I actually completed everything.
I know, mind-blowing, right?
I have a whole extra week in Ithaca to wonder what the heck is up with the weather and enjoy this city...and this lake...without the pressure of classes. It's great. It's fantastic!
The only thing is, there's no more dining halls. Meaning I actually have to feed myself. Upon preparing for this, I realized I do not know how to do this. Which is why I am eating mini wheats, hummus wraps and microwaveable dinners and soups plus whatever I can put peanut butter on for the next week. This was my grocery list:
-Milk
-Wheat wraps
- Hummus
-Bagged salad
- Things for dinner??
Luckily, there are many things you can put peanut butter on. Oreos are one of them. My roommate showed me this yesterday, and she shouldn't have. Because that's officially all I'm eating for the rest of my life. It is horrifying and yet actually delicious. I am also probably going to die at a young age.
All this free time also gives me ample time to stretch out my waxing-nostalgic about the past year. I love this stuff and I hate this stuff at the same time. Goodbyes are no fun at all. Particularly after a year this transformative and this amazing.
So prepare yourself.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Okay, Here Goes
It is that time of year.
Finals week. Or, the week in which I write all the papers I should have started ages ago.
Or, the week in which my brain sputters out on me way too early.
Seriously, unless you are my parents, you seriously won't want to read this. You won't really care at all. Because basically it's like a whiny to-do list I'm writing to procrastinate.
Okay. You're reading this? You must really, really love me or really, really want to procrastinate too.
Today's my USSR environment class final. That class is seriously on notice forever. I don't even want to talk about it. It is so close to being finished.
I'll also finish News II today. Which feels incredibly anti-climactic, despite the craziness that went into getting the footage for it.
Then, by friday I will write:
- 6 more pages about the efforts toward a common asylum policy in the European Union (hint, it's not pretty. Lots of racism, lot's of bureaucracy, lots of nationalism. Oooohhh, my FAVORITE!)
-4 more pages on the elements of anarchism in Green Day's punk rock opera American Idiot. Yes, I came up with that topic myself, and no, my professor is not going to know who Green Day is.
- 3 more pages on elements of fascism in the Bush administration. This one is fun. Also depressing. Can you tell which class I procrastinated on? "Ideas and Ideologies"
-Aaaannnddd 2 more pages on the representation of socialist principles in public education. This is not so fun. Actually, it is extremely dull.
That's not bad. It's manageable. Or, it would be if I could concentrate. And think of everything I'll have produced by the end of this week! I calculated, and my final page count for final papers is 38. I'll also have finished one exam and put together one three minute video.
And on Friday, I'll be one of the happiest people on the planet. Because I WILL BE DONE!
Finals week. Or, the week in which I write all the papers I should have started ages ago.
Or, the week in which my brain sputters out on me way too early.
Seriously, unless you are my parents, you seriously won't want to read this. You won't really care at all. Because basically it's like a whiny to-do list I'm writing to procrastinate.
Okay. You're reading this? You must really, really love me or really, really want to procrastinate too.
Today's my USSR environment class final. That class is seriously on notice forever. I don't even want to talk about it. It is so close to being finished.
I'll also finish News II today. Which feels incredibly anti-climactic, despite the craziness that went into getting the footage for it.
Then, by friday I will write:
- 6 more pages about the efforts toward a common asylum policy in the European Union (hint, it's not pretty. Lots of racism, lot's of bureaucracy, lots of nationalism. Oooohhh, my FAVORITE!)
-4 more pages on the elements of anarchism in Green Day's punk rock opera American Idiot. Yes, I came up with that topic myself, and no, my professor is not going to know who Green Day is.
- 3 more pages on elements of fascism in the Bush administration. This one is fun. Also depressing. Can you tell which class I procrastinated on? "Ideas and Ideologies"
-Aaaannnddd 2 more pages on the representation of socialist principles in public education. This is not so fun. Actually, it is extremely dull.
That's not bad. It's manageable. Or, it would be if I could concentrate. And think of everything I'll have produced by the end of this week! I calculated, and my final page count for final papers is 38. I'll also have finished one exam and put together one three minute video.
And on Friday, I'll be one of the happiest people on the planet. Because I WILL BE DONE!
Friday, May 7, 2010
Mother's Day
I'm getting on this early. On the real Mother's Day, I'll be racing twice at the Eastern Conference Championships, dead tired, and without access to a computer. So.
