Updates..
Contrary to popular concern, I haven't been butchered by Red Sox fans due to my last post (as if they could, especially now that they don't even have Garciapara...yeah, yeah, yeah, Ramirez and Damon, blah, blah, blah...catch up to the Yankees this season and we'll take their call; win a World Series, we'll actually talk; and if, somehow in some deranged parallel universe, they win half as many World Series as the Yankees have, we'll have some drinks...on their tab.
Anyhow, to important matters, as it's already been a month since my last update on the happenings...how time flies -- I guess I'll do a quick highlight, the bulk of which will be around Jake Sherman and Shawna Wakefield’s wedding.
Jake Sherman & Shawna Wakefield’s wedding
The weekend after Independence Day was the wedding, in Mendon, Vermont, as I mentioned in a previous post. It's always nice to get away from the city, and as much as Vermont is often referred to somewhat beratingly as a "Hippie State," you can hardly blame the hippies for moving there -- the Green Mountains are a fantastic sight, and the skiing there is some of the best in the Northeast -- my first ski lesson was at Mount Snow when I was three, and between Mount Snow, Killington, Stratton, Stowe, Mad River, and Pico, I would have to say 60% of my lifetime skiing has been in Vermont -- otherwise I've ski'd in Colorado, California, New York (mostly at Lake Placid, a.k.a. "Iceface" Mountain. where one of our high school teacher had a lodge), New Hampshire, Maine, and Japan...none in New Mexico, Montana, Wyoming, Switzerland or France as of yet...
Speaking of skiing, by a total coincidence, the Wakefield estate in Mendon was right down the street from where I'd spent a lot of winter weekends for quick skiing getaways in high school -- Pico Mountain. Now a part of the Killington mountains, but a fun hill to ski, especially for the season opener to get rid of the rust, both literally and figuratively -- it was also one of the most convenient ski getaways, since the house we would stay in was right on the mountain -- we'd ski and get a feel for the snow before actually purchasing the lift tickets...irregardless, needless to say, we didn't really need a map to get there since all the roads came back to me.
We were some of the earliest Tufts arrivals, just behind the Guster guys, Brian Rosenworcel and Ryan Miller, but we were still a little too late for the dinner at the Vermont Inn. Although the dinner itself was outdoors, we went indoors to the bar -- it was a tad chilly outdoors. It was nice to catch up with everyone, but being in a ski lodge made me feel as though we were in a bad beer commercial (does anyone remember those CB sweaters, with the white dots on navy or red?). Chris Harmon, Allison Oshinsky, Eva Hatch, Christy Spitzer, Sean Love, and Omar and Liz Siddiqi arrived soon after to complete the Tufts contingent.
We were having a great time, catching up and betrothed in our usual tomfoolery, until the barkeep had to close the bar to go to sleep, at which point we moved the party to our condo we’d rented for the weekend (which reminded all of us who reside in New York how ridiculously expensive living in New York really is...we’d gotten a huge three-bedroom condo for the eight of us for the weekend for $450!!! That’s barely $30 a night per person in a large amount of space, and even taking into account that it was the summer rate, it was just a painful reminder...).
As usual, we were having a great time with the typical shenanigans to be expected of us, until we found a board game called
Battle of the Sexes. Almost offensively type-cast in the modern-day (still overly) “P.C.” America, the game was hilariously entertaining...but again, it could have been the company -- after all, it was the same crowd that used to watch Melrose Place and made the show actually bearable and actually kind of entertaining by gambling on what was going to happen in the episodes; and to those who remember, whenever they would go to commercial, they would show a freeze-frame from the segment just shown, so we would hedge bets on which screenshot it would be. Losers, I know.
Anyhow, the game -- I won’t get into minute details of how the game works, but the synopsis is: you split the teams into men vs. women, and you take cards from the stack to ask the opposite sex a question that is very stereotypically male or female oriented knowledge (e.g., sports, power tools, cars for men; cooking, fashion, and cosmetics for women) -- if the opposite sex knows the answer, they get to move their piece and whoever makes it to the opposite sex’ end wins the game.
