July 3, 2009
1:00 PM- Civil Rights Class
Though it would be wise for me to work on my next assignment, a mock bill due tomorrow morning at 8:30 AM, I feel that I’ve done all that I could at the moment. Being in another class, I’ve decided to catch up on my blog-writing.
I had thought it was impossible for a while, but I feel that I’m finally getting used to my tight, hypnophobic schedule. It seems that once you remember that there’s an hour break after most everything you do, the day just gets that much better. Today, however, breaks have morphed into mini cramming sessions as the entire JSA student body has a test coming up at three-thirty this afternoon. IN addition to the test, everyone is getting ready to force down large vats of black coffee to stay up until four in the morning working on mock bills related to everything from Healthcare reform to mandatory recycling. I myself am currently carefully constructing a plan that will get me to bed by eleven PM. I remain hopeful despite the odds.
At the moment, our Civil Rights Class is watching a documentary on the sit-ins during the segregation era. This is frightening, if not due to the horrors of segregation, than because of yesterdays showing of “The Little Rock Nine” produced two sobbing fellow students during our post-movie discussion.
One of the sorrowful sobbing students was actually my beloved dorm mate Melissa- don’t let the tears for the state of our nation fool you: she’s no crybaby. At 5’10” I’ve finally found a girl who towers over me. (In heels, she’s positively a skyscraper.) Mel’s a real sweetie and, sometimes, her animated facial expressions make me feel that she’s escaped from a cartoon. Misty, our other dorm mate, is another fast friend of mine; we met her with a large, white cowboy hat capping her fiery red head. I have to admit, I expected a “Howdy,” but it turns out she’s actually from So-Cal, like Melissa and me. Then there’s Noora, our dormie from Palestine. She’s one of the friendliest people that I’ve ever met and her accent seems to affect JSA boys in strange and peculiar ways. My other dorm mates are Chauna, Pearl (who is my musical and movie-going soul mate) and Octavia. Together we make up the incredible, the amazing and talented, the slightly out of sane, G31.
Love,
-Bianca
PS. East Coast weather is unpredictable and fickle as nothing I’ve ever before encountered. Last night it rained for exactly three and a half minutes. Before we could even come back from the restroom, the heavy water fall had ceased, as if the sky had needed to release a few drops and was sated before it saw the end of five minutes. This morning was insufferably hot and then about two hours ago, when the deep-sounding Yale bell tolled, water began to fall, stopping when the bells did. This kind of unpredictability really keeps one on their toes.
June 6, 2008
9:13 PM- In the courtyard in front of my dorm, on a bench, under a lamp post, waiting for my nightly floor meeting.
During my last few classes, some of which took up a consecutive four hours of my time), I carefully plotted out each point I wanted to make in the new blog I would write. This blog was to be an epic blog, highlighting my experiences of the past few days because, as everyone knows, the key to being boring is quite simply to say (or, in my case, write) everything. I had created valid points that threaded into my anecdotes morals as the Brother’s Grimm would have done and noted hilarious situations, choosing my words carefully so as to increase their hilarity factor. However, being an extremely forgetful person and too lazy to actually write my blogs on paper when my laptop, Dorian, was not available for use during class due to my loathing of re-typing, I simply forgot everything that I was going to write. I was quite annoyed with this until I realized that it wasn’t me, the author of this blog, who should be annoyed, but you, my audience. You are the ones that have lost a great, dare I say epic, blog, simply due to my extreme forgetfulness and lack of nerve to bring my computer into classes. For that I apologize, you must simply put up with this; my slightly above mediocre blog that I will make up as I go.
