Monthly Archives: April 2012

One Keg of Beer for the Four of Us!

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As you’re reading this, I’m at the Cal Alumni Association’s Annual Reception for Newly Admitted Students. We alumni are rubbing elbows at the swanky Ritz-Carlton, Philadelphia, and charming admitted high school seniors into choosing Cal. These out-of-staters are worth the big bucks.

Cal Day!

Despite my current animosity toward my alma mater, or perhaps because of it, I’ve composed 16 unsolicited pieces of advice for the Cal Class of 2016:

1. Treat with suspicion and contempt any exam that declares itself “take home.” It’ll be twice as much work as an in-class exam, and you won’t do any better.

2. Don’t buy books from the Cal Student Store. Ned’s is a rip-off, too. Shop online. 

3. Pick a foreign language your first semester and stick to it! If you graduate without fluency in at least one foreign language, your peers will mock you, and you will feel completely inadequate.

4. You may have been the smartest person in your high school, obviously, but you’re still only 18. You’re going to get stupid drunk or stupid stoned or just plain stupid and lose your clothes. Own the shame and move on. 

5. If you plagiarize, there is a good chance your professor will humiliate you in front of a hundred other students. You’ll deserve it, so take it like a (wo)man. No tears.

6. Do not join Berkeley College Republicans. Just please. I’m laughing at you already.

7. No one cares if you’re 20 and still a virgin. No one cares if you’ve slept with 20 people. Just, for the love of Oski, wear a rubber. You can get free condoms all over the place. No excuses. 

8. Someone once got caught jerking it in the stacks during finals season. It’s 80% hilarious, 20% disgusting, and 100% the reason I don’t use library books. You’ve been warned.

9. Do the Bare Run once. It’s the only time the administration won’t arrest you for running through the stacks butt-ass naked. Bonus points if you throw glitter as you go.

10. Take the time to appreciate politically relevant graffiti:

The administration will have it down before you can say, “She’s just working her way through college.”

11. Prepare to do real research. Berkeley is, foremost, a research university. If this doesn’t appeal to you, I’m afraid you’ve made a grave mistake.

12. Don’t wear anything Stanfurd unless you want people to yell vulgarities at you. Seriously.

13. Talk at least one of your seminar professors into holding class next to Strawberry Creek on a nice day. Jump on the first seminar that sounds interesting. The same topics don’t usually come around twice.

14. Learn the Cal Drinking Song so you’ll be prepared when a spontaneous chorus of “Oh, we had a little party down in Newport!” breaks out.

15. Get to know your professors. You’ll learn that true genius is often quite hilarious, as well.

16. Most importantly, AnonCon.

That Makes Us the Lucky Ones

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Here’s a factoid about me that most people don’t know: The first college course I took was an introductory astronomy course. I was concurrently enrolled in high school at the time, and I chose it because it sounded more interesting than chemistry or physics. I was right, it was excellent, probably my favorite class ever, and for my first semester of college, I declared astrophysics.

Obviously, I didn’t stick with that major, but my curiosity about the universe, even today, is particularly insatiable.

I’m not sure if anyone realizes how nerdy B. and I are, but the truth is, we’re up there. How did we spend our Friday night? We went to an astronomy lecture at Penn sponsored by the Philadelphia Science Festival. Professor Gary Bernstein (who just happened to get his PhD from Berkeley) gave a stellar lecture about the solar system. After his talk, I chatted with him about the possibility of a multiverse, and B. asked him about a good planetarium around Philly. Tomorrow we’re going to the Fels Planetarium at The Franklin Institute.

This really is what Saturn looks like through a telescope.

After the lecture, we got to see Mars, Saturn, and the Moon through high-powered telescopes! We could actually see the rings of Saturn, as if it was a picture. It was magnificent and breathtaking. Mouth completely agape, I wanted never to stop looking through that eyepiece. I thought about how infinitesimal we are in this universe, and how I find the universe so completely comforting.

I don’t believe in gods or an afterlife any more than I believe that there’s a China teapot floating around between Mars and Earth. However, I’ve always wished that after death, we could be able to float around the universe, without the limitations of a corporeal existence. I want to see the stars, the planets, the moons, and all the matter up close. I want to explore it, until I know every secret of the universe. Obviously, this wish will never come true, but still I find myself so fulfilled simply by having the chance to exist in this magnificent natural world, to see just a glimpse.

“We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones. Most people are never going to die because they are never going to be born. The potential people who could have been here in my place but who will in fact never see the light of day outnumber the sand grains of Sahara. Certainly those unborn ghosts include greater poets than Keats, scientists greater than Newton. We know this because the set of possible people allowed by our DNA so massively outnumbers the set of actual people. In the teeth of these stupefying odds it is you and I, in our ordinariness, that are here. We privileged few, who won the lottery of birth against all odds, how dare we whine at our inevitable return to that prior state from which the vast majority have never stirred?”

