Finals, told in GIFs. #IGTR

Finals at Rice.  It's go time.  Or alternatively, it's crapitsalreadySundaynight/MondaymorningIreallydoneedtogetgoingtime.  Some of you may even be finished already.  In that case, congratulations and cheers!  But for the rest of us, it's time to buckle down and get through it.  But before you applaud me for being so finalspirational, you should remember that I am currently writing a blog post instead of my two ten page papers. I doubt my English professor will accept this post as an appropriate alternative.  But I can't just ignore the plethora of awesome, witty .gifs exploding all over Tumblr these days, particularly not the Rice themed ones.  Last finals period, I gave y'all some Rice memes.  Why no one has made custom Rice .gifs yet is completely

to me.  But that is beyond the point.

What matters is that y'all clearly need some finals therapy.  Sitting around during breakfast (can we still call it breakfast? It makes me feel more productive, even though I technically woke up at noon), I hear stories of sleep deprivation and hours on end spent locked up in study rooms.  Some of you are even nearing delusional.

I get you.  I really do.  Because it's 1:45am and instead of continuing my paper, I am digging through my .gif file on my computer (which is apparently not a normal thing to have? My suitemates laughed for about two hours after they found out I had such a thing).  This is all gonna add up to delusion later.  The problem is that I just can't bring myself to do anything "productive."  I mean, sure, I've applied for summer jobs and internships, answered all my emails, and even did laundry, but when it comes time to actually sit down and write this essay, I just mope around the commons like:

I've only even started doing work in the commons because I feel like people will judge me if I just sit at my computer and goof off.  This is a good thing.  I need judging eyes to make me feel self-conscious enough to actually do work.  This:

is my motivator.  You know what is surprisingly unmotivating?  All the people who finished exams like a week ago and are now able to fully enjoy their summer.  This is my mental image of them... sitting there... taunting me.

It's like, yes, I am dying to join them, I just don't need to see it right now.  Not quite so right in front of me.  Not yet.

Tonight one of my favorite juniors asked if I wanted to go party/celebrate with some people and my first instinct was to be like:

But then I remembered about my papers.  And responsibility.  And what not.  Very important things.  And resisted.  Instead, I'm in the commons, emptying my second cup of coffee, on my second Diet Coke, and my first paragraph.  In case you were wondering,

A few things do help though.  For starters, there's primal scream at Sid.  If you show up to a floor balcony around midnight, you get to scream at the top of your lungs for a whole minute.  It's surprisingly therapeutic.  This is a pretty accurate depiction:

Also, just remembering that somewhere beyond my little table in the corner of my college commons,

and soon I'll get to join in on it.  Finals will be over soon enough (actually, perhaps too soon.  I am really legitimately concerned about my ability to finish these papers in time).  Then I, too, can join in on the post-finals festivities.  That's right:

I'll be seeing you Wednesday night, Rice!

Welcome to Willy Week. #IGTR

Happy Holidays! If you've just stumbled across this blog, you may be wondering why I am wishing everyone a merry Christmas in March.  But if you go to Rice, you likely know that I'm referring to an event affectionately referred to as "greater than Christmas."  Walking around campus, you've no doubt seen signs in college commons or on various windows proudly counting down the days, gradually watching as "63 days" turns into "24 DAYS!" and then into "8 DAYZ TIL BEER BIKE!!!"

Yes, Beer Bike.  Even the name itself sounds wonderful, doesn't it?  And many of us Rice students truly do cherish it as a second, bonus-round of Christmas.  You may have even seen Beer Bike trees affectionately decorated with cans of beers past (yes, at least one of these magical trees does exist!).

But the fun begins way before Willy Week even arrives.  One of the things that gives your college's beer bike such spectacular flare is that awesome theme you voted for.  Part of the fun includes turning regular cultural icons into witty alcohol-isms.  Hit Youtube video? Beer Intruder: Hide yo' kegs, hide yo' wine.  Iconic cartoon? Scooby Brew: Where Am I?  Most cherished book series of our generation?  Expecto Patron! Favorite childhood movie? Hakuna MaTaaka: What a wonderful case!