Battle of the Sexes
It was a fun(ny) night, one of the highlights being Sean Love’s answer to a question that befuddled most of us: “what three spices are in the commonly used spice, ‘All Spice’?” I should preface this by saying that Sean has always been one of the sharpest guys I know -- he’d worked for CNN for years before moving on to Sesame Street, and is only second to Jake Sherman as far as exotic places traveled to: he’s the only person I know that’s been to Mongolia, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Kazakhstan. The women had Susan Hanemann, who works for Martha Stewart, so they obviously knew the answer, while we guys were about to say “salt, pepper, and...” when Sean Love interjected with: “wait, wait, wait, guys -- I imagine it would be a little more complex than that. My guess is cinnamon, clove, and...cinnamon, clove, and...I’m going to say nutmeg.”
To which Allison Oshinsky exclaimed: “how the HELL did you know that?!?! What are you GAY????” It was hilarious in our context -- I should mention that Allison has been known to be fiercely competitive. For instance, over New Year’s Eve in New Hampshire, some of us were playing a game of Risk, and it came down to Chris Harmon and Allison Oshinsky, the two engaged to wed this fall. The game drew out for some time, and at one point Allison nearly called off their engagement during the game, just because she was that intensely engrossed in the game…!
After we won (of course!), we all went to bed, but not before Chris Harmon and I decided to pull a childish yet incredibly satisfying prank, rubber-banding the shower-faucet in the kitchen sink so that whenever a poor soul decided to have a glass of water or turn on the faucet for whatever reason, s/he would promptly get drenched by the spray (carefully targeted and positioned to do just that, of course). In the morning, this little prank claimed no less than five casualties (i.e., all of the condo dwellers save for Chris Harmon, Allison Oshinsky, and myself).
We grabbed breakfast at a restaurant that served great pancakes with the awesome Vermont maple syrup and cheddar. Susan, being the epicurean always on the hunt, found a small shop that sold Vermont cheddar in various “flavors,” like maple-smoked and horseradish (they’re made by a company called
Sugarbush Farm), and man, they were excellent.
Anyhow, to the main event -- the wedding. It was a unique and intimate wedding, at the Wakefield estate (and I'm not saying that just to sound posh...it was an estate...big enough for a horse ranch) -- it was an outdoor wedding and the weather couldn’t have been more pleasant: sunny, dry, and warm, but with a nice cool breeze. Jake’s mother is Jewish and Shawna’s family is Catholic (I think?), so, naturally, they had a Quaker wedding. The ceremony itself was pleasant and touching -- whoever that wanted to share words did so, and most of it was heartfelt, save for Shawna’s father, who provided a lot of comic relief. I guess it would be an understatement to say that everyone there had tremendous respect for both Shawna and Jake, who are dedicating their lives to such noble causes (they both work for the U.N., Jake in conflict management/resolution and Shawna in women’s rights).
The reception was relatively standard wedding fare, although I do remember Chris Harmon, Shawna’s brother, and I throwing rocks at the plastic duck Shawna’s brother had bought to place in the lake on the Wakefield estate -- whenever we struck the duck, it gave the most satisfying “CLUNK” that seemed to echo through the surrounding hills.
Overall, I had a fantastic time, catching up with old friends and seeing Jake and Shawna for the first time in almost a year since they’d left for Afghanistan. Although I did miss a John Kerry fundraiser at the newly built Gansevoort Hotel that Meredith Melling-Burke (whom I’ve been trying to catch up with for what seems like at least a year, and who will be making appearances in this blog in the near future) had invited me to, I would have to say that the wedding was worth the trip.
Accenture stock vesting / catching up with Melissa Ramsay, FINALLY!
