Not All Who Wander Are Lost

MetaMeme List

meme n (mëm): A unit of cultural information, such as a cultural practice or idea, that is transmitted verbally or by repeated action from one mind to another. From the Greek mimëma, something imitated, from mimeisthai, to imitate.

Looking for a Wednesday blog meme (in blogging, a meme is an idea which is presented or based in one blog but carried along and reacted to in many others) I stumbled across The Meme List at I Am Pariah. Pariah has scoured the bloggiverse and come back with a growing list of over fifty weekday Q and A memes, at least three for every day of the week. They don't list Monday Mosh yet, but I have submitted it; we'll see if Pariah accepts a meme with no home site and a question that doesn't change over time, like most memequestions do.

For now, here's one of the Wednesday memes I like -- it's called What's On ______ Right Now?. Each week it asks us to muse about what's "on" something; this week it asks:

What's on your TV/entertainment center right now?

The answer, of course, is it depends what you mean by "on".

The components are "on" the center, of course: VCR, broken DVD player, radio/amp, CD player, and television each have a shelf. Side shelves hold mismatched CDs and jewel cases, blank VHS tapes ready for the Fall sitcom season, a few notebooks, the best of the vinyl. The top shelf of the black, angular corner-based mediastation flanks Boston speakers against a decent turntable.

But there are also those things "on" this infrastructure, too. The turntable serves more often as a base for a black lamp that didn't fit anywhere else but is never used, the speakers are adorned with Willow Tree figurines of anonymous fathers and mothers and their porcelain children, and a gilt mask Darcie's sister brought back from Italy shines under the brim of the lamp.

And then there's "on" as opposed to "turned off." Of these objects and components, some are still "on" in the sense that they are plugged in, powered up, ready to go. The CD player's actually going; it's muted, but it's on and spinning disks. I think it's still playing The Waifs, so technically, they're on, too.

And Darcie's on the couch watching movies; The Big Kahuna's on. So the TV is on, and the VCR, too. Danny DeVito's on right now, and Kevin Spacey, on bar stools in a hotel bar, waiting on a client. There's a smile on Spacey's face; I can see it, because my eyes are on the screen, there in the corner on the tv/entertainment center.

posted by boyhowdy | 8:13 PM | 0 comments

Sour Grapes From Plagiarist Valedictorian

First Blair Hornstein played the disability card, suing her school district successfully for the right to be sole valedictorian despite having been excused from some courses, like PE, which others had to take.

Then, as noted here last week, she was caught plagiarising in her local paper.

Now her lawyers have contacted her school again -- this time, to announce that Hornstien won't be attending graduation after all. Here's the direct quote from that legal letter:

"The hostile environment at the school has traumatized Blair both physically and emotionally, to the point that she cannot and will not attend the graduation ceremonies," states Jacobs' letter to John B. Comegno II, lawyer for the board..."Please arrange to have the valedictorian award made to her in absentia."

Yes, the cruel, selfish, and self-important Hornstein -- this woman who went to court to sue her community and then lied to them -- feels so "threatened" by both school and community that she's home pouting and won't come out to play. Moreover, it isn't her fault that her piggishness has made her unpopular; it's our inability to be nice about her a) taking away valedictory honors from two other members of the school, and b) using the local paper as a soapbox for her own defense, being caught plagiarising in that dubious column, and then refusing to apologize or even acknowledge that plagiarism is wrong.

So far, Blair has shown us that she can't share, and that she will not take responsibility for her actions. She even, according to the Philly Daily News, is believed to have left town without even facing up to those she's leaving in the legally-mandated lurch.

Would you ever hire this woman for anything?

Some valedictorians never learn.

posted by boyhowdy | 5:38 PM | 0 comments

Tuesday, June 10, 2003

Yet More Stupidity In Education

The local headline says it all, really: Rules treat school art as fire hazard; Code also affects teacher postings. Seems the state Board of Fire Prevention Regulations decided that no more than 20% of any classroom walls may be covered with flammable materials, and subsequently "ordered schools to sharply reduce the amount of decorations and other materials they proudly hang up in classrooms and corridors." (Incidentally, the same rule has been in effect in our dormitories for years, due to the overzealous local fire marshall -- a man, we tell students, with the power to condemn our dorm and make us sleep in the gym, which to an adolescent boy is indeed a fate worse than death.)