Richard Dawkins

What luck

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I seem to have hit a streak of good luck (if I believed in such things).

Two nights ago, I was crawling around under our bed sweeping out dust and cat hair. Normally, I would use the vacuum for such undertakings, but it was a spur of the moment cleaning prompted by a very wet Noe hiding under there collecting dust. (Bath time happened for the princess. She’s ok, but I have several deep scratches and bruises.) Anyway, back to my story: I wasn’t expecting to find anything more than perhaps a stray poo when something glimmering caught my eye. Could it be? Could it really be? It was! I found the lost half of the pair of gold earrings I bought for graduation. I was certain I rinsed it down the shower drain, but there it was, dusty, but no worse for wear. 

How fortuitous a find it was, indeed, because the next morning I received an e-mail asking if I could come in for an interview at 3:00pm. I did interview, of course, wearing my lucky graduation earrings. The interviewers seemed to like me; they said they will let me know within a couple of weeks. I’ll tell you more about that if I actually get the job.

Sitting atop the Big C, taking pictures of Berkeley below. Summer 2011.

Yogis

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B. and I went to a yoga class tonight. It will, purportedly, calm my nerves and relax my muscles. I would love to find anything that can work well on both my psychology and my physiology. I procured a new student discount pass that’s good for unlimited classes for three weeks. I’ve booked a class every day through next Sunday, so far.

Speaking of student discounts: I wish I was still around Berkeley so I could use my school ID for student rates. Students get sweet discounts on everything. As much as I am mistaken for a student, it’s tricky to explain why “University of California” is emblazoned across my school ID when I live in Pennsylvania.

The mat situation was unpleasant. We had to rent studio mats, and I kept thinking about how many other sweaty bodies had lain prostrate upon the mat before me. I thoroughly grossed myself out and couldn’t bring myself to let my face touch it. If I’m going to keep doing yoga – we’ll see after these three weeks – then I will definitely need to invest in my own.

.

At the beginning of class, the instructor asked if anyone was new to yoga. I didn’t raise my hand because I took a few classes in college, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Bobby’s hand sneak up. His face turned bright red every time he went into downward dog, but he had to hold me steady a few times during balance poses. After class, the instructor approached B. and told him he did so well she’d, “never guess he was a brand new yogi.” He’s a natural yogi.

I do apologize for being a shitty blogger. I go weeks without a post, followed by a burst of back-to-back posts. I’d say I’ll try to do better, but we all know that’s not going to happen.

I Should Have Gone With the Lattes

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I haven’t had a cup of coffee in weeks. I haven’t made a cup of coffee in months. It’s been an unwelcome change in my life.

When I moved, I had to ship whatever belongings I couldn’t stuff in my suitcases. This meant leaving any “inessentials” behind. While it was good news for the family members who inherited my Ralph Lauren towels and satin sheets, it was a bummer for me. Sadly, the “inessentials” included my one-cup coffee brewer. Ol’ Mr. Black & Decker got me through hundreds of too-early mornings and too-late nights. He could get me from sleeping to sipping in under three minutes. True love. 

But, alas, he could not come! Fortunately, or so I thought, between holiday gifts and graduation gifts, I arrived in Philly with $70 in Starbucks gift cards. Instead of slowly drinking away that $70 in tall, non-fat, sugar-free, cinnamon lattes, I decided I’d buy a French press. I felt so hip and cultured carrying home my new press and fresh beans. At first, I used it daily, but from boiling the water to steeping the coffee, it was a full 20 minutes before I had a cup to drink.

Hell no.
That just would not do.

The novelty of pressed coffee wore off damn quick. I stopped making coffee and instead became a pathetic coffee beggar. Now, I sneak down to the kitchen after my housemates leave for work (don’t ask why I sneak when no one else is home) and abscond with the last pitiful drops left in their pot.

I’ve also made a daily habit of going on Amazon and almost buying a new Mr. Black & Decker. I try to convince myself that it’s only $20 for a lifetime of caffeinated happiness, but then I look at my bank account and take an Advil to quell my raging caffeine headache instead.

“Oh, get a job?”

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This is exactly how I feel right now:

Here’s an article that kept me tossing and turning until 3:30 this morning: Struggling for Work: Broken Dreams of a New Generation

And here are some highlights for those of you so removed from the current crisis that you don’t think you need to bother reading that article:

“Although college has never been more vital to success, degrees aren’t worth what they were a generation ago: There are 80,000 bartenders in America with B.A.’s.”
[Fun fact: I was recently rejected from a job as a bartender. Also as a food server, barista, administrative assistant [x23], groundskeeper/gardener, research assistant [x6], dog handler, babysitter, Macy’s sales associate, Gap sales associate, editor/proofreader, and bank teller.]

