Getting Old

It has finally happened. I am getting old. I may be twenty-one, but in the context of the Fordham community, I am a second semester senior, and by those standards, I am ancient. Before you write me off as being melodramatic, let me share with you some of my recent experiences.

Ever since I got back on campus, I have been struck by the youth of the student body. I barely recognize anyone anymore; my old friends have been replaced with round-faced teenagers. You know who I'm talking about- the annoying freshman girls who talk too loudly, travel in packs of ten or more and crack gum in their teeth. And the boys seem no more mature. Every time I go to the gym I am disappointed; instead of the usual hotties the gym, lately it is full of adolescent boys barely past puberty. I doubt whether or not they are even capable of growing facial hair! It's like being back in high school.

And I feel old even in my own room. My roommates are sweethearts, but they are all juniors. Since I am the oldest, they come to me for boy advice or just to complain about their day. I always listen and dispense comfort/tough love when needed. And when the girls go out at night I remind them to be safe and not drink themselves silly. As a result they call me 'Mom'. "You're just like our mom," they tell me affectionately any time I dispense pearls of wisdom. Nothing like being called 'Mom' at twenty-one to make a girl feel like a sexy New Yorker.

On Thursday night I had an experience that further reiterated my older, senior status. I went out with my girlfriend Christen to this cool club in the city called Plumm. Christen knew a promoter who could get us in for free and also get us free drinks. We met this promoter and his two friends (cute, glamorous girls) down in Grand Central and headed to the club. It was a trendy place, and it was such a pleasure to realize that since I have reached the age of twenty one, these types of venues were now fully accessible. No more going out to shady bars!

So Christen and I sat there, decked to the nines and feeling fabulous, and chatted up the two glam girlfriends of the club promoter. They were also Fordham students, and so we hit it off.
"So what grade are you girls in?" one of them asked Christen and me.
"We're seniors," I replied. "What about you?"
"Oh, we're just freshman," she answered with a shrill giggle. "I'm only eighteen!"
Christen and I exchanged a glance. Apparently if you were friends with a promoter, he could get you in even if you were ridiculously underage.
"I'm not in the mood for babysitting," Christen told me when the girls got up to go to the bar.
"I thought the whole point of cool places like this was that there would be no underage kids," I replied.
These girls reiterated their freshman status throughout the course of the night. They got embarrassingly drunk, danced provocatively, and even broke a glass towards the end of the night. They also burned out quickly; they called it a night at one o'clock, just when things were starting to pick up. The few conversations I had with them made me feel old; they expressed their disbelief of my impending graduation.
"Oh, but what are you going to do?" they had asked me at one point. "I mean, your college career is over! What happens after that?"
"I'll figure it out," I replied. After all, with age comes wisdom.

Living it Up

I told myself in January that it was my duty to wring every ounce of awesome out of this final semester. True, I have to get good grades and find a job and an apartment for May, but I also have to hang out with my fellow seniors as much as possible. Plus, I am finally twenty-one and have recently developed amazing drinking powers (thank you, London), so I have no choice but to go out there and live it up.

Here are some of the highlights of my recent exploits in the past week:

Wednesday: There was a total lunar eclipse, and my friends and I decided to make a party of it. We stood out on the quad and drank beer to keep warm in the freezing cold. Towards the end of the eclipse, we were so cold/tired/buzzed that we shouted encouragement to the moon: "You can do it, moon! Eclipse already so we can go inside! C'mon!" Our words did not hasten the process. Other students walking by thought we were crazy.

Thursday: Wrote a paper. Hey, I have to be a student sometime, right?

Friday: We got five inches of snow and had a snow day. I didn't realize it; I woke up early and spent the morning in the library before going to my 11:30 class. It was only when I noticed that the classroom door was locked and dark that it dawned on me that school was closed. I had lost a morning to sleep in! To vent my frustration I had a snowball fight with my guy friends. That made me feel better in no time.

Saturday: I went out into Manhattan with six of my oldest friends (that I've known since freshman year). We went to an awesome little Mexican place on 54th and 9th, and then we went to a local dive bar and split a few pitchers. At around 11:00, three kids decided to go back to the Bronx (wimping out on a Saturday night??), and the remainder of us decided to go all the way downtown.

