It's Almost Heeere

LET ME TELL YOU WHY I'M EMPHATIC ENOUGH TO WRITE IN ALL CAPS.

IN T-2 DAYS I WILL GO HERE

 TO SEE THIS GUY

 

AND WE WILL GO EAT THIS FOOD

 

THEN ROAD TRIP HERE

 

TO SEE THIS GUY 

 

 AND THESE GUYS

 BUT MAINLY THIS GUY

 

AFTER WHICH I WILL GO HERE 

 TO SEE THESE LOVIES

 AND EAT MORE OF THIS

 

 HALLELUJAH, FALL BREAK.

Clear Eyes, Full Heart

Tonight, my dorm at GTL threw all of the students a barbecue, promising "hot dogs, crisps, dessert, and some drink!" They also had a DJ booth and lights set up. Crazy crazy. The point was to encourage intermingling between the French and American students living in the building. This is the story of that intermingling.

My little posse of Americans had the pleasure of meeting Hugo and Henemlnejnd. (He must have said his name for me at least 6 times, but that's still all I got.) I have a problem. It's called smiling and nodding. Yes, I may have actively participated in 100% of the conversation tonight, but I comprehended about 14% of it. The highlight was probably when I zoned out for a good bit, only to be jerked back into reality by hearing "Fraaihday Naaight Laaightz?", in response to which I shouted, "Friday Night Lights?!! I LOVE that show! Coach Taylor is my HERO!" Hugo agreed, almost as emphatically, raised a fist, and exclaimed "Texas Forever!". Life = made. I'll have you know that the first thing these fellows knew about me was that I was from Texas, so they understood the importance of the series to my soul. It happened as all these things seem to happen. A group is approached and asked a question, everyone stares blankly at each other for a good minute and a half, then someone finally answers. I'm usually that someone. The question tonight was where we were all from, and I answered with a "well, I'm from Texas". Hemechlind really liked that. I know because his face lit up and his eyes opened wide and his mouth spread into a grin from ear to ear. "Aahhhh! Texaahhs! Naaaaice!" Hugo was pumped about it, too. Everyone. Loves. Texas. From then on, our conversation included almost everything you could think of - sports, school, travel, food, music, TV - and then we dispersed. Too early, I think, because from my window I can now hear the sweet sounds of French voices being raised to In The Navy, Funkytown, and Smells Like Teen Spirit, among other choice tunes. I guess I'll just have to join in from afar.

Note: hotdogs in France come on baguettes, not buns. wowzers.

Eric the Hero

There are waiters, and then there are waiters. Eric, my friends, is of the latter category. Since I'm an urban dwelling twenty-something, and therefore undeniable mod and trendy, I spent my Saturday night with friends at a tapas bar* hidden among ballroom dance studios and furniture boutiques. It was like rounding a corner and ending up in Latin paradise. Live music, good eats, atmosphere out the wazoo, it had it all. Plus Eric. Who brought us free flan. Then we ordered tres leches, and that one was on the house, too. I wrote "Thanks, Eric!" and drew a cat on the receipt, because that's what anyone would do in response to their new hero, right?

So, waiters, become waiters. Take note of Eric. Give people free dessert because it makes them beyond happy and makes you beyond heroic.

*The restaurant in question is Eclipse di Luna, and it was divine. Everything was right tasty, but my favorites were: Coca de Pato, Pimientos Rellenos con Queso de Cabra, Calamaras Fritos, and Ceviche de Huachinango. Hop to it.

Swamped

It's no secret that I love Swamp People. Check it. I am obsessed with this show. Not in a "look how trendy I am by ironically 'liking' this ridiculous show about ridiculous people" kind of way, but in a "would you like to read my 1500 word analysis on why this show is Tops McGee" sort of way. That's right, folks, my English class about the wonders of television was assigned a paper analyzing any one episode of any show on television. Amidst countless essays mindlessly plot summarizing South Park and How I Met Your Mother, there lies one beautifully crafted dissertation on the unbelievable phenomenon that is Swamp People.

I didn't watch the Super Bowl. I turned the TV on in the fourth quarter to watch the Swamp People ad. While wearing my "Aligator [sic] Queen" baseball cap. I'm counting down the hours until the Season 3 premiere on Thursday night. My whole week has been planned around that.

I guess I just wanted to share that I'm not a cutesy fan. And you can take that to the swamp.

Chicken-fil-A

"Got any fun plans this weekend?"
"I'm going to a Leadership Conference!"

Granted, it probably wasn't the expected response, but it was true. Going to a leadership conference was the big highlight of my weekend. And you know what? It was awesome. Mainly because the keynote speaker was Dan T. Cathy, President and CEO of Chick-fil-A. I think we can all agree that Chick-fil-A is the bomb, not only because of the dee-licious chicken, but also because of the service. Mr. Cathy impressed me by his retention of values amidst obvious business smarts, but also by his retention of business smarts amidst values. It frustrates me that most openly religious leaders in secular industries are portrayed as hokey, simple folk - having values translates to easily taken advantage of. Hearing Mr. Cathy speak of his business model was unreal. He inserts morals without seeming like a pushover. He uses those morals expressly to boost profits without seeming like a jerk. It's amazing.