I like to start these things with an image, or a moment--one that just sums up my mother. I think that's impossible. And for some reason, I just have this picture, this sense in my head I can't get out.
It's summer, and Claire and I are still small. Small enough that the July grass in our backyard tickles your calves, and there's the kind of heavy heat that makes it feel like there's no world beyond this fence and this clothesline. We're supposed to be "helping" mom hang the laundry, but our help mostly involves us playing under the cool wetness of the washed bed sheets. And, man, I'm just so happy.
How's that about my mom? Well, my mom's home. She's every moment of innocent bliss, the hours that last forever when you're young because you're loved and you're safe.
Then there are the winter nights at the dining room table, working on calculus problem after calculus problem while the packed-full days weigh on your eyelids.
There's the college phone calls she takes, whether they come with tears or laughter.
The car rides from practices and piano lessons, sorting through the trappings of growing up as a girl, and as a woman.
My mom isn't very political, and I know she sometimes wonders where I came from. A writer and a feminist from a crop of engineers and the like. But I think you can see where I came from. I know she'd go to the mat for me, fighting hard for whatever's best for her daughters. I hope I can take that example and that strength and put what I love into it. I hope I can emulate her presentation of authority--subtle, secure, and without vitriol.
I love you Mom. I know you may second guess and worry, but you rock. Thanks for that.
I like to start these things with an image, or a moment--one that just sums up my mother. I think that's impossible. And for some reason, I just have this picture, this sense in my head I can't get out.
It's summer, and Claire and I are still small. Small enough that the July grass in our backyard tickles your calves, and there's the kind of heavy heat that makes it feel like there's no world beyond this fence and this clothesline. We're supposed to be "helping" mom hang the laundry, but our help mostly involves us playing under the cool wetness of the washed bed sheets. And, man, I'm just so happy.
How's that about my mom? Well, my mom's home. She's every moment of innocent bliss, the hours that last forever when you're young because you're loved and you're safe.
Then there are the winter nights at the dining room table, working on calculus problem after calculus problem while the packed-full days weigh on your eyelids.
There's the college phone calls she takes, whether they come with tears or laughter.
The car rides from practices and piano lessons, sorting through the trappings of growing up as a girl, and as a woman.
My mom isn't very political, and I know she sometimes wonders where I came from. A writer and a feminist from a crop of engineers and the like. But I think you can see where I came from. I know she'd go to the mat for me, fighting hard for whatever's best for her daughters. I hope I can take that example and that strength and put what I love into it. I hope I can emulate her presentation of authority--subtle, secure, and without vitriol.
I love you Mom. I know you may second guess and worry, but you rock. Thanks for that.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
And then, in pictures
I'm riding high on this win all week.
One of the best parts about this race was that it put a lot of my favorite people in the whole world together in ONE PLACE!
One of the best parts about this race was that it put a lot of my favorite people in the whole world together in ONE PLACE!
Don't we all look related? Yes? I thought so.
Oh, and let me present to you, your 2010 Novice Women's Crew New York State Champions....
We got some serious hardware. And now it's sitting on my desk and I don't know what to do with it.
And then someone thought it was a good idea to let us out in public.
I love my team. But that's kind of in the pictures, isn't it?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
.73 of a Second
.73 of a second.
I've talked about it before. The almosts and half-way theres, the if onlys.
The hand the got out-touched on the wall, the goal you should have saved. If you'd just pushed a little harder--
maybe.
.73 of a second.
And then there's the nevers. When the delta between your abilities and dreams are so large, you don't even hold them close. Measuring up isn't a matter of inches, it's miles. Climbing onto the block, hands dangling over water, and the adrenaline is bottled in the idea that sometimes, you really don't have a chance.
There's the inadequacy, the fear. The pressure that mounts on the back of your neck every morning when you push off, wondering what's not connecting. A legacy at Ithaca, where excellence and dominance are expected. A win isn't shocking and a loss is more than demoralizing. You can shrug your shoulders and roll your neck, the pressure won't go away.
.73 of a second.
No, this time, it was 5 seconds.
University of Rochester, at home. Second race. This time, no catastrophe, no equipment malfunctions. Let's win this.
5 seconds behind.
My legs and cheeks are burning, all I see are my palms.
9 seconds. Last weekend. Against Division-I Marist. Lose again. The race feels good. The time, 7:55, says otherwise.