These past few days have been very eventful; Saturday was the Fourth of July, which warranted a JSA BBQ in the courtyard, getting out of classes early, and a dance in front of our cafeteria. I must admit that the greatest of all these things was getting out of our classes early. Our dance was filled to the brim with rap music and grinding. When I see- I won’t say ‘couples’ because, as I found out on Saturday night, people don’t dance in pairs of opposite genders anymore- people dance in large groups that rub pelvic areas together while hollering and lifting up skirts- as I was saying, when I see grinding being to happen around me, my legs act as their own vehicles and simply drag me away from the dance floor. Before my mind can even catch up to the fact that this is a scene from Brave New World or that I couldn’t possibly be expected to dance to this without losing something I’m only supposed to give up until after marriage, my legs sense danger first and take me to the sidelines, where I watch like the late animal observer whom we all knew and loved. I sat on the wall, noticing that the crowd bumping and pushing against each other like monkeys trying to get their backs scratched has absolutely no regard for personal space, they seem to need only about one sixth of the enormous dance floor and though they’ve only known each other for about a week, they seem to already be getting to know each other in the biblical sense of the word. Perched a good four feet above the panting crowd on my wall, I imagine that I am Steve, reincarnated;
“Look what we got here, folks, the laaayve teenager, performin’ their matin’ ceremony! See how they get reeaaaal close, as to share pheromones! This’ll halp in the actual conception layta on! Let’s take a closer look!”
It all turned out okay, though, when my dorm mate a dear new friend Misty and I walked home grumpily, only to return five minutes later to pick up Melissa, who had forgotten her key, in pajamas. We left pretending to river dance to a Scottish jig/ head-banging rock song. That was freeing.
Sunday was our first free day, where our boundaries were stretched (within the context of the physical boundaries we have of the school) and we had absolutely no classes or scheduled anything. Beautiful. Well, it was beautiful at first; Misty, Melissa and I went to a really nice little church down the road where we got mugged. Yes, mugged. The congregation, being miniscule (but strong in their tiny numbers) noticed some new faces and handed out mugs with their name emblazoned in gold across their fronts. See, mugged! (The church made that up, I had nothing to do with that advanced level of cleverness.)
Later Sunday, however, we finally crossed the dividing line, finally legal; that we had no idea existed, between fairy tale Yale with its ancient buildings and regal columns, to the Rite Aid and Popeye’s part of town where we were pan-handled by no less than three hobos, at least one of them high. After getting everything I positively needed at Rite Aid, I ran across the street, almost in tears of relief from arriving to safety- and was stopped by a man who asked me for fifty cents, to which I replied apologetically that, no, I did not have fifty cents- and landed in front of the Yale bookstore, clutching my chest and kissing the safe, beautiful, stuffy, Ivy-League ground for which I have never been more thankful.
Afterwards, that story would warp and twist as I re-told it to our RA, Laura, who abandoned us during floor meeting because it was her “day off,” leaving us in the incapable hands of another “camp counselor” (I can never remember what “RA” stands for, but they get mad if you call it “camp”), as is the Bianca Way (Tehe, Bianca Way… Gerard Way… Okay, never mind), to include fainting and a proclamation of “It was like Snow White goes to Compton!” After murmurings of disagreement and much laughter, it was declared that I shall henceforth be known as Snow White- a testament to the translation of my name and incapability of telling a straight story, or one without at least a minor exaggeration.
Today was slightly less eventful; we had our midterms which were very easy thanks to the fact that the loveable Dr. Bruce held a study session last night and handed every one of the ten questions to the few students who had decided to sow up. In addition to kicking this test’s butt, we shopped for purses, I refused to buy a six dollar Chapstick at the Yale bookstore, and we endured four straight hours of class. After this I am very, very tired and long for sleep despite my half-hour nap (with texting intervals, thanks to Christina <3) and cuddle with Don Quixote, whom I refer to quite simply as Lamb. (I miss you, nala! <3)
Once again may I state that miss each and every one of you terribly and I cannot wait to see everyone again, not that I want to leave Yale, but I do want to see everyone. :D
Love,
-Bianca
PS. Tomorrow my classmates and I will visit New York City, NYU and The UN headquarters, specifically, for a speaker’s day, where we will have to endure speeches of whom I hope to be interesting people. I’m mentally preparing myself for the possibility that they may not be interesting… Nevertheless, New York promises to be thrilling, the little bit of it we will be able to experience tomorrow, anyway. Wish me luck.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Yale Diaries Part Four
July 2, 2009
9:40 AM- Civil Rights Class
The past few days have been so tiring! Class is really fun and we have the most talkative and goofy teacher I’ve ever known- Dr. La Tosha Bruce, who punctuates her sentences by exclaiming “Ye-ah!” and who’s idea of an exclamatory phrase is “Oh, sugar!” Dr. Bruce is so amazing at what she does that, I kid you not, she received not less than two notes of adoration of her character written on her own chalkboard. The class is informative and everyone is encouraged to share their opinions and though we often get sidetracked on important subjects as the definition of pansexuality and the different types of weaves Beyonce wears, we’re always having fun- and, of course, learning.
