “Between the option of no cookies and free cookies, one should always choose free cookies,” and what I said was, “Amara, you always take as many cookies as you can carry.”
18. I’m very easily startled but almost impossible to scare.
19. I indulge myself in nostalgia a lot, whether it’s buying the first season of “The Adventures of Pete and Pete” on DVD and watching it all in one sitting, Facebook-friending all of my elementary school friends that I haven’t seen in ten years, or making it a point to drop by Kids’ Kastle (the local park) every time I go home. I think it’s because I still consider elementary school and middle school as the happiest period of my life thus far.
20. I overthink everything, especially when it comes to girls.
21. My name is Matt, and I’m a Facebook addict. To say that I check it multiple times daily is an understatement. I like feeling caught up with what’s going on in everyone’s lives, even people I don’t talk to anymore.
22. I write a lot. I’ve written a couple short stories this semester, and I think they’re pretty good, but I’ve only shown them to a couple people. This isn’t because I don’t want people to read what I’ve written, because I do. It’s mainly because I don’t want readers to feel obligated to tell me I’m the reincarnation of Ernest Hemingway if my story turns out to be another mediocre effort by some student writer.
23. I see grad school as a means of prolonging the inevitable.
24. I can see both sides of any issue, sometimes to the point where I have no clue what I personally believe.
25. Three songs never fail to put me in a good mood: “Purpose,” from Avenue Q; the Across the Universe version of “I’ve Just Seen a Face;” and The Barenaked Ladies’ “If I Had $1,000,000.”
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