Jessie Borkan | College is as College Does
September 20Today, I found out my girlfriend is pregnant and then decided to break up with her. Why? We're lesbians. FML."
Today, I found out my girlfriend is pregnant and then decided to break up with her. Why? We're lesbians. FML."
"And a big 3-2 pitch coming here from Eckersley. Gibson swings, and a fly ball to deep right field. This is gonna be a home run! Unbelievable! A home run for Gibson! And the Dodgers have won the game 5-4! I don't believe what I just saw!" — Jack Buck
Practically every phone conversation I've had with my grandmother over the past three years has had the same format: She asks me about the weather in Boston ("It's cold, Grandma, but I'm keeping warm"), she asks me about my classes ("There is a lot of work, but I like my courses"), and then she asks me how the food is. The last question has not always had such a standard answer. During my freshman year, I babbled on and on about all of the choices for food there are on campus. I would tell her about stir-fry in Carmichael on Tuesdays and late-night snacks at The Commons or The Tower Café. Sophomore year, my enthusiasm waned; our conversations were more like, "I am so stressed, and I am bored of the dining halls, and I wish I could get pizza delivered to the library, and now I have to go do work, OK love you, bye!" As a junior, I told her about eating at my friends' houses and my favorite places to eat out in Cambridge and Boston. Constantly talking about my food choices with my grandmother has made me realize something: Collegiate culinarians have it rough. It's hard not to get stuck in a rut after eating in the same dining halls and ordering from the same restaurants day after day, year after year. Living in a house off campus can provide more food freedom, but who has time to cook every single day after sitting through class, writing papers, doing problem sets and then going to a never-ending slew of appointments and meetings? Yet despite my frustration over the years with our food options, I've realized something: The concept of the college meal plan is absolutely genius. I feel like if there were a way to apply a meal plan to real life — aka life after graduation — it would be brilliant. No more coming home from your job and scrounging around in the kitchen to cook something while you're exhausted and just want to crash on the couch. No more living on sandwiches and pasta because that's all you know how to cook. Think about how nice it would be if you could pay an upfront fee and then have all of your meals taken care of for a couple of months with a variety of choices in location and type of cuisine for each meal. If your new job in New York City came complete with a New-York-City-on-a-meal-plan, it would be like heaven on a Big-Apple-shaped plate. Clearly, my real-world-meal-plan plans need some work, but there are definitely parts of collegiate dining that can be applied to life after the dorms. First, always keep a well-stocked pantry; just like it was always helpful to have cereal and soup in your dorm room for late-night cravings, it's even more useful to always have staples like pastas, rice and beans in the pantry for quick meals when you're crunched for time. Second, don't forget about creative means to cook things; you can make a great grilled cheese with an iron (just don't use it for clothes afterward), and you can cook oatmeal and even brew your own beer in a coffeepot. And finally, don't completely dismiss dorm room mainstays like Cup-o-Noodles or Ramen — I know a great recipe for a delicious pasta salad made with Ramen noodles and bagged coleslaw mix. Here is the best advice I can give to the Class of 2009: Always remember what you've learned about food in college, use your good food genes, watch as much "No Reservations" as possible, and stay away from high-fructose corn syrup. And as you embark on your post-Tufts adventures, keep in mind the words of Henry Bromel: "It's important to begin a search on a full stomach."
What was I thinking? If you've been wondering, I don't blame you. I've been drawing false lines around bands, tying artists together with ersatz thread, and acting as if one group's music can possibly be defined as the child of a single influential parent. In truth, each new song is no less than a singular brew culled from the reactive cauldron where every bit of music that's ever been heard resides. Even we, as human daughters and sons, are products of our surroundings, the languages we learn, the friendships we make, the sex and stock villains we see on TV, more than the genes we've been stuck with. If it were the other way around, Jakob Dylan and the Wallflowers might have really had something going for them. But alas, all we've got to hang on to is "One Headlight" and that other catchy song where Adam Duritz wails his big, old heart out on the background vocals.
College graduation. Commencement. Whatever you call it. It's here. I have no idea as to how to act or what to do. And, in the dying throes of my column, I go down blaming pop culture.
