Campus Connection

With my friends pointing me in the right direction, I packed a bag this afternoon and headed for my first glimpse of DePaul’s campus. It seems strange (really strange) that I’ve paid tuition to a school which I haven’t even seen, but here I am.

I walked north on Sheffield street, making a quick stop in Bank of America to open an account. This will be my Chicago bank. David Facio was my customer service representative, eager to learn all about me. He recommended a s’more shake from an ice cream place which I’ve already forgotten the name of, though he said it twice and I repeated it after him.

After getting my temporary ATM card and setting up my internet banking, David let me loose on the city. I continued north on Sheffield, relying on my directions to walk until I hit campus. I walked along, passing kids just getting out of school, and signs that said “Single? Try depaulsingles.com.” I stopped in a 7-11 to buy band-aids for my blistering heels.

I walked and I walked. I began to worry that I had gone too far, had somehow missed campus, when I saw a DePaul U bookstore. Relief.

I hit campus a block or two later, and walked by all the housing buildings until I reached the Student Center. I figured I’d wander through there and maybe get my student ID, if I had time before my orientation.

The Student Center was FULL of students, undergrad students who aren’t old enough to drink in bars. I walked in, a bit shell-shocked, and wandered through seas of “You are toooo sexy,” and “I just told her STOP and ohmygod, it was so funny.” I looked around at them, at how young they were and how they were all acting brave for their first college appearances. They had the air of owning the place and being totally lost at the same time.

I breezed through the milling crowds to the Student ID Services. Crowded. I peeked in at the line to pick up your UPass. Way crowded. I gave up, needing to check my email and confirm the start time of orientation. I decided to look for the place where all the big kids were hanging out.

In my search for the library, I first walked past Schmitt Academic Center. This name sounded familiar to me, as perhaps the site of my mysterious orientation. I popped in there to see if maybe there was a schedule, to bypass the internet and go straight to the source.

I peered in auditorium rooms, no schedule to be found, and watched more milling crowds of undergrad students. I went out the way I came in and continued to wander amongst the big buildings, feeling certain I was getting close to the library.

There it was, right next door. The girl at the Reference desk helped me connect to the library’s wireless, and told me “Welcome to DePaul.” We laughed, and I walked my computer over to a corner desk by the window.

The familiarity of the library is incredibly comforting in the face of so many changes. Everything in my life right now is unfamiliar: my new bedroom, new bathroom, new kitchen. Coming to campus, seeing the faces of the undergrads feeling more un-anchored than I do, is comforting. At least here I know what is going on. I know that the library will have corner desks by the windows. I know that the Reference section is the place to get help, because those desk workers never have anything else to do. I know that no matter how silly I look wandering around lost, no one else will notice because they are doing the same thing.

I’m back.

Wet Hot American Summer

I'd say this summer has certainly been something to write home about, but it's not yet over. A week from Saturday, I and many of my things will be slugging up to Chicago to take residence in a new apartment in that new city. I'm starting to get nervous. Real nervous. I'm forcibly reminded by these moving anxieties of two similar summers' ends.

Aug 2001, a sad and lowly freshman in a new school. I remember my parents driving me up to Kirksville in our sweet minivan, me sleeping on the back seat. I fell asleep and hoped the drive would never end. I started crying in a Staples store, and my mom hugged me, saying "I was going to be mad if you didn't cry." I couldn't eat dorm food until I was truly hungover for the first time. Things went uphill from there.

I remember the night before that trip in the minivan, the muggy KC August and the interior of Stef's ancient Green Machine. Why did we think we were different, that no one else had ever undergone such an uprooting? But we did. I did. Thinking back now, I know that I wouldn't relive high school for the world.

Aug/Sept 2003, left behind in my parents' home, in my summer job, while all my friends returned to school. I was working and preparing for my first trans-Atlantic flight, for a stay in the apartment of Spanish strangers. I had forgotten the terror of those last weeks until recently. It still surprises me - how can such a happy person, so excited to live, be so frightened of a thing she's waited for?

Two nights before I left, I watched "Wet Hot American Summer" after my parents and brothers had gone to sleep. Engrossed, I found myself shocked on the couch after the movie ended. I watched special features, little shorts on the making of "Wet Hot American Summer," anything to postpone the fact that soon I'd have to accept such a monumental task.

Now here I am, sitting in a room as messy as it's ever been, with scanty packed boxes lining the periphery. I'm leaving this afternoon to visit friends, and I won't return until 3 days before my scheduled move-in date. What was I thinking? Did I think that if I didn't pack, I wouldn't have to deal with my fear of the unknown? Did I think I could lie on the couch watching special features forever?