Now when I say downtown, I mean downtown. We ended up right by the New York Stock Exchange; any farther on the subway and we would have landed in Brooklyn. We went to this cool bar called Ulysses', which boasted imported beer from all over the world. A good Irish girl, I ordered Guinness on tap. I have to say, it was one of the most delicious beers I've ever had in my life. Maybe it's because it's been so long since I've had one, but every sip was ecstasy.

So the four of us sat there in this cool bar, all the way downtown, and I was overcome with this marvelous feeling of satisfaction. Here I was, with good friends, good drinks, in the most exciting city in the world, on a Saturday night. How could it get any better? Okay, maybe Prince William could have strolled in and professed his love for me...

Anyway, Saturday night contained one of those moments that I look to achieve when I try to 'live it up'. I want to take advantage of this unique time in my life- I'm young, finally legal, I live in New York, and I have no serious responsibilities (mortgage, marriage, kids). I know that this time will not be forever, so I have to relish it while I can. So far I think I have been accomplishing my mission.

Until next time....

A Quick Weekend Home

I spent President's Day weekend back home in Rhode Island, catching up with my family. My older brother, who is stationed out on an air force base in Montana, had leave, and so I made sure to make the trip to see him. He is normally never on the East Coast, and I was looking forward to spending some quality time with him and the rest of my family.

In case you don't know, I have an older brother, who's 24, and a younger brother who's 19 and a sophmore at BU. This makes me the middle child, and the only girl. It's not a bad situation really; being the only girl has made me tough, and as a result I don't put up with any crap from the opposite gender. This turns out to be more helpful in the dating world than one might think.

Anyway, my brothers and I used to fight alot when we were kids (who didn't squabble with their siblings?) but now we're in the strange process of forging adult relationships. We actually have to make time to call each other and maintain contact; after all, we now all live in different states. Unfortunately, this distance is likely to increase with my impending graduation, and with both my brothers in the military. Who knows where we'll all be living in a few years? That's why brief moments when we're all together, such as this weekend, are important.

So on Saturday night my brothers and I met up with some of my cousins and mutual friends, and we went out to a Japanese Hibachi grill (I don't know if I spelled that right). The food was amazing, and it was great to catch up with everybody. After that was over we all went to a pub and had some beers, with my underage younger brother regulated to designated driver (hey, we've been there).

On Sunday my brothers and I went out for lunch with my cousins. I have three cousins that live in Rhode Island: A girl who is 25, another girl who is 23, and a boy who is 20. They all live in Providence; the oldest share an apartment, and the youngest is a sophmore at Brown. In typical family tradition, they are all brilliant, good-looking, musically talented, and they also know how to drink. Couldn't have it any other way.

So while we were having brunch, an old man at the table next to us passed out. Two of my cousins are trained EMTs, and they got up and started checking his pulse and breathing, and generally keeping an eye on until an ambulence showed up. The old man was fine (he had low blood pressure, so at least it wasn't a stroke or anything), and I was amazed at the swift actions of my cousins. I swear, everyone in my family is so accomplished.

I had a good time catching up with the family, and before I knew it the weekend was over and I had to head back to Fordham. There's a total lunar eclipse tonight, and I plan to lie out on the quad and watch it all go down. I am not ashamed of my nerdiness. Until next time....

p.s. I realize that there have been some issues with leaving comments... I adjusted the settings on the blog, so now hopefully everyone can comment away!

Surviving Valentine's Day

So the most dreaded holiday has come and gone, and I have emerged unscathed. I am referring, of course, to Valentine's Day, probably the most uncomfortable holiday ever devised by humankind. It's an unpleasant holiday to grapple with when you're in a relationship, because you are inundated with cheesy cards, candy, and other fake signs of affection. And it's even worse when you are single, because you feel like a loser when you are not receiving these lame tokens. There are the few girls that love Valentine's Day, but they are the ones involved in syrupy relationships that are marriage-bound. For the cynical single girls (such as yours truly), Valentine's Day is a holiday that deserves to be eliminated from the calendar permanently.