In other news, the remainder of my Accenture stock vested in mid-July, which was nice news, and a reminder that three years had already passed since I had worked there and their initial public offering. I will say that I was fortunate in that I was there just in time for their IPO and for having been senior enough to receive the shares, but, as I’d mentioned previously, am sad that I am no longer working there.
Otherwise, I FINALLY caught up with Melissa Ramsay, and spent an evening out in Forest Hills, where she and Oliver have just bought an apartment. By coincidence, they’re not too far away from the area I spent my first five years (from six months to five years old), so I was originally going to go see that area, but we decided to grab dinner in a slightly different area, so I didn’t quite make it.
However, it was nice to be outside of the city again, and it was a refreshing reminder of how nice Forest Hills actually is. It is literally like parts of Westchester County, contrary to what most people may think of Queens in general -- nice Victorians houses, tree-lined (and quiet) streets, and greenery in general. As I mentioned when I called to thank the couple when I returned to my apartment, it was almost like a mini-vacation.
I also should mention that both Melissa and Oliver have a great design taste (Oliver is in the furniture business), and half of the time we were in their new abode, we were admiring this piece or the other -- now that they have a tremendous amount of space, they had a lot of things to be envious of.
Yet again, this post is getting ridiculously lengthy, so I'll stop here for now...
Labels: Tufts
Summer of '94 Take 3 (Finally!)
Ok, back to the summer of '94, finally. I realize talking about college days exactly ten years later may seem unnecessarily nostalgic, but given the recent frequency of contact with the people from that era (weddings, 30th birthdays, coincidents, etc.), it seemed appropriate to reminisce about that period of time -- it was one of the best years of my life thus far for sundry reasons.
That said, a quick recap: it was determined Dave Tohill and I would move just down the street to 215 College Avenue into Lilly Shapiro and Colleen Craig's apartment. Our lease at 139 College Avenue wasn't up until the end of May, so I lived there for a few weeks after school was out, and Catie moved in with me for those few weeks, since she was still living in a dorm and needed to move out at the end of the school year (she was a Freshman at the time).
I believe it was around this time that Elisa was also coming to visit not infrequently -- I remember one day that she, Jacob Millard, and Dave Tohill watched the solar eclipse together on our roof and talking about it. It was also around this time that my housemates' band, Gus (later became Guster), was opening for one of my favorite bands of all time, Live, at some college auditorium in New Hampshire, so Catie, Mike Carcamo, and I drove up together to see them -- it was a fantastic show!
Once we were done with classes, we did our annual jaunt to Cape Cod, to Chatham (right on the elbow, on the Atlantic side), at my freshman year roommate's, John Kolb's, house, to celebrate the end of school and beginning of summer. Only this year, Catie joined the crew with me.
There are many a stories to tell about the times in Chatham and the angels of mayhem, John Kolb, John McKenna, Peter Jefferies, and Alex Muller. I must say, I really lucked out when it came to my freshman year roommate. John Kolb is one of the most intelligent guys I've met thus far, usually mild-mannered, albeit with one hitch: ADD and hyperactivity. When he and the others didn't take their Ritalin, it was immediately apparent -- mind you, they were a somewhat mischievous crowd: they'd all gone to boarding schools. But, without that Ritalin, it was truly bordering on insanity. Hilarious, however. See Exhibit A below:
John Kolb, John McKenna, and Peter Jefferies in a moment of typical hilarity
Being in their company caused constant belly-aches from all of the laughing -- I didn't need a TV the entire time they were near. One of the best memories I have with them is freshman year, during the spring term. Pete Jefferies had just returned from South Carolina where he was during Spring Break, and he came into our room with his signature mischievous smirk. Without a word, he motioned to us to follow him, so we follow him all the way out to his car. He pops his trunk open, and it is filled literally to the brim with fireworks. We were instantly like children at a candy store, gleefully giggling with mischief.
