Blank

Oh dear. This is dreadful. I wicked want to post, but I have nothing to say! All I could think of at first were all the things that had annoyed me today (bad drivers; the way people say Gahd instead of God – which is one of the most annoying things in the universe; Constantine’s demise – which is worse than annoying; etc.) and that’s not too cheerful. And then all I could think of were one or two really little ideas that were defying development (like the fact that I saw about 62 semis coming home from Craig’s awesome concert last night – I was going to write about how I had uncovered this great conspiracy; or the fact that tomorrow is my last day of classes, but I already wrote about my last paper, so that might be redundant; or the thunderstorm we’re in – but what more can I say than that I love thunder, and Molly, hates it). And then, of course, there are the topics that are only of real interest to me (I saw my philosophy professor on the way to my organ lesson, and stopped to chat; Uncle Paul bought M&Ms; I dreamed about John Thomas cutting down trees). Sigh. So I am reduced to writing about having nothing to write about. But this may actually be a valuable lesson to you people still in school – this is the way to write papers when they have to be six pages long, and you only have five pages worth of material. You just kind of drivelize…

A Day of Infamy/Joy (it's hard to say which)

Well, folks, today I turned in the last paper of my college experience. No more analyzing texts looking for answers. No more finding hidden meanings and following them to their conclusions. No more thrilling moments of realizing a great idea. No more careful structuring. No more double spacing and 12 font. No more thinking, "wow, this is a good paper. Maybe the professor will suggest I publish it." No more walking out of class with the exhilaration of having just turned in the piece I've been working on for days. Sigh. I loved paper writing. And yet, somehow I don't think I'm going to lose sleep in my despair at having to stop writing them. As much fun as they could be, they were hard work, and pressure, and deadlines. And any diminishing of those things is good.

I wish I could do a quick tally of all the papers I've written in the past four years. But that would mean a lot of digging under my bed. But according to a very rough estimate from the couch, I have easily done over 50. Wow. That is a lot of writing. So I guess I won't complain about having to take a break for awhile. But forgive me if my blog postings start getting longer and longer, and develop thesis statements. I might be going through withdrawal.

In the Groove

Okay, so while I'm pointing out ways to improve New England, I'll go ahead and mention the roads. I just followed the same True Value semi all the way up route 13 and then 101, before I turned off at the Cider Mill (yes, I'm writing from an alternate location). Not a passing zone to be had, unless you count the one where we encountered a long string of traffic, similarly stuck behind a slow driver, coming in the opposite direction and thus precluding any passing maneuvers. Sigh. New England could use a lot more multi lane highways. But other than that and the long winters, there's not a better place on earth!

Papers and Sports

For all of you who were worried, the two papers I was working on last week (for which I blame the dirth of posts) have been turned in. That feeling of relief is worth a posting itself. But I'm going to move right along to the next paper.

The paper I'm planning now is going to be awesome, because I figured out how to make "frames" in a word document. I'm talking about two different characters, so I can put relevant notes into individual frames. I'm really excited about that. I think I'll put it on my resume.

But the other reason this paper is going to be awesome is that it's being planned during a Red Sox game AND a Celtics game! Sports and more sports!

I was watching the Celtics, and wondered what the inventor of basketball (whose name I forget right now - which is no surprise - I can't remember the names of most of my classmates) would think if he could see the sport now. I wonder if he ever imagined how good people would get. That's one of my main points when engaging in apologetics regarding being a sports fan. Sports demand perfection. There is nothing relativistic about sports. You have to be the best of the best to do what those people can do.

Meanwhile, the planning for this latest paper is coming along famously...

Celebration!

Hurrah for Benedict XVI!

Today I heard bells as I was sitting in Biology class - and the sconces outside of St. Domenic's chapel at PC were draped in white and gold instead of the previous black fabric.

TJ came in as I was glued to the TV watching the news, and wondered about why there was all the hoopla. I spouted off all of the rhetoric I could think of in the Pope's defense (including things I don't even believe). Aunt Laura said she wasn't sure TJ should go to PC after all:)

Anyway, I'm very thankful for a Pope who seems like such a Godly man.