Years, maybe decades? Apparently every year except once, Ithaca's women's novice crew has won states. Everyone is telling you that, every day. You want to punch something every time you hear it. I'm scared. I'm just scared, and I see this delta I've seen all my life, a crevice between expectations and ability. It's opening up wide again and I don't want back there.
That's why, when I came to college, I thought, "No more sports. Just me."
And without a team, I found a new crevice.
Crawling out of that crevice led me to a lecture hall in August. Coach Robinson had a video up on the projector. It had the first varsity's race against Cornell. And it had them winning. There was also a video of a men's varsity race. They tape all the finishes, Coach Robinson explains, just in case it's close.
The men's video--you watch it without breathing. Blink and you've missed it, but that's a win, ladies, that's a win.
I scrounge through my bag for a pen and put my name on the list.
There are 7 boats in this race, it's madness.
Look to the right, there's Rochester.
5 seconds.
Next to them, Marist.
9.
Hamilton's on the left. Those girls are huge. All muscle, all poised confidence.
ATTENTION, ROW!
It's blinding, really. The start. I listen to it. That's how I follow. Some people watch oarlocks, some people watch shoulders, but put me in a race and I can't see anymore. Thunk, thunk, and shrieking pain are all I need.
We're in it, harder and faster than we've ever felt before. There are so many boats, you don't know what's happening. It's like a pack of wild horses is stampeding around you, and instead of curling up and throwing your hands over your face, you claw through the dust and start to run with them, hooves flying and all.
Fury, bows pulsing for the edge, coxswains yelling. Calm down, but keep the power, let's fly.
And we leave Rochester behind. Alexa hollers, "Take a 10 and say GOODBYE!"
But nothing's coming easy. The last 250 meters take us by surprise, and we're getting walked on. LAST TEN, LAST TEN, I WANT EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU HAVE! ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, COME ON SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, AND TEN!
The grunts behind you quiet. You hear oars rock and bodies collapsing. Row back, take out the boat. No one knows.
The announcement's here. It's under video review. No one knows.
Half hour later. They read up from seventh place. Some girls are holding hands, but I duck my head and close my eyes. In third place, Geneseo. In second place....
Marist.
Eruption.
And I'm a New York State Champion, by .73 of a second.
I've talked about it before. The almosts and half-way theres, the if onlys.
The hand the got out-touched on the wall, the goal you should have saved. If you'd just pushed a little harder--
maybe.
.73 of a second.
And then there's the nevers. When the delta between your abilities and dreams are so large, you don't even hold them close. Measuring up isn't a matter of inches, it's miles. Climbing onto the block, hands dangling over water, and the adrenaline is bottled in the idea that sometimes, you really don't have a chance.
There's the inadequacy, the fear. The pressure that mounts on the back of your neck every morning when you push off, wondering what's not connecting. A legacy at Ithaca, where excellence and dominance are expected. A win isn't shocking and a loss is more than demoralizing. You can shrug your shoulders and roll your neck, the pressure won't go away.
.73 of a second.
No, this time, it was 5 seconds.
University of Rochester, at home. Second race. This time, no catastrophe, no equipment malfunctions. Let's win this.
5 seconds behind.
My legs and cheeks are burning, all I see are my palms.
9 seconds. Last weekend. Against Division-I Marist. Lose again. The race feels good. The time, 7:55, says otherwise.
Years, maybe decades? Apparently every year except once, Ithaca's women's novice crew has won states. Everyone is telling you that, every day. You want to punch something every time you hear it. I'm scared. I'm just scared, and I see this delta I've seen all my life, a crevice between expectations and ability. It's opening up wide again and I don't want back there.
That's why, when I came to college, I thought, "No more sports. Just me."
And without a team, I found a new crevice.
Crawling out of that crevice led me to a lecture hall in August. Coach Robinson had a video up on the projector. It had the first varsity's race against Cornell. And it had them winning. There was also a video of a men's varsity race. They tape all the finishes, Coach Robinson explains, just in case it's close.
The men's video--you watch it without breathing. Blink and you've missed it, but that's a win, ladies, that's a win.
I scrounge through my bag for a pen and put my name on the list.
There are 7 boats in this race, it's madness.
Look to the right, there's Rochester.
5 seconds.
Next to them, Marist.
9.
Hamilton's on the left. Those girls are huge. All muscle, all poised confidence.
ATTENTION, ROW!