And of course you can't make it inside your college doors this week without being pelted with water balloons.  Having a backpack or electronics on you is (quite unfortunately) not a valid excuse.  You learn it's better to join in on the fun than spend an entire week avoiding it. You fill more water balloons in three hours than you have in your entire life.  Being outside with members of your college, listening to some jamZ, and filling balloons can be strangely therapeutic and relaxing.  Which is a good thing, because your college's freshman balloon captain has mandated that all "free time" shall henceforth be known as "balloon filling time."

Willy Week is like a giant vacation/celebration/festival in your college.  Schoolwork is irrelevant. (Okay, so maybe not.  But maybe, yes.  Do your homework though, kiddies.  But fill balloons and don't miss any awesome Willy Week events, either.  ... Figure that out and get back to me.)

Cases of beer randomly appear for dedicated water balloon fillers and at any time, some one may plop a drink in front of a member of the chug team and yell "CHUG PRACTICE!"  (Not sure if that was already an official thing, but it is now.)

And of course, who could forget about the jacks?  (Well, depending on the college you're from, it's quite possible you forget about jacks.  What are jacks again?)  Ranging from honestly not that impressive to seriously awe-invoking, jacks are a chance to vandalize another college and get away with it ("It's an approved jack!").

While Beer Bike is the main event, there is so much happiness to be found all Willy Week long.  The races are only fraction of the phenomenon (despite what any Will Ricers might tell you).  ...Fuck Will Rice.

Happy Willy Week!

Photo: Adara R.

Today, I swam across campus. #IGTR

It's your first day of classes of second semester! Even though you're technically back in school and will soon enough be back to your late nights at Club Fondy, you've currently forgot (or are at least attempting to emotionally bury) the horrors of the past finals week and probably even woke up with a slight spring in your step.  You may have even picked out something nice to wear for your first day of classes.

However, the weather outside was not on the same page as you.  As you walked to your 9a.m., thunder and lightning alerted you to the likelihood of an oncoming storm, but you feel prepared with a travel umbrella tucked away in your backpack. 

Your professor lets you out a little early (it needn't take fifty minutes to go over a syllabus) only for you to be greeted by SHEETS of rain.  Your brace yourself, open your umbrella, and begin the walk to your next class.  Luckily, you're just walking from HUMA to the Baker Institute, so it shouldn't be too bad.

But you soon realize your umbrella situation is not so prime. That perhaps investing in an umbrella other than the flimsy $6 one from CVS might have been a good idea.  Perhaps one that doesn't flip inside out when it's windy. Or one that actually blocks raindrops occasionally.

But as seconds pass, you realize that the problem is not limited to the rain falling from the sky, but the massive puddles, no, pools, no, rapids, that are forming all over campus, severely inhibiting your ability to make it from location to location with any dignity or dry clothing intact.

Once you reach your next class, you peel off what sopping wet layers you can and sit shuddering as you read an emergency alert text message from Rice telling you that the roads are flooded (you think?).

By the time it's 10:50, a river has formed between Wiess and the IM fields, standing in the way of the shortest route back to your residential college.  You feel bad for the guy who's standing helplessly by his submerged car, unsure of how to get it out of the river.  You feel less sympathy for the person in the truck who is barreling down the road and whose massive wave is about five seconds away from splashing you.

Not that it really matters. Every inch of you is already soaked.

When you get back to your room, you find that red Solo cups have many uses outside of beer pong games.  It seems your roof has sprung a small leak.

All in all, an eventful first day.

Unconventional procrastination. #IGTR

Finals: the time of year when everyone is trying so hard to stay focused, that they can't help but be distracted - where a five minute study break to check your Facebook turns into endless scrolling down the newsfeed.  In other words, the perfect breeding ground for memes.

This finals period, I noticed a lot of particularly funny memes spread through the Rice University interwebz.  Some were pretty generalized:

Evan A.

But soon, the majority of memes were based upon people's friends. 

Drew T.

Drew T.

Erika K.

Daniel E.

