This Is Goodbye My Friends

I have this white board in my old bedroom in my parent’s house that is still filled with a list of things to bring to college, which I hastily scribbled out five months ago. When I returned home sick, the list couldn’t help but draw my eye, with it’s bright blue scrawl now acting as the centerpiece in my empty room.

Rock Climbing Gear

Yoga Stuff

Bedding…

It is amazing that this messy little list is the best reminder of what I thought my first semester in college would be like. I was finally escaping god-forsaken Oklahoma to live at the base of the Rockies, in a town where yoga studios littered every corner and I could eat granola and yogurt every day. In the end, I did a pretty good job guessing what I would need for life in my teeny-tiny dorm. But I could never have predicted how my first semester would turn out. Though I put my climbing gear at the top of the list, I only made the time to go climbing once, and my yoga practice took a long vacation when my illness moved in. I did make ample use of my bedding (you become good friends with your sheets when you are bedridden for two months), and ate my weight in granola and yogurt.

Now I am moving back home to recover from my illness with my family’s support, and I have been reflecting on my first semester of college. I imagined that I would climb out of bed in the morning, dash off to yoga for an hour or two, maybe go to a few classes, then be off to the Flat Irons for an evening climb. Clearly, life had different plans.

I wish that I could offer up an insight from my experience, summarize in five hundred words or less the greater truth I have learned. But, I can’t. Like my situation right now, my emotions and insights are complicated. I enjoyed my time at CU; I will miss the school and my friends. But I know logically that returning to the University of Oklahoma is the best thing for me right now. I have no clear idea what I want to do with my life, or even what continent I will be on in six months. I do not even know where I will be living in January.

All I can really do is try to avoid poking my tender and confused emotions too much, and let them sort themselves out. I can bake Christmas cookies, enroll in classes, and try to find some way to build a new life in Oklahoma. Looking back, it was the times when I was goofing off with my friends, or doing what I loved that I was happiest. So, maybe it doesn’t matter what state I am in (and maybe Oklahoma is not as god-forsaken as I once thought), but what I do with the time that is given me.

For now, the only insight I can offer you in my last post is this; life never fits in a plan. There is rarely a clear answer, and it is nearly impossible to pick a course and stick with it till the end. But despite my terribly confused life and my equally confused emotions, the monkey wrenches I have been thrown have made my life richer than I could have imagined when I first wrote my list on that abandoned white board.

Living In A Closet-Sized Room With A Complete Stranger....

I never thought I would enjoy living in a teeny-tiny, off-white dorm room with a complete stranger, and I will admit, there were parts of living in the dorms that I absolutely loathed. The food is terrible (and bad for me to boot), the gentlemen who live above my room have terrible taste in techno music, and I cannot have a dog. But, overall, I am glad that I chose to live in the dorms.

As the woman in the study abroad talk commented, “Living in a closet-sized room with a total stranger, no kitchen, and a public bathroom for a year is a uniquely American thing.” Most of my parent’s friends, who have long left their college days behind, simply shake their head and grimace when I describe the manner in which I live. It is amazing how the look they give me perfectly matches the looks I get while discussing my miserable, two month long mystery illness—as if they were equivalent levels of suffering. But honestly, though I play up the sympathy card with colorful descriptions of strange, gelatinous substances in the sinks and comparisons to high-class refugee camps, it is not that miserable.

I have never been in a place that is so silly and carefree. We prance around and two o’clock in the morning, stealing people’s chairs and hiding them in the public showers. Doors are never locked here, and I constantly have girls walking into my room heralding the usual opening phrase, “I have the best gossip.” We watch the gag reel of “Star Trek 2009” seven times in a row, and my roommate reads me bedtime stories about all the chemicals in refined sugar that will make me grow a third arm twenty years down the road.

I spent all of last night camped out in on my friend’s obnoxiously pink shag rug (honestly, it looks like Barbie vomited on it) playing “Star Wars Trivial Pursuit” with my roommate and friend Chelsea (whose depths of nerd knowledge never fail to amaze me). We pig out on Cosmos Pizza and chocolate-chip cookies, paint our toenails, and mercilessly judge the hot (or not hot) men on TV. Nights like those are the ones that have made my college experience worthwhile.

I love that company is only a few steps and a knock on the door away. I have gotten to know the girls in my hall like I have never known anyone before. How many people get to see that Miss Southern Bell Emma is a trekkie? Or that Caroline (a biology major) has always dreamed of being a D.J.? Or that Diana has a completely irrational fear of fish? But, these are the silly things you learn about someone’s private life that you cannot learn without hanging out on a Tuesday night, and a Wednesday night, and Thursday, and well you catch my drift.

My roommate, Diana, has been the most worthwhile thing about the dorms. She is a quirky, considerate, bundle of chaos. She is always up for anything, she is a modern twist on her old-school hippie mother and father, she has these disturbingly bohemian moments, she shops for shoes in Prague, and she one of the most down-to-earth people I know.

As shocked as I am to hear myself saying this, living in a closet sized room with a complete stranger was the best thing I have done for myself in college. I don’t know what I would do without Diana’s wise/bohemian/amazingly down to earth/off the wall advice. The funny thing is that we are not best friends (we would probably slit each other’s throats if we saw much more of each other); she is more like my favorite cousin. She knows all of the minute details of my existence: from my worst hair days, to my strange compulsion to make my bed (which only developed after I moved out of my parent’s house—sorry mom), to my unhealthy obsession with “The West Wing.” It is amazing to have someone who knows me that well to seek opinions from, and who gives those opinions without an opinion about who I should become.

I think I will come to miss our daily floor-wide exercise-video workouts (ordered off an infomercial—as the best kinds always are), our lazy nights spent flipping through Cosmo and discussing the latest scandals, and most of all, the companionship that is inevitably born from living in such close proximity to one another. But let’s be honest, despite all the good, I won’t be signing up for another year in the dorms.

Gone Home Sick

My mother looked at me across the kitchen counter in her home in Oklahoma. “You are flying home tomorrow, don’t forget,” she said in mock serious tones.

“Oh right, I can’t wait to see you,” I replied with similar gravity. “There is one hitch,” I continued with our ruse, “how am I supposed to fly home when I am already here?”

I was supposed to be packing my bags right now to leave for Thanksgiving Break tomorrow afternoon. However, life had different plans. About a month ago, I got sick…very sick. I have somehow royally angered the sickness gods, because I have still not recovered, or shown many signs of progress. To top it all off, we have no idea what is wrong with me, and no clue as to when I will get better. So, I returned home a week ago to recover (hence the delay in posts; sorry about that).

This is one of those situations that my “how to survive college” books and orientations meetings (yes, I actually paid attention to those—I know I am a nerd) did not guide me through. Like all real-life situations, I have been forced to learn a few things.

1) Email your professors—incessantly. From the moment you first wake up feeling like you have been hit by a train to the time when the last traces of the sniffles are a distant memory, give them updates on your status and limitations. I am not exaggerating when I say that you should tell them about every cough, doctor’s appointment, and missed lecture. They need you to document your condition so they can help you recover your semester when you recover your health. If you mysteriously disappear in the middle of semester without any communications, they will either assume that you have become a practitioner of “skis and c’s” or will file a missing person’s report on you. Either will leave a large, persistent headache waiting to welcome you back with open arms.

2) Get doctors to sign off on everything. It is hard to argue with a doctor’s note saying you are too sick to go to class. And this could come in handy if you are forced to withdraw for a semester, or if you are sick for long enough to need extra help catching up in your classes.

3) Don’t be a hermit. For the first two-and-a-half weeks, I tried to tough out my illness on my own. This was probably the single stupidest thing I have ever done. Once my parent’s found out that I had told no one of my condition and berated me for my foolishness, I decided that instead spending the next seventeen days spent locked in my closet sized dorm room eating only canned soup and toast, I would start to ask for help. On the bright side, eating only canned soup nipped that freshman fifteen problem right in the butt. But, losing fifteen pounds because you are too weak to get out of bed and feed yourself and are too stubborn to ask for help is not what I would call ideal. Once I told people that I was ill, I have received a rather overwhelming number of offers of help and concern. The day when my friend Bianca charged into my room, breaking a three day streak of almost complete isolation, and announced that she was going to hang out with me for a few hours and would not be catching what I have (The only explanation of that assurance was her bark of “mind over matter.”) may well have been the happiest moment of my life.