Predicatably, teachers are calling the order a death knell for student pride in accomplishment, and for visual learning and reinforcement.

They're right, of course, but there's a bigger issue here: schools are significantly less likely to go up at all, and when they do, the consequences are most often less serious than other places. They have fire extinguishers and exits everywhere, and fire alarms conveniently placed. They are legally required to have good sprinkler systems, and, even more importantly, schools are spaces with extraordinarily low potential for sparks or matches. And what other kind of institution or building conducts regular fire drills with all its community members?

Here at NMH we have 3700 acres of forest, 1100 students, almost a hundred buildings. Yet there has been but one major fire in our five years here -- the barn, full of hay in the heat of summer, or a discarded illegal cigarette. In the dorms, kids can't smoke (that's why they do it in the barn); they're not allowed to have matches: one can get put on disciplinary probation for an open flame. We have fire drills three times a year in the middle of the night, but we never have a fire.

Posters in the chem lab may not always be the best idea -- all you really need is a decent elemental table. But let's chill out on the walls, guys. Let the kids have their art, their cursive letters, their dangling kitten posters. Hang in there, kid!

posted by boyhowdy | 7:36 PM | 0 comments

Advice Is A Form Of Love

Stay out of the sun. Stay as cool as possible. Relax. Try not to scratch.

Oh, and take these inch-long pills three times a day, even though they probably won't make a difference.

Try that clear green stuff we used to use when you were a baby. If you need narcotic painkillers, feel free to call the doctor; he said you should.

Speaking of babies, don't get too close to Willow; keep yourself covered around her, and certainly don't hold her against your ribcage where the rash is. Sleep alone. Miss her.

Hooray, summer. Having shingles sucks.

Thanks, though, to Darcie who made the perfect sandwiches for us this afternoon's lawn picnic, to Willow who greets me with my name (daddy) and a grin and outstretched arms when I come home, to mom and dad, who keep calling to empathize with me and offer informed secondhand suggestions from the best doctors they know personally. It's nice to be taken care of, and cared for.

posted by boyhowdy | 2:37 PM | 0 comments

Monday, June 09, 2003

So Much For Summer

Yes, that's right...shingles

Almost a week ago I thought I had a couple of itchy spider bites on my chest under my right nipple.

A couple of days ago the area around those spots started to go numb.

Yesterday I started getting shooting pains in my rib. I thought maybe it was broken or strained, so I called the doctor, who called back a few minutes later and said something you never want to hear a doctor say to you: Come in to the office. Now.

Those little itchy bumps on my chest turn out to be shingles. I seem to be the youngest person ever to get it or something. Hooray.

And, according to the doctor, it just gets worse from here. I'm in for about a month of excruciating pain and itchiness, a set of symptoms which the website aftershingles.com, In trying to get caregivers to empathize with their patients and loved ones, describes by asking caregivers to think of the worst pain you ever had, and multiply it many times over...With pain that bad, it is hard to find a comfortable position, whether sitting, lying down, or walking around.

Oh, God.

And guess what? Shingles is really a kind of herpes outbreak, except the virus in question is the chicken pox virus you have left over in you from your own childhood (you learn so much at the doctor's office, don't you?). Yes, that's right -- shingles comes from chicken pox; if you've never had chicken pox, you can't get shingles. People who have never had chicken pox can GET chicken pox from shingles outbreaks, and, at almost eleven months, Willow's never had it. We were going to schedule her for her chicken pox vaccine while I went to see the doctor, but it looks like we won't need the shots, thanks, because this afternoon, the baby broke out in itchy bumps.

I hate myself right now, and I can't imagine the pain of struggling to help her understand why she's itching. Heck, she can't even understand the word "no" yet.