I Can See Clearly Now

I am getting into the habit of this blue skies business. But it's still a rush every time I wake up and see it has happened again! The feeling reminds me of being in Israel. Every single morning I'd wake up to blue skies. I kept reveling in it, and it didn't hit me until far into my visit that every day was going to be the same blue skies and sunshine, because that was the weather for that time of year - always - every day. Wow.

Actually, it did rain once while I was there, but it was during a dust storm, which made it such a unique experience that it was okay not to have a blue sky for one day. During that storm, the majority of which I spent outside, my shirt became not wet, but muddy. I have never experienced anything like it. There were spatters of mud all over me, as if I had been walking along Huxley Ave in Providence, and a huge bus had driven by at a colossal speed, relocating the nearby mud puddle onto me. But it wasn't a bus - it was the rain coming through the dust-laden air. Weird. But very cool.

Now I am usually a very patriotic person, but I think perhaps Israel has something with this blue sky thing, and it should be adopted in the US. My proposal is sunshine 13 out of 14 days, with rain during the necessary nights, and for one day every two weeks (this is a concession to all you frolic-in-the-rain fans). This would last for 10 months of the year. For the other two months I propose sunshine six out of seven days, with sticky snow one day a week (this could be called winter).

I will now entertain discussion on the floor...

The Power of Suggestion

I am way too susceptible to the power of suggestion. I was feeling very sickly yesterday, and became absolutely convinced it was because my diet did not include enough electrolytes.

It did not matter that I had barely heard of electrolytes before that day's biology lecture. Nor did it matter how much I told myself it was probably because I'd forgotten to eat lunch. Dr. Zarcaro had said that people had serious problems when they don't include electrolytes in their diet, and that must be my affliction.

It got so bad that I actually went into the convenience store, when I stopped to buy gas, in order to buy some gatorade. I carefully read the ingredients and confirmed that Gatorade does indeed include electrolytes, although there was no specific mention of potassium, which was what my strange brain had decided was the problem. But I made do with the electrolytes that were there, and went back to the car.

I felt fine as soon as we had dinner. I think it was the fact that I skipped lunch.

On the way home it was dark, and I kept thinking about this blurb I heard on the radio about how you should only drive in the fast lane when you can see the tail lights of the car in front of you in that lane. Drunk drivers who get on the highway going the wrong direction almost always stay in what they think is the slow lane, but which is really the fast lane in the opposite direction.

I had all kinds of visions of swerves and near misses, but not so many as the visions of body casts, and a blog entitled "Dictating Skills" or something, which would start: "No, I did not take over a small island and subject its inhabitants to my whims. Instead, I am lying in the hospital, dictating this blog to my mother [which I realize now was a silly thing to think, since Mama can't type very fast, and it would be mean to ask her to take dictation]."

The power of suggestion, where I am concerned, is scarily like a command of suggestion. Please nobody leave a comment about how new studies show that shaving one's head results in lower cholesterol.

Some Definitions

Procrastination: Andrea writing a blog posting despite the fact that a very menacing paper is hovering over her head

Funny: The Red Sox fans' standing ovation of Mariano Rivera

Classy: Rivera's reaction to the ovation

Ironic: Finding my debit card a day or two after spending ten bucks ordering a new one

Story of my Life: See above

Ironic (2): The fact that blogger's spell check doesn't recognize the word "blog"

Annoying: Hearing someone else on IM (bbrrrING, BRRRiinngg)

Stress Relief: A blanket on the lawn, sunshine, a dear friend

Spring: The time where you get unforeseen urges to take the left turn, instead of the right, which will take you to the ocean instead of to class

Conservatism: The force that keeps in the right lane at such a time

Happiness: Knowing there's a Red Sox/Yankees game in a few minutes - which means I can "write my paper" in front of the ball game