After I saw sense and started communicating with others about my situation, my standard of living has dramatically improved. My professors have all assured me that they are more than willing to help me in any way they can to recover my semester. Both of my bosses pardoned any work or deadline I had to meet. My mom came and took care of me for a few days, then took me home to my nice big bed, kitchen, and puppy dog! Even my doctor at Wardenburg has been wonderfully helpful, writing notes to my teachers, copying my lab results for me, and even calling every day to check in on how I am doing.

I don't know when I will get better (I admit I was a very disappointed that I did not recover immediately upon returning home; I had secretly hoped it was just an acute case of homesickness). For now, all I can do is try my best to enjoy my forced vacation, and try not to stress about the semesters to come. As all of my teacher and friends have told me, right now I need to “focus on getting better.”

Please Save Me From My Dad's Tofurky!

As you know, Thanksgiving is just around the corner. I am lucky enough to be celebrating the holiday with my family this year. But, like all time spent with family, this comes with a catch. This will be my first Thanksgiving as a vegetarian and my dad has some peculiar attachment to feeding me meat substitutes. Now, I have nothing against tofu or tempe, but really there is only so much fake meat a person can take. I am to the point where I would very much like to beat him senseless with one of his soy sausages. But, I know that he is well intentioned, so do you have any suggestions for a protein-rich Thanksgiving dish (with no soy-based meaty mystery substances) that I can tactfully recommend instead? Please?

Naked Pumpkin Run Divides Boulder!

(Due to adult content, there will be no picture accompanying this post. Viewer discretion advised.)

Boulder’s latest scandal has made national news, or at least the top stories in the Wall Street Journal http://online.wsj.com/article/SB125693458626119361.html

(I read it sometimes because they give it to me for free in the Business School—see mom, having things “just handed to you” can teach me important things). Every year the residents of Boulder, including many CU students, partake in a very Boulder-like tradition called the Naked Pumpkin Run. I am sure you will be shocked to find out that this run is exactly what it sounds like; runners strip down to their skins, place hollowed out pumpkins on their heads, and run down Pearl Street at an undisclosed hour on Halloween night (normally around midnight). For years, hordes of adoring fans have gathered in the city’s center street to cheer them on, while the police stand by a bit helplessly (this may be due to the fact that it is not actually illegal to run naked through the streets in Boulder, or maybe just a natural shyness about tackling and arresting naked people).

This year, that has changed…

It seems that the chief of police is trying to crack down on these nudist runners—much to the shock and dismay of Boulder citizens. As the Wall Street Journal put it, “the city has had a long, proud history of nudity.” Yet, this Halloween, the police deployed forty officers and two SWAT teams to patrol the three-block area, under orders to arrest any naked runners as sex offenders (Aren’t SWAT teams normally used in emergencies like hostage situations and terrorist attacks? I somehow doubt that a throng of naked runners qualifies as a national emergency.) Residents fear that the police action will tarnish Boulder’s reputation as a city over-run with crazy, upper-class hippies. Even the mayor is against the police’s crack down.

It now seems like Boulder is splitting at the seams. With public officials picking sides I would like to know what you all think. Have the police gone too far? Or is this Boulder rite of passage a little too strange for civilized society? I personally am a fan of the run, but my word is not law (sadly) and the debate rages on in Boulder. Hapa Restaurant found the silver lining to this situation and are raking in the publicity for their brilliant ad campaign—giving out free orange underwear with “Run Responsibly” printed on the back (http://www.dailycamera.com/archivesearch/ci_13661322). But many runners refused the free gift, bearing it all to let Boulder be, well, Boulder.

Snow!

It is snowing today. The sky has that peculiar texture that it obtains only when it snows—composed of dense, light grey clouds, without a single break for the entire skyline—so that it looks like the normally blue sky has been blocked out by a warm, old blanket that all of CU is snuggling up under. I am curled up underneath the biggest window in my dorm, drinking a mug of hot chocolate as big as my head, and watching the fat flakes fall from the sky.

Back in Oklahoma, snow was a special occasion. During the one or two snowfalls a year, everyone would cluster by the window and watch the flakes come down. When it snowed, schools would shut down, parents would brew hot chocolate, and kids would hurl themselves out to play at the lightest dusting of white on the ground. Snow cemented its special place in my heart one morning when I was eight or nine. My sister and mother and I had made a Jello cake the night before. But, it was not ready before bed, so I was condemned to leave it for dessert the night after. When I woke the next morning and bounced to breakfast, what to my wondering eyes did appear? My mother, holding a large slice of Jello cake and a steaming mug of hot coco to hype me up for a day in the snow. We never, ever ate desserts at my house; so naturally, I could not believe my eyes. I kept glancing up at my mom, waiting for her to change her mind, and snatch the plate away. But she never did. After I finished what was probably the happiest meal of my life, my big sister and I ran outside and played all day in a sugared-up frenzy. My mom even took time off of work to help us build the biggest snow fort in history!

But, I have found that in Colorado, snow does not hold the same magic. Most of the natives I know simply sigh, pull on their snow boots, and resign themselves to a day of slogging through the mud to get to class. At the beginning of summer, when I was waiting out the ninety-degree heat, I would chatter on to my new friends about how I could not wait for it to snow. Most of them looked at me baffled. “Why? Snow is so annoying,” they would reply. So naturally, today as I bundled up in my snow gear, ready to play in the snow, my roommate looks at me, shakes her head, and just says, “No. I am going to fall over. My boots are going to get wet.”

I have begun to react to college in a similar manner to Coloradoans and the snow. Many mornings I sigh, pull up a stack of books, and begin to tackle that day’s to-do list. I have found that college is surprisingly monotonous. Granted, there are great opportunities, but most of my days are spent hacking away at endless homework, keeping up with my paid work, or going to class. Maybe it is just the truth of anything that you live everyday, but the shiny has rubbed off of college, and it can just be tedious.

Today, the snow reminded me to look for the magic in my life. Despite the mud on my academic boots, college is still this fairy-tale place where we can hang out with other intellectuals, sample almost every type of subject imaginable in search of our passion, and when we finally do find a passion, study under leaders in the field.

In the midst of midterm season, I too often focus on the work and the stress, and I lose sight of just how good my life is right now. But, when I am feeling most worn down, I pass in front of a window and watch the flakes come down.

Homesick

I am sitting in bed, watching an inflatable bat that is hanging from the ceiling spin slowly in circles, and this particular bat is making me very homesick.

My mother brought me my inflatable bat—along with some fake spider web and a skeleton that looks like he is spending all of his afterlife tripping on acid—this past weekend during their visit. My mom and dad, as well as an estimated four thousand six hundred other parents, descended upon the campus last weekend for Family Weekend.

“I thought you might like these—since you love to decorate so much,” she giggled with a wink, as she pulled the Halloween decorations out of the duffle bag of goodies my parents brought me. We spent the next hour oohing and awing over my loot, and turning my taupe colored dorm into a very, very small haunted house.

In many respects, my family’s first Family Weekend was a lot like Christmas. Not just because my dad looks eerily like Santa (I actually thought he was Santa when I was little because he had a workshop and wore lots of red around Christmas. He wears the red, I later found out, because so many children stop and ask him is he is the real Santa Clause.), but also because of all of the great presents, the wonderful food, and the company of family. It may have been the happiest day of my life when my parents told me that their goal was to treat me to all the food I normally couldn’t afford on a student budget.

It was wonderful to have my parents around again—even for a little bit. I have struggled to really talk to them over the phone when one or the other of us is always running off to deal with something. It is proving surprisingly tough to synch separate lives. So, l loved having them be a part of my life for a few days, and to be able to have complete, face-to-face, conversations with them. I missed them.

