(no subject)
I walk past the career development center nearly every day on my way into campus. As a senior, this is ostensibly a Good Thing: when I lived on the green, it was easy to imagine that the campus ended at the science buildings, and that nothing across the street actually mattered. (Please note that I didn't set foot inside the gym, which is also across the street, for the first five months of school. Now, of course, I know how important the gym is, too -- it's where I play badminton for college credit. *yes!*)
After eight weeks of extreme guilt every time I went to class, I finally had a career counseling appointment this afternoon. The first step into the rest of my life, etc. The best part was, Counselor Brown and I spent most of the time not talking directly about the angst-producing career-ness; instead, we debated the relative merits of movie magazines (Entertainment Weekly, where we have an alum (!), vs. Premiere, which is snooty but a better publication), talked pop culture (comparing notes on Defamer as a news source), and swapped music recommendations.
People ask why I love my college -- this is why. The close-knit community of the students may be changing, but the faculty/staff-student connection is still alive and well. The apartment I live in was once occupied by my theatre professor and her kids; the futon frame in the living room was given to us by the same career counselor; the pottery on the mantle is from my boss at the Quarterly; and my thesis advisor makes tea for me when it's rainy. Who needs boys? Some days, there is little more I could ask for.
After eight weeks of extreme guilt every time I went to class, I finally had a career counseling appointment this afternoon. The first step into the rest of my life, etc. The best part was, Counselor Brown and I spent most of the time not talking directly about the angst-producing career-ness; instead, we debated the relative merits of movie magazines (Entertainment Weekly, where we have an alum (!), vs. Premiere, which is snooty but a better publication), talked pop culture (comparing notes on Defamer as a news source), and swapped music recommendations.
People ask why I love my college -- this is why. The close-knit community of the students may be changing, but the faculty/staff-student connection is still alive and well. The apartment I live in was once occupied by my theatre professor and her kids; the futon frame in the living room was given to us by the same career counselor; the pottery on the mantle is from my boss at the Quarterly; and my thesis advisor makes tea for me when it's rainy. Who needs boys? Some days, there is little more I could ask for.