Mr. Cathy brought copies of his dad's book for everyone, and after he spoke a friend suggested we go get our books signed. I introduced myself as being from Tyler, Texas and Mr. Cathy immediately mentioned the Tyler restaurant operators by name, Green Acres Baptist Church, and Broadway Square Mall. He has restaurants all over the nation, in cities far more exciting than Tyler, but he knew. And I think that, more than anything else, was what impressed me about Dan Cathy.

So go Eat Mor Chikin.

Adulthood

Proof that I am an adult:

I wear powder, and sometimes even blush.
I am a registered voter.
I live 696 mi. away from my parents.
I am of age to be a camp counselor*.
I just made an Excel spreadsheet to track my spending.

What more do you need?

*When I went to camp, I always had the perception that the counselors were extremely old and in a stage of life that I would never reach in a million years. If my elementary school self had been as influenced by Pioneer Woman as my college aged self, she would have said, "Rhonda help me the day I'm old enough to be a camp counselor...". My, how that day has come.

Professions

Yes, I am guilty. So, so, guilty. Of professor crushes. Up until now there have just been one or two per semester, but with this particular class load I have hit the jackpot of adorable little foreign science/math nerd men that should have action figures made of them. Which, by the way, I've realized is one my highest forms of regard - the desire to have an action figure made of someone. Weird, I know.

My Materials professor is from India and has a full beard and wears a turban. He says things like uh-LOY instead of alloy, but my favorite has to be Potashium and Franshium instead of Potassium and Francium. Gotta love it.

My Statics professor introduced himself as "Hoo-lee-ahn REE-mo-lEE, but ju weel say 'Jew-lee-uhn Ruh-MOW-li'". He's basically adorbs. His hair moves up and down when he writes on the board, he wears glasses, and all of his shirts have two pockets.

My Physics professor is studly. He wears Crocodile Dundee hats and Hawaiian shirts unbuttoned just enough to allow for tufts of silver chest hair to cascade like cataracts (the waterfall kind, not the ocular clouding kind). He also has a luxurious silver 'stache and flowing silver hair that protrudes from his ever present hat. He laughs at his own jokes and trails off into incoherent mumbling when talking about more physics than we're expected to know, but that he wants to talk about anyway.

My Diff Eq professor looks like a dead ringer for an elder relative of Mr. Ratburn. His eyebrows and mustache look like the same image copied and pasted onto three parts of his face. He wears cardigans or, rather, a cardigan, since it's been the same one every day so far. He instructs us to "eh-study" the "recipes" for solving equations in order to find the "keeler", because solving differential equations is a lot like solving murders. He's a fan of solid analogies. And he refers to Calculus as magic. And his name is Rafael de la Llave - just roll the r's and turn Llave into a very loud "YAAAH - vay" for the full effect.

Professor. Love.
I honestly cannot wait for Invite Your Professor to Lunch day.

CYD

Because I am an advisor for EL, I get opportunities to do really cool things. Take this morning, for example. For most college students, knowing that you have to be up and at 'em at 7:30 on the morning after campus finally goes wet is not cool. For me, it was cool because I was so amped for Into the Streets, a morning of service for the freshman class. My job was to go be a freshman wrangler and make sure everyone in my group was having fun and getting involved in the project we were assigned.

I ended up joining the group headed to Create Your Dreams, and incredible organization here in Atlanta. These awesome people pick, based on need and promise, a number of 3rd graders from a small, Title I elementary school and basically foster and encourage their dreams all throughout elementary, middle, high school, and eventually college, breaking the cycle of poverty that has been inherent to their families for generations. Most of these kids are the first to earn high school diplomas, gain admittance into college, earn college degrees, and even go on to graduate programs. Some of these girls are the first in their families to make it past sweet sixteen without being pregnant. The kids get one on one tutoring, college prep, stability, a safe and secure atmosphere, and love and caring from the CYD team. It is honestly amazing. Our involvement today was to just have fun with and love on some of the kids. We played field day games, ninja, tug of war. We made crafts. We played UNO and Spades. We talked about Greek mythology, writing plays, playing in the band. These kids were so bright and cheerful, making my early morning wake up call incredibly worth it. And their classroom looks like something straight Out of the Box. Late 90's Disney Channel, say what.

Choot It!

When I was younger, spending the night at my grandparents never failed to include three crucial things: we would play hide and seek, we would sit on the floor to eat dinner at the glass table in the den, and we would watch The Crocodile Hunter. Other activities surfaced from time to time, but these three were never failing. I'm certain that this is when my love of crocodiles/alligators was born. They are, and have been, my favorite animals for quite a while. (Yes, this is weird. Yes, this is unusual. When have I been anything but?) I could spend hours at the zoo searching for the alligators, trying to spot them on the bank or swimming in the enclosure. Once, I saw a toady little boy and his friends leaning over the edge of the alligator exhibit. I followed their gaze to see a gator, right up by the observation bridge! To my horror, I watched as the little pest unscrewed the cap off of his water bottle, flourished it before his cronies, and threw it as hard as he could into the exhibit, hitting the gator square on the back. I was so mad that I almost cried. Another time, at a Girl Scout career exploration day, I went to a presentation by a marine biologist. It was sort of boring, until the end of her lecture, when she reached down into a white cooler and pulled out a baby alligator and walked around the classroom, letting each of us pet it. I was so happy that I almost cried.

