Month: September 2013 (page 3 of 4)

A Change of Scenery

After much deliberation at the end of last year, my roommates and I decided we wanted a change of scenery regarding our living situation. This year, we decided to live in Thomas McKean on Laird Campus. If you’ve read some of my previous posts, you’ll know that I absolutely loved living in Honors housing for freshman year, so I was a little hesitant to live in traditional housing. Honestly, I cried when I moved out of Russell and I thought that I wouldn’t be as happy living anywhere else. Even though the move wasn’t as drastic a change as I had originally thought it would be location wise, it’s a strange feeling going from living with thirty of your best friends to knowing no one on your new floor.

Since East Campus has such a strong sense of community for freshmen, I was nervous that I wouldn’t feel that way about Laird Campus. I failed to realize that it wasn’t just my three roommates and I who were moving to the opposite end of the school – everyone else was too! While it’s refreshing to be able to meet someone new every day, I still see familiar faces in the dining hall or (attempting to be) doing homework on the turf.

Laird

Although suite-style living is different than what we were used to, it’s actually been quite nice to have a little more privacy. On the other hand, there’s no more hanging out in the hallway during a study break or passing neighbors on the long trek to the bathroom, so it can get a little lonely at times.

In order to stay in touch with friends from our floor last year who are now scattered around campus, we try to go to a meal together at least once a week. It is odd not seeing them every time I leave my room, but it’s nice to catch up when we do make it a point to see each other.

At the end of last year, my whole floor was pretty excited to move on and meet new people. Yes, we’re all certainly enjoying our air-conditioned rooms, but the floor dynamic is just not the same as freshman year. I think we’re all beginning to realize that it’s true what they say about people needing to spend time apart in order to truly miss each other. I’m sure I speak for all of my freshman year floormates when I say that no matter where we live on campus, we’ll always trace our roots back to Russell B1.

Where in the World: San Francisco

As I browse through Facebook and Pinterest and the like, I can’t help but become nostalgic for my time spent traveling the world – even if it was just across the country or up to New York City. Am I wrong in that discovering new things is one of the best feelings? I sure hope not, but that could just be the travel enthusiast in me.

One thing that caught my eye was Rick Steve’s Facebook page. I began to follow him about a month ago, and I have yet to be disappointed by one of his posts. Currently he’s on a cruise, sailing around the crystal blue waters of Denmark and Sweden. I might be just a bit jealous.

However, this allows me to reflect on the time I spent abroad, so I decided to present a few of my favorite places that I have visited on this earth in a series. First up is San Francisco, since it is the freshest in my memory.

This summer, as you may know from my post in July (which, by the way, I only fulfilled goal #5), I spent 40 hours a week interning at Burson-Marsteller, a global public relations agency, at their San Francisco office. Boy, was it an experience. I’ve been to San Francisco before, but there’s something about working in a city that brings out a new side to it. Here are the top things I adored about San Francisco:

  • In the summer, it’s never humid and never scorching. Yes, that’s correct, there is such a thing as a non-humid summer Delawareans. I wore jeans and a cardigan (and sometimes a scarf) to work every day, and didn’t hate one minute of it. Each day was a high of about 65-70 degrees.
  • There are a ton of different neighborhoods, all with their own culture. This is going to make my decision of where I want to live that much more difficult, because you have to try out a few different neighborhoods to really get the feel for what’s right for you. Hint: Do not live in the Tenderloin.
Neighborhoods of San Francisco.

Neighborhoods of San Francisco.

  • It’s close to everything. I lived in the East Bay, where my commute was about an hour from my doorstep to my desk in the city. Not bad at all for what seems like a completely different world from the city. San Francisco is also really close to Sacramento (the capital of California), Napa and Sonoma Valleys, Oakland, Sausalito and San Jose, just to name a few. Day or weekend trips are must when you live so close! We even went wine tasting a couple of times.
Wine tasting in Napa Valley.

Wine tasting in Napa Valley.