But, eventually we ran out of talks to attend and pictures to share, and the weekend drew to a close. After very long hugs, and three our four attempts to say goodbye, they loaded the car and drove away. And, perhaps the most unexpected aspect of the entire weekend was not how much I had missed my family, but was how I was ok when they left. Once they were gone, I simply walked back to my dorm, chatted with my roommate, and once again dove into the large pile of homework waiting for me at the foot of my bed.

They say you don’t realize how much you change until you revisit the places you came from. I would say the same holds true when those places visit you. It feels like I have been in college for a lot longer than a few months. I have gotten into the swing of my classes, I am starting to build lasting friendships, and I have even come to refer to the dorm as home (sometimes).

I would say I have begun to form a makeshift family at CU. My roommate has gone home this weekend, and I realized that I feel her absence most acutely of all. It is nice to have someone who will be there to ask you how your day went, and to listen to you rant about some impossible assignment or annoying kid in class. I miss having someone to say goodnight to. I believe my biggest change since arriving here has been that I no longer think I am here to “become my own person”, but instead to become a person who understands how we all support each other.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Band.

Per Request (Logan) here are some pictures of the CU band doing a pre-game show this past parents weekend. My window faces Farrand field, so I get the joy of hearing these students play the fight song for a good six hours or so on Saturday before the game. But, despite my desire to tear my ears off after the first three hours of repetition, they are actually very talented. Go band and go Buffs! Yay for winning last weekend!

What Would You Like To See on the Blog?

As I am sure you can tell, we are in the process of revamping the blog. As readers, is there anything else you would like to see go on the blog? Any topics you would like to discuss. Any videos or pictures you would like to see? Please let me know!

My Knight Rode in on a Shining White Mini-Van

“I give up,” I wailed to my friend after more than an hour of wrestling with every bus in Boulder—only to end up on Broadway and Baseline (less than a block from campus). “I take it you are in need of a rescue, then,” she asked, chuckling. “That would be wonderful!” I replied with defeat my two very heavy bags and I sunk down in the grass in front of Starbucks to wait.

Public Transit has posed my greatest academic challenge. I can handle double entry bookkeeping, standard deviations, and post-modernist philosophies about the role of comics in allowing people to feel, but time charts, rout maps, and transfers are beyond me. Maybe it is because I grew up without public transit, but seriously, why do the transportation gods have to make it so downright confusing? I have been in Boulder for nearly half a semester, and I have only successfully made a round trip on the bus (without help) once.

On the one hand, this is probably a good thing. I have no car, so my choices are bus, bike, or walk. Since I am hopeless on the bus, I tend to stray toward the latter two, which provides much needed exercise for someone condemned to eat seventeen meals a week in the dining halls. In fact, I think my inability to use the bus may be the sole reason I have dodged the freshman fifteen.

But, I hear that the bus can be faster than my current options (I wouldn’t know, it takes me at least forty-five minutes to get anywhere on those god-forsaken contraptions). Also, it has become a point of pride that the bus will not beat me. The Hop, the SKIP, the DASH, and the Bolt have turned from mere motorized vehicles into arch-villains of comic-book proportions. The sneaky devils are out to make a fool of me and foil me in my ends. But they will not win!

As I was sitting in the grass, glaring at the Dash, I realized that I was engaged in this epic battle of wits with the conniving creatures. I saw two plans of action—I could become the poltergeist of the Bus Station, sneaking in and slashing their unsuspecting tires, clogging their menacing tailpipes, and pouring Kool-Aid into their evil gas tanks, or, I could beat them at their own game, and humiliate them as they had done to me!

I suppressed a maniacal cackle as my rescue rode up in a white mini-van. It may not have been the prince on the white horse I had envisioned to accompany me in my quest, but at that moment I would take it! Lugging my bags into the car, I greeted my dinner party with profuse apologies, and the promise that I would get the hang of the buses eventually. My friends laughed, and spent the car ride back explaining that there were these things called bus schedules, and how they worked.

Armed with my new knowledge, I headed out to the bus the next day—only to wait forty-five minutes, realize that I had missed two busses I could have caught, and finally board the 203 half eaten alive with frustration. I wish I could say the ride went smoothly, but it was full of bumps and jostles (both literally and metaphorically). I did manage to get off at my destination (an hour after I left) when a very kind four-year-old showed me how the string to request a stop works.

I doubt that the bus and I will ever really get along. But, every few days I work up the courage to give it another try, and stumble through a trip or two before taking a break. The way I see it, so long as I master this bus thing before I become a college graduate, I can preserve a shred of my dignity. So, I will slowly, reluctantly continue to try, and hopefully I will eventually succeed by sheer persistence. Maybe that is what they will call me during the re-telling of my bus stop showdown—“That’s Persistent Girl,” they will whisper, “Watch out for her on a bus near you.”

What To Do With My Parents?

Hey everyone,

Thanks for the suggestions on where to find the best mac and cheese! My friend and I had a blast this weekend. Now I have a new puzzle facing me. My parents are visiting next weekend. They are the type who need constant entertainment, so do you have any suggestions for what we can do?

I Want My Mommy!

When I was a little girl, I used to sneak into my mothers bed while she was sleeping and burrow under the covers as fast as I could—making a little “cave” with the blankets to hide in. After about a minute or so, my mother would pop open her eyes, leap out from under the covers, and stick her head in the cave, while attempting to tickle my cover swathed body. “Who is that hiding in my bed?” She demanded while we both spasm with laughter.

I am lying in bed, sick and bored, and I have never wanted my mommy so much. I keep hoping that if I burrow under the covers, maybe some magic will make her face appear like it used to when I was little. But, no matter how many times I try, my trick never works—she is still in Oklahoma.

Getting sick is probably the most difficult part of college. Back home, I would be curled up on the living room couch right now, watching endless episodes of West Wing, while my mom made me split pea soup. Instead, I am stuck in my noisy dorm (which fluctuates between being frigid cold and balmy more often than a woman in menopause), eating an only slightly repulsive dining hall salad, and avoiding a small mountain of homework—I miss my mommy.

The thing I hate the most about being sick is having to get my own soup. I know that sounds very spoiled, but I liked that I never had to exert the effort to get up off the couch and get my own food. And, I miss being hugged—a lot.

Earlier in the week, when I first got sick, I was determined to be a trouper and suck it up. I don’t need my mommy. “Rebecca, you are a college student,” I tried to tell myself in a mom-style slap down, “Suck it up, getting your own soup is not that bad. It is not like you are in the hospital!” Despite the annoyingly surly side of my mind, which pointed out that at least in the hospital there would be a pushy nurse in Scooby-do scrubs who would bring soup to me, my self talk did sort of work.

It worked, that is, until I talked to my boss…who is sick as well. “I hate not having my mom when I am sick. That is the worst—still.” That small comment quietly dropkicked my shaky resolve not to mope. You mean this feeling never ends?!? This woman is a mother herself—if she still misses her mom, than I am forever doomed!

But, I am hopped up on enough medication to still feel the need to learn something besides self-pity from this experience. So, here it is—no matter how mature and put-together we may seem, no matter if we are mothers in our own right, or simply striving to convince ourselves that we can be adults, when life give us lemons, we all need our mommies to sit by our bed and tell us everything will be alright.

But, I have managed (and the help of some happy, symptom relieving little pills) for the last three days to pull myself away from my pillow and self-pity, and get myself a cup of soup. Even though I know I can manage without her, I think I will succumb to the temptation and call my mom.

Where is the Best Mac and Cheese in Boulder?

My friends back in Oklahoma and I were on this quest to find the best restaurant Mac and Cheese in Oklahoma City. We are not talking any blue box, Kraft excuses, this is real Mac--the kind with at least three cheeses (and on one eventful night black truffle) in it. Now, one of those friend is coming up to visit, and I have a sneaking suspicion that she will want to continue the search in Boulder. Unfortunately, as a poor college student, I don't eat out a lot, and don't know where we should start looking. Any suggestions? Also does anyone know of any cool places/events I should take her to while she is in the area? She is coming this weekend, so please tell me about your ideas ASAP! Thanks!

