To everyone at MIT: happy first day of classes. (That sentence used to end in an exclamation point, but then I changed it. This editorial decision in no way reflects my attitude towards or reaction to my last first day here…)
I will start the first day of my last semester as an undergraduate by looking not forwards but backwards. Well…backwards four days, at least…
Despite the irresponsible but well-meaning freshmen on my hall asking me to make a Libby’s run for them mere hours before the “hall formal” (in the rain, no less! Just kidding…I love the rain, you all know that) and a full can of mango juice ooze out of my fridge and onto my floor, Friday turned out to be an excellent day.
My friend Dan (also known as “Tall Dan” or “RTG” or “Really Tall Guy”) and some other Bexley folk accompanied me to the MFA (Museum of Fine Arts) for Boston’s renowned high-class unofficial speed-dating/meet-market, also known as “First Friday.” It’s a glamorous cocktail party at the art museum (in a gallery with disgustingly high ceilings and enormous romantic paintings of dogs hunting pheasants and various saints performing various miracles) sponsored by Bombay Saphire Gin. Entrance is free, but drinks, tapas, and quiet isolation aren’t. Hmmm…I think some tidbits I gleaned through my expert eavesdropping will help set the scene. This affair may be better suited for my secret blog-speriment (which will, perhaps, go public soon…I’m only mentioning it now to whet your whistle…)
Dude 1: Those girls were cute, but not that brought.
Dude 2: Yeah, they were from Needham. There are way too many girls from Needham here!
Dude 3: We had a really good conversation, but she didn’t give me her phone number.
Dude 4: Obviously, they never give you a phone number, you have to ask.
Dude 5: By now all the college girls are taken.
I’m not sure if Dudes 1 through 5 are all actually separate people. Let’s hope they weren’t.
First Friday could have been a bust, but I salvaged the night by sneaking off to go look at some of the other exhibits in the museum. I also love getting dressed up and laughing (on the inside, of course) at snobby people trying to pick up other snobby people (all the while secretly hoping I’ll meet the perfect man at the museum…).
Dumpster diving. For real. Did I write about my first experience dumpster diving (almost two months ago)? Whether I did or not…I’m going to write about my second.
Six of us piled into a MIT’s newest “Green Monster”, the Veggie-Mobile—an old Ford truck that runs on diesel and vegetable oil—and headed out to see what we could see. Luckily, the piling wasn’t as cramped as you’d expect and the exhaust fumes smelled like potato chips, so the ride was very nearly the best part.
Our first stop was a disappointment, as a juice supplier that they had been hitting nearly every week last semester had caught on and pad-locked the dumpster. We could peek in and see the gallons of our forbidden fruit: never-to-be-used not-yet-fermented juice creeping towards its sell-by date. But in the hit and miss business of dumpster diving, no luck is ever really bad. (This sentiment was reinforced when the Veggie-Mobile stalled—only once, but in the middle vertex of a three-point turn.)
The second dumpster we visited was much more forgiving, and I returned home with some pears, potatoes, fine cheeses, and pastas. I wasn’t actually the one “diving” into the dumpster (maybe I’m not quite ready for that yet…), so my education in the garbage pilfering has only barely begun. Some of the people I was with are semi-pros. I think I’m going to write more about this later (perhaps in the vein of, say, Robert Sullivan and The Meadowlands…ha…just mentioning it because I posted about that book last week…).