Drew T.

Graham W.

Graham W.

There were plenty more that I missed or did not collect here.  What were your favorite Rice memes from Finals '11?

Still studying?  Want to not be studying?  You can create your own Rice Owls meme here:
http://memegenerator.net/Rice-Owl

I can't get an LPAP. #IGTR

Twice a year, a frenzy hits Rice campus, flaring up in 15 minute intervals of panic, frustration, and occasionally, triumph.  While some Rice students have a calm registration experience ("I registered for next semester in 30 seconds.  Gee, that was easy."), others are not so fortunate.

The tension begins to slowly build as you wait for registration time to arrive, checking Schedule Planner every few minutes to see how many spots are left in your desired classes until:

Now what?  You check on your "back-up" classes.  Also full.  Great.  You open up the course catalog and stare blankly at the drop-down menus.  If you're an academ, you immediately rule out any subject that requires a lab, knowledge of computer coding, or upper level math.  If you're an S/E, you immediately rule out any subject that may force you to read something other than a textbook, write a paper longer than 3 pages, or anything with a class size small enough for the professor to notice when you skip it every other week.  So that leaves you with... hmm... uhh... well....  You'll just come  back to this later.  Right now, your registration time is about to be up and you've got to register for an LPAP within the first 5 seconds to have any hope at all!

You sit tensed at your desk, right hand poised on your click pad to hit register as soon as the time on your phone (most accurate clock you could find) flips over to the new minute. And YES, it's your turn!, it's your time!, nothing can stop you from getting this LPAP!!!

But wait!  There's a wait-list!  Surely seniors who are registered for more than one LPAP will eventually drop one and you'll be able to get in.  Yeah!  Problem solved! Except:

 

Okay, so admittedly you're over-reacting.  It's just an LPAP.  You'll get it next year.  ... Probably.

I have more mosquito bites than I can count. #IGTR

If you haven't noticed from the swelling, red, itching welts that are likely covering your entire body, or swarms in the grove, in your college, in your nightmares; then you've probably noticed on Facebook:  Houston, we have a mosquito problem.

You've experienced bad mosquito evenings at Rice before.  There was that one time last year during Powderpuff practice when the mosquito clouds at dusk were so thick that you counted no less than 25 bites by the time you were inside again.  You experienced an occasional bite at one of the forced picnics.  But unless your college's zombie apocalypse defense plan can easily be converted to defend against these bloodsucking monstrosities, there's no way you were prepared for this.

They descended upon us during parent's weekend.  Beginning that evening as you sat on an outside patio at a lovely non-servery dinner, you began to notice there were more mosquitoes about than usual.  Your parents offer to take you and friends to buy mosquito repellant this weekend.  By the time you go to the Target on Main Street the next day, they are completely sold out.  Same for the CVS in the Village. On the third or fourth try, you finally locate a few cans at a Walgreens you've never been inside before.

You spray the stuff all over your clothes, but still the mosquitos taunt you, getting inside your car and under your skin.

 

It's like Rice students are especially delicious.  Our blood must be like the fine wine of the mosquito world.

 

You've considered more drastic solutions.  How could one feasibly keep a pet bat?  Bats are mosquito eating machines, and why don't we have more?!  Then you realize that the mosquitoes have got you acting like a crazy person, and you resolve to just cover up every possible inch (itch) of skin until the cold front sets in on Thursday night.

I am convinced my fire alarm is lying to me. #IGTR

I am convinced that if there is ever a real fire, I will die inside my residential college building.  I think the problem stems from how many false alarms (literally) are set off through out the year.  When I first moved back in from the summer, it didn't quite feel like home until the first inconveniently timed fire alarm went off.

They never occur at a moment when you're like "Hmm, I feel like going for a stroll outside" or "I think I'll take the stairs today!"  It's when you've been up all night working on a project and are now just finally closing your eyes to a well earned afternoon nap.  Or when you've returned home on a Friday night at 2am and want nothing more than to crawl into bed.

But nope.  The fire alarm goes off.