A Good College Try

When I was fourteen and just entering high school, my friend sat me down, looked me straight in the eye, and said “Becca, don’t do dumb things.” As simple as this advice may seem, it really did keep me out of quite a few tangles in those high school days. When I was about to jump into something, I would quickly halt my enthusiasm, take a breath, and ask myself, “Would this qualify as a dumb thing?”

Apparently, I should take some advice from my high school self; this past week I did a dumb thing. We had this project in Business Statistics; we were to make an executive report. It was due on Friday, and like a good student, I intended to start it over the weekend. But, then the weekend was gone, as was Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. The week was just consumed by the midterm monster, then the lit paper monster, then the work and illness monster. So, Thursday evening rolls around, and I am all revved up for an all nighter—yeah, going to do a stats project!

Since I am doing a statistical tracking of this blog (yes, I am watching you), my professor let me do an alternate project where I got to analyze some of the data from the blog and present it in an executive report. As my professor put it, “That is more interesting than analyzing gas prices.” So, I open my word document and put my header on the page, begin to pull up my numbers, and whip out my calculator to crunch some numbers; that is about the time that my project imploded. I spent eight hours that night trying to untangle the data with no luck. I called all of my friends who had gone through statistics—my sister even re-ran the numbers for me. Yet, still we could not get them to work out.

Now utterly lost, I composed a long email with a battery of questions for my professor, called it a night, and went to bed. Mid-morning the next day, my professor wrote back, telling me to go ahead and use the numbers if I found nothing wrong with my math. She answered my other slew of questions, told me she would be checking her email throughout the day (but was out of town and could not meet me) and even offered to chat online if I got too lost.

With two hours on the clock, I began again on the project. I was plugging shakily along, when I ran into another couple of problems. I now had thirty minutes before class, and no hope of finishing on time. So, I wrote my professor asking her my questions and asking for an extension.

The clock struck twelve-fifty, and I had to get to class. I still had not heard from my professor, and the project was not completed. Hoping that my request for an extension would be granted, I scampered to class without my half-finished project.

When I got back an hour later, there was an email waiting in my inbox—from my professor, answering my questions and telling me, “there was ample time to complete the project” and she could not grant an extension, but that she looked forward to reading it.

After nine hours, four computers, and several very frustrated phone calls, I sent it off to her—late. I attached an email begging for at least partial credit. Then, I did what any mature and capable college student would do, and called my mommy.

“Mom,” I sniffled, “I have had the worst day!” My mom let me whine out my story for about thirty seconds, at which time she quite calmly slapped me down. “Well, what did you expect? You wrote her on the last day, when she was probably busy. In her eyes, you clearly put it off until the last minute. This is college, they don’t reward that kind of behavior,” she said. “But are you ok?” She added as a motherly afterthought.

If you have ever dived into a cold lake, you know the sensation when you hit the water and the temperature shock quickly plugs up your nose and mouth in an instantaneous suction-like effect. This is the best way I can describe my reaction to my mother’s words. With a gulp and an instinctual holding of my breath, I gasped out, “I guess I am now,” and said goodbye.

Now fully aware of my own absurd over-reaction (thanks to my mom’s much needed verbal sucker punch) I had no choice but to wipe my eyes, take a deep breath, and get on with life. I am working on developing a compulsion to finish my homework at least two days in advance (which is proving much harder than I would like), and I realized that one poor grade is not the end of the world. Whoever invented the phrase “a good college try,” must have been a c-average student, because as my mom was happy to point out—that won’t cut it now.

A Question for You

I am starting something new on the blog. Now, several times a week, I will post a question that I am currently struggling with and need some other opinions on. I would love it if you would let me know what you think!

Is there such a thing as a "good college try"?

My First Midterm

The first Intro to Business midterm has become a semi-legendry event. On our first day of class, our professors warn us that we should expect to fail the test, and the upper classmen all have horror stories to tell. By the end of the first month, as the test looms ominously toward us, first year students begin to fall into hysterics about the ordeal; some look to be on the edge of fainting at any moment. This past Tuesday, I took that test.

At CU, large tests are taken in the Coors Event Center—a basketball stadium. I walked into the center (or more like sprinted because it was cold and raining and I seem to have some strange allergy to wearing proper coats), with a swarm of almost a thousand other Business and Accounting students. My recitation leader then greeted me at the entrance, which was oddly re-assuring—I think because he really seemed to be rooting for me to do well. He handed me a lapboard and pointed toward the entrance to the seating area.

As I walked into the stadium seating area, I noticed a new element to the testing environment I had never enjoyed before—a volleyball practice. “Oh now I understand,” I thought, “I am not paying over twenty-thousand dollars a year for the opportunity to sit in hard little plastic chairs, with a board over my lap, and take a ridiculously difficult test. I am actually paying for the live sports entertainment I get during the test.”

With a sardonic chuckle, I took my little board and my small collection of pens and pencils and walked down the endless rows of concrete steps to the front row—courtside. My friend recommended that I sit in the front row, so that I could lean my lapboard against the rails and write on it like a really steeply tilted desk. This ended up being the best test taking advice anyone has yet given me. I was able to settle back in relative comfort, while watching my fellows try to puzzle out just how one uses a lapboard. I really had it lucky—I even had a footrest on the lower rail.

I was just lounging around, watching the pre-test game, when my professor walked by and said, “Rebecca, why are you sitting here? Don’t you want to sit where there is light?” And my heart stopped. “Right,” I thought in a moment of stunningly brilliant internal dialogue, “you need light to take a test.” I glanced up to see if there were any seats left in the sparse patches of light. No luck. “I have always been a good test taker, maybe I will develop night vision under pressure!”

Luckily, I never got the chance to test this panic-born theory. When seven’ o’clock rolled around, the lights came on to their full strength. The volleyball players tossed in their balls and ended the game, and my professor stepped up to the microphone to address us all. “Good Evening,” she said, “we strongly recommend that you take the test in pen, in case you wish to dispute your grade at a later date. We are handing out the tests now. Please do not flip your test over until everyone has a copy. You have two hours. Good luck.”

And with that, the test began.

Overall, it was not that bad. Hopefully I am not forced to eat these words when I get my grade back, but the test seemed more hype than anything else. Granted, I am one of those freaks that actually enjoy taking standardized tests. But still, it was not the ordeal people made it out to be. The biggest adjustment was not the difficulty of the test, but the environment in which I took it. In a funny sort of way, I think it was better for me to take my test in a stadium—it helped me remember it is game time.

Charles' Story

Leeds has a program called the Diverse Scholars Program, which aims toward providing resources to historically underprivileged students. I was invited into the program by sheer luck—I happened to be introduced to Aswad, the director, last spring. So, I spent this last weekend at Estes Park, attending the Diverse Scholars Program’s annual retreat—where they welcome new members into the community, and say goodbye to graduating members. On the last morning, we all gathered together to share our experience.

It was like a moment from a movie. There we were, a group of about a hundred, sprawled in a ragged circle. If a camera were to pan around, it would show a group of slightly disheveled looking youth, who somehow conquered their vanity enough to bring their ratted old clothing on a retreat to Estes Park. The faces that would appear on the screen would be a rare mix of golden, brown, black, and white. But, what would be most notable to the viewer would not be shown on the screen, but heard; the crowd was collectively holding its breath so as to not break the perfect silence.

Sitting slightly outside the circle was a middle-aged African American Man named Aswad Allen, nicknamed As by his DSP kids, watching the scene. He was holding his chin in a reflective sort of slant, wearing a tender smile on his face, and training his gaze toward the center of the circle.

Where his gaze fell, stood a young black man, holding a stick in the air, and with the stick, holding the silence. Finally, the man began to speak.

“I too tried to run away from the Diverse Scholars Program,” he said. “I tried to run away from love.” Charles jutted out his chin, as if that small motion could dry up the well

of tears that had already been primed by the previous speeches.