So, we take a small batch back to our room and begin shooting off bottle rockets out of our window (of course!). Sure enough, campus police showed within minutes -- by this time, we were familiar with each other, and the police simply said: "listen. We have to tell you to stop, because if we don't, we get in trouble. Plus, once the Somerville Police show up, you can be in a lot of trouble yourselves." Normally, for sane people, this would signal the end of that. Not for this crew.
This only prompted the crew to begin using the fireworks
INDOORS. The dorm building we lived in, South Hall, was a brand new dorm, and we were the first people that resided in this dorm -- we'd already done our share of "breaking in" the dorm, but this one has left a permanent mark. Not only did we move the fireworks indoors, we went bigger, finalizing in a Roman Candle duct taped to one of the stairwell rungs. Ah, youth. Needless to say, Chatham was pretty much the same type of mayhem, only even more space and even less supervision.
It was also during this time in late May I unilaterally decided (as Catie insists to this day) it wouldn't be a good idea for us to live together at 215 College. I will say, it is likely because she and I were working together already, catering for Tufts events at Fletcher (the picture of her and me at the way beginning of this blog is from then). So came the end of May, and Catie had found a place to live from June 1st on. Because I was the last one to move out of 139 College, Catie and I took full advantage of this fact...
I should note here that not a day passed at 139 College without a belly full of laughter as well, and moving day was no exception. The one instance in particular I remember involves Jake Sherman (who just got married two weekends ago with his girlfriend since that era, Shawna Wakefield). I should mention that in that house of eight, Jake Sherman was likely the calmest and most down-to-earth (some may argue that, given the motley crew, that really isn't saying much).
As I mentioned before, the house was on a roundabout, and on moving day, Neil Foster had parked his notorious navy Saab 900 up front to load his car. Jake Sherman, not wanting to carry the futon frame down the steep front steps, decided that he could roll the frame on its side, down the steps and claims to this day he had calculated it precisely so that it would fall to its side, at the bottom of the stairs on the sidewalk. HOWEVER (of course!), under our hushed gaze, the futon frame executed its rolls beautifully and promptly slammed right into Neil's Saab, full tilt and corner first, thereby leaving its (deep) mark permanently on Neil's car. This in of itself was hilarious, but the expression on Jake's face was priceless.
Also on this roundabout...I'd returned home one day giddy as heck about the burrito I'd just gotten that I was going to devour. Noticing that many of the house members were on the front porch, I decided to park my car in front of the house. I happily jumped up the stairs ready to bite into my burrito, when Neil gave me a quick look and dared: "How many times do you think you can go around Powderhouse Circle in one minute?"
Naively, I took on the challenge and jumped right back into my car, and commenced to screech around the circle as quickly as I could. Several laps later and still spinning, I park the car and run back up to the porch, ready to dare Neil back...only to discover my housemates laughing so hard, they were barely able to keep from snarfing up my burrito they'd just scarfed down. Bastards. But clever bastards.
I could go on and on with stories (most famed among them is the "Upper Tank" debacle, which I'll have to save for another day), but I won't. At least, not in this post. So, to move on...
So came the end of May, and I move into 215 College. I don't really want to harp on old wounds, so I will say that the relationship between Catie and me soured relatively abruptly in June. What made the break-up somewhat awkward was that Catie and I would run into each other at some of the most unlikely of places -- we ran into each other at that year's Lollapalooza in Providence, where millions were in attendance; and then again for the Fourth of July, at the Hatch Shell on the Charles (I will say, this is one of the nicer Fourth of July annual events I've seen -- John Williams and the Boston Pops performed there then), where millions were also in attendance. Although my closest friends were gone for the summer, thankfully, I'd already begun working as a carpenter with Tom Kaplan-Maxfield, which allowed me to have a place to take my mind off of things for one and someone much wiser than I to talk with for two.
Then arrived Sydney.
