gilded: (adj) having a pleasing or showy appearance that conceals something of little worth
In the spirit of Harford 3C, the English suite from last year, I wanted to point out the correlation between my life and a book I'm reading for class.
Mark Twain's The Gilded Age features a great deal of false impressions of grandeur. For instance, meagre dinners are said to be made of rare and imported ingredients and stage coaches rush merrily through towns, just to trudge lamely again through the countryside.
And today, a seemingly perfect jelly-filled donut was smuggled from the dining hall without my prior knowledge that it contained NO JELLY. I was utterly fooled, and horribly disappointed when I reached the end of the pastry without having encountered the lovely fruit filling, as had been expected. I ate a gilded donut.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
If These Walls Could Speak...
They'd probably tell all of your secrets.
Last year, my friends and I lived in a tower-fortress dormitory, with large concrete bricks on every side that contained and siphoned noise, as appropriate. Our suite's position on the top floor added to the peace.This year, Claire and I are in the middle of the hallway, on the middle floor of a slightly thinner-walled building. (I'm not complaining.)
When I awoke the first morning, it was at 8:15 am to this:
[BANG!] "Hmm" [BANG!] "This door-" [BANG!] "It won't lock properly." [BANG! BANG! BANG!]
The freshmen had begun to move in, which is perfectly natural, so I ran away to hide and eat breakfast on the benches next to a construction zone (a more productive source of banging).
As days progress, the dorm bathroom has begun to reveal its affinity for... revealing. Though they have dividers and curtains, the showers are all in a line, directly across from a room-length mirror. There is a window in the shower area (why?), which has blinds with various rips, so it almost doesn't matter that it was wide open the first time I jumped in the shower, then crept modestly out.
Also, the toilet stalls are next to a window, so it's possible to see another dorm's entrance from between the large plastic wall on the end stall. Very interesting.
These little details just add to the fact that it is a more public bathroom than we had last year, and it allows everyone to fairly accurately guess what each other is doing. I'm not a fan of this; I'm worried I'll offend someone by shaving too weirdly, or something.
On the way from my bathroom to bedroom, I have on more than one occasion attempted to walk into my neighbor's room, having misjudged the distance between takeoff and destination. Luckily the door was locked, the neighbor screamed, or some other preventative measure halted my progress into the room. But this just illustrates how no one is safe from inadvertently intruding in this building.
Last year, my friends and I lived in a tower-fortress dormitory, with large concrete bricks on every side that contained and siphoned noise, as appropriate. Our suite's position on the top floor added to the peace.This year, Claire and I are in the middle of the hallway, on the middle floor of a slightly thinner-walled building. (I'm not complaining.)
When I awoke the first morning, it was at 8:15 am to this:
[BANG!] "Hmm" [BANG!] "This door-" [BANG!] "It won't lock properly." [BANG! BANG! BANG!]
The freshmen had begun to move in, which is perfectly natural, so I ran away to hide and eat breakfast on the benches next to a construction zone (a more productive source of banging).
As days progress, the dorm bathroom has begun to reveal its affinity for... revealing. Though they have dividers and curtains, the showers are all in a line, directly across from a room-length mirror. There is a window in the shower area (why?), which has blinds with various rips, so it almost doesn't matter that it was wide open the first time I jumped in the shower, then crept modestly out.
Also, the toilet stalls are next to a window, so it's possible to see another dorm's entrance from between the large plastic wall on the end stall. Very interesting.
These little details just add to the fact that it is a more public bathroom than we had last year, and it allows everyone to fairly accurately guess what each other is doing. I'm not a fan of this; I'm worried I'll offend someone by shaving too weirdly, or something.
On the way from my bathroom to bedroom, I have on more than one occasion attempted to walk into my neighbor's room, having misjudged the distance between takeoff and destination. Luckily the door was locked, the neighbor screamed, or some other preventative measure halted my progress into the room. But this just illustrates how no one is safe from inadvertently intruding in this building.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Dorms Now Available With Hair Accessories
I moved into my dorm today, and there was a hairband on the bedpost. That’s understandable, I decided. Another girl slept here before now. But there was also a multicolored hairclip on the window blinds. (This one is tricky.) The cord to the blinds is held together already by a bead or something. I don’t know why someone would want to store her clip up there, but it continues to stare down at me, so I think I may check it for bugging devices.
So I’m here, but my roommate (and her superior amenities) won’t arrive until Saturday. So what I lack in a TV, microwave, and someone to talk to, I make up for with a computer, dorm oven, and ABBA’s Greatest Hits.
The room is decent, and fits my oversized cabinet, which Mum insisted we purchase once she saw that my previous roomie-for-life had a real cabinet, versus my stackable Tupperware boxes. Perhaps she felt lacking in parental ability for not sending me with actual furniture. I hope she feels compensated by the fact that Alisha’s mother soon sent a set of dishes, which I had originally brought and Alisha had not.