I'm so sorry, baby.

posted by boyhowdy | 11:48 PM | 2 comments

Monday Mosh

Today's mosh accomplished from a movable chair, baby bouncing on my knee. I think I bruised a rib lifting televisions over the weekend.

What song did you mosh to?
Thing Called Love -- Bonnie Raitt.

What did you step on/bump into? (bonus points for breakage)
Rolled the chair wheel over my own foot; bumped the back of the baby's head against my own forehead. Better, I think, not to break anything else -- my rib hurts enough.

Why did you stop?
Pain: nature's way of saying "cut that out."

And remember, kiddies: moshing is good for your spiritual health -- everyone needs a good dance-around on a Monday! Don't forget to post your own mosh in the comments below!

posted by boyhowdy | 12:30 PM | 0 comments

Sunday, June 08, 2003

Not Much Here

Reunion is over, and the campus is suddenly, postapocalyptically quiet. The baby's got a yeast infection itch; I carried her naked-bottomed down to the farm with Darcie and Virginia this afternoon after a sleeplate start to see the recently sheared sheep, feed clover to cows, and chase and catch a pair of identical chickens escaped from their chickenwire cage. The poppies were out in full gaudiness along the lavender patch, orange and purple in the late afternoon summerhaze.

With dining halls closed for months we took Virginia to the Peoples' Pint for pulled pork burritos, homemade sausage quesadillas, and a chocolate souffle a la mode to die for. A parade had just finished in Greenfield, lending a festive air: white-vested morris dancers at the next table over jingled in time to the faint bar radio music as we ate, and a woman dressed up as a bellydancing djinn swished and tinkled in and out the door.

Few tasks remain before the summer mind takes back its worked-over body. There will be a few conference calls, a bit of light curriculum writing, some steelwoolgathering for the Bangladesh trip -- also a visa application to prepare and send, a trip to the doctor for serious shots. But the now-voluminious maple leaves beckon me with shade in the warm days, and a pair of newly google-found folk festivals pique my interest -- Great Waters, surprisingly close by in Wolfeboro, NH, and a zydeco/jamband festival called Great Blue Heron; brownie points will be granted anyone who can comment on either. The camper is cool, and the air sings with birds in the morning. Hoorah, once again, for summer; let the good times, as it were, roll.

posted by boyhowdy | 11:40 PM | 0 comments

Saturday, June 07, 2003

Kudos To Reuters

For the best newspaper lead ever:

Cuba's first ephemeral art festival lasted barely an hour and a half, until the butter paintings and ice sculptures began to melt, the children ate the cupcakes hung from a tree and the grand piano went up in flames.

Kudos to piano arsonists, too: Top festival honors for the best exhibit of transitory art went to Jeanette Chavez, a 22-year-old art student who poured gasoline on a wooden piano structure and set fire to it while minimalist piano music blared from speakers. She won a night out at Havana's famed Tropicana cabaret, which doesn't seem worth the cost of the piano, but I guess that's not the point.

Although some exhibits were less ephemeral than others, the festival requires no clean-up, as "the works will stay here until they disappear," according to event organizer and director of Havana's Experimental Centre for the Visual Arts Mayrelis Peraza. The smell of rotting butter should dissipate eventually.

posted by boyhowdy | 10:36 PM | 0 comments

I Once Was Spent But Now I'm Found

Last week I was pretty much spent; regular readers may remember some long lags between blogentries, some serious incoherence as I tried to wind up the school year with a kindling-spark of sanity (new visitors -- welcome, new visitors! -- feel free to scroll down to catch up on recent trials and tributaries). But I've never felt lighter, now it's practically summer. Here's how it got that way.

Spent the weekend setting up and troubleshooting overheads, clip-on mics, data projectors, and slide projectors all over the two campuses for this year's NMH Alumni reunion, including a slew of convention-like workshops on topics from ADHD and urban sprawl to alternative energy and scrapbook making. I missed the Dogfish Head Brewery tasting (the owner's an alum), and wasted an hour singlehandedly lugging a TV from one campus to the other and precariously into the bowels of a dorm only to find that someone had, after all, brought in their own TV. But I can't complain: only two bulbs blew all weekend, the alums are all happy to be back and all want to hear me talk about me, the food's been great, and there's beer everywhere.