Now it needs mentioning that practically every guy I knew at Tufts at one point or another had a crush on (ok, we weren't in high school any more, so I should say...maybe "fancied"?) either Colleen Craig or Lilly Shapiro. Both beautiful girls, and both in Sarabande, the dance group. So, it wasn't exactly a surprise that Sydney, Lilly's little sister, who was spending the summer in Boston to go to theater school, was absolutely beautiful as well (not surprisingly, she was modeling in her hometown, Miami) -- basically identical to Lilly, except slightly slimmer and with strawberry blonde hair.
I don't really remember our first encounter, but I do remember her being very quiet, at least at first. Because she had just arrived in Boston and didn't have too any friends yet, I'd invited her out to see Gus at the Paradise one night, where I knew a lot of my friends would be.
According to Sydney (or, as I used to call her, Syd), I'd made a rock-star entrance at the Paradise, greeting everyone there. But the fact is that Tufts isn't that big of a school, I'd been there for three years, and the members of Gus were friends of mine, so it only made sense that I would know practically everyone there. What was revealing, however, was the fact that Sydney felt that I only knew women, and was busy hugging all the women.
Admittedly, I was more openly physically affectionate in college than I have been since -- years of professionalism conditioned into my behavior. But obviously, there was a tinge of jealousy/envy there, since I'd been completely hands-off with Sydney since her arrival -- she was my housemate and my housemate's little sister, after all.
That said, I will make it explicitly clear that I never had intercourse with Sydney, despite the presumptions all of my friends have made, and continue to grill me for (e.g., "Hey Masa, have you ever been in the capitol of Australia?"). Bastards. I will say that she was a good companion to keep my spirits up, and she was very well read (we would talk about Anais Nin, Ferlinghetti, Sartre, Camus, et al.). Despite her level of sophistication, at heart, she was a sweetheart, and we did shower each other with small gifts fairly frequently. I should also note that she was incredibly candid, and was one of the first women in my life at that point that made me realize how blatantly clueless I was when it came to rules of attraction...but my cluelessness with attraction will be reserved for another day, another post, likely under the title: "Missed Opportunities."
Now, as silly as it may seem in retrospect, she and I were conscientious about keeping it under the wraps from Lilly -- she would often sleep in my bed by me, but wake in time to return to hers, etc. Of course, Lilly knew the entire time, and when I did fess up to her several months later, she gave me the: "like I didn't know" laugh, thanked me for telling her anyway, and ended with saying that I was sweet to her and she was thankful to me for it. As a matter of fact, she was working at Country Road on Newbury that summer, and at the end of the summer, she'd given me a nice shirt from there "for taking care of Sydney." Sydney seemed discontent about it, since it apparently made her feel as though I was babysitting her the entire time, but nevertheless...
I should also add that, one of the least diplomatic slip-up's I've had to date occurred toward the end of that summer, when Mrs. Shapiro had came to visit. Mrs. Shapiro thanked me for having taken such good care of Sydney, and without thinking, in a sort of a reactionary response, I replied: "Oh, no, no, it was a pleasure." Jake Sherman, who was in the living room with us, had to run out of the living room because he was busting out laughing, as I realized what I'd just said -- thankfully (I don't think) Mrs. Shapiro read too much into it. A few weeks later, it was time for Sydney's departure, and I'd taken her to Logan, and waited with her for her flight by her gate. As she was about to board the plane, I gave her a hug, and to my surprise, she gave me a big kiss -- an old lady who witnessed this gave me a funny smile, and just like that, Sydney was gone.
In other aspects of that summer, I must say, of all the odd-jobs I had through college, and even including the past near decade of working professionally, carpentry was the most satisfying work I have done. There is something so gratifying about working with your hands, laboring in the sun, getting splinters and just getting filthy dirty from sweat, dust, and the occasional blood while building things that people will live in and use for years to come.