And won't stop.  This thing has literally been going off for like twenty whole minutes.  You were kind of silently hoping that it would stop within the reasonable amount of time during which you would be excused from not having reached the ground floor yet.

The thing is... you just live so far from the ground floor.  I mean... it's like a lot of stairs.  You probably have a better shot taking the elevator in a fire than trying to get out in time after taking thirteen flights of stairs. And the chances of this being a real fire are about twelve to zero.

You and your suitemates, who also haven't evacuated yet, meet in the hallway of your suite to deliberate.  Should we go to the ground floor?  It has been a long time since it went off.  And maybe if the fire isn't real, they would have turned the thing off by now.

You reluctantly put on a sweater (hey, it might be cold outside) and exit the suite.  You still fully intend to take the elevator down (like I said, lots of stairs), but when you get to your floor lobby, you notice that every single person on your floor has convened on the balcony.

That counts as outside, right?  Besides, this building is pretty much solid brick and concrete.  If it hasn't burned down yet, it ain't ever gonna. You decide that staying on the balcony is basically the same thing as evacuating to the ground floor.

You justify this to yourself by reasoning that if ever there was a real fire, you could probably be airlifted from the top floor balcony by a helicopter.

Yup.  You'll be just fine.  You wave to your friends down below.  Another fifteen minutes goes by (or two to three hours, depending or how badly you had wanted to sleep), and the alarm is finally off.  You learn that is was something completely mundane yet random, like welding in the basement. You go back to bed, silently begrudging the forty minute (or four hour) dent into your sleep schedule.

I am forced to picnic. #IGTR

What's wrong, you may ask?  Is the world ending? Am I the last human left on earth? Did Scar just kill Mufasa?  That's not it.  I'm being forced to picnic.

One person notices a flier sitting on your lunch table and innocently picks it up.  After a moment, they read aloud: "Campus wide picnic! 5-7. Free food!  (Serveries will be closed)"  and instantly, the entire table is grumbling and complaining like they're being thrown out of their dorm room for the night and forced to sleep in a tree surrounded by rabid squirrels.

How can a picnic go so wrong?  The concept is not completely terrible: Rice students are fun people.  In theory, getting a bunch of us together with lots of food and sunshine sounds pretty good.  Don't we all like Friday afternoon tailgates?  Of course tailgates don't shut down your servery and force you to eat food like this:

Picnics require effort.

First, you have to walk from your college to Founder's Court or the IM fields.

Then you have to get your food.

And then you've got to eat it.

Thanks for the free t-shirts, though. 

Thursday nights are Pub nights. #IGTR

Thursday night on Rice campus.  At this point you have either done all your homework or have consciously decided to put it off until the weekend (let's be honest, that's what Sunday nights are for, right?).  You're amped up and want to celebrate the start of the College Weekend (Thursday, Friday, Saturday).  Then you hear it.  The call you've been waiting for.

You are powerless to remain in your room.  Before you know it, you've joined a mass of fellow pub-goers and are on your way.  You head in through the back way and down the Stairs of Doom.

You ability to reach Pub is also inversely proportional to the height of your heels, should you be wearing them.

It may be a struggle, but you finally reach the door to the RMC basement, which experience has taught you that you can open without an ID card if you just try hard enough.  

Depending on how often you visit pub, you either hover awkwardly on the fringes, wondering how everyone else knows each other, or you know everyone.  If you know everyone, you're probably a Pub regular.  One time, you meet a friend of a friend at Coffeehouse and they ask you if you work at Pub.  You say no and they say, "Oh, I just assumed."  You wonder what that means about your life and your choices.

You remember the first time you went to pub as a freshman.  Not gonna lie.  It was pretty flippin' awkward.  You just sat with your suite mates and didn't talk to anyone.  But you actually know some people from other colleges now.  You have people to talk to other than your suite mates (although they're still pretty great).  You realize that knowing people at Pub is the key to enjoying Pub.  And the more people you know at Pub, the more people you meet at Pub.

You love Pub.  Any night of the week is worthy of Pub.  But Thursday nights?  Thursday nights are Pub nights.