Procrastination (2): Watching the Red Sox/Yankees game despite the fact that one has a very menacing paper hovering over ones head

Warmth at Last

Spring is a-coomin' in! I was driving down the road and realized that the sidewalk was heavily laden with people. Everyone was emerging from their bunkers, where they had hunkered all winter (hunker bunkers - keep it in mind for the next game of hink pink), to enjoy the long-delinquent outdoors. I began noticing strangers smiling at me. Since I wasn't wearing my hair in any extraordinary way or anything, I concluded that they were just happy because it was warm. Indeed, the exchanged grins seemed to be a part of a New England wide conspiracy. We have survived the winter, and we can now enjoy the spring in a way no one else can. Good job, my fellow New Englanders! We have made it through yet again, with that much added character, and that much greater reason to rejoice in the sunshine.

Call Me Ishmael's Fan

I am presently completely enamored of the book Moby Dick. I was expressing my affection for the character of Ishmael to Melissa, when she lamented "another Ishmaelite..."

But who could fail to be taken by this opening passage (which makes me think of Alexander Pope's comment on Shakespeare's writing: "oft thought, but ne'er so well expressed"):

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me."

Brilliant!

Opening Day!

Well, friends, opening day (besides the fact of who won) was INCREDIBLE. Talk about a once in a lifetime experience. It happened like this:

I was minding my own business Monday morning, getting ready for school, when Melissa came bursting in to say that Brian (that guy from volleyball) had tickets to opening day in the Bronx, but his wife had fallen the night before and broken her leg. He called Uncle Paul to see if we wanted them!!! Can you believe it?!

So Uncle Paul, Melissa and I all piled into the car then and there, happily blowing off classes once again (despite the fact that I had a group presentation - my prof is a baseball fan, I knew he'd understand). We made our excited way NY, which was an adventure in itself, since I've really only been there in a passing through kind of way.

There's no way I can cover all the incredible details, but can I just tell you that walking into Yankee Stadium with my Red Sox hat on was as close to facing a firing squad as I ever want to get? My pulse was going so fast it was just one solid beat. But we stuck together and found our seats, which were next to some Red Sox fans from Boston! Of course there was instant camaraderie of the deepest kind.

The introduction of the players was one of the happiest moments of my life. I have seen many of them play before - but never as WORLD CHAMPIONS!!! My voice is still recovering from that moment.

Of course we were subjected to many taunts and jeers - but we remained stalwart to the end - and added a few jibes of our own in return (when there were security men in the near vicinity). After all, we knew who was on top. Oh man, what a rush.

Well, yes, you're all very smart readers to have been skeptical while reading this post. And rightly so. I watched the game on the couch in the den, while working on a paper due the following day. And I went to bed in about the 6th inning, since I had to get up early to finish my paper. Sigh.

But hey, in the legendary words of "Angels in the Outfield" fame: It could happen!

Professionals and the Proletariat

If one is going to be a musician, I would advise being a wicked good one so you can get paid for the two and a half hour long rehearsal where you have lots of space. Otherwise, if you are a mere college-choir member for instance, you will not only be there during capital homework doing time without being paid, but you will have to be squished into a 30 person choir loft with 49 other college students.

If, however, the only way you will be able to be there at all is via the choir loft, then by all means, grab the squishedness. To be able to hear members of the Boston Symphony Orchestra and the RI Philharmonic is well worth any discomfort. There is a reason they are being paid to be there. Those guys are good! They can whip out that completely unpredictable Stravinsky like it was "Teaching Little Fingers how to Play." And the brass on "Homeland" practically blew us out of the choir loft. Fortunately we were too wedged to fall to the ground floor.

But best of all was Bernstein's "Chichester Psalms." The entire piece is incredible - I sang for all I was worth. But I was silent for the moment when the little ten-year-old boy stood on the stage and sang the 23rd Psalm, in Hebrew, with harp accompaniment. It was one of the most stunning things I have ever experienced. In fact, I missed my entrance at the end of his solo.

Now for Sunday's concert!