That summer, we demo'd and rebuilt an entire second floor of a house, built and roofed a garage, and built a deck for another house. I learned a lot about building and all the tools involved, under the constant barrage of jokes by Tom Kaplan-Maxfield and his friend (I forget his name now...), both of whom were significantly older than me, and getting a kick out of stories about Catie and then Sydney. However, there was one instance when the jokes did stop for a day -- I was putting down some floor boards on the deck while Tom's friend was roofing the deck.
There is a sort of a music and a rhythm to building when everything is going smoothly, the nail guns going off, the compressor pressurizing, boards being placed, and so forth. I was standing pretty much right under Tom's friend, when it seemed there was an inordinate length of silence. I felt a stare from above and so I look up, when I notice Tom's friend looking down at me in some wonderment, and finally musters to ask: "are you alright?" Not sure what he meant, I responded with: "uh, yeah, sure -- why?" It turned out he'd misfired his nail gun right above me, and had shot a nail right in my direction. Hearing this, I looked down, and sure enough, noticed a huge gash on my belt buckle, and the said nail buried in the board by my right foot. At which point I decided it was a good time to take a break. For the rest of the day.
So that was the summer of '94. I should say, the remainder of the year was a great one as well, what with the first semester of the senior year beginning, along with my paid internship at Lotus Development, in their Usability Lab -- Mary Beth Butler had seen the presentation of the results from my internship at GTE Laboratories in the prior semester, wherein our team determined the effects of a prototype's fidelity on the nature and quantity of usability data attained during usability testing -- she was very much impressed, and had offered me to begin working there.
But since this post has gotten ridiculously lengthy, I will leave the remainder of '94 to another post...
Labels: Chatham, Tufts
Summer of '94 take 2
Ok, so the summer of '94...
I was living at 139 College Avenue/4 Warner Street (because the house was on a corner and had two separate entrances, it had two different addresses) that spring -- I'd taken over Chris Harmon's room, since he'd gone to Australia for his semester abroad. As I mentioned before, this house was a laugh-a-minute...anyhow, this was the semester I'd begun dating Catie D'Ignazio, and also the same semester I started taking classes with Tom Kaplan-Maxfield.
The class was American Transcendentalism, a small class of maybe 15 students. I believe it was in this class I'd also first met two gorgeous brunettes, Amy Hubbard (hubba hubba) and Rachel Stone. The class was a discussion-oriented, intimately-sized one format, complemented by Tom's great sense of humor and his core kindness -- it was likely one of the best classes I'd taken at Tufts. At the risk of sounding somewhat pretentious, I do think that the class format that Tom stuck with is likely similar to the academics of the Greek era, a time when academia was established and when the way education is meant to be was founded -- an open forum for discussion, under the guidance of a well-read, intelligent, open-minded, and well-humored instructor. Tom was interested in hearing our ideas and opinions as much as presenting his obviously better-balanced own. In short, he forced us to think and allowed us to express and listen to others' ideas openly -- a rarity in modern day university-level academics, in my opinion.
I thoroughly enjoyed Tom's classes, and, as I mentioned before, he is one of the only professors from Tufts I am still in touch with. He, a small group of other classmates, and I would often sit at Tufts' Campus Center to talk about all things life, and one of the topics that we would talk about was the topic of love/affection/sexual relations. I remember we had a lot of funny conversations, picking on Amy Hubbard (although, really just admiring how perfect her features were) and talking about Rachel Stone's aspirations to become a television sportscaster.
It was during this time I also had begun dating Catie D'Ignazio I mentioned before. Around then, Dave Tohill, who had the room right next to mine, had begun dating Natalie Wilson as well (we would refer to the times we both had our mutual girlfriends over the same night as "synchronized swimming"). I remember when I first introduced Catie to Tom, he referred to her as being fawn-like.
Also around this time, Elisa Gilliam/Madsen would often come to visit, since she was attending Bates College in Maine at this time. By an amazing coincidence, it turned out she was next-door neighbors with one of my good friends from high school, Jenni Matz, so it wasn't infrequent I'd go to visit her or they would come into Boston to visit.