So the cabinet and all of the other over-packed items fit, and Claire will still fit, and she’ll hopefully feel that I have left her a fair amount of living space. And not crowded the walls with lame posters/ photos, which was hard to do, considering the density of the bricks here. I may have to use a hammer and nails to get my delicious Orangina poster on the wall.
Speaking of yummy-ness, I have a ridiculous amount of food here. Not snacks, but FOOD. I recently prepared and froze some crab cakes and dip for school. Then I visited the seafood market and was loaded with smoked fish and soup. My freezer is about a square half-foot in size, and works as efficiently as a half-foot. The following illustration demonstrates my predicament:
As you can see, the fish won’t fit, my roommate (not an accurate physical representation) thinks I’m nuts, and my hair is exploding. I’ve fixed the first two problems by storing it all in the communal Frigidaire downstairs. Now the whole dorm will know I’m quite mad, as the wild hair suggests (though I am looking into a new line of mousses, never fear).
So I guess I’ve survived the first day alone in the dorm, even after having to search for my eco-friendly, lemonade-smelling, all-purpose cleaner for 40 minutes. (There’s no way I’m sleeping on that mattress without cleaning it with something). More exciting tales will follow.
So I’m here, but my roommate (and her superior amenities) won’t arrive until Saturday. So what I lack in a TV, microwave, and someone to talk to, I make up for with a computer, dorm oven, and ABBA’s Greatest Hits.
The room is decent, and fits my oversized cabinet, which Mum insisted we purchase once she saw that my previous roomie-for-life had a real cabinet, versus my stackable Tupperware boxes. Perhaps she felt lacking in parental ability for not sending me with actual furniture. I hope she feels compensated by the fact that Alisha’s mother soon sent a set of dishes, which I had originally brought and Alisha had not.
So the cabinet and all of the other over-packed items fit, and Claire will still fit, and she’ll hopefully feel that I have left her a fair amount of living space. And not crowded the walls with lame posters/ photos, which was hard to do, considering the density of the bricks here. I may have to use a hammer and nails to get my delicious Orangina poster on the wall.
Speaking of yummy-ness, I have a ridiculous amount of food here. Not snacks, but FOOD. I recently prepared and froze some crab cakes and dip for school. Then I visited the seafood market and was loaded with smoked fish and soup. My freezer is about a square half-foot in size, and works as efficiently as a half-foot. The following illustration demonstrates my predicament:
As you can see, the fish won’t fit, my roommate (not an accurate physical representation) thinks I’m nuts, and my hair is exploding. I’ve fixed the first two problems by storing it all in the communal Frigidaire downstairs. Now the whole dorm will know I’m quite mad, as the wild hair suggests (though I am looking into a new line of mousses, never fear).
So I guess I’ve survived the first day alone in the dorm, even after having to search for my eco-friendly, lemonade-smelling, all-purpose cleaner for 40 minutes. (There’s no way I’m sleeping on that mattress without cleaning it with something). More exciting tales will follow.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
My Last Day: Penguins and Raw Fish
Yesterday concluded my fifth and final season at the seafood market, and O! how lovely it was.
In honor of liking their employees (and a little for the added occasion of my last day) Boss Man and Boss Lady took everyone out to a new sushi restaurant. This was a unique experience for me, in that I actually ordered and consumed the stuff. I'm not a huge fan of raw fish because of the texture, so never actively go after it, but this food was so de-lish that we all stuffed ourselves on almost everything on the menu. Here are two of the four platters, minus appetizers and dessert:
In honor of liking their employees (and a little for the added occasion of my last day) Boss Man and Boss Lady took everyone out to a new sushi restaurant. This was a unique experience for me, in that I actually ordered and consumed the stuff. I'm not a huge fan of raw fish because of the texture, so never actively go after it, but this food was so de-lish that we all stuffed ourselves on almost everything on the menu. Here are two of the four platters, minus appetizers and dessert:
Gorgeous, right? Andy and Zea (Boss People) are the most generous couple I could ever imagine, and continue to feed us night after night (not always in such a fashion, but close).
After dinner, everyone gathered round the table (actually we gathered round the table before dinner, and simply remained in position throughout the meal), and presented me an exceptional gift: a DVD of Surf's Up.
Let me explain the significance here. We watched this a week ago for movie night at Boss People's house, and I laughed for the first ten minutes NONSTOP. It's a documentary-style animated film about a penguin who loves to surf, but lives in Antarctica, where the main career for a penguin is in fish-mongering. So here's this young, bored penguin who is sorting fish and says, "So I've been working at a fish market my whole life. SO LAME." I nearly die every time I hear it.
This apathetic penguin was my going-away gift, PLUS everyone wrote a message on the inside of the DVD paper packaging, so I have fond farewells from my dearly darling co-workers. It was the greatest lay-off of my life. (Just kidding.)
Next summer, I fully intend to find an internship or other relevent work experience in publishing or design, but maybe it'll only last a month or two, so I can still return to the market for a bit. We'll see.
