Prague or Bust

Dobry Den from above the Atlantic. (I am just now putting this up...obviously no longer above the Atlantic.)

I am composing this post on a plane to London, which is significant because it means I am not doing a number of other things.  Like refusing to let go of my mother in the airport or hiding under a chair in Chicago O’Hare.  All of these dangers were avoided, though Mom and I did make a bit of a scene in front of the security line. 

Instead, I am headed to Prague.  I knew next to nothing about the city before I fell in love with the pictures in the ISA guidebook and decided to spend a semester there.  The funny thing was, once I decided on Prague, everyone and their mother actually had something to say about it.  My dad’s coworker sent me a guidebook and the name of a tour guide I MUST track down, my sister’s doctor swore it was the coldest and most beautiful city she had ever visited, and my Nana taped the Bachelorette Prague episode for me.  I still don’t really know what to expect, but here are a few things I’m hoping to accomplish:

1.      See art.  I am going to wander every museum and gallery I find.  Originally, this was just for my own interest, but now I have an added incentive: when I get back I am going to curate a hypothetical art show as an independent study with the head of the Rockhurst art department.  She suggested I lay the groundwork now by seeing as much art as possible, collecting pictures and postcards, and researching art blogs and curatorial essays.  Cool, right?

2.      Make friends and travel the continent.  I have been Facebook messaging one of my future roommates, and it turns out that she seasoned traveler and an adventurous spirit.  We have already planned to go to Oktoberfest in Germany and to make our way to Ireland for a weekend.  I am excited to meet new people and to see the world.  I know I sound like an overplayed Fun song, but there is something about being 21 and travelling to Europe that just makes you feel like you have a pulse.

3.      Take some “me time.”  I love to read—hence why I majored in English.  But the ironic thing is that I hardly ever have time to read for me because I am always reading for class.  Luckily, I’m that girl who likes most of what we read in class, but every now and then I want to indulge in the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo books or make some progress on the long list of things I always plan to read.  So I have a vision of myself perpetually parked outside some café, idly reading whatever I feel like reading.

 

To Mom and Dad – I hope someday I will be able to fully articulate how grateful I am for this opportunity.  To Sammy and Andrea – I am so proud of both my baby siblings and I miss you guys.  To my Rockhurst family – I can’t even list the good times I will miss with you all.  Try not to burn the place down while I am gone.

 

To everyone else – thanks for putting up with a long post, and saddle up for some Praha adventures! 
 

My roommates and I on the Charles Bridge

The Great Internship Hunt

Any college student who does not get have an internship would get chills reading that phrase. 

I am currently sitting in the office of my non-internship job listening to my boss talk to a lifeguard (I am a deck supervisor at a YMCA, among other things).  This lifeguard is only in high school, but my boss started talking to him about college and popped the million dollar question: What are you gonna do with the rest of your life.  He is happily telling her about his plans for chemical engineering (did I mention Rockhurst now offers engineering?  Maybe I’ll recruit this kid). 

But somewhere along the line in college that “this is what I want to do with my life” spiel turns into “how the heck do I make that happen?”  And one of the first major steps on that path is getting a good internship, which can be a daunting process.  During my junior year I decided I should keep any eye out for any good opportunities, with plans to go after a more serious publishing internship at Andrew McMeel in Kansas City senior year.  Luckily, English professors are constantly sending out emails to all English majors letting us know about internship or job opportunities they have heard about.  A lot of people I know have gotten internships that way, doing interview work for non-profits in rough neighborhoods, interning at the National Catholic Reporter, and other things like that.  In January I got an email from a professor about an opportunity that looked perfect for me: Business Blog Writing.  I could do it from home on my own time, which was great because I also worked at the Learning Center so it would be hard to go somewhere for several hours during the day. 

I emailed the contact person, frantically put together a resume and some writing samples, held my breath and crossed my fingers, and got hired!  I was so excited…it was blogging, I could handle that; I had experience with that.  The job involved blogging for other businesses who wanted to outsource their blog, so I would do research, include keywords, and write a post. 

I got my first assignment.  Plumbing.  It was for a plumbing company.  Like most 21-year-old girls, my knowledge of plumbing is limited to the small plunger that came in a handy little stand my mom and I found at Target.  I called my dad in desperation—tell me anything, anything, you know about plumbing!  No dice.  I was on my own.  It sunk in then that this is what growing up and figuring out your future is like, namely, an utterly ridiculous situation in which you just have to take your best shot.  So I wrote what I consider to be an incredibly impressive post on what to look for when purchasing a toilet (I could tell you all about green toilets and flush power if you asked me).  And that was step one.  After that came months of posts about office rental, hair highlighting, diet supplements, and all sorts of random things.  I’ve gotten it wrong a lot, but I usually figure things out, and I am ready for the next Great Internship Challenge. 