Nevertheless, as the school year was coming to a close, our lease to our beloved 139 College was ending as well -- most of us had determined our respective abode for the following year (we'd decided to go separate ways), save for Dave Tohill and myself, since neither of us had decided our plans for the summer. It was then that Tom offered me a summer job, to help him as a carpenter -- Tom was a general contractor when he wasn't teaching at Tufts. With that determined, all I needed to determine was living arrangements -- at this juncture, Catie and I had only been dating for two months and the discussion of living together had come up, but we'd decided against it (she tells me to this day that I was the one that unilaterally decided so, but...). Irregardless, it turned out that an acquaintance of ours, Lilly Shapiro, was looking for two roommates in her house at 215 College that she shared with her then best friend Colleen Craig, so Dave Tohill and I jumped on the opportunity. It worked out well, since Jake Sherman was going to need a place to live in the following spring term, and Lilly Shapiro was going to be away that semester.
So came the Summer of '94...
Labels: Tufts
Tom Kaplan-Maxfield, et al.
While cleaning up my apartment recently, I came across my old, paper organizer I used to use through college. In it, I found one of my Tufts professors' names, Tom Kaplan-Maxfield. Given that he was the greatest professor at Tufts, I had to get a hold of him, so I ran an Internet search, and sure enough, I found his information and we're back in touch.
Of course, there were many great professors I'd had the privilege of being in contact with at Tufts. I’m not going to be able to remember many of them, aside from: Kim Knox, one of my engineering professors whom I admired, despite the fact she flunked me once for not showing up to class (it was an 8:05AM class!) -- I aced her class with a perfect 4 the next semester; Deborah Digges, one of my English professors, who’d helped me develop my writing, and whom I had a crush on; and Marie Howe, another one of my English professors who taught creative writing, but whose class on the Beat generation was especially interesting -- Marie’d also helped me through some of my emotional struggles at the time (I had a crush on her as well!). I know it sounds awful, but they were both very attractive (cue in Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher”) -- with that said, unfortunately, the caliber of education was slightly higher at my high school, so I give merit to my teachers from then for the most part as far as my academic constitution is concerned.
The faculty at my high school, Rye Country Day, were top-notch, and I hold them in high regard to this day. Namely: Jim Mooney, whose Art History classes were incredible -- it provided me with a firm foundation of knowledge and appreciation that comes handy to this day -- the fact we had access to the Metropolitan, the Frick, Guggenheim, Whitney, and MoMA at our disposal likely helped, but he’d introduced us to the Cloisters as well as St. John the Divine -- two great landmarks most would otherwise miss. Mr. Mooney was also the dean of the Junior High when I'd first returned to the U.S., and he was very helpful to me and my parents during this transitional time. To this day, I credit him for making my transition as easy as possible.
Mr. Mooney aside, Mr. Fuller was very strict with grammar and spelling, the deep respect for the English language, which has proven to be essential in everything I do to this day; Mlle. Ansellem, whose quirky, but effective French education has stuck with me throughout the years; Mr. Weinberg’s U.S. History was more balanced than anything I have yet to encounter, providing the insight and perspective which I carry to this day, that help make mass media look like sheer entertainment and otherwise misleading; Mr. Carlsten’s Physics classes and Mr.Rue/Mr. Brown’s Biology classes that effectively communicated the passion and the intricacies behind all the equations; Mrs. Clark's Calculus classes and her relaxed style of teaching that allowed a lot of freedom, etc. I could go on and on and on. I believe what all of this comes down to is the fact that these teachers were passionate about their subject matter AND about educating -- as opposed to many professors who were likely passionate about the subject matters but regarded the education segment of their duty mostly only as an obligation.