“When I came here as a freshman, I wanted to make a change,” he continued. “A few months before I arrived at CU, an African American man was jumped on campus in a racist crime. My focus was to change the feeling of division here. So when I arrived on campus, I joined everything I could—I was involved in the Cultural Event Board, the Black Student Alliance, the Presidents Leadership Class, and the Diverse Scholars Program at Leeds. It was hard to balance everything, and I didn’t spend much time in DSP. But, As was always there; whenever I came back, he welcomed me and helped me get through.”

With a glace at Aswad, Charles continued, “Then, in the summer of my sophomore year, I got a call from a man named Charles Johnson, asking me to serve as Student Group Funding Board Chair. And around the same time, things started to get bad,” he said with a pain filled chuckle. Charles paused for a moment, closing his eyes.

He opened his eyes and continued, “See, my family ran into some financial…trouble, and that really threw me off track. My family is my foundation; I was sending money home that I needed, I was almost evicted, and I was so distracted by hunger that I could not focus in class. At the time, I didn’t have the wisdom to listen to the advice that As gave me. I kept running from the love that DSP had to offer.”

“At the end of my sophomore year, I pledged to my fraternity, Alpha Phi Alpha Inc. and was surrounded by men that had been in similar, or worse, situations and still succeeded and that had reached a level of happiness in themselves as men that I was seeking after. My God, it was ridiculous. I think that was the first thing that helped me come back to DSP.”

“By my junior year, I was a tri-exec of the University of Colorado Student Union and was handling 36.8 billion dollars. Meanwhile, my family was still in trouble. That year, the DSP office really became my refuge. I must have been working fifty or sixty hours a week for UCSU and was working three jobs. I remember As would always ask me, ‘How are you doing?’ Even though I was not directly involved, the community was always there as an unconditional presence, and that was very powerful.”

“That year was rough because I was stuck serving my fellow students while struggling myself. I needed to be refocused. But, As was always there, asking me, ‘What are your goals?’ and reminding me that graduation was the task that would free me for what I wanted to do.”

“If it weren’t for As, I would not be here. When I was in the darkest place in my life, people would advise me to just quit, because I was only going to fail anyway. Why waist my money? As was the one who told me that I could do it, but that I had to learn that success doesn’t mean that you didn’t need help. You know, freshman year I nicknamed myself Atlas, ‘cause I was a punk, and ‘cause I could hold the world on my shoulders,” Charles scoffed.

“But no one can do that. I would not be here if it weren’t for my God, and for my DSP family. DSP was always a resource for me, but I didn’t make it my heart until my fourth year.”

“But I made it,” he said, losing the fight to tears, and not realizing that the rest of the circle was already in tears. “Don’t run from love, don’t run from this family.”

With that, Charles slowly placed the speaking stick on the ground, still sharing tears with the rest of the group. And as he walked out of the center, a young woman looked back and saw that As was crying too.

When They Said "Get Involved" I Did Not Know They Would Throw Things.

The first piece of advice that everyone gave me when I entered college was, “get involved.” They relayed this ad

vice to me with such utterly earnest looks, like this was the difference between emerging from college showered in degrees and honors, and dropping out to sell vacuum cleaners to old ladies with lots of cats, that I had to believe them. So, when the

first week of interest meetings rolled around, I put out an honest effort to get involved. However, I did not realize that they would throw things at me.

The first meeting I attended was for the Multi-Cultural Business Students Asso

ciation (http://www.colorado.edu/studentgroups/mbsa/students_news.html). I happened to know a few people there from the Business Leadership P

rogram (http://tinyurl.com/ouqs29) that I participated in this summer. So, I sat down and started to chat with my friends. After a few minutes, a group of well-dressed upper classmen arranged themselves at the front of the room and kicked the meeting off. They told us about themselves, about the organization, and about the benefits of joining their organization, while we munched happily away on Chipotle (I love how everyone in the Business school is dedicated to feeding me)!

I was very impressed with the organization itself. They do corporate meet and greets, resume building sessions, volunteer activities, and visits to corporate offices. They have already scheduled Accounting Night for accounting students to meet with representatives from the Big Four Accounting Firms (Ernst and Youn

g, Price Waterhouse Coopers, Deloitte, KPMG) and a case study with Shell. Apparently attending these nights is a good career move. My friend Ashley said that she went to one of MBSA’s interview practice sessions. She looked really nervous, so a corporate representative grabbed her, forced her to sit down, and proceeded to interview her. A few months later, she applied for a Summer Leadership Program with the same company. She walked into the interview, only to find that the interviewer was the same person who interviewed her for MBSA. “Oh, I remember you,“ the woman said with a smile, and they proceded to spend the next forty five minutes chatting about their favorite movies and what they liked to do in their free time. She said that it changed the whole tone of the interview, and she went on to be accepted into the leadership program.

In a drastic contrast, I also went to the interest meeting for the CU Alpine Club (http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=34233386799). When I walked in, I went through the same routine as every other first year. I walked through the door, looked around nervously, saw a few other people lo

oking just as painfully awk

ward as me, gravitated toward

on

e of their clusters, ducked my head, and sat down—only to enjoy long, long silence, punctuated by a few furtive glances. Eventually I found the courage to chat with Stephanie, a senior who was also checking out the club. We chatted about climbing gyms in Boulder, classes, and majors—the usual. Then the meeting began.

This meeting was so big that they had to book one of the large lecture halls to host it—and there were still at least twenty

people sitting on the floor! The clubs leaders briefed us on what the club does (leads climbs, supports climbers, arranges discounts and classes with local gyms, and even rents a boat to live on for a few days after finals). They had a raffle—where they tested the agility of their new members by hurling the prizes at their heads (no one was hurt, luckily). Then they invited their corporate sponsors to talk about their companies and the benefits for members (there were great deals on gym memberships). They even played the ”sleeping bad game” where two boy-girl teams had to crawl into sleeping bags and switch clothes faster than the other team. This was a particularly hilarious and delightfully awkward game (especially if you don’t know anyone).

I had a great time at both meetings, though they were worlds apart. Where MBSA was well put together, organized, and friendly in a professional way, CU Alpine Club was rowdy, spontaneous, and a great time. They both seem like great organizations in different ways. MBSA is a good community and a great career move, while CU Alpine Club is a good time and a great way to get out and climb.

I was most impressed by the level of responsibility that both organizations had—they could lead trips, arrange workshops, connect you to Vice Presidents in Shell, and rent boats. I now understand why they said to get involved—clubs here are nothing like those in high school. Back in the day, we would sit around, eat pizza, and occasionally organize events if we were extremely ambitious. For organizations in college the sky is the limit (literally in the Alpine Club) and you join because they make things happen.

Coming soon: Running Around in the Mountains with DSP.

I Thought Size Mattered

I thought I would be physically bigger when I got to college. At five foot three (on a good day) and one hundred and fifteen pounds, I am exactly the same size as I was in seventh grade. Granted, I do not look like a seventh grader. But I always thought I would be a five-seven goddess, with men panting at my heels, by the time I reached college. I am not. I am a midget who can’t believe she is allowed to walk among the giants.

For my first few weeks, I had no idea what a big deal most of my professors are. Some of them may be smaller than me in stature (shockingly), but they are all amazingly accomplished in the real world. They are published authors, researchers, former successful businessmen and businesswomen, and even former professional ski instructors.

I never really understood that professors aren’t just the high-end models of teachers. Until one afternoon in my literature class, when my professor lovingly mentioned the big, shiny new Borders in 29th Street Mall. “Yeah, it is really nice,” he said with a boyishly excited smile, like he was telling a close friend about a new toy over a couple of sandcastles in the playground sandbox. “Except they didn’t have my book,” he said with a dramatic sigh, “but you should go there anyway.”