What I apparently look like while in the blogging zone.

A Digression....

Rockhurst is small.  I am fully aware of that.  And there are days every now and then when I wonder what it would be like to disappear into a comforting level of anonymity at a big state school.  But today is not one of those days.

My brother just got home from Freshman Welcome at the large state school he will be attending in the fall.  Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against state schools.  I am one of maybe two family members not to go to one, and I have grown up visiting my parents’ alma mater’s campus for football games.  My brother picked a state school because he wanted that kind of big-school-with-killer-sports-teams experience.  And I respect that.  And he picked a fine school where he will get a top-notch education—if he can actually find a way to actually take the classes. 

There was the catch he hadn’t been looking for.  Sam (my brother) is majoring in engineering (probably civil).  Housing at his school is a nightmare (they have more freshmen than they can house), and the engineering living community filled up before he ever had a chance to register (and he was only the second Welcome group).  So on to the general housing option, but that filled up, too.  Which means that he had to pick housing with some other major. 

Fine, not a big deal—but actually the point of these housing groups is that you take classes together, which is a fine idea in theory, but not if you are living with people who aren’t actually in your major.  So Sam is wondering why he is scheduled for Classical Mythology when he really needs to be in Calc 3—which he was informed will not have room for him—or at least Calc 2—which he is not allowed to register for until his AP scores arrive in July, at which point it will also be filled. 

I was incredulous when my mom filled me in on all of this. 

“Please tell me you pitched a fit over this?”  I was only half joking.  My mom is one of those people who is an expert at spending hours on the phone slashing through bureaucratic red tape.  And if it was clearly not Sam’s fault that he had to live with non-engineering people, then surely the school would make an exception and not make him take these random classes. 

My mom was quick to assure me that she talked to anyone and everyone about this problem, but got absolutely nowhere.  People told her she was out of luck; computers would not allow the entry of certain classes.  The best she got was that Sam would be allowed to drop one of those classes (see ya, Classical Mythology) to take something else. 

I was shocked.  There are plenty of registration issues at any school, but nothing at Rockhurst that I have not been able to solve with a quick trip to my advisor’s office (who knows me personally and has taught two of my classes), or to the Registrar (I am on first name terms with one of the ladies who works there because she is the moderator of the Random Acts of Kindness Spreaders).  Heck, I am creating my own minor!  And it is possible because Dr. Bicak knows I’ll do the work, and Anne Pearce is creating an independent study for me, and the list goes on. 

A little digression this week?  Perhaps, but I had to take a moment and say thank God for small schools like Rockhurst. 

Sam and I on a family vacation (to Colorado, not a cemetery)

Backwards…

            Did I mention I am going to Prague in the fall?  I will be spending my first semester studying abroad at Charles University in Prague (which, for those of you who are as geographically challenged as I am, is in the Czech Republic).  I have been preparing for this trip since last October, but it is just now sinking in that I will not be at Rockhurst in the fall (fear not, I will still be blogging from Prague so you can see what the experience of a Rockhurst student studying abroad is like).  So before I tell you all about Prague and everything I am looking forward to, I would like to take a look back at Rockhurst and tell you about some of the things I will be sad to miss in the fall:

Orientation.  The funny thing is, not many people appreciate orientation as freshmen.  This is the perfect week to do basically nothing, and all of the coolest people are usually involved in orientation (I have a roommate who is a coordinator…think I’m a little biased?).  I never got the chance to be a leader because I thought family vacation would interfere, but I have hung around for a few and I can tell you there are very few funnier sights than your orientation leader friend running across campus with a full cheesecake to bribe an orientation judge, followed by his gaggle of freshman, or everyone covered in bubbles at a foam dance party.

 

Mass of the Holy Spirit.  Probably the only time classes are officially cancelled for something.  It is a huge mass in September at St. Francis Xavier, and EVERYONE is there—students, professors, administrators.  The Church is packed, everyone wears red, and you get a ticket for a free lunch that day on the quad if you go.  When the weather is beautiful, there is no better way to spend a Tuesday morning.

Homecoming.  There is an entire committee dedicated solely to planning homecoming.  All week they are out on the quad giving away t-shirts or hosting events like a hypnotist.  If you sign up fast enough, you can be one of 200 students who get a free dinner before homecoming.  One year it was at Fogo de Chao, and it completely redefined my definition of all you can eat (you don’t even order!  They just keep bringing you food!).  And the dance itself is a great chance to hang out with friends in all different classes. 

 

SAB Events.  Student Activities Board pulls out all the stops in the fall.  From game show events like The Price is Right, to biweekly comedians or musicians, events like these are the perfect opportunity to put the homework aside for a few hours and engage in one of college students’ favorite activities: getting free stuff. 