Except for a few moments of late-afternoon family time in the pop-up camper, now set up in the driveway under the Maple tree, spent the afternoon in a borrowed shirt in the rain. Back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes when it's foggy and drizzly on one campus it pours on the other; today it was just torrential everywhere.

Spent the last hour in the zone with my daughter, in and around the crib while Darcie read in bed and smiled. Willow kept sneaking up on her mother to say "hi." When mama responded, the baby would jump up and down and squeal with delight.

Spent the past few minutes glowing and grinning like only a daddy can, spooned against the baby's back as she nursed herself to sleep.

Ahhh...Summer. Wet, warm, relaxing hot-bath summer. It's about time.

posted by boyhowdy | 9:23 PM | 0 comments

Friday, June 06, 2003

Irony Alert

Education Department pulls web-based summer reading list, compiled from elementary and middle school specialists from Atlanta, Georgia, public schools, due to misspellings, misidentifications, an absence of books "reflective of a diverse population" in the canon, and a lack of books from the past decade.

More than 40,000 students in the Atlanta school district are participating in the department's "No Child Left Behind" reading program this summer.

Apparently, children born in the past ten years need not apply.

posted by boyhowdy | 1:42 AM | 0 comments

Re: Hi!

I did not name this site after a Tolkien poem from LOTR. It is cool that you think the movie is cool, and thanks for the email, but I'm the kind of person who reserves his obsessions for family and time well spent, not fictional universes. Myself, I think the sentiment of "Not All Who Wander Are Lost" is deeper and more relevant outside of that context. For me, the phrase originated with a bumper sticker, and it rings true: wandering, a la Dirk Gently's Zen method of navigating, works for me; it is my mode d'etre.

While we're on the subject, I didn't name my daughter after a Buffy The Vampire character, either. I might admit to having a tiny crush on the girl who plays Willow in Buffy the vampire slayer, but that's just because I have a thing for elfin girls with reddish hair. We like tree names; already have Rowan and Juniper on reserve for subsequent kids.

Truth is, in both cases, it was only after it was too late that I found out about these pop culture connections -- I didn't know "the band camp girl from American Pie" was even on the show until after Willow was born; I learned about the LOTR origin of that favorite bumper sticker from an email much like the one I received today, the one entitled "hi!" that began, all too specifically, "I love LotR and I think it's totally cool that you are using a line from the Riddle of Aragorn."

In both cases, it was the comments of others which led me to realize that these connections even existed. I realized much too late the high geek quotient of either association. Can one be a geek only in one's Freudian subconscious?

posted by boyhowdy | 12:47 AM | 0 comments

Thursday, June 05, 2003

Reaping What You Sow:
File Under Plagiarism

Remember that high school student whose mother never taught her to share? You know, the one with the immune deficiency who successfully sued her school for the right to be recognized as sole valedictorian -- despite already being one of three valedictorians? The one who gained her high GPA points by not having to take courses required for non-disabled students, such as gym?

Well, now that she's been caught plagiarising, admitting that she did not properly attribute information in three articles and two essays she wrote for the Courier-Post of Cherry Hill, here comes Newsday.com with the dubious news that "nearly 1400 people," some who ominously "say they are associated with the university," have already signed a petition asking Harvard to rescind their offer of enrollment for next year. Seems they were afraid that she'd sue for the right to be the only student there. Geoff Mulvihill, "Associated Press Writer," reports:

Blair L. Hornstine, 18, explained her actions in a column published in the newspaper Tuesday, but she did not apologize. "I am not a professional journalist. I was a 17-year-old with no experience in writing newspaper articles," she wrote. "Upon reflection, I am now cognizant that proper citation allows scholars of the future to constantly re-evaluate and re-examine academic works."