“While U.S. unemployment is 8.3 percent, unemployment for 20- to 24-year-olds is 13.8 percent – the highest rate for any group in America. Unemployment for 20-year-olds reached 19.4 percent in Philadelphia in 2010.

“Since 2010, just 54 percent of young adults ages 18 to 24 have been employed, the lowest level since 1948, when the government began keeping track, federal data show.

“Unlike their parents, millennials – also called Generation Y – are starting out with greater responsibility for their own health insurance and retirement. Young adults, in fact, remain the most uninsured group in the United States.”
[My physician generously refilled my birth control without making me come in for an appointment. Sounds great, until you realize that this year I have to skip my annual physical because I can't afford the $350 appointment. Hopefully I don't have cervical, ovarian, uterine, breast, or any other cancer. Of course, it doesn't really matter whether I know if I'm sick, because it's not like I'd have the insurance to treat it, anyway. My birth control, which once upon a time cost $20, is now more than $160 without insurance. So, my choice was to go without birth control or put the purchase on my credit card. On my Visa it went, because prenatal care or an abortion without insurance is a lot more than $160, and condoms may be cheaper, but two forms of birth control are more effective than one.]

“The result: Students have to borrow a lot of money. Along with their diplomas each May, two out of three graduates are handed a staggering load of student-loan debt, averaging $25,250 – the highest in U.S. history.” 
[I guess I'm lucky. I sacrificed going to a 4-year university right away, so my principal debt amounts to only $22,000. On which I am supposed to begin repayment in two months, even though there is fewer than $100 in my bank account and a balance of $1,900 on my credit card.]

I will anathematize the next person who tells me I’m “not trying hard enough,” “being too picky,” or “have too high of expectations.” I god damn dare you to look me in the face and tell me that. Truly, I would just love to pick apart your life and tell you all the ways that you’re inadequate. I worked my ass off to get into the best public school in the world, for the best education possible; I put myself through Berkeley without a penny from my parents; I took a 20-unit semester, against the advice of not one, but two advisors, and graduated early to save myself $8,000 in student loans.

I had no expectation of a lush desk job with a corner office right out of school, but I think I had the right to expect a little more than this.

Love/Hate: Philadelphia

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Three months ago, I left my beloved California for this foreign land called Philly. Everyone asks, “How’s Philadelphia?” and all I can say is, “Oh, it’s… different.” I can’t even muster up the necessary enthusiasm to lie politely and say it’s nice. It’s not all Philadelphia’s fault, though. The truth is that I miss Berkeley so much I think I would hate anywhere else just a bit. Three months is plenty long enough to develop likes and dislikes, so here is a love/hate list Philadelphia style.

Love:

  1. SNOW!
  2. Reading Terminal Market & Amish goods 
  3. Cookie deliveries to my doorstep until 3AM.
  4. It’s just a short train ride away from NYC.
  5. Museums & art culture 
  6. The Kelly Writers House
  7. Ivy League campus (i.e. UPenn)
  8. UPenn students wearing shirts that say, “NOT PENN STATE”
  9. Beautiful architecture
  10. Standing out in my Berkeley sweatshirts

Hate:

  1. People are almost universally and unbelievably rude. No one says, “please” or “thank you,” ever, and if you say it, they will audibly scoff at you. Were these people reared by neanderthals‽
  2. The food sucks. Try getting a decent piece of sushi delivered to your doorstep in Philly. It’s just not going to happen. A salad here consists of limp iceberg lettuce, a chunk of tomato, a singular slice of green bell pepper, and, if you’re really lucky, a couple of cucumber slices. Plus, too many things are “dill pickle-flavored.” You know what should be dill pickle-flavored? Dill pickles, and that’s about it. 
  3. All the sandwiches are called “hoagies,” which is a word that makes me want to vomit, so you know I’m not eating sandwiches anymore. “Hoagie” sounds like something you cough up when you’re dying of the plague.
  4. The Indigenous Peoples (of the Northeast) think that all Californians are lazy, incompetent bums. As an interviewer said to me, “Out here we take things more seriously than you do in California.” Oh, ok, you fudging jackass. Don’t think I didn’t notice the egregious typos in the interview itinerary you gave me. Then a doctor asked me about my drug history, but before she let me answer her question, she said, “Well, you went to Berkeley, so…” So, what? I just gave her an indignant eyebrow raise.
  5. Everything out here has ridiculous, unpronounceable names like “Schuylkill” (skoo-kəl). I had an easier time learning to pronounce Russian. Oh, and some of the names are just stupid. There’s a store named “Wawa.” That’s what I called water before I could pronounce “agua.” 
Nevertheless, I’m still glad that I’m living here for a time. It’s a worthwhile experience.