Things will get done; they always do. I will move a week from Saturday. I will start school again after a gap of two years, and I will work hard to impress my peers and professors alike. I'll somehow have enough money to eat, to go to concerts, to buy beers after long weeks. But for now, all I want to do is go rent "Wet Hot American Summer."

Step by Step by Step

Though I hate to be another brand snob, I made a new purchase this month which has given me hours upon hours of pleasure. Yes, it's a macbook. I'm a first-timer, but so far the transition has been smooth.

I've been so busy playing with my new toy that I'd forgotten about the ancient (6 year old) pc still sitting on the top of my $5 desk. After the rush of grad school apps earlier this year, I'd forgotten that this giant monument was a real, live, working computer. Today somehow became tech day (I still can't figure why the drivers on my computer can't get connected to the printer, but I gave up after two hours of error pages).

Tech day led to the amateur cleaning of my old college pc. I plugged my flash drive in and began to navigate all the old folders. I copied all school work, and thought I'd finished when I remembered Kazaa. That's right, in the days of the dorms, I had used Kazaa for all my free downloading needs.

I paged through those downloads today, and laughed at the mix-up of rap popular in my freshman/sophomore years (NORE, etc) and male singer/songwriters (Jason Mraz, Howie Day, and of course, John Mayer). There were some songs I couldn't bear the thought of deleting forever, so before I knew it, I was making... a mix CD.

Aug 07 - Final Mix from College Dell

1. Ani Difranco - covering Bob Dylan's "Most of the Time" Fab.
2. Eddie Vedder - "Throw Your Arms Around Me" Sadly, the sound quality is abhorrent.
3. Ben Lee - "Cigarettes Will Kill You" Catchy as hell.
4. Cody Chesnutt - "Look Good in Leather" Sample lyric: "mothafucka I'm coooool, with attitude and ego to spare." Yes.
5. Counting Crows - covering Van Morrison's "Caravan" One of Van's best.
6. Counting Crows - covering Psychedelic Furs' "Ghost in You" Forgive a girl for nostalgia.
7. Indigo Girls - "Galileo" An essential from most mixes created in college.
8. Jackson 5 - "ABC" Who can refuse?
9. Jamiroquai - "Virtual Insanity" Still great, from the ATO basement to today.
10. Les Miserables - "On My Own" It's gotten into my head a few times this past summer, I figured why not?
11. Live - "All Over You" I had room.
12. Lucinda Williams - "Passionate Kisses" Old-school and wonderful.
13. Goldfinger - covering The Cure's "Just Like Heaven" This song stays great in all incarnations.
14. Willie Nelson - "Maria (Shut Up and Kiss Me)" In spite of the quiet, backup presence of Rob Thomas, Willie Nelson makes musical magic.
15. Smokey Robinson and the Miracles - "Tracks of My Tears" An American classic.
16. King Floyd (?) - "Groove Me" Irresistible link to the "Swingers" soundtrack.
17. The Band - "The Weight" Always good. Always.
18. Tom Waits - "Martha" Who didn't discover Tom Waits in college??
19. And to close, Wyclef Jean - "Perfect Gentleman" How many pre-drinks in dorm room 158 were consumed to this song? Still makes me want a Natty Lite.

More stories per hour

I'm watching my dear darling Jon Stewart, and he just presented a sound bite: "CNN now has more stories per hour." This clip from CNN, sadly misrepresented by that quote, was referring to their morning show, and highlighting the ability of said morning show to present more stories each hour. Jon Stewart, of course, said it best when he made a joke about Americans only having time for one noun, a few modifiers, tsunami wet, Iraq bad, etc etc.

Isn't this what's wrong? If not the cause, certainly a symptom? Sigh.

Unemployment is good to me. I sleep ten hours a night, I clean all my dishes, I organize my CDs. I want to live in my little private cocoon forever. The most beautiful, most appreciated part of all this languor is that nothing is hurried. I do things in the time it takes me to do them, and then I move on to the next thing and give it equal attention. Any pressure from anywhere is gone. I breathe deeply. I spend time with my friends and family. Is this what we're supposed to do? I'll ask myself the same question in two weeks, after nearly three weeks of joblessness. I'll try to keep it to one story per hour.

"What I Know About Men"

Thanks to my brilliant friend Allison, who is also so very culturally hip, I came across this article from the Guardian. Read it. Seriously, read it. It's called "What I Know About Men," and it's taken from an interview with superstar 19 year-old Hilary Duff.

I didn't know whether to cry or punch a wall as I read this article, though on the second reading I mostly just laughed. I knew Ms. Duff was on my "Naughty List" as soon as I read her statement: "I'm not, like, a crazy feminist." Pardon me?