It's blinding, really. The start. I listen to it. That's how I follow. Some people watch oarlocks, some people watch shoulders, but put me in a race and I can't see anymore. Thunk, thunk, and shrieking pain are all I need.
We're in it, harder and faster than we've ever felt before. There are so many boats, you don't know what's happening. It's like a pack of wild horses is stampeding around you, and instead of curling up and throwing your hands over your face, you claw through the dust and start to run with them, hooves flying and all.
Fury, bows pulsing for the edge, coxswains yelling. Calm down, but keep the power, let's fly.
And we leave Rochester behind. Alexa hollers, "Take a 10 and say GOODBYE!"
But nothing's coming easy. The last 250 meters take us by surprise, and we're getting walked on. LAST TEN, LAST TEN, I WANT EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU HAVE! ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, COME ON SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, AND TEN!
The grunts behind you quiet. You hear oars rock and bodies collapsing. Row back, take out the boat. No one knows.
The announcement's here. It's under video review. No one knows.
Half hour later. They read up from seventh place. Some girls are holding hands, but I duck my head and close my eyes. In third place, Geneseo. In second place....
Marist.
Eruption.
And I'm a New York State Champion, by .73 of a second.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Let's Go With "Chinua Achebe's Literary Classic" Here
Everyone kind of has their thing on our team. I'm not the best erger, the fastest runner, the best bencher, the most skillful. My thing?
I'm healthy. Or at least, I am generally accustomed to a base level of pain and fix everything with band-aids and advil. They're starting to cut the crew team off because it spends about 4 times as much on athletic tape as any other sport.
But that's my thing. I'm not injured. When everyone else was destroying their knees on soccer fields and tracks, I was swimming and protecting my joints.
But then this week happened, and I think my body hit a wall. My shins BURN like they never have before. They're mad at me. My wrists aren't a fan of opening doors. My back has more knots than the shoes of a kindergardener learning to tie them. My body was fine, and it threw in the towel. Too early. This weekend is state championships. Next weekend is eastern conference championships. Then I have a week "off" for finals and will follow that up by a week of two-a-day practices while the varsity preps for NCAAs.
Hear that, body? It's time to get yourself together.
Beyond my physical frustrations, I am getting things done. I have my master list of everything that needs to get done in the next week and a half of classes and for finals. I'm doing it. I just have to focus, which is difficult. Especially when the Ithaca students are all so preoccupied with the fact that it's February again and IT SNOWED ALL DAY yesterday.
SERIOUSLY.
But here's the thing. I get to see my sister, whom I haven't seen since January, on Saturday. It's probably the longest we've ever gone without seeing each other.
I can't guarantee that I won't injure her when I greet her via tackling. Sorry, RPI Crew.
I'm healthy. Or at least, I am generally accustomed to a base level of pain and fix everything with band-aids and advil. They're starting to cut the crew team off because it spends about 4 times as much on athletic tape as any other sport.
But that's my thing. I'm not injured. When everyone else was destroying their knees on soccer fields and tracks, I was swimming and protecting my joints.
But then this week happened, and I think my body hit a wall. My shins BURN like they never have before. They're mad at me. My wrists aren't a fan of opening doors. My back has more knots than the shoes of a kindergardener learning to tie them. My body was fine, and it threw in the towel. Too early. This weekend is state championships. Next weekend is eastern conference championships. Then I have a week "off" for finals and will follow that up by a week of two-a-day practices while the varsity preps for NCAAs.
Hear that, body? It's time to get yourself together.
Beyond my physical frustrations, I am getting things done. I have my master list of everything that needs to get done in the next week and a half of classes and for finals. I'm doing it. I just have to focus, which is difficult. Especially when the Ithaca students are all so preoccupied with the fact that it's February again and IT SNOWED ALL DAY yesterday.
SERIOUSLY.
But here's the thing. I get to see my sister, whom I haven't seen since January, on Saturday. It's probably the longest we've ever gone without seeing each other.
I can't guarantee that I won't injure her when I greet her via tackling. Sorry, RPI Crew.
Monday, April 26, 2010
I Absolutely Shouldn't Be Blogging Right Now
My life is quite crazy. I'm stuck in a tornado and wondering when in the heck I'm going to touch down in Oz.
Anyway, you all just had to know that THIS was my award for crew this year.
And yes, it did complete my whole existence.
I don't even need to graduate college any more. I HAVE ACHIEVED SOMETHING IN LIFE!
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