So… Yale. (Hopefully I’ll have time to post pictures in this journal.) Yale is nothing like the college that I’m used to being on (Cal-Poly). First, this is not a campus. I don’t care what anyone calls it, this place is a town. Cars zoom past on the many streets, and buildings loom overhead, all of them looking like ancient cathedrals. It is possibly the oddest sensation ever when one walks into a three -hundred year old building, expecting only dust, to find elevators, computer equipment, and converse shoes.
As for our actual classrooms, our desks are creaky, wooden chairs with little, to-the-side half-desks that can barely support my notebook as I write this. Each of the desk’s surfaces are carved in with everything from initials enclosed in hearts to graduating years hovering beside the infamous Yale “Y” to bad messages concerning Harvard.
Love,
Bianca
PS. They are really mean to Harvard. They wrote PG-13 things… not nice.
9:40 AM- Civil Rights Class
The past few days have been so tiring! Class is really fun and we have the most talkative and goofy teacher I’ve ever known- Dr. La Tosha Bruce, who punctuates her sentences by exclaiming “Ye-ah!” and who’s idea of an exclamatory phrase is “Oh, sugar!” Dr. Bruce is so amazing at what she does that, I kid you not, she received not less than two notes of adoration of her character written on her own chalkboard. The class is informative and everyone is encouraged to share their opinions and though we often get sidetracked on important subjects as the definition of pansexuality and the different types of weaves Beyonce wears, we’re always having fun- and, of course, learning.
So… Yale. (Hopefully I’ll have time to post pictures in this journal.) Yale is nothing like the college that I’m used to being on (Cal-Poly). First, this is not a campus. I don’t care what anyone calls it, this place is a town. Cars zoom past on the many streets, and buildings loom overhead, all of them looking like ancient cathedrals. It is possibly the oddest sensation ever when one walks into a three -hundred year old building, expecting only dust, to find elevators, computer equipment, and converse shoes.
As for our actual classrooms, our desks are creaky, wooden chairs with little, to-the-side half-desks that can barely support my notebook as I write this. Each of the desk’s surfaces are carved in with everything from initials enclosed in hearts to graduating years hovering beside the infamous Yale “Y” to bad messages concerning Harvard.
Love,
Bianca
PS. They are really mean to Harvard. They wrote PG-13 things… not nice.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Yale Diaries Part Three
June 30, 2008
9:15 PM-ish- JSA class, listening to two minute speeches, including the one that I just made (and totally made up on the spot *phew*).
Not having had a chance to sit down and breathe for the past two and a half days, (mostly due to constant classes and meetings), it’s strange that my first true bit of free time is actually during class. (Don’t be mad, it’s just speeches and people seem really nervous.)
The Junior Statesmen of America is an incredibly busy program, I often find myself moving about like a bee in search for pollen under its queen’s orders. Weird, I know,. My schedule is (if I remember correctly) a little as follows:
8:30 AM- Civil Rights. Our main class with a Dr. La Tosha Bruce who’s voice is really, really soothing and Misty and Melissa, and I have a hard time staying awake due to lack of sleep. Each class, we plan out break time naps.