That is, aside from Tom Kaplan-Maxfield. I first met Tom in his American Transcendentalism class, which I decided to take when I saw it in the course catalog, primarily because my friends and I would frequent Walden Pond for late-night shenanigans (lots of skinny-dipping) and felt I should pay Thoreau at least
some measure of respect. This proved to be one of my best decisions during my stay at Tufts University (proving, yet again, that shenanigans is not only a great word, but the act itself actually has an intellectual merit after all, especially if it involves skinny-dipping).
More to follow in re: Tom Kaplan-Maxfield, which also ties in with Sydney...
Sydney Shapiro and me, at Skidmore. Fall, 1994Labels: Rye Country Day, Tufts
Old Friends(ter)
O.K. so, to pick up where I left off...
Also this past week, I heard from Jacob Millard, whom I haven't spoken to in quite some time. He was one of my seven housemates at 139 College Ave at Tufts. Probably one of the smartest guys I know out there, aside from John Kolb, who was my freshman year roommate. I was glad to hear that Jacob really seems to have found his element in landscape architecture, which makes sense, given his affinity for conceptualizing, spatial ability, and his artistic nature. He's in Denmark at the moment on a scholarship, but was staying with Natasha Long in London when I heard from him --
Which leads to another person I've been going back and forth with over e-mail, Natasha Long. Aside from the fact I always thought she was highly shaggable, she's one of those women you always admire, for their poise and intellect, and I am glad she and I are in touch as well...apparently after having lived in North London for some time, she and her boyfriend, Mark, were having some rocky times, which prompted her to return to the U.S. -- she'd arrived here just before our NYE extravaganza in New Hampshire (which I'll have to get into some other time...), and met up with Eva Hatch to drive cross-country to San Francisco. However, she has since returned to the U.K. (I often forget she's a U.K. citizen because she was born in Bangkok) and is giving the relationship another try. Last I heard from her, she sounded just peachy, just having bought herself a brand new Diane von Furstenberg dress for a soiree she was headed to.
Speaking of Eva Hatch, I had a pleasant surprise this birthday, thanks to Susan, a.k.a. "Shug" Hanemann, who had told Eva about my birthday -- she called out of the blue from Seattle and we'd caught up. The last time she and I had communicated, she was in Michigan working on her MBA -- she is now happily married to Peter Skidmore and has had a baby...and is working for the Antichrist, Microsoft. I never really was very close with Eva, but I always admired her good spirit, that Utah upbringing shining through, I suppose...plus, she's also very attractive. Come to think of it, most all of our women friends in college were attractive...and intelligent...and well-humored (GREAT stories to tell...coming soon to a post near you). No wonder it was so damn incestuous.
Irregardless, speaking of Antichrists...Susan Hanemann and I have been in regular touch nowadays, ever since her arrival in New York, working for the other Antichrist, Martha Stewart. I suppose I should be nicer, given she'll be wearing orange very soon, but I never really liked Martha Stewart...she always gave me the creeps. But, Shug (who got this nick because she's from Memphis and used to call everyone "Shug," as in "sugar") seems to be happy working there -- I never knew Shug was such the chef, and every time I begin to say that, I begin to remember the fact she had owned a gourmet cafe/restaurant until her recent jaunt into New York City. She constantly hosts gatherings at her new apartment she shares with fellow Tufts Alumnus, Brad Felix, which is always a great occasion to catch up with people, and enjoy great food.
Anyhow, I guess all the reconnecting has taken place primarily because of two things -- my birthday a few weeks ago and joining
Friendster -- aside the third, which is, given the people I came across this past year, I needed to get back in touch with good people I knew I can trust.
Nevertheless, I found a bunch of people through Friendster I hadn't spoken to in a while, like Aric Boyles (Discovery Channel), Josh Weinstein (R.C.D.S.), Alex Muller (Tufts), Pascal & Christopher Buckley (Tufts), and Jane and Anne (youngins...but HOT youngins).
Labels: Friendster, Tufts
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