BC@SR

Talking with my good friend and fellow alum Sameer Agrawal, I learned that my old school and first home away from home, Simon's Rock College of Bard, will be changing its name. It has used a variety of names over the decades, and the newest one will be "Bard College at Simon's Rock." Apparently a lot of alumni are upset, and that's understandable. Many alumni spent their most formative years there, and I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling that a disproportionately large amount of my growing-up occurred in Great Barrington. We want it to remain a time capsule because its painful to imagine otherwise. But change is inevitable, and in this case we must ask ourselves that age-old question: What's in a name?

We know that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and surely the same will be true of Simon's Rock; it will remain the place we've loved. But I will go on to say that the name change will make the college a more attractive rose. I think back to my very first contact with the school: I received a small blue postcard in the mail asking me to apply to the Acceleration to Excellence Program. I took one look at it, saw the name "Simon's Rock," and threw it in the recycling. I threw away my first message from the school purely on account of its name. By that point in my life I had already distanced myself from my Christian upbringing, and I didn't want to attend a Christian school. Fortunately my mother came across the card and did a little investigation at the public library. I count her recovery of that little blue card as the most fortuitous event in my life, and as an A.A. recipient, a Dolliver R.A., and a yearbook editor I'd like to think that it was fortuitous for SRC too.

But it didn't need to come down to that. Had "Bard College at Simon's Rock" been written on the card I probably wouldn't have recycled it. And I'm betting a similar story has unfolded many times without such an improbable intervention. How many excellent students have we missed because of our misleading name? Maybe some market research could tell us, and I don't know if there have been polls or surveys conducted. I hope so because the school should always be making the most informed decisions. For me, an alum with no official say in the matter, my personal experience is more than enough. I can embrace 'BC@SR' wholeheartedly.

Make no mistake: I wouldn't be so supportive of just any new nomination. I support this move because I think the board has selected an excellent name. Unlike the old "Bard College of Simon's Rock," the newly-minted "Bard College at Simon's Rock" quite elegantly leaves the place-name alone. That bit of land off of Alford Road—that place full of winding wooded trails, that place with a well loved community garden, that place with mismatched buildings, that place where we did so much growing up, that place that was every bit as important as the formal lessons taught there—that place remains 'Simon's Rock.' The academic institution located there is taking the name of Bard College, but it's at Simon's Rock, and the new name makes no bones about it.

Drink up for better health

Nate and I share a lot of the foods in the fridge, but we've each got our own juice. Nate's a firm believer in the power of Tahitian Noni, which purports to solve any number of health issues. I can appreciate its deep currant flavor, but, always the skeptic, I stick with more vitamin-rich juices, specifically the two Goodness from Bolthouse Farms. Claire introduced me to Green Goodness a couple years back, and I've kept it in my fridge as a green vegetable substitute and ROCKSTAR mixer ever since. I just spotted Blue Goodness in Wegmans for the first time Saturday. It's heavier to B vitamins but lacking in A, so it won't be a regular purchase for me. Still, it's unmistakable blueberry flavor will make it hard to pass-up.

Love shack!

This current residence is my first "real" apartment in the sense that the building isn't school owned and it isn't filled with students. In fact, Nate and I are the only students in the building. The difference is usually quite notable: the place is quiet during the work day, the muted sounds of TVs replaces explosively loud AIM pings, and smoke—whether it be from cigarettes, marijuana, or burned popcorn— is entirely absent. The floors don't need to be an indestructible linoleum, and we can save money by conserving energy since electricity isn't included. I like it very much.

Still, it's frequently obvious that the real world isn't all that different from the collegiate one. One of our neighbors is a professor, which definitely gives the building a not-so-far-away-from-campus feel. And I've mentioned our downstairs neighbor Norm, who is in many respects a frat-boy with a job. The fourth apartment (the other one on our floor) is no exception. Jay and Kelly are a young couple (dating, not married), who both seem to have a serious night life. They're often out as late as Nate and I are (although certainly having more fun), and conjugal activities happen within a few minutes of 1:30 am more often than not.