The misuse of the word feminist is something that bothers me to distraction. I consider myself a feminist. I'm sure there are many of peers who wouldn't identify themselves as such. I think they wouldn't because the label has taken on a life of its own, a stereotype that is unfair and rarely true. Hilary, feminism does not mean man-hating. Feminists aren't all wiccans who neglect to shave their armpits and ride bicycles made of hemp. Being a feminist simply means that you believe that women and men are equal. No sex is better; no sex is worse.

A second moment (directly after the first doozy) came where I took issue with Hilary's uneducated politics: "I think women definitely need men. Like, I couldn't imagine having a girlfriend!" She then goes on to list all the things that "guys" make her feel, which assumably couldn't be attained in a female-female relationship: security, comfort, affection, fun, drama. (These are directly quoted, I'm not making the "drama" one up, I promise.) It's funny, because many of the lesbians I know have relationships where ALL of these essential elements are present. The one thing Hilary doesn't mention (a penis) must be too R-rated for a teen scene queen.

All of this tripe is in with other, terrible stereotypes about women that Hilary admits to perpetuating. Women are definitely home-makers, girls purposely act dumb in front of guys they like, etc etc. The part that makes me want to cry is that Hilary Duff's primary audience is preteen girls. A 12 year-old will read this, admiring Hilary Duff for her super-clever "Lizzie Macguire"-esque abilities, and for years she'll want to avoid being "a crazy feminist." Why do we allow that as the stuff of role models? It's gross. It shocks me that, in 2007, a 19 year-old can be quoted as saying "women are definitely homemakers," and no one bats an eye.

I'm not saying Hilary Duff is this huge water-mark for culture, but she's still fairly well-known. People will still see this article; albeit mostly British people. I hope that most girls are raised in homes that know better than to look up to stuff like this.

So what do I, Helen E, know about men? They listen to you much better when they're attracted to you. Some of them like books. Most of them like music. That's about all I've got.

A sad state of neglect

My life right now has been reduced to bullet points. I'm no longer afforded the luxurious time of paragraphs, of sentences that link to one another - only harsh, ugly bullets.

I am moving in one month and 10 days.

I am starting school, and borrowing a lot of money to do so.

I haven't been to school in 2 full years. In fact, I am unsure whether I've engaged my brain in 2 full years.


I am leaving this job in 6 days. I fear my desk will never be clean.



I have to pack all my things. I have to part with clothes that I don't wear, but that my brain still thinks I need. I have to weed out my books, my most comforting possessions.

And finally, I am going to be poor forever. Chicago looms, with open arms of fun, and I will have to pass up on All Fun because I have no money. Literally, all fun. I'm sure I won't have one bit of fun.

Now, a story: last night, I went to the 3&2 Baseball Park to watch my youngest brother (12) play in the championship game for his league. The weather, despite the humidity, turned out to be beautiful as I sat with my dad and my aunt and ate peanuts. We watched my brother play only one inning - the first - as his team struggled to keep up with a far better one. The rest of the time, he sat on the bench. Dad and I would look over and see him, in the corner of the dugout closest to the fans, talking to a group of the girls in his class who came to cheer the team. Did he miss the baseball? We couldn't tell.

I learned a few things last night:
1. Never pass up an opportunity for free baseball on a beautiful night with family to accompany you.
2. There is nothing I miss less than being a junior high girl.
3. Sometimes, warming the bench is enough for someone, if they get to be part of the team.
4. Maybe, if you know you're going to be sitting on a bench for 2-3 hours, you should bring a cushion. Who cares if it's an old lady thing - benches hurt butts.

I think she said "feck"

Saturday night, I came home about an hour before bar close to relieve my stomach of the Kelly's/Joe's pizza that I'd just eaten. I crawled into bed feeling vaguely unsettled, with a beer/pizza/taco/thai curry combo that was rather unpleasant.



I turned on the TV (my nighttime boyfriend) only to hear... Alvin and the Chipmunks! "Christmas Time is Here" is one of my favorite carols, and I knew that it could only mean one thing: Almost Famous was on TV.



Being tired, I tuned in for about the first twenty minutes. I realized how fantastic that set-up was, despite any flaws in the rest of the film (and by flaws, I mean Kate Hudson. Kate Hudson is not good on an unsettled stomach). Crowe took Frances McDormand (always amazing) and paired her with Zooey Deschanel (spelling?) - what a duo. Then, he pairs Philip Seymour Hoffman (maybe my favorite working actor) with the fictional Lester Bangs character. Delicious. And he manages to play nearly all of Simon and Garfunkel's "America," as well as "Sparks" by the Who, some Iggy Pop, and, of course, Alvin and the Chipmunks.

"The only true currency we have in this bankrupt world are the things we say to each other when we're being uncool." Not bad for 3am on a Saturday.