This is an interesting definition of why we cite. It's innovative, I suppose. But it's also very wrong. Notably, Hornstine's definition is consistent with the egoism which led to her suit in the first place -- in avoiding the issue of tying one's work into the web of ideas by referring specifically to those ideas, instead focusing on what citation does for a single text; it is an approach purely consistent with her self-centered history in the press. One cannot help but wonder at an eighteen year old who can write better than, say, Geoff Mulvihill, but does not know what proper citation is for, and cannot understand that it is at least as much for the present as it is for the future.

Bonus: The story which contains the above quote ("...but did not apologize") has as its headline "Valedictorian apologizes for failing to attribute in columns. Oops.

Bonus, Too: The piece is generally slipshod. Grammar errors abound, and that headline/quote mismatch is just embarassing. Reporting that "some" people who signed a petition say they are associated with the university isn't concrete enough to be news. How did this article get by the Newsday editorial crew? Mulvihill should be ashamed; where does he think he is, Fox News?

posted by boyhowdy | 11:27 PM | 0 comments

Thursday Three: For The Unmotivated Blogger

Who was the last person to give you a present?
Graduation leads to grateful students. Yesterday's mail included two of this year's senior t-shirts for Darcie and me, given by class parents and real-parents-to-be Jim and Marianne "with thanks for all your help with this year's senior class", and a small box with a whistle that, when filled, blows bubbles, and a marbled Carnegie Mellon mug, both from Chantelle, who's off to CM partially because of the stellar letter of recommendation I wrote her.

Who was the last person you gave a present to?
Um...last week I gave all four of my returning advisees copies of next year's NMH book in common, Ella Minnow Pea. If you haven't read it, you should, especially if you're a linguaphile; it's a nice light summer read with a wry and intelligent humor.

What is your favourite present that you received?
At the moment, the pop-up camper; we're dropping the car off today to have a hitch installed. Unless Willow counts as a present. Are children presents? How about spouses?

posted by boyhowdy | 10:45 AM | 0 comments

Well, Which Is it?

Grad Student publishes paper on plagiarism, paper plagiarised from published paper on plagiarism. Plagiariser claims the plagiarism was unintentional and blames the problem on deadline pressure.

Most of the second-to-last sentence came from here; thanks to Fark.com for passing this one on.

posted by boyhowdy | 12:21 AM | 0 comments

Wednesday, June 04, 2003

Counterpoint Fragments: The Machine In The Ghost

Of course, maybe we don't talk about the ghost in the machine anymore because the machines are in us -- not yet literally, but psychologically so, at least. If so, are we ghosts? Are they? Do we merely inhabit our body-machines, or do they merely inhibit us?

Damn Alex for making me muse cyberpunkish. What *wouldn't* you transplant? Are you worried this might be a Turing test?

posted by boyhowdy | 10:52 PM | 0 comments

The Ghost In The Machine

A true science of life must let infinity in, and never lose sight of it...throughout the ages, the great innovators in the history of science had always been aware of the transparency of phenomena towards a different order of reality, of the ubiquitous presence of the ghost in the machine -- even such a simple machine as a magnetic compass or a Leyden jar.
-- Arthur Koestler

De doo doo doo, de da da da.
-- The Police

My daughter Willow, at age 10 months, has become a person overnight. She totters deliberately on the tips of our fingers from the kitchen to the ottoman and back again, slowly lowering herself into a sitting position to pick up a fallen magnetic poetry letter or Cheerio. Her speech has become proactive; she says e-i-e-i-o before she turns to go look for the Old MacDonald book where once she said dog only when we pointed at the dog and said What's that? What's that? over her head like giant parrots. From this until-now reactive ball of bawling diaper rashes and adorable-ness, humanity springs.

By profession, I evoke. My job is to make apparent the technological bias of the tool and the psychological/cultural default habits of the tool-weilder, and in doing so to lay a foundation of and for deliberation and thoughtfulness where once there was a vague and hazy understanding of how meaning springs from the combination of thought and assisted, communicative action. Essentially, I teach others to recognize the ghost in the machine, with a focus not on leyden jars and petri dishes but with the tools with which we describe, and in doing so define, our cultural discourse. But to be deliberate in this way is to know the ghost within ourselves, and thus, my job is also, in some ways, to be that ghost, to be something between a real-world Microsoft Word paperclip icon and a personal awareness guru of a peculiarly proactive Zen variety, always urging others to find the spark within them.