You're obviously free to disagree, but as a senior who used to be on its executive board, I think Concert Board (CB) is, bar none, the worst organization at Tufts. Did you know that they have about $180,000? Can you believe that? After four years of unimaginative, underwhelming bookings, some of which I'm actually expected to pay to see, and a truly backwards mandate, I think we should take that money, buy a yellow Lamborghini, and let every student drive it for a day.
Many songs seem to be written specifically to cash in on the emotions that saturate a particular moment. The other day, we were on iTunes (what's this $1.29 baloney, Apple?) and noticed an iTunes Essentials Graduation playlist. We were truly perturbed by what Apple recommended. "I Believe I Can Fly," really? Since when has R. Kelly, an alleged pedophile who urinates on his underage partners, been a guiding light for America's youth?
College graduation is one time when it's completely acceptable to self-congratulate, one of the few times in which society actually encourages people to give themselves a pat on the back. Forget all the haters who say that a bachelor's degree is our generation's high school degree — completing four years at Tufts and getting that diploma is a big deal. Congratulations to the Class of 2009. But, as all the seniors surely know, graduating from college doesn't lead directly to… well, anything. Lots of seniors who are graduating face uncertain futures and a severe lack of concrete plans. Even those who found jobs at banks or consulting firms or won prestigious fellowships or gained entry to their grad school of choice don't usually have really solid plans for what they want to do. As for those who think they have it all figured out? Just wait — it's been my experience that even the best-laid plans can change. And embrace uncertainty. If most Tufts seniors are like me, and in this regard at least I think they are, they have been making very careful plans for their whole lives. Gaining admission to Tufts, let alone graduating, is hard. And in order to have reached this point, some organizational skills and a bit of foresight were certainly needed. Planning becomes part of life, a key element of the routine; at a school like Tufts especially, with so much going on, minute details of every day are scheduled and planned well in advance. And careful planning has worked out well so far, for most of us at least. The fact that you, college seniors, are graduating from Tufts means you're doing something well. But laying out the future so meticulously is dangerous. Each day that you follow a strict routine to the letter is one more day that you're missing out on other opportunities. What people often forget in the desperate search for a job is that work isn't typically fun. Astonishingly few people enjoy their occupations. Your confidence that you will be different and that you would never subject yourself to a job you hate is more than likely dishonest. If you aren't carving out your own path and letting life come to you, if you're living day-to-day working at a boring job or taking worthless classes and leading a meaningless life, you're dying a little bit every day. You're essentially going through your adult life unconscious. It's surprisingly easy to forget what you love about life and just do what you think you're supposed to do. You get up, go to work, go home, and you get up the next day and do the exact same thing. It becomes your default setting, and it's comfortable but lifeless. A liberal arts education, according to David Foster Wallace, is about the freedom and ability to choose what to think about and the ability to avoid the unconscious, lonely, default life above. I hope that after studying at this great university for four years, you have learned at least one thing: awareness. Awareness of what is real and beautiful and important in life. It's too easy to forget about the really important elements of life when you're busy making plans and trying to satisfy everybody but yourself. All of us have something that makes us come alive, and college is about finding that more than anything else. So, Class of 2009, I have but one piece of advice for you: Don't get stuck in the routine of always having a routine, don't plan to have long and detailed plans and just try living for a while. Not having a plan is beautiful because the possibilities seem, and in truth still are, endless. Don't forget to think, to keep learning and to continue the work you started at Tufts — the work of paying attention.