  • The tourist traps. Although native San Franciscans may say that they don’t like the tourist attractions, those are what really make San Francisco, San Francisco. You can take a ferry over to Alcatraz (okay, that might not be a favorite of the natives), eat clam chowder out of a bread bowl at Boudin (get a sandwich/salad combo the second time you go), or take a walk through Fisherman’s Wharf and eat chocolate at Ghiardelli Square or drink an irish coffee at the Buena Vista.

Long story short, this is just one of my favorite places. Where are some of your favorites?

Next week, I will take you to a city that was in the news a lot this summer, and last summer as well come to think of it. Where in the world?

Chelsey Rodowicz

chelsey

Language Major Problems

Something new happened to me as I was walking out of my Tuesday/Thursday Spanish class this week: I forgot what language I should be speaking.

To set the scene, I was exiting Gore Hall after my 305 Spanish Conversation class ended this past Tuesday. My professor for this class is from the Universidad de Granada. As a side note, after now having two professors from this Spanish university, I just have to say, taking a class with someone who was born and raised in Spain makes me want to buy a plane ticket to the country more than anything.

But back to the current story: after leaving Tuesday’s Spanish class, I literally forgot that I was now walking around the University of Delaware campus…in America. Not Spain, not even our neighborly Puerto Rico: good ole English-speaking, French-fry eating America (or, as some might prefer to say, “A-MUR-ica”).

After the shuffle of papers, pens, books, bags and backpacks signaling the end of my 12:30 p.m. class, my mind was distracted with normal, day-to-day thoughts like, “I wonder what my in-class assignment is going to be for my Broadcast Writing class in fifteen minutes,” and, “Do I have a snack with me?” Except – and I’m not positive about this – I believe that I was thinking in Spanish (*cue shocked gasp from the audience*).

It’s not totally far-fetched, since I’ve been doing it (“it” being “thinking Spanish thoughts”) more and more since the semester started a week ago. To give a tad more background information, after switching my Spanish minor to a Spanish Studies major about a year ago, I started playing a hard-core game of catch-up, or more specifically, “time for Caitlyn to take three Spanish classes per semester in order to graduate on time and not have her parents roast her alive for being indecisive throughout most of her college career.” Weirdly enough, although I had the same course load – three Spanish classes a semester – during both semesters last year, this fall is the first time that I’ve noticed myself thinking in Spanish, and even *wait for it* dreaming in Spanish once last week.

Again, usually I have a pretty firm grip on realizing when to speak Spanish, i.e. Spanish classes and random interactions with other Spanish speakers, and knowing when to speak English, i.e. every other instance in my life. Not when walking out of Gore on that fateful Tuesday, though.

Here’s how it went down: some arbitrary guy in front of me held open the door on the way out of the building into the day’s blazing sunshine. Blinded some by the glare, and not at all having a grip on my language/country, I started to reply, “Gracias.”

I did stop myself before completing the entire word, so it was more like a startled, “Grac—,” but still, the damage was done. I then relied on my normal defense mechanism: running away.

In retrospect, it’s one of those situations that ends up being more funny than embarrassing. And, after thinking about it, I was almost proud in a strange sort of way; it was almost as if I had auditioned for the part of Spanish major and finally made the cast list.

The Quest for Ed Sheeran, Part 1

Last Sunday, in case you’ve forgotten in the whirl wind of classes, activities, and last-minute errands, was move-in day for upperclassmen. I was here with bells on, in an all but full-to-bursting Taurus X, with my mom and sister. I won’t bore you with the endless flights of stairs, or the woes of learning how to use my air conditioner.

This is about the precise moment my little sister, Allie, heard that Ed Sheeran was coming to UD for the fall concert, the squeak of joy she let out at this news, and the madness I knew, from that moment, I would be going through to get her a ticket.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Ed Sheeran. I was guilty of poetic car-singing to “The A Team” this winter session (and with the daily, half-hour commute I was doing to Talley Middle School, paired with the popularity of that song? I know all the words). However, if I am the person who likes Ed Sheeran, Allie is the person who adores Ed Sheeran.