I made sure to have plans for Thursday night. Normally my Thursday evenings involve watching LOST with my friends and drinking light beer, but not this Thursday. I did not want to seem like a loser; I had to do something more substantial. So when my old buddy Dave asked me once again to see his new apartment and cook me dinner (I had been busy for weeks), I agreed, even though he scheduled it for Thursday night, the only night we both had free.

"So it's okay that it's on Valentine's Day?" he asked me.
"Sure, it'll be an anti-Valentine's Day dinner," I replied. "We'll drink cheap wine and play video games." I was relieved; I was doing something for the evening, but it was not Valentine's Day related. I could coast through the dreaded evening, numbed by cheap wine, filled with Italian food, and in the company of an old friend.

I had alot of work due for Friday (a paper and a presentation), so I spent Thursday afternoon in my room, typing furiously on the computer. At one point my roommate burst into my work sanctuary, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Look what he sent me!" she sang, and proceeded to show me the dozen roses her boyfriend mailed her, along with some other Valentine's Day items. I was a good roommate and indulged her in girly conversation (much oohing and ahhing and 'oh that's soo cute'), but inwardly I felt a little queasy. I was not in the mood to talk about LOVE and WONDERFUL BOYFRIENDS; I was thoroughly entrenched in my role of brooding, cynical, anti-valentine's day creature.

So when it became time to meet up with Dave, I was relieved. Finally I could hang out with someone and kvetch about the ridiculousness of the holiday. I bought a 7.99 bottle of merlot called 'Sweet Bitch' (I'm not kidding- I thought it was so awesome I had to buy it), and made my way to his apartment, where he was cooking up a fabulous Italian dinner.

As soon as I got there, I could see that he was very stressed out about the meal (he was concerned he was going to mess it up or something), and his anxiety began to make me uncomfortable.
"Are you okay?" I asked him repeatedly as he rushed around the kitchen, frenzied. "I mean, it's just me. I'll eat anything."
"I'm fine, I'm fine," he insisted, but I could tell he was not. I became acutely aware that it was only the two of us in his apartment. I threw back a glass of the 'Sweet Bitch' to take the edge off. Dave followed my example.

By the time we sat down to eat, he had had a few glasses, and he was drunk. He's a very skinny guy, and I guess he's a lightweight. It was only 7:00 pm.

"Annie, I don't know how you can just not knock everything off this table, climb over here, and tear my clothes off," he said abruptly. I looked up from my ravioli, mortified. He was laughing, but I could sense truth behind his words.
"Yeah, I'm really restraining myself," I replied uncertainly.
"I mean, I am CUTE!" he declared. "I am so cute!"
"You are drunk," I said disbelievingly.
"Yeah, I am!" and he dissolved into giggles. He went on to say other things that would make certain readers blush, and that I will not get into. The dinner continued, and I ate as quickly as possible; this meal was rapidly heading south.
"I have a really long tongue," Dave boasted next, raising his eyebrows rakishly. "Want to see?"
"No!" I yelled. This situation was unraveling. What happened to my cool, edgy anti-Valentine's Day dinner? I was not supposed to be receiving propositions like this! I was with my old friend, my cynical touchstone. He was NOT supposed to express hidden, bizarre desires to me. I braced myself- if he came over to make the moves on me he was in for a world of hurt.

Lucky for me, he was more interested in finishing his meal than coming over to my side of the table. Dinner ended, and I stood up. "I have to go, I have alot of work to do," I said, without elaboration. Dave was unhappy; he pleaded for me to stay but of course I politely refused. In the end he agreed to walk me to the bus stop. At this point the uncomfortable, druken statements continued (and most of them I cannot relate here).

"I remember when I first saw you," he said as we walked in the crisp night air. "I thought you were so HOT!"
A few seconds later-
"Uhhhhh, I feel so sick! I'm so queasy! I might puke!" he groaned.
I gritted my teeth and sent up a silent prayer. Fortunately, no vomiting occurred. We made it to the bus stop, and I left Dave, and got on the Bx 12 to go back to campus. I walked back to my dorm in a daze. What the hell had just happened? The worst part was, it was only 8:00, and I saw sickeningly cute couples dressed up, out on their way to dinner (the very sight I had tried to avoid in the first place, with my ill-conceived dinner plans). Blehh.