10:30 AM- Break time. Where Melissa, Misty and I decide that we’re not so tired after all and wander around, shopping for cupcakes, light bulbs, and shoes.
11:30 AM- Lunch. all woes are forgotten when food is introduced to the equation.
12:45 PM- Civil Rights. Back in class, we lament over our un-naps. Why didn’t we get more sleep? Why???
2:45 PM- Break Time. Once again, we are so not tired, let’s hang out on the grass and listen to the boy who plays guitar until one in the morning…
3:30 PM- LPS Class. Down to the deep dark bowels of the Yale auditorium for a public speech class- us and all 169 members of the JSA.
4:30 PM- Break time. We are so totally not tired… And then there’s more food…
7:00 PM- LPS class. Back in the dungeons Noora catches a bug on a spoon and tries to throw it on me. Later, she claims she was saving me from the wretched beast. I get los ton my first day and wind up in the wrong classroom, so Mr. Blueberry has to teach me how to write a speech.
10:00 PM- Floor meeting. Laura, our RA (Camp Counselor, basically) talks about her boyfriend, Juan Jose Martinez, and goes over JSA policy.
11:00 PM- Bed check. Laura and the rest of us write a speech for her to read to her beau in Spanish, to show off her mad skills. We giggle until one in the morning.
Hope you’ve enjoyed this rather well-structured account of a day in the life of a sleep deprived, far from home almost-college student. (Nah, I’m just kidding, I’m having lots of fun, but I still miss everyone!)
Love,
-Bianca
9:15 PM-ish- JSA class, listening to two minute speeches, including the one that I just made (and totally made up on the spot *phew*).
Not having had a chance to sit down and breathe for the past two and a half days, (mostly due to constant classes and meetings), it’s strange that my first true bit of free time is actually during class. (Don’t be mad, it’s just speeches and people seem really nervous.)
The Junior Statesmen of America is an incredibly busy program, I often find myself moving about like a bee in search for pollen under its queen’s orders. Weird, I know,. My schedule is (if I remember correctly) a little as follows:
8:30 AM- Civil Rights. Our main class with a Dr. La Tosha Bruce who’s voice is really, really soothing and Misty and Melissa, and I have a hard time staying awake due to lack of sleep. Each class, we plan out break time naps.
10:30 AM- Break time. Where Melissa, Misty and I decide that we’re not so tired after all and wander around, shopping for cupcakes, light bulbs, and shoes.
11:30 AM- Lunch. all woes are forgotten when food is introduced to the equation.
12:45 PM- Civil Rights. Back in class, we lament over our un-naps. Why didn’t we get more sleep? Why???
2:45 PM- Break Time. Once again, we are so not tired, let’s hang out on the grass and listen to the boy who plays guitar until one in the morning…
3:30 PM- LPS Class. Down to the deep dark bowels of the Yale auditorium for a public speech class- us and all 169 members of the JSA.
4:30 PM- Break time. We are so totally not tired… And then there’s more food…
7:00 PM- LPS class. Back in the dungeons Noora catches a bug on a spoon and tries to throw it on me. Later, she claims she was saving me from the wretched beast. I get los ton my first day and wind up in the wrong classroom, so Mr. Blueberry has to teach me how to write a speech.
10:00 PM- Floor meeting. Laura, our RA (Camp Counselor, basically) talks about her boyfriend, Juan Jose Martinez, and goes over JSA policy.
11:00 PM- Bed check. Laura and the rest of us write a speech for her to read to her beau in Spanish, to show off her mad skills. We giggle until one in the morning.
Hope you’ve enjoyed this rather well-structured account of a day in the life of a sleep deprived, far from home almost-college student. (Nah, I’m just kidding, I’m having lots of fun, but I still miss everyone!)