Just before class, I had eaten a very large and tasty lunch, and the room was hot. So naturally, my head was beginning to sag delicately into the crook of my arm. But, my professor’s comment snapped my head up. Your what? You mean I could have strolled into Borders and pulled your book off the shelf—and now I am sitting here, fighting off my food coma in your class? For me, this was a moment roughly equivalent to man landing on the moon—the whole universe opened up to me with an almost audible rumble!

As I walked down the hall of professors’ offices forty minutes later, I couldn’t help but stare into each room with big round eyes, thinking, “Wow! They are all authors, and researcher, and important people.” Quite a few of them stared back at me, probably thinking, “Wow, I wonder what is wrong with that girl.”

I still cannot understand how such important people can take the time to teach a couple hundred eighteen-to-nineteen-year-olds to think and speak intelligently at cocktail parties. College was just something that came after high school. I did not realize what an opportunity it is. We get to chill out in a small city of like-minded academics and pass our time discussing our passions with the big names in our fields. Whoever though up the idea of college was a genius!

Perhaps the strangest thing is, after the initial intimidation and awe wore off, I realized that my professors didn’t seem to care that they were educated at Harvard and Cambridge, that they literally wrote the book on their subject, or that they are directing national research projects in their areas. They are willing to draw ideas even from a lowly freshman like myself.

In my stats class, I asked my professor a question about the difference between a line graph and a scatter plot with a line drawn on it. I was thrown off, I said, by a graph on the front of The Onion, about the outlook of the economy in relation to the number of beers consumed(http://www.theonion.com/content/news/nations_unemployment_outlook).
After skimming the article, she cracked into a big smile, explained that it was a scatter plot, and asked if she could keep the article to use in her later classes. When I dropped by her office hours the next week to ask her a question, she became so excited about my work in Google analytics that she asked for access to my account to lecture on the data tracking software in class, and to present to the Air Force as a method of gathering information for her research!

Working with all of these academic giants, and having them want to work with me, has had the strangest effect on me—it makes me think that it is possible for me to become a giant as well. Maybe I could write a book, or radically change the nation’s environmental policies, or even start a medical practice.

In class this afternoon, my literature professor told us the story of how he had met the author of the novel we are reading—a couple of times. We are reading Who’s Irish?, by Gish Jen, who had her short story “Birthmates” named one of the best short stories of the 20th century. He said that the first time they met, he was a student and was asked to introduce her during a guest lecture. The second time, he ran into her in the toothpaste isle. “Cambridge is the sort of place where you see people like that,” He offered with a shrug, “Who knows when you will walk into the dry cleaners and run into Julia Child?” It seems CU possesses the same magic that Cambridge has—and you never know who you will run into in the toothpaste isle.

Perhaps the fable of the lion and the mouse (where the lion is saved by the little mouse after he spares the mouse’s life) has some truth in it. Maybe my professors only grew to their current stature because they work with mice. Maybe they too were once mice. It makes me hope, that someday this particular midget can become a giant.

Coming next: When they said, “Get involved,” I did not know they would throw things.

One Card Gets You in the Buff

As I walked into the mailroom to pick up my first package, the smiling woman behind the counter asked me for my ID. Unfortunately, I realized that I had left my wallet back in my room and the only things I was carrying were my keys and my Buff OneCard (CU’s student card). For fear of suffering the humiliation of admitting that I lacked the foresight to bring any ID, I smiled my most trustworthy smile and said “Oh, I don’t have my ID on me; will my Buff OneCard work?” To which the woman responded by turning her left cheek to me, cocking one eyebrow, and glancing at me through the slitted corners of her eyes, in one of the most profound “did you really just say something that stupid to me?” looks I have ever seen. I felt my face flush as the woman held her glare. Then sipping in breaths of air as if she were trying to forcibly calm herself, she strained to unclench her lips and said, “At CU, your Buff OneCard is your ID.”

“Oh,” was all I managed to force out of my throat before hastily handing her my card and fleeing with a big package full of books and embarrassment.

So, to avoid future embarrassment, I promptly asked all of my roommates what my Buff OneCard was for—much to my disappointment, they too had no idea.

So, I sought out an expert. Who would know more about these mystery cards that the woman who handles hundreds of them every day? But, when I asked the lunch lady at the dining hall what my card was for, she responded by glancing kindly, but pointedly, at the sign taped to the front of her kiosk: “1 swipe= 1 entree + 2 sides”. “Right,” I said, handing over my chosen food, “never mind.”

Finally, I decided to consult my most knowledgeable and non-judgmental resource at CU—the website. According to CU’s site, my Buff OneCard is the superhero of little plastic cards; it does just about everything I can imagine (besides fetch my morning coffee, but I hear they are working on that feature).

The site agreed with the horrible woman in the mailroom, your Buff OneCard is your primary form of identification. All students and employees are required to carry it with them at all times and present it to any official upon request.

Next, as the lunch lady informed me, your card is your ticket to meal plans. Just present your card at any dining hall and one swipe can get you a ticket to an all-you-can-eat buffet, or an entre and two to three sides at any grab-and-go. Thanks to my peer mentor, I also stumbled across another trick; you can swipe up to four meals in one day. So, my roommate and I regularly go “shopping” at the grab and goes and stock up on food for the weekend or just for late night snacks.

Your card also holds your “munch money,” university funny money that you can use to pay way too much for late night snacks at convenience stores in the residence halls. I recently bought a small block of cheese for $5.73 and have spent at least $15 on ice cream in the last three weeks (hello freshman 15).

But, now the cards capabilities become more complicated. On top of munch money; there is Campus Cash—more funny money, of a different category, that can only be used to pay for printing and for laundry.

However, the card holds real money too. You can set your card up to work as an ATM/Debit card, if you are willing to open an account with Buff One Banking—the university bank.

Your card is also your buss pass; gaining you access to the RTD, the skip, the hop, the jump, the charger, the stampede, the buff bus, and the light rail. This one magic card can get you almost anywhere in Boulder (and to the Denver airport).

Cards act as keys to dorms, classrooms, and some buildings.

But, the cards capabilities don’t stop there. You can set up the Buff Advantage on your card and get discounts in many restaurants and retail outlets in the local area.

Finally, your card can get you student sports tickets. When you buy a student ticket or season pass, simply present your card at the box office and they will give you access to the student section.

With all of the things that this all in one card can do, it is really no surprise that I had no idea how to use my card. Even now, I have decided that the safest bet is just to hand over my card to anyone I come in contact with, and hope that I have done the right thing.

Coming next: “I Thought Size Mattered”

My First Week of Classes

I am exhausted. This morning, to combat a bought of homesickness, I headed out on my bike to explore Boulder. After striking out in a random direction, I biked along a few large roads on the outskirts of town before veering off into a quaint little residential area. After about half an hour of admiring the pretty domesticity of the scene, I looked up to find that I had no earthly clue where I was. So, I turned down a random street and wandered my way around for another three miles until I found a bridge over a highway. As I paused to look around at the top of the bridge, I spotted the mountains through the clouds. For a moment, I enjoyed a glimmer of hope, only to realize with a sinking feeling that this view looked nothing like the view from campus. By my calculations, I was at least ten miles south and another six mile east of campus. But, having no other choice, I climbed back on my bike and struck out in the right direction. It took me another forty minutes of winding my way through back streets, crossing church parking lots, and in one strange scene, crossing a stream, before I found Broadway. I eventually made it back to campus, after running into Williams Village, the somehow making it up to the hill, crossing a lake that I had no idea resided in the middle of campus, and finally stumbling into my hall.


Now, as I sit curled in an amazingly comfortable chair in my dorm, I realize that this morning’s adventure is a perfect analogy for my first week of classes. I wandered around aimlessly in interesting directions until I realized that I was hopelessly lost, then headed toward the largest landmark I could find, and eventually ended up in the right place.