So I guess the moral of the story is, no matter what you do, that day never goes well. Or maybe the moral is, Cum Vino, Veritas. Whatever. I'm just relieved it's a whole year before I have to deal with it again. Happy Valentine's.

A Taste of Things to Come?

So on Monday my archaeology professor invited me to attend an archaeology seminar at Columbia University. My professor (whom I will simply refer to as The Professor) hosts a series of monthly lectures at Columbia, and the guest speakers are visiting professors from all over the world. These academics typically discuss the excavations they are working on, as well as new discoveries in the field. I attended this lecture series last year, but I missed a bunch in the fall because I was abroad. Now that I was back, I was eager to attend the lectures once more.

I bummed a ride with The Professor downtown (Fordham is in the Bronx, and Columbia is on the upper west side of Manhattan), and on the way we talked archaeology. The Professor is my mentor; he's been an archeologist for over thirty years, and I never cease to be amazed by the breadth of his knowledge. I've known him since the end of my freshman year, and I've done independent archaeological work for him for two semesters (my independent study in human bones, for example, is under his tutelage). Besides his knowledge, he is also a practical, down to earth kind of guy. On the car ride, for instance, we were discussing grad school:
"You'll probably want to get your degree before you get married," he had said. "It's easier to get it done before you have kids and everything."
"Well, I don't have to worry about marriage with all the losers I've been dating," I replied (immature on my part, but the statement is true, nontheless).
He had looked at me, raising his white eyebrows. "Now Anne, you know that not all boys are losers. They are just immature at your age. I remember, I was a young man once about a hundred years ago."
See, the man knows everything. He doesn't hesitate to tell me when I'm full of crap (although he'll say it more delicately). I think it's because he has two adult daughters, so he's heard it all before.

So we get down to Columbia, (which is an awesome part of the city, by the way-it's also the neighborhood were Seinfeld was set), and we headed over to this faculty building for the lecture. The attendants of these lectures are usually other Columbia academics, and they all tend to be over 50. The Professor, being the organizer of these lectures, knew everybody, and he drifted off to talk with them while I grabbed a seat at the seminar table and proceeded to drink Red Bull and read my sociology book. I find that the few times I have engaged these lauded academics in converstation, I end up coming across as the total rookie archaeology girl that I am, so I usually keep my head down and stay out of the way.

The lecturer for that evening was great; she was this tiny woman with steel gray hair who had been excavating an awesome middle-bronze age site in Turkey, named Alalakh. She was also from the University of Chicago and had a resume that was over 20 pages long (trust me, I looked at it). All in all, she was a bad ass in the world of archaeology.

All the while I sat there amongst these academics, feeling like a kid who was allowed to sit at the grown-up's table at Thanksgiving. These people really know their stuff, and while I completely admire them, it also makes me realize that I don't know anything- I am a neophyte compared to them. Although to be fair, they all have decades on me.

There was a really old guy sitting right next to me, and I guess he had had a long day, because he kept nodding forward, as if he were about to fall asleep. About every thirty seconds or so, his head would nod foward, and then he would snap it up, startled, and then he would tug at his chin, as if reprimanding himself. Thirty seconds later his head would slump forward again. This process went on for an hour. I am assuming he was not very riveted by the lecture. Hey, we've all been there.

So at the end of the lecture, the professors all went to the faculty dining room for a nice formal dinner, and I had to head back to the Bronx. I've never gone to the dinner after the lectures, but I am not a member of that club. Besides, it costs 25 dollars for non academics, and what student can afford that?

I walked through Columbia's main quad on the way to subway. It is a beautiful campus, and I've always been envious of the Columbia students (my older brother included). There's such a aura of academia at that place; there's a real sense that you are surrounded by some of the greatest minds around. Who knows, maybe one day I'll be some gray haired archaeologist going to formal dinners with a bunch of my collagues at a place at like Columbia. Until then, I am perfectly content to take my classes and drink beer with my friends on the weekends. You're only young once....