If not, I have a million hilarious memories of my fishy family, including last night at the sushi bar. And I have a pretty decent recipe for crab cakes.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Maternal Instinct Questioned
Just a few moments ago, I had my bi-weekly urge to water the strawberry plant that has grown more and more neglected as summer continues. At the beginning of the season, I was inspired by a former suitemate to grow my own fruit. Aubrey was stoked to bring a small plant from her New York-based strawberry forest backyard and keep it on her Maryland-based balcony. It continues to feed her, as far as I know.
I decided I would grow my own little seedling from the non-molding remains of a strawberry that I found at the bottom of a store-bought package. If I could grow just ONE strawberry, I thought, it will have made up for the yucky one that we bought. (The same experiment was begun with a blueberry.) That was about three months ago. It seemed reasonable to have something that might feed you after you raised it from infancy, which is how I imagine child-rearing works.
However, I don't want children yet. Yugh. I once had a dream that I had a baby, but Mum had to raise it, due to my incompetence. So, the child called her Mommy and me Grandma. I was disappointed that it didn't know who I really was, and I think that's how I would feel if my parents got another dog while I'm in college (dogs being preferred to babies, and strawberries being preferred to both when I'm hungry).
The strawberry plant started REALLY well. It's very tall, and even had to be transplanted. (This is the proud, maternal side.) But as it now becomes increasingly shrivelled (and blueberry plant nonexistent), I wonder if it will ever produce just ONE little berry. I think this is comparable to me leaving my hypothetical child in a nursery and hoping she photosynthesizes. There is little chance she will feed or nurse me when I'm old and inept.
Perhaps I should work on this motherly instinct/ my memory in general. I think it's indirectly linked to strawberry-and-eventual-self-preservation. But until then, I'll just go to the grocery store and buy fruit there.
I decided I would grow my own little seedling from the non-molding remains of a strawberry that I found at the bottom of a store-bought package. If I could grow just ONE strawberry, I thought, it will have made up for the yucky one that we bought. (The same experiment was begun with a blueberry.) That was about three months ago. It seemed reasonable to have something that might feed you after you raised it from infancy, which is how I imagine child-rearing works.
However, I don't want children yet. Yugh. I once had a dream that I had a baby, but Mum had to raise it, due to my incompetence. So, the child called her Mommy and me Grandma. I was disappointed that it didn't know who I really was, and I think that's how I would feel if my parents got another dog while I'm in college (dogs being preferred to babies, and strawberries being preferred to both when I'm hungry).
The strawberry plant started REALLY well. It's very tall, and even had to be transplanted. (This is the proud, maternal side.) But as it now becomes increasingly shrivelled (and blueberry plant nonexistent), I wonder if it will ever produce just ONE little berry. I think this is comparable to me leaving my hypothetical child in a nursery and hoping she photosynthesizes. There is little chance she will feed or nurse me when I'm old and inept.
Perhaps I should work on this motherly instinct/ my memory in general. I think it's indirectly linked to strawberry-and-eventual-self-preservation. But until then, I'll just go to the grocery store and buy fruit there.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Public Singing: Round Deux
In every good romantic comedy or chick flick, a woman proclaims her independence by going crazy in some way. Alcohol and liberating music often accompany this romp. True to form, after (mutually) ending a very pleasant relationship a day ago, I went shopping and then went with my beloved seafood market on the most exciting and unique field trip in market history: we went to karaoke night at a local pub.
I haven't sung for an audience in about 7 or 8 years. That was middle school chorus, which I quickly escaped. I had never sung solo until this year's Musical Theatre class final project. (Each student had the choice of singing a song in public OR writing a ten-page paper. I put much thought into my decision.) It's only fitting, therefore, that I stepped up to the plate last night to sing The Divinyls' "I Touch Myself," as modestly as possible.
Fortunately, 8 other people were laughing and cheering just enough so that no one could else in the bar could think I was that bad. Another girl sang the Fugees' version of "Killing Me Softly" (lovely!) and one kid sang Johnny Cash. It was pretty great. But the best part of all:
all nine of us shared three mics to serenade the remaining country music-lovers with "Kokomo." Lovely lovely Beach Boys.
What a blast. And don't worry- there are pictures.
I haven't sung for an audience in about 7 or 8 years. That was middle school chorus, which I quickly escaped. I had never sung solo until this year's Musical Theatre class final project. (Each student had the choice of singing a song in public OR writing a ten-page paper. I put much thought into my decision.) It's only fitting, therefore, that I stepped up to the plate last night to sing The Divinyls' "I Touch Myself," as modestly as possible.
Fortunately, 8 other people were laughing and cheering just enough so that no one could else in the bar could think I was that bad. Another girl sang the Fugees' version of "Killing Me Softly" (lovely!) and one kid sang Johnny Cash. It was pretty great. But the best part of all:
all nine of us shared three mics to serenade the remaining country music-lovers with "Kokomo." Lovely lovely Beach Boys.
What a blast. And don't worry- there are pictures.
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