We know this because they don't really do anything quietly. They don't often make a ruckus like Norm, but they're not subtle. They're loud on the stairs, both vocally and in step, they're loud loud in the bedroom, both vocally and rhythmically. My bedroom is on the stairwell, so I get most of the former; Nate's bedroom borders theirs, so he gets most of the latter. Still, they don't seem to confine themselves to the bedroom, so I get a dose of the aural experience with some frequency (not unlike my time in Broadway). I've had some good chuckles with both Nate and Jean-François about some of the particulars, which may or may not find their way into another post down the line. At this point it will suffice to say that it's rather inescapable due to its volume.

This evening we were eating our supper in our main room, which is in the back half of the apartment building, and the moans started to issue through the wall. Nate looked at me incredulously. "In the kitchen?" he asked in a hushed voice. I decided that a gentle deterrent was in order. I raised my voice and rambled randomly: So I said to Withers, 'I say! the slope of the tangent of the circle is clearly less than the hypotenuse of the triangle!' And of course what could Withers do but admit that I had a point? 'Quite right you are!' he said to me. Really he was a right good chap about it and didn't let a little thing like that get him down for even a moment!

This seemed to prove sufficient, since the moaning came to an abrupt stop. Well, if I was pleased with myself then, the satisfaction was certainly not to last. At three this morning, our doorbell buzzed for a solid twenty seconds. Shortly after it stopped, a whole party of people came stomping up the stairs, carrying on loudly. They seemed to spend all of two minutes in Jay and Kelly's apartment before turning around and heading back out (this time the boisterous talk was accompanied by a harmonica). Nate and I both fell back to sleep promptly, but both of us are hoping it was a one-time event and unrelated to my dinner time theatrics since we generally like both of them when we have actual contact with them.

Turkey and ham with Netskis and Wellingtons

Thanksgiving 2006 played out a lot like Thanksgiving 2005, with the exception of transportation. Chris was already down at the lake house, so I rode with classmates Alex and Nico. I was also a little more ambitious with my cooking: in addition to the cranberry sauce that went over so well last year (see below), I made a butternut squash cassoulet that seemed to get a good reception even though it didn't make it to the table in the condition I had hoped. (I cooked it only part way, with plans to cook it more upon our arrival, but navigation issues delayed us a full hour, thus reducing further cook-time.)

Dinner was excellent again, and afterwards Uncle Jimmy treated us to a very impressive performance of "Alice's Restaurant" (at the correct tempo, no easy feat!). All of the extended family left before too long, so Chris's parents joined the four of us future architects in a game of Trivial Pursuit (with a 1981 "Genus I" edition board). Nico and Sarah got into an early lead, but never managed to snag the orange wedge. Chris and Alex accumulated their pieces in a slow and steady fashion, but Ed and I managed to comeback from last place and take the game at the very end (which is my kind of exciting end!) Over the course of the game, I was reminded that:

• The Battle of Hastings occurred in 1066.
• It was Vincent van Gogh who cut off his ear (not Pablo Picasso, whose name I carelessly blurted out while Ed was putting away leftovers).
• There are 32 named points on the compass rose. (Wikipedia tells me it works like this:
  270.00° West
  281.25° West by North
  292.50° West-Northwest
  303.75° Northwest by West
  315.00° Northwest
  326.25° Northwest by North
  337.50° North-Northwest
  348.75° North by West
  360.00° North
  I had guessed 16, since I didn't understand the "___ by ___" directions.)
• There were two guns of Navarone.

So, it was both an an enjoyable and educational day. Now to educate you, dear reader, here's the recipe to my now-traditional sidedish:

Cosmopolitan Cranberry Sauce
3 limes
1 orange
½ c. water
12 oz. cranberries picked over
1 c. sugar
¼ c. orange-flavor liqueur
1. Zest the limes and the orange. Juice the limes (and orange if desired) into a measuring cup, and add water to make ¾ c. liquid.
2. In 2-quart saucepan combine juice, sugar, cranberries, and zest; heat to boiling over high heat, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, uncovered, 5 minutes or until most cranberries pop and sauce thickens slightly, stirring occasionally. Remove saucepan from heat; stir in liqueur.
3. Refrigerate in a covered container at least 3 hours; freeze to expedite the process if necessary.

This was adapted from a recipe in Good Housekeeping. I almost always make a double batch.

Passing

I'm saddened to learn of Robert Altman's passing on Sunday, but I'm pleased to remember that his A Prairie Home Companion was the cinematic highlight of my summer and an appropriately poignant finale to his career.