Seeing Willow grow fills me like a spring river, but it also makes me sad -- soon, too soon, she will walk across the room without my fingertips to hold her, and soon again she will learn to walk out of these rooms we share. I am reminded of the limitations of my job, my life, my being, something which I have known for all my life but only recently come to accept: others may help us learn to see our ghost-selves, our selves-to-become, for what they are, but what we choose to do with our spark -- how we reflect it outwards, to whom, and with what purpose -- becomes and is forever our own.

But there is a list I keep of what one day we can do together: baseball games and river tubing and walking from one town to another -- all the really important things. One day we will accomplish it all, and together, we will find her spark. And then, one day, she will become herself, and fly away.

posted by boyhowdy | 9:45 PM | 0 comments

Must...Finish...Grading...

Bleah. I hate grading papers with a passion otherwise reserved for the common senseless and the knee-jerk politically correct. If there's one thing wonderful about my new job , it's that I never have to grade another paper; now all I have to do is pare the job title down enough for it to fit on a business card, and it'll be perfect.

Okay, enough procrastination; I've got an early morning call coming in from Bangladesh tomorrow to finalize the outline for the academic technology training I'm doing over there this August. For more things-to-come, see the new (well, slightly modified) sidebar links -- don't you think the archives look much better?

posted by boyhowdy | 12:04 AM | 0 comments

Monday, June 02, 2003

Hey, Rube!

Monday Mosh!

Thanks to Mandarindesign for the cheesy effect.

posted by boyhowdy | 11:04 PM | 0 comments

And Then, Today, We Bought A Pop Up Camping Trailer

The Rockwood 1640LTD

Just walked right in and bought one. The deposit made it ours; a trip to the Insurance folks and then the DMV for plates made it real. Now all we need is a hitch and we can drive it away. We're thinking Friday, maybe.

The Rockwood 1640LTD folds up to 8' long and 3' feet high for easy travel, but spread out it runs 17 feet, roomy, curtained and fun, with a propane stove, propane furnace and and a propane 'fridge; we paid a couple hundred extra for a screenporch addition, but everything else was part of the asking price. The technology is ingenious: The dinette turns down into a third bed with ease, the canvas frame is surprisingly sturdy yet terribly light. Putting it together is like playing Transformers all over again, except on a grown-up scale and with a single easy-to-crank mechanism to save the back a bit. Pix to follow next week when we get it home.

Thanks to Mom and Dad for the early Anniversary present which made this purchase possible. Can't wait for Falcon Ridge Folk Festival.

[UPDATE 6/4/03 10:58 p.m.: Found pix of a Rockwood 1640ltd from 1999; it looks essentially the same as this year's model.]

posted by boyhowdy | 9:36 PM | 1 comments

Pomp And Circumstance

Oh yeah -- Graduation was Sunday, and it went off without a hitch -- if by "without a hitch" one means "a long vague day punctuated by moments of chaos and panic." Mostly the morning was memorable. Some highlights:

9:20 a.m. After breaking an hour into eight-minute sleepsegments with the snooze alarm, wake up with faint memory of Darcie leaving with the baby to go usher at commencement.

9:30 a.m.-- 9:50 a.m. Put on shirt; take off shirt; put on deodorant; put on shirt. Iron tie. Put tie on poorly. Iron tie again. Put tie on. Take tie off; iron shirtcollar. Put on shirt, tie, suit, graduation gown, the mortarboard with the mickey mouse ears. Put hood on incorrectly.

10:00 a.m. Go downstairs to look for Sam, a wheelchair-bound advisee who cannot get on or off the bus so needs a ride. Find no Sam. Assume, nervously but ultimately correctly, that Sam must be going over with his mother after spending the night at his Boston-area home 2 hours away.