Now, with such strong feelings toward gators, I'm sure it's expected that I be appalled at the hunting of so noble a creature. Not true. I'm a realist, folks, and I realize that in a world overrun by Jurassiclike beings it won't matter one lick how much I admire the species - they will eat me. It is with this attitude that I have nursed an affinity for the unbeatable History Channel series, Swamp People. No kidding. I like this show a whole lot. Watch one episode, and you'll be just as hooked as if you were a gator on Pierre Part who happened onto one of Troy Landry's lines. When I heard that some of the Swamp People were coming to Flint, Texas, you bet your bottom dollar that I was there. Not only did I get to meet and take pictures with Mike Kliebert, I also got to realize a dream. I held an alligator. It was divine.

All the Rest

Um, so, my plan to blog a summary of each day of Mission Week failed. Pretty much, Byron said tons of cute Louisiana cowboy things, I answered tons of phone calls, I dealt with tons of middle school boys and old folks, I ate tons, and I had one of the most fun, exhausting, rewarding weeks.

Day One

Today, the first day of Mission Week, was chaotic hectic insane wild surprisingly smooth. I spent my day in Command Central, answering phone calls for water and ice deliveries, organizing which crews went to which lunch, formatting spread sheets, buzzing here, buzzing there. Probably my very favorite part of this job, though, is the plethora of opportunities I get to chat it up with older generations. These people are the neatest ever. Plus, they know so much that those of us growing up today will never experience.

One such man I met today was the chef, Byron, who drives in from Louisiana to make us gumbo and Cajun spaghetti for lunch. He's tall, trim, tan, and looks like the closest thing Louisiana's got to a cowboy. His first words to me? "Molly Cook. How ya' doin', baby?" I wish millions more greeted likewise.

This is The First Day of My Life

Last night, Bright Eyes, the Tabernacle, ohmygosh. This concert was beyond amazing. He put out a new CD at the beginning of the year, so I was a little nervous that the majority of the setlist would come from that. Pleasant. Pleasant. Surprise. He played tons of old stuff, including some of my very favorite songs and some that I'm Groovesharking at my earliest convenience because they sounded great and I was a little ashamed of myself for not having heard this goodness before. My highlights of the night: Bowl of Oranges, I'm Wide Awake It's Morning, Gold Mine Gutted, Take it Easy, <entire setlist>. I can't pick highlights. The whole night was my highlight. Plus, I got to hang out with a pretty awesome Big, who's birthday happens to be today, so we went b-day shopping a day early at the merch table. Scores all around.

"We went to Disneyworld and learned a new motto. Celebrate the dream inside. That's what we're encouraging you to do tonight. Celebrate it."

"This next song....is in 3D. Please put on the glasses that were handed to you at the door."
3 minutes pass.
"Please put on the 3D glasses"
3 minutes pass.
"There must have been some kind of mistake. Just squint really hard at the stage for this next song."

"You might be wondering who this handsome devil is. Right here, in the flesh."

Dear Conor, if I could be half as devil-may-care as you, I would feel unstoppable. Keep up the good work.




P.S. I'm pleased that some of my pictures from the concert turned out ok, but I'm sick and tired of shooting on the Auto setting, especially when I know my camera can do better than most of the shots I got last night. Any good tips/tricks/tutorials for sashaying into the realm of priority or manual settings?

Terquasquicentennial!

Living in Georgia has driven me a little Texas Crazy - and I'm ok with that. Actually, I'm more than ok with that.

Today is the 175th Anniversary of Texan Independence! 175 years ago to the day, the grand nation I call home was born. Cue the cowboy boots, red white and blue, and big hair. My Texas Pride is through the roof, y'all.

Texas is the bestus.

This is some of what I love about Texas:

Cowboys

History

Boots

Dairy Queen

Pride

Whataburger

Bigness

Football

Homecoming Mums

Music

Tex-Mex

Bluebonnets

Piney Woods

Pecans

The State Fair

A Toast

Here's to late night Skype conversations with this girl that garner uproarious laughter, funny looks from passersby, spur of the moment friend-requesting, memories of the golden days, and an altogether darn good time. Stay golden, Ponyboy.

If I had only known...

Alton Brown was signing books in Atlanta today, and I didn't know it until too late. Utter devestation.

Mail

I really like getting mail, and the fact that my post office box here at Tech is old-timey makes it even better. There's something decidedly classy about written correspondence: Jane Austen, George Bush, John Adams, C.S. Lewis, basically all of my heroes, wrote letters.

The only thing is, I keep getting mail addressed to someone else with my box number. The first couple of times this happened, I responsibly threw them all away, assuming that they were spillovers from last year. After getting a few more, I finally went to the desk and asked what I should do with this random girl's mail from last year. Apparently, I share a post office box.