The best of both worlds

I switched to Internet Explorer 7 tonight, and it's very promising thus far. I'd been giving Firefox a second chance this past month, but I found it to be as buggy and crash-prone as it was two years ago when I first tried it. Microsoft, as usual, seems to have done a very good job of incorporating the best ideas of their more creative competitors into a useful package. It's good to have tabs and stability. It even seems to be able to handle AJAX as well as Firefox can. Mozilla's got nothin' on it now!

San Narciso 49ers

I just finished Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49, my first novel from the author. I liked it; my most significant critcism is its brevity, for found myself done before I had a chance to make myself at home among its pages. This shouldn't be a problem with his newest novel, however: Against the Day, due out Tuesday, boasts a thousand pages (slightly more or less, depending on which sources you believe).

Mead over merlot

I attended the second in a series of preparatory meetings for the semester abroad (which for me will be a year from now). I was expecting another informational meeting like the first, but I instead found a simple response form for us to declare our intended destination. I've been waffling between Florence and London for about six months now, and I didn't mark my choice the moment I got it, but really when it came down to it, London was increasingly intriguing, and I've never doubted that it would be the more comfortable fit. I'm sure I'll be missing out on the Tuscan cooking, but I'm confident that I'll find some very pleasing drink in the Square Mile.

Voops!

My classmate has a copy of Single Grape Wines on her desk. I was initially confused about the contents of the book however, because I read the title off the spine, which calls the book "Single Grape Vines" (a substantially less useful subject). It would seem to me that if there was any part of a book that deserves double proof-reading it's the title.

Poll worker charged with assaulting voter

By Jessie Halladay, The Courier-Journal

LOUSIVILLE &ndsh; A poll worker at the United Auto Workers hall on Fern Valley Road was arrested after he was accused of assaulting a voter Tuesday, said Lt. Col. Carl Yates, a spokesman for the Jefferson County Sheriffs’ Office.

Jeffery Steitz, 42, was charged with interfering with an election and fourth-degree assault, said Yates.

The incident happened about 10:30 a.m. when the poll worker wouldn’t process the voter’s ballot because he had not cast votes for the judge elections, Yates said.

The voter, William Miller, apparently cast a ballot that did not go through the voting machine, Yates said.

When Steitz, who was being paid to work the election and assist voters, looked at the rejected ballot, he told Miller it didn’t go through because he’d left all the judge elections blank.

After Miller insisted that he did not have to vote for the judges, Steitz allegedly assaulted him, Yates said. (Voters can cast ballots in any or all of the races, as they see fit.)

Steitz is accused of choking Miller and then pushing him out of the polling place, said Paula McCraney, a spokeswoman for the Jefferson County Clerk.

Another worker at the location called the main election office to report the incident and election officials sent sheriffs’ deputies to relieve Steitz of his duties, McCraney said.

When deputies arrived, Miller came back inside the polling place and asked that charges be filed against Steitz, McCraney said.

Yates said once the charges were filed Miller was allowed to cast a new ballot.

Claire Left And I Reminisce Electronically

Michael was kind enough to drive Claire and myself to the airport this morning so that we could say our good-byes and she could fly back to MSP. As we approached the terminal I told him we were looking for Delta check-in. His response was "Don't expect luggage to arrive." Sure enough, Delta managed to make Claire's day a difficult one. Upon arriving in Cincinnati, she discovered that her connecting flight had been canceled, and she was being moved to a Northwest Airlines flight four hours later. Only after she specifically requested a meal voucher did they give her one. And, upon arriving in MSP, she had to wait an additional 45 minutes for her luggage to catch up with her since Delta hung on to that themselves, even though they gave Claire over to NWA.

Fortunately, the frustrations of her trip home were atypical of the weekend as a whole. We generally kept things simple and at home. We cooked most of our own meals (Claire made pad thai and pancakes, I baked cookies and chocolate martinis, and we teamed up to make spinach lasagna). We watched a film on DVD instead of going to the movies (Y tu mamá también was the Road Film of the week). We got plenty of sleep and did a bit of homework when we got ourselves sufficiently motivated. Our one dinner out was a disappointment (due to outrageously slow service), but the potluck we hosted for my classmates was a success. All in all, it was a lovely weekend, and I expect the six remaining weeks until the end of Claire's semester will seem all the longer for it.