In the completely non-creepy, non-Belieber-esque way. I’m very proud.

Once we’d cleared things with the taxi dri- with my mom, we started planning how best to acquire these elusive tickets. Initially, my friends and I thought we would camp out outside Trabant to get both amazing seats and the free Ed Sheeran t-shirts for the first fifty people in line… Then decided that no, we valued sleep much more highly than tickets. In the end, the plan was to wake up and meet up at Trabant to get online at 3:45 a.m. Three fourty-five a.m., because we’d just escape the people who planned to get there at 4am. I set my alarm for 3:15, went to bed early, forced myself to sleep, and woke up as planned.

… I had not expected rain.

Rain at 3.30 a.m., taken by blogger Claire Davanzo.

Rain at 3.30 a.m., taken by blogger Claire Davanzo.

Daunted does not even begin to describe how I felt setting out, in the pouring rain, for Trabant at 3.30 in the morning. I didn’t even make it to the bridge before I’d forgone my shoes in favour of walking barefoot, hopping through puddles. When I reached Trabant, at first I thought I was the first person there (!!!)… Only to discover that others had literally slept in the parking garage overnight in their wait for the tickets, marking their spaces on line by water bottles.

And then we waited from 4:00am to 8:00am, in the on and off rain and surprising morning chill. We were within the first 100 people, too, which meant we’d be enrolled in a chance to meet and greet Ed Sheeran.

We got our tickets (which, in case you were wondering, are excellent). I thought that was it. That I’d managed it.

Until I found out I’d won the meet and greet.

Thanks to a very, very generous friend and fellow winner (thanks, Matt!!), my sister and I will be doing that, too. Which of course, means an incoming “Quest for Ed Sheeran, Part 2.” Stay tuned.

Once Upon a Syllabus Week

A long time ago, when universities were first founded, a magical and wonderful tradition was formed. Professors and students joined together to create Syllabus Week. During this special time, professors talk about class requirements and end class early. Students use the time to catch up with their friends they haven’t seen in a while, or if one is a freshman, to meet new people. Happiness is plentiful during syllabus week.

Unless.

A dark cloud creeps in slowly over a student’s schedule called “really tough classes.” The cloud pours driving sheets of rain on Syllabus Week, bringing lightning and thunder to universities. Professors get agitated by the storm and decide that since they can’t be happy, no one can be. They decide to assign homework on the first day. Large projects begin next week. Nothing has an absolute due date just yet.

The poor students facing the storm of ‘really tough classes’ do not get to partake in everyone’s fun. They must complete the necessary assignments to start of the year strong. They might not know people in the class yet and are forced to work alone. These students get soaked in the rain.”

This year, the majority of my classes broke the golden rule of Syllabus Week. Not only did I stay in classes the whole allotted time but I also received homework for the very next class date. I did not get my “recess” time.  The storm ran over me and swirled me up in a tornado, and from that tornado, I watched my friends have all the fun.

Already a filled first week

Already a filled first week

Not only did I have to complete homework and therefore miss out on meeting up with friends, but my friends did not have the same situation as me. They did not understand that no, I was not making up an excuse to ditch them; I actually have work to do. There is a small population of students who do not get a Syllabus Week and those who have never experienced it just don’t understand.

Sometimes the syllabus itself is a problem. A full range of syllabi exist: a very detailed, date-filled syllabus to an idea-based, liquid, and ever-changing syllabus. Some professors put reading assignments on the date they’re due and some put them on the date they’ve been assigned as homework. Some put conceptualized dates and then change them as they go along. I need a detail-oriented syllabus with concrete dates to manage my schedule.

Despite the lack of frolicking fun, starting the school year without a break has prepared me for the upcoming semester. My friends are now cracking down to academia while I’ve already been here.

At the end of the storm, there is a brief period of warm weather and sunshine. Students hit by ‘really tough classes’ move forward as stronger academicians. That is, of course, until the journey to a 4.0 carries them over mountains, deserts, and oceans. Only then will they find a final break.

~Shannon Poulsen

 

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