I could go on and on about missing seeing freshman wear their lanyards for the first month of school, the excitement of reuniting with friends from Omaha or Kansas City that I’ve missed all summer, or how beautiful the trees on the quad are when they change colors.  I know I will love Prague, but Rockhurst has been my fall home for three years, and even as I am wandering through fabulous European museums, I be wondering what the trees on the quad look like after the Mass of the Holy Spirit. 

Homecoming/Homecoming Week celebrations throughout the years

Bleeding Arts

The first time I ever tried to give blood, the Red Cross worker told me she had ethical issues with extracting blood from someone as green as I was.  I was seventeen years old, I hated needles as much as I did when I was 5 and needed recovery cookies after shots, and I about keeled over when they pricked my thumb.  In case you can’t picture this, here is a photo from my first “about me” post (http://allisonbody.blogspot.com/2011/09/fabulous-life-of-allison-marie.html) showing my bravery at getting my ears double pierced:

Now picture that, but instead of a half a second, fifteen minutes of blood draining.  It wasn’t happening.  I thought that I was destined never to be a donor, but I discovered in the second to last week of my junior year of college that I am capable of giving blood.  Motivated by some combination of bravery, altruism, and pure nerdiness, I traded my blood for a ticket to the play Little Shop of Horrors. 

It all started a week earlier when Dr. Miller, my mentor for the Rockhurst Review, offered me two tickets to a piano and violin concert at UMKC (She wanted to go but was hosting a fabulous dinner party for another group of performers—how I envy the life of Dr. P.C. Miller).  I went with a fellow culture lover, Ryan, and we discovered that Little Shop of Horrors—a musical I had always wanted to see and one of his favorites—was playing at the Kansas City Repertory Theater.  Unfortunately, tickets were $20, and we are broke college students.  Undaunted by this setback, some fierce Googling turned up a potential option: if you participated in a blood drive hosted at the Repertory Theater, you could get a free ticket.  Somehow, Ryan and our other friend Colin talked me into doing it with them, assuring me that it wasn’t that bad, I was a big girl now, yes I could have a cookie when I was done, and yes they would hold my hands if I wanted. 

So we went.  I made it past the finger pricking part, which I considered to be a hugely successful step, but I turned a little green when they actually started to prep me.  All of the workers were so amused by my attempts to conceal my panic.  I was totally playing it cool.  It must Ryan and Colin’s concerned looks every 30 seconds that gave them the impression I was scared.  When the moment came to stick the needle in, my nurse directed me to talk to another nurse sitting nearby.  I casually inquired if any other donors ever got a little nervous.  It came out something like this: “DOES ANYBODY ELSE CHICKEN ME DONATE?!”  To his credit, he just smiled and nodded, and the needle was in!  Besides a panicked moment where I informed the nurse that my entire body was tingling, the rest of the donation went smoothly.  I was a little nauseous afterwards, but I happily munched my Nutter-Butters and Sprite (when there are two weeks left in school and you inexplicably only  have green peppers and oatmeal in your kitchen, you do not turn down free food under any circumstances) while texting half my phone book that I had survived. 

So I got my ticket—close to the stage even!  The show was great—one of the many reasons why I am so glad I go to school in a city like KC. 

So there is my tale.  Either a success story of an altruistic girl overcoming her fears, or an example of an arts nerd willing to trade blood for culture.  I like to think it is a nice combination of the two. 

Ode to Delphi

            It has been less than a week since I moved out of my townhouse, and I have to say I miss my roommates already. I thought it might be a nice ode to our THV—nicknamed "Delphi" by our friend Isy, who is convinced my roommate Sam has the answers to all life's questions—to end the year with a recap of a few of Delphi's finer moments:

·         KE$HA.  What better way to begin the year and kick off roommate bonding than by teasing the living daylights out of your hair, covering yourselves (and your new townhouse) with glitter, and going to a Ke$ha concert? 

·         World Series. Check out the Cardinal Crazy post (http://allisonbody.blogspot.com/2011/10/cardinal-crazy-i-guess-if-theres-one.html) for the full story on this one, but suffice to say we have some extreme sports fans in the house—just ask Emma when the last time she washed her “Lucky Blues Shirt” was.

·         Brunch.  One Saturday during the fall we decided that since we were all at home we should cook a big brunch…this turned into a multiple hour project and more of a feast, so it is questionable whether you can still call our 3:00 pm smorgasbord a “brunch.”  We cooked about every breakfast item we could come up with—eggs, French toast, biscuits and gravy (it is also up for debate whether you could call my floury sludge “gravy”).

