Just Your Average 68-Year-Old College Freshman
French farmers produce foie gras by force-feeding geese, engorging their livers—I can empathize with those poor, dumb beasts. Freshman survey classes throw a lot of information at you. My memory cache would start to auto-delete as soon as the tests were over.
Just Your Average 69-Year-Old College Freshman.
This is the time of year when students are registering for courses in the spring semester. Like bingo players, they have to fill certain spaces before the others do. Failure to get slotted in the classes they need can mean a ninth semester down the line.
It would be sad to knock kids out of courses they need so I wait until the last minute to sign up. This lets me avoid Life Sciences (the dreaded B word) which fills up first
There’s a lot on the menu worth trying. Appetizers from Chemistry Lab, World Religion antipastos (I sent one back, it was stale), Cultural Anthropology served up with a side of U.S. History. For dessert, there’s a reading list you can put in doggie bag and take home with you. It’ll stay good for years.
Just Your Average 69-Year-Old College Freshman.
Joni Mitchell wrote a beautiful song about street musicians who play “real good for free.”
A Very Merry Christmas to you selfless volunteers, you unpaid artists and you all-around good guys.
Just Your Average 69-Year-Old College Freshman.
THE LAST RIDE — There’s a marvel of engineering under the streets of Barcelona. Massive in scale, it snakes from one barrio to another. No expense has been spared.
First some physics. The tunnels are huge cylinders through which pistons move in perfect synchronicity, building compression in front, a vacuum behind — the same principles the internal combustion engine relies on. Otto von Guericke, thank you.
The force of these vacuums is unfathomable. They reach up onto the streets — pumping and sucking their way into the vestibules of apartment buildings, up the stairwells and elevator shafts. They extract students, employees and retirees from their beds, dress them fashionably, caffeinate them and carry them to the underground cylinders that speed them blissfully on to their purpose in life.
Just Your Average 69-Year-Old College Freshman Studying Abroad.
A SATURDAY NIGHT — Just weeks ago there was a parade in the neighborhood where I’m staying. It’s a regular event in the many barrios of Barcelona.
People march through the streets costumed as devils, carrying live fireworks in their hands. The kids put on slickers and snuggle up close to these fine fiends from hell.
The bands, strictly vocal and percussive, put out a level of energy that goes right through you. The sound is amplified by the buildings and travels down the streets for blocks.
Side note: I always thought “barrio” is a word used to describe slums. Actually it just means neighborhood. Poor, middle-class or fancy— it’s a barrio.