10:05 a.m. Get into car. Get out of car. Realize that keys are in the front seat of Darcie's car, which is now six miles away and phoneless in the auditorium on the other campus. Rummage through four days worth of pants pockets just to be sure, just to be doing something.

10:15 a.m. Hitch ride with graduating senior from Turkey. Thank God.

10:15 a.m. - 10:25 a.m. Endure Beatles music as we wait in traffic to get dropped off at the auditorium. Reconsider thanks to God.

10:30 a.m. - 1:00 p.m. Graduation.

Rain-dampened faculty line-up in cramped green room.

Faculty march-in and up the stairs to settle into painful wood 100-year-old pews.

Class Orator Rob, the first postgraduate chosen for the honor in quite a while, delivers unmemorable speech -- something about the difference between the rough streets where he used to be and the higher-on-Maslow's-pyramid choices he could make here at NMH.

Colin '03 passes the spade -- representing the work program and the commitment to community service. Diana '04 accepts on behalf of the Junior Class

Speaker Francis Moore Lappe delivers a speech about choosing hope, not fear. Speech verges on rousing, but never quite climaxes.

400 seniors and postgraduates march slowly across the stage as their names are read. Sam's wheelchair cannot get onto the stage, so everything stops at L while the Headmaster walks majestically off stage and to the floor, where he hands Sam his diploma. Crowd of thousands surges to their feet. Reportedly, Sam is crying, although the stage's edge blocks my view.

School Song Jerusalem sung. Seniors cry. Everyone yells the line "bring me my arrows of desire" gleefully, even the normally disapproving faculty.

1:30 p.m. -- 3:30 p.m. Hide in apartment. Out the window kids pack, hug each other while their parents stand around awkwardly, drive off one by one.

3:30 p.m. -- 5:00 p.m. After the last stuffed SUV drives off college-bound into the sunset, walk through the hollow-sounding trash-littered war zones of the dormitory. Fold, pack, and put away for Goodwill several huge boxes of designer clothes, shoes, sporting goods, books and random objects of the accumulated one-year life of a few kids, mostly foreign, who have the cash to burn during the weekly mall trips all year but cannot bring everything back to their country. Find and keep a microfiber winter coat, a brand new Banna Republic raincoat, a few books, a pair of binoculars, a 40 pound weight set for Ginny.

5:30 p.m. Drive away from an empty campus.

6:30 p.m. -- about 8:00 p.m. Too many Pied PIPAs, a grilled steak burrito and a farmer's sausage quesadilla at the People's Pint in Greenfield.

? Haze, blurriness. Television. No noises in the hall at all.

Ahhhhhhhh...Summer. Drunken, drunken summer. The hangover was worth it.

[UPDATE 6/3/03 12:56 a.m.: Seems students leaving great stuff behind is a common phenomenon: Today's Boston Globe marvels at the discarded items at Colby College:

258 pairs of women's pants, 199 T-shirts, 40 winter hats...discarded clothes, food and furniture...scales, clocks, mirrors, lamps, ice skates, bicycle helmets, piggy banks, paperback novels, computer printers, stereo systems, and even a few George Foreman Grills were found in the trash.]

posted by boyhowdy | 8:08 PM | 0 comments

Monday Mosh

Today's Monday Mosh comes to you from an otherwise quiet dorm. The kids are gone for the summer -- it's time to rock this place!

What song did you mosh to?
Paper Thin -- Buddy and Julie Miller (off the brand-new and mostly-excellent It'll Come To You: The Songs of John Hiatt)

What did you step on / bump into (bonus points for breakage)
Bumped into my wife a bit, but isn't that the whole point of moshing?

Why did you stop?
Late for the final faculty meeting of the year on the other campus, to be followed by the annual farewell luncheon: steamers, steak and beer to toast retirees with, an especially large crop of fine old folks this year.

Don't forget to post your own Monday Mosh! Dance around like a maniac, blog your chosen song and experience, and then leave a link to your post in the comments below...or paste 'em right in if you're blogless or just want to share! (See Shaw's moshnotes in the comments for the previous entry if you want a hint on how to get started.)

posted by boyhowdy | 10:36 AM | 0 comments