(from the left around the table: Emma, Kara, Anne, Liz, me, and Sam is taking the picture)



·         Cleaning.  The cleaning got less and less frequent as the year went on (sorry, Anne), but we had a couple of good Friday afternoon sprees that included singing “Calling Baton Rouge” at the top of our lungs and often devolved into something like this:

·         Nontraditional Holidays.  Sam and I somehow got into the habit of celebrating nontraditional holidays (see our All Saints Day extravaganza - http://allisonbody.blogspot.com/2011/11/lost-causes-st.html).  So naturally, I was very insistent that we could not let Leap Day pass us by—a whole extra day in the year!  We had to make it count.  The only logical solution was to drag another armchair into the dining room (yes, for some reason we already had one armchair permanently in the kitchen), make snacks, and watch as many episodes of Grey’s Anatomy as we could before feeling guilty about neglecting homework.

·         Typical Chaos.  There was always something going on in our house.  We are loud, we like to laugh, and we like to be goofy.  I went an entire month brushing my teeth with toothpaste loaded with Oragel, courtesy of Sam and Kara.  My entire house had me convinced I was a crazy hypochondriac when I would burst into people’s rooms insisting my toothpaste was making my mouth numb. I bought new toothpaste twice, replaced my toothbrush, and was on the verge of either believing them or scheduling a dentist appointment when Sam ‘fessed up.  And then there are the spontaneous moments, like fighting over who is going to cook two questionable cubes of Velveta: 

·         Cinco de Mayo.  To commemorate the end of our year we went to Jalapenos—the best little Mexican restaurant in the area—and ate more chips and dip than I care to admit.  We finished the night with roommate bonding at our house…sitting on the floor playing games because we had moved out all the furniture.

Lizzy, Kara, Sam, Emma, Anne – thanks for a great year at the Rock.  I swear the best part of college is the roommates. 

We Are the Champions...

            Yes, the chorus of this song was playing on repeat in my head the day the Rockhurst Review finally came in.  The Review is Rockhurst University’s national literary magazine, which means we accept submissions from writers all over the country, and even a few from abroad.  I was the Managing Editor this year, which is a fancy way of saying I did all the dirty work, and I will be again next year, plus an assistant/Managing Editor in training, so I am putting together a little step-by-step checklist for myself and future editors so the process can go a little more smoothly.  And since I have talked so much about the Review (see my post about my office - http://allisonbody.blogspot.com/2012/02/cupboard-at-top-of-stairs-i-have-office.html), I’ve decided to share with you all a little sneak peak of a draft of my checklist:

1.      Sometime in September, rid the Review’s email account of the mysterious advertisements in foreign languages and be ready to start sorting submissions into folders by authors’ last names.

2.      Over Thanksgiving break, bring home all of the printed submissions you have received thus far and fill out cover sheets for them with the author’s information, then sort them into alphabetical folders.  You can do this by yourself, or you can bribe your ten-year-old cousin with orange soda and a Mary-Kate and Ashley movie to help you.

3.      Over Christmas break, read, read, read, read submissions, checking yes, no, or maybe as to whether you think they should make it into this year’s edition. 

4.      When you get back to school, read, read, read, read, and beg/bribe/bully every English major you know into pretty please reading a folder for you and PLEASE return it soon. 

5.      Right before Spring break, track down all of the people who did not return their folder soon.

6.      Sit with Dr. Miller, the editor-in-chief and benefactor of the magazine, and sort through each of the evaluated submissions, picking which ones have received the most yeses or maybes and making the final decision as to what makes it into the magazine. 

7.      Befriend Anne Pearce, hands down the coolest and quirkiest art director/art professor, and have her whip up a few art submissions for you.

8.      Type up the submissions that were mailed in.  Take a break so you don’t go cross-eyed.  Type up more submissions.

9.      Bribe Matt Hodapp, your future assistant editor, with leftover tacos to sit in your living room until midnight on a Sunday and proofread every single submission multiple times.

10.  Email submissions, cover page, table of contents, and everything else you have painstakingly typed to Randy the Printer.  Does Randy have a last name?  We don’t know.  He is simply referred to as “Randy the Printer.”

11.  Pick up a print from Covington Press and let Dr. Miller inform the literary agent that he will be taking you all to lunch at Californio’s.  Enjoy delicious butternut squash soup and fascinating conversation at Californio’s (apparently Dr. Miller had Harry Truman over for dinner once!). 

12.  Scramble to re-check every little detail, give the publisher the go-ahead to print, wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat about something on the table of contents, then decide that it is all out of your hands and get the best night’s sleep you’ve gotten in a while.

13.  REJOICE WHEN THE GLOSSY, BEAUTIFUL FINAL COPIES ARE DELIVERED!  (and refuse to stress about the occasional typo). 

Yeah, I think I’ve got this under control for next year.