Love,
-Bianca
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Yale Diaries Part Two
June 28, 2009
6 AM-ish- Chicago (So they say)
Though I acknowledge that technically (according to my phone that just died from confusion) it is six in the morning here in Illinois, I have my doubts. First of all, it’s entirely too bright to be six in the morning- the sun doesn’t rise until I wake up- about nine on weekends- 7:30 when school’s in session. Second, I just left the airport in LA at eleven PM- one showing of Confession s of a Shopaholic does not take one from pre-midnight to ‘Up and at um.’ This simply does not happen in The Real World and since I spent my whole flight (the parts where I wasn’t watching confessions) trying- and failing- to wrap my head around time zones, I’ve decided that they are simply made up and only California time is truly real and can be trusted- everything else is The Twilight Zone with Edward Cullen and Espadrille shoes- beyond my comprehension.
Well, my flight was absolutely incredible! (I just refrained from writing the word awesome in all caps, Haha.) I managed to snag a window seat (Though this involves the story of a presumably empty seat and an unhappy-looking Hawaiian woman, I will refrain, for the greater good, from recounting it here.) though I wasn’t sure I actually wanted one. (It just seems the thing to do when one finds oneself on a plane.) Taking off was fast and noisy, but afterwards the city was just lights and tiny pinpricks of amber in seemingly random patterns and little black clouds floated under us like thinly stretched out cotton candy (in black licorice flavor, maybe) trying to block the view. After spending half an hour with my face pressed up against the glass like an idiot, thinking how like something out of a George Lucas film this was, I settled down, next to my perturbed Polynesian to watch Confessions of a Shopaholic. It was after the film when I realized that getting onto an airplane is almost exactly like being in a movie theater, only there’s a security check and when you leave you’re in a different place than where you started.
Love,
-Bianca
PS. Tia Nana called when I was still at LAX and the moment she began to speak, the Disney theme “When You Wish Upon a Star” came on via airport speakers. I told her that while I had always known she and Tia Bertha were magical, I had no idea that she could bring Disney’s essence with her over a phone call, to which she replied “Of course.”
6 AM-ish- Chicago (So they say)
Though I acknowledge that technically (according to my phone that just died from confusion) it is six in the morning here in Illinois, I have my doubts. First of all, it’s entirely too bright to be six in the morning- the sun doesn’t rise until I wake up- about nine on weekends- 7:30 when school’s in session. Second, I just left the airport in LA at eleven PM- one showing of Confession s of a Shopaholic does not take one from pre-midnight to ‘Up and at um.’ This simply does not happen in The Real World and since I spent my whole flight (the parts where I wasn’t watching confessions) trying- and failing- to wrap my head around time zones, I’ve decided that they are simply made up and only California time is truly real and can be trusted- everything else is The Twilight Zone with Edward Cullen and Espadrille shoes- beyond my comprehension.
Well, my flight was absolutely incredible! (I just refrained from writing the word awesome in all caps, Haha.) I managed to snag a window seat (Though this involves the story of a presumably empty seat and an unhappy-looking Hawaiian woman, I will refrain, for the greater good, from recounting it here.) though I wasn’t sure I actually wanted one. (It just seems the thing to do when one finds oneself on a plane.) Taking off was fast and noisy, but afterwards the city was just lights and tiny pinpricks of amber in seemingly random patterns and little black clouds floated under us like thinly stretched out cotton candy (in black licorice flavor, maybe) trying to block the view. After spending half an hour with my face pressed up against the glass like an idiot, thinking how like something out of a George Lucas film this was, I settled down, next to my perturbed Polynesian to watch Confessions of a Shopaholic. It was after the film when I realized that getting onto an airplane is almost exactly like being in a movie theater, only there’s a security check and when you leave you’re in a different place than where you started.
Love,
-Bianca
PS. Tia Nana called when I was still at LAX and the moment she began to speak, the Disney theme “When You Wish Upon a Star” came on via airport speakers. I told her that while I had always known she and Tia Bertha were magical, I had no idea that she could bring Disney’s essence with her over a phone call, to which she replied “Of course.”
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