Thanks to my peer mentor, and a good quantity of dumb luck, I never got physically lost finding my classes. But, I did have an adventure finding the classes in which I should be enrolled in the first place. I started out in Intro to Business, Intro to Environmental Studies, Ethnic Literature, and Calculus Two. On Monday, everything was going well, until I sat down in my first class—Calculus Two. My professor rolled in on his long board, wearing cut-off jean shorts and a Polish beer tee shirt. He spent the first five minutes of class going over the syllabus—while I took a few notes and admired the tattoo of the man who meets a tragic end as an ink splat, adorning the back of his shaved head. I was just settling into the class, and enjoying having such an eccentric professor, when he abruptly stopped discussing the syllabus and launched into a full-blown calculus lecture about the nature of functions that need to be integrated by parts. As he took off discussing at marathon speed a back door approach to logarithmic functions, I sat in the second row, drowning. I was so overwhelmed by the end of class that I was nearly in tears. So, after escaping from that terrible classroom, I headed to the only place I could think to go—the Leeds Advising Office.

There I met Jose′, who proved to be my lifeline. He agreed with gentle good humor to see this particularly petrified looking walk-in, after hours (oops), and help her out. He took me to his office and asked me what I needed. That is when the floodgates broke, and everything came pouring out; about how I thought I could handle the class, how lost I was already, how everyone else seemed to know the answers, how there was a quiz the next day, how I couldn’t face that right now, and please, please, please save me!

Poor Jose′ was stuck sitting in his office with a quasi-hysterical teenage girl breaking down in front of him. He was extremely nice about it though. He told me that it was all right, and that he would be happy to switch me out, and that I could take calculus later—or never—if I wanted. So he switched me into Business Statistics and Anatomy (for fun). It seems I never learn.

The next day, I went to Anatomy, and realized that I had once again gotten myself into an upper-division course that I was woefully unprepared for. This time, I did enjoy the class, and it broke my heart to walk into the Leeds Advising Office again and ask to drop the class. But, it was a huge time commitment, I did not have the pre-requirements for, and it was just not feasible. So, I left behind Anatomy (for now) and picked up a second RAP class in meditation, which looks like fun.

I ended up walking out of Leeds that first week feeling that the Business school really was my haven. I stumbled around, with no idea the direction I was going; I have seven different book-return receipts to show for it. But, because the people at Leeds put me in classes I can handle, give me tons of support in those classes, and occasionally let me break down in an emotional fit in their offices, Leeds has quickly become the big landmark of safety, which leads me back to where I need to be.

I Wish I Could Bathe in Purell

After a short and sunny stroll home from my literature class, I high stepped up the stairs in double time, strode down the hallway to the door of my room, stretched the last remaining stiffness out of my back, and walked through the door contemplating an afternoon nap, only to come to realize that my roommate was wearing a white mask, and had swine flu. Now, she is in quarantine…as are half the girls in the hall. The other half of the girls have, in the last few hours, developed an obsession with disinfectant and vitamin c, and have adopted the mantra “you don’t have swine flu” every time we cough, or have a headache, or touch anything in the hall.

But, containing the virus is proving to be a big problem. We all share a bathroom, live in each other’s rooms, and even share one drinking fountain. To top things off, there have been outbreaks in several other dorms on campus as well. It seems that the only thing that is spreading faster than the flu itself is the gossip and anxiety about it. But, before we all break down in hysteria, CU is doing everything they can to combat an epidemic.

In the last few weeks, we have subtly seen signs telling us to wash our hands and cover our coughs appear on all public walls, and small clusters of industrial sized disinfectant and tissues gather on cashier’s counters and in dining halls. Emails have been flying around the campus discussing absence policies and emergency procedures.

Cu has created a website with everything you could possibly need to know about H1N1 at:
http://www.colorado.edu/safety/h1n1/prevention.html

But, to summarize their advice, H1N1 is spread between humans through physical contact or by sneezing or coughing on people or anything that multiple people touch. So to decrease your risk of catching the flu, practice healthy habits (sleep, exercise, eat right, don’t drink to excess), wash your hands often with soap and hot water, take advantage of the disinfectants offered by the university in public places, sanitize anything that you share with others (like your buff one card), and encourage others to seek medical attention IMMEDIATELY if they are experiencing any of the following symptoms: dizziness, fever, cough, sore throat, runny nose, body aches, headache, chills, fatigue, diarrhea, or vomiting. Since Swine Flu is very contagious, officials are urging anyone feeling ill to stay home.

If you are confirmed to have Swine Flu, university policy is to quarantine anyone with H1N1 until they are completely clear of symptoms. Unfortunately, there is no vaccine to prevent Swine Flu and there are no medications that can cure you of the virus. However, CU does what it can to provide for its sick students. If you are living in the resident halls and are quarantined, the university will provide you with a quarantine box of chicken noodle soup, saltines, Gatorade, fruit cups, and other staple “sick” items. If you visit the Wardenburg Health Center (http://www.colorado.edu/healthcenter/infectiousdisease.html), they will also give you a very stylish white quarantine mask, which my roommate is now wearing (I am very jealous).

If one of your close friends (or your roommate) has the flu, wash your hands and disinfect anything that you share. Generally, just avoid close contact (on a hormone ridden campus, this can be difficult I know). If you are living with the infected party, you may want to consider re-locating for a few nights until they are out of quarantine. However, you can go and see them, retrieve anything in their possession that you may need, and even sleep in the same room if you are willing to risk it. I called the Wardenburg Health Center, and spoke to a very nice nurse who further informed me that there is no need to come in the be “checked” if you have come in contact with a sick person but are not experiencing any symptoms yourself.

Overall, just take care and live a healthy lifestyle, and you should be ok. I just spent the last three days sleeping in the same room as an infected person, and I am fine, so there is no reason to panic. Even if you do catch the flu, my roommate does not seem to be suffering much (except from boredom) and I have been having fun playing nurse and fetching soup and water for her. And even the professors are doing their part to support those who fall ill. Almost all of my professors have stated that they are willing to work with students who miss class because of quarantine, and that they would MUCH prefer that infected student’s stay home. I live in the middle of the outbreak, and my view from the eye of the storm is that so long as we are all responsible we can avoid having this become a full blown epidemic and can weather the storm.

Camp Orientation

I finished my orientation and tomorrow I begin classes. I have unpacked my dorm, gotten my books, and (thanks to my Leeds peer mentor) have found all of my classes. As I was washing my dishes in the dorm room sink today, I realized that I am slowly, but surely, starting to feel like I am in college.
The first week of my “college experience” really did not feel like college at all. Orientation was a lot like summer camp. We had our schedule of activities, which we all moved to in large, confused herds. People in official-looking tee shirts would walk us from A to B. We played games, had activity stations, and spent hours with people whose names we did not know. In the evenings we were strong-armed into going to all of the University sponsored, non-alcoholic events. Some of them were pretty fun—I enjoyed Ice and Dice (a party at the Student Recreational Center) and the Pretty Lights concert was probably the happiest day of my life!
Being in the Leeds School of Business definitely dominated my orientation experience. Not only do they host a separate orientation, they had all sorts of follow up events, like the Diverse Scholars Meetings and Leedsapalooza (the welcome event for new business students). The diverse scholars program is very impressive. They have everything from mandatory retreats to mentors and co-seminars. It seems like a great community to plug into—and I already met a new friend there named Maya. She is great—she is friends with almost everyone already, and is always inviting me to some event!
Leedsapalooza was well executed. As Maya put it, is was a nice mix of fun and information. As I arrived, I was ushered into the building by a throng of faculty, all of who were eagerly waving neon wristbands at us. After donning a wristband, I was escorted into a classroom, where I watched a video on life at Leeds. For a student spoof on a reality TV show that I avoid like the plague, it was not too bad—kind of campy. After that, we were escorted to a field where we were given free ice cream and swag. One thing I can appreciate about Leeds is that they are very dedicated to giving their students free food! I love it. I learned about tons of student organizations, like the Multi-cultural Business Student Alliance (which is open to all students by the way, not just Business Students. Their website is at http://www.colorado.edu/StudentGroups/mbsa/), the Environmental Center at CU (http://ecenter.colorado.edu/livegreen), and the Business Fraternities (Alpha Kappa Psi’s wedsite is at http://www.colorado.edu/StudentGroups/akpsi/about.html, and Beta Alpha Psi at http://www.bap.org/) Who would have thought that a fraternity and professional would ever mix?
Continuing on the string of Leeds events, I met with my Leeds assigned peer mentor this weekend. She is great! She also brought us free ice cream and goodies and showed us around to all of our classes. She even told me about the Math Resource Center—which will save me from failing Calc 2 (of which I am terrified).
Unfortunately, I know that lots of people did not enjoy orientation as much as I did. My roommate said that she almost quit CU because she had such a terrible time. She said she felt like she was in kindergarten, and her parents weren’t there, so she had trouble with meeting people. Apparently, her orientation group was very disrespectful about the rape education course, and rape is a sensitive subject that she feels should be taken seriously. It is a shame she disliked it so much, but I found the experience relatively pain free—and even enjoyable at times.
My room is now plastered in CU and Leeds stuff, my roommate is convinced that Leeds is some sort of elite cult that eats your whole life (which it may well turn out to be true) and I am looking forward to my classes. Maybe I am still honeymooning (please forgive me) but it looks as if, by sheer luck, I have landed in the perfect place for me.

Dorm Room Woes

Hello everyone,

I’m Becca; I will be taking over for Heidi as this year’s student blogger, since Heidi is no longer fresh meat. Congrats on that Heidi!

It is a gray and rainy day in my hometown of Norman, Oklahoma, and I am still drying from my very wet bike ride. It had just finished raining when I left, so I figured I should have at least half an hour before the next downpour. I was wrong. See, I never check the weather. I just don’t care if I get wet, or a bit cold…though on days like today, when the Weather Gods seem to be trying to make up for three months of drought in one morning, this philosophy can get me into trouble.

I plan to spend my rainy afternoon cloistered inside, trying to figure out just how much I can cram into my teeny-tiny dorm room. I am one of those people who like lists, and true to form I am working on a list of what to bring (this list actually translates into piles on my floor, so I can no longer get into my room). Thus far, I have:

• Essentials:
o Yoga mat
o Rock climbing gear
o Clothing
o Coats
o Shoes
o Hiking Boots
o Bedding
o MacBook, Ipod, Wii
o Shower shoes
o Toiletries
o Fist Aid kit
o Paper, pens, stapler, etc.
o Important documents and financial records
o My camera
o Commuter Bike
o Boxed food
o My chocolate stash

• Other stuff that would be nice to have
o Photography books, a few favorite novels, all the books I am half-way through and think I might actually finish
o Photos of friend, family, and my puppy dog.
o A poster of Mount Everest (it is one of my life’s goals to climb the summit)
o Camping gear
o Mountain Bike
o A plant


I am still very lost about what to bring. They have this nice list on the CU site about what not to bring (curtains, most appliances, pets, parents, etc.) but their list of what to bring was depressingly short. Meanwhile, I have been facebooking my roommate and she is trying to determine if she can bring her backpacking gear, her skis, and her snowboard, while I am trying to find a place to store my second bike.

In an attempt to answer both our questions, I went out and bought this book I have heard about, The Naked Roommate, hoping that it could give me some guidance. So far, I am 113 pages in, and it has given me good advice about how to deal with the klepto roommate, the smelly roommate, the roommate you hate, the roommate that comes with her boyfriend attached, the drunken roommate, and of course, the naked roommate. Though I have talked to my roommate, and she seems really cool, this book totally has me convinced that everyone in college is doomed to live with a neurotic, thieving, smelly, puking crazy person. To top it all off, I still have no idea what to fill our new prison cell with!

I guess I am just going to have to keep floundering around until I figure it out. Maybe this is a good example of what college will be like—you have no idea about what you are doing, but you just keep stumbling around, acting like everything is under control, until everything works itself out. The Naked Roommate did tell me to ask for advice when I am lost, so does anyone have any advice?

Move over Rover

Dear Readers,

It's time to say au revoir to our dear first-year student blogger, Heidi. Heidi is retiring from the First-Year blog and is on to the world of "sophomore-ness". Please welcome our newest blogger, Rebecca. We are all excited to have her and to follow her experiences as a First-Year student at Leeds. Welcome Rebecca!

Getting ready for move-in? FAQ's! (Updated 6/19)

Hey everyone!
Hope the last few weeks have treated you all well and you're getting excited about coming to Boulder next fall!

This summer I've gotten a few comments/emails with questions about move-in/dorms/general life, so I figured I'd post answers for everyone to check out. PLEASE do not hesitate to email me your questions- I love answering them and giving you guys the inside scoop :)

Am I going to be stranded if I don't bring my car?
Not taking a car to school is a great idea! I brought mine since I wanted to be able to home when I wanted, but it also allowed me to be lazy and not take the bus to do stuff like go to target. The buff buses (from WV to campus) run until midnight every night, until 3 a.m. on weekends and every 20 minutes on weekends which hooks you up to nearly all the main bus lines which for the most part stop by the UMC or throughout campus. Boulder is also very bike-friendly and the city has been really successful in creating bike lanes and nice bike paths all over. Plus then you get some exercise! :)
I would also reccomend committing to staying in Boulder every weekend (if you live in the area) for at least the first month of school. I had a really hard time adjusting because I booked it out of town most weekends first semester while everyone else stayed in the dorms and got to know each other. The last thing you may want to do on the weekends is hang out with all the people you don't know, but if you make the decision to stick with it even when you're sick of the dorms it will pay off.

What's the difference between a 2-student room and a 2-student apartment? What did you have?
So an apartment vs. room- on your housing assignment letter it will say "You have been assigned to Room # in --- Hall, a 2/3/4 student apartment/room." If it says apartment, you have an apartment style room with a kitchenette/living room in addition to the bedroom(s). If it says 2-student room, you will have the basic dorm room with 2 people and closets which is still totally manageable. :)

Is it true that I can get a season ski pass to Eldora for $99?
Eldora season pass for $99- TRUE! This only happens for like 2 days at the beginning the semester. come to school with a way to get one because when you hear that they're at the UMC you should go snag a pass! I missed out big time and didn't get one, and going to Eldora twice would pay for that pass (Single day tickets are around $75 I think...). Plus it's really easy to do half days of skiing/snowboarding at Eldora- there's a bus every hour from Boulder up to the slopes that is free with your student RTD bus pass that you automatically get when you enroll at CU. I would recommend getting this, even if you are getting another pass because it's nice to be just an hour away from home versus going all the way up to Breck/Copper/wherever your skis may take you.

What are the rooms like in Williams Village? (All towers)
Most of the rooms in WV are very similar to my pictures- but what's cool is that in each tower each floor and room are slightly different floor plans. For example, in Stearns East where I lived, the top 4-5 floors were all 4-student apartments, and any rooms below 9 were generally 2 student rooms. Some rooms are a bit bigger or smaller, but for the most part my pictures are of a pretty average sized bedroom. Here's some more pictures of other rooms in WV:
Normal 2-student room:
2-student room with bathroom:




Should I loft my bed?
I had my bed lofted half the year and had it taken down at semester- with the amount of space we had (I was in a 2-student apartment, not a 2-student room) I really didn't need the bed lofted. I got tired of climbing up to my bed all the time, but I was also used to doing homework/generally hanging out sitting on my bed so it was an adjustment. Lofting definitely gives you more space but is sort of a pain- I'd try and convince your roommate to loft their bed :P It does make for some more interesting ways to organize your room and a pretty good amount of additional space.

Can I put up Christmas lights around the edge of my room? Can I tack them up or use a staple gun?
You're not technically allowed to put holes in the walls- plus all the walls are made of brick so you can't really tack into anything right along the ceiling. One of my favorite things about WV though is that most of the walls are covered in tack board, so you could hang lights on that! Or you can also buy little sticky-back light hooks made for people's houses and hang your lights, which is what we did in my room. Purple lights are only $3 at during Halloween at target :) I always liked it when people put lights around their windows because you could always see it from outside, which looked really neat.