There have undoubtedly been plenty of times that you have been interested in someone, and it seems apparent that the guy is digging you. You exchange flirtatious remarks in class and you always seem to run into him on Saturday night. But as often as you interact, he hasn't made the effort to ask you out. You replay all of your encounters, and after serious evaluation, you still don't understand how he could have missed the signs. It is clear you have made an effort to notify him that you're interested, and yet there isn't even so much as a trip to Brown and Brew for coffee in the future. And then you ask yourself, "Should I ask him out?" What's the big deal about asking a guy on a date? Females in our society have worked incredibly hard to break down societal norms in regard to women's sexuality. But does it make a difference if a woman asks out a man? Are we presenting ourselves as impatient, eager and desperate? What if the guy is just shy? Men's social behaviors follow a structured pattern. Regardless if a guy is shy or reserved, if he is interested, he will ask you out. Now, the date may be as informal as a trip to the dining hall or as extravagant as dinner at Turner Fisheries, but if he wants to take you out, he'll ask. I am not suggesting that it's the guy's job or that a woman should never ask a guy out, but there are some concerns when a guy is hesitant. Women's and men's thought processes are completely different. While women use more of their emotional side to rationalize, men tend to draw upon logical strategy to reason. If a guy is just looking for a hookup, he will be uneager and unwilling to invest time and money in the process. He knows all too well that a few minutes flirting on the dance floor and a flash of his fob will provide him the satisfaction he needs. Most men use economic reasoning by weighing the advantages and disadvantages of their decisions. A date represents potential and is not a foreseeable goal if he is strictly looking for sex. It's interesting how women function when it comes to potential hookups. While both men and women can decide to put up a protective barrier against the idea of a relationship, women can easily chisel a crack in the foundation if the right person comes along. Unlike women, if a man has decided to stay single, no woman — as perfect for him as she might be — will ever convince him otherwise. Yes, if you ask him out on a date, he will probably go, but what comes after that date is emotional hell. If a woman is looking to date, she can possibly envision some potential future. Whether it's a second date or full-blown relationship, a date is a possible investment. While you may date, you have set yourself up for an impossible challenge. With the assumption that the date was a success, each day you will become infatuated with the idea of something more, and the chase will begin. The mind games have started, and you will spend an infinite amount of time trying to coerce him into something more. It's a genetic urge to manipulate situations, and we will do anything in our power to be "the one" who could break down his wall. So as interested as he might seem, if he is not asking you out, he's most likely not interested in anything more than an unemotional and detached hookup. If you have begun a connection on two separate wavelengths, pursuing him can eventually end in opposite needs. To save yourself havoc, grief and a potential headache, sometimes it's worth it to step back and accept that he's emotionally unavailable.
As the semester draws to a close, I've decided to take this time to look forward and not back. I'm not leaving a university that I love and a three-year long column but am anticipating another summer of big-budget, exciting cinema. Or am I? Let's take a look at what these hot months have waiting for us in the air-conditioned theaters of summer 2009. "X-Men Origins: Wolverine": Nope, I didn't watch the leaked copy. I have remained blissfully ignorant of the spoilers. I'm looking forward to this film. It looks like a dumb special-effects spectacle, but we all know I'm not a fan of the superhero films that brag about being "so serious." Wolverine is a character in which I don't have much emotional investment, so they can do whatever they want to him. And I heard they butchered Deadpool, but who cares about Deadpool anyway? "Star Trek": J.J. Abrams is very hit-or-miss with me. I loved the first two seasons of "Alias," but that's about it. And I've never seen a "Star Trek" episode or movie. But this seems like a Star Trek simultaneously made for Trekkies and those like me who have remained oblivious to the whole thing. Ultimately, I feel lukewarm. Though, if I go, I better see some people in red shirts die horrific deaths. "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince": I think we can all agree that the only reason people may be excited for this movie is because it means that "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" is next. "Half-Blood Prince" suffers the misfortune of needing to seem important when clearly the bigger spectacle will be the finale. "Up": After "Wall-E" (2008), Pixar has my complete faith. And I must admit, I'm curious about this whole films in 3-D craze. I'm digging the style and the concept. It should be quality stuff. "Terminator Salvation": Hurray for the sequel that no one really asked for, and yet, no one really opposes. The "Terminator" franchise makes no sense to me. Every movie (or TV show) appears to give people the next installment to a story they really were fine with leaving as is. Yet when the film/TV show comes out, it's not exactly an unwelcome visitor. It's just sort of there, not defiling the franchise but not doing too much to enhance it either. Like "Star Trek," I'm not going to rule out seeing it, but I will probably have to be pretty bored or have a friend ask me to go. Though I must admit, I (and probably a few others) am quite curious to see what scene could have been so intense to provoke Christian Bale's outburst. "Brüno": I enjoyed "Borat" (2006), especially since I got to analyze it for a Tufts class, but I wasn't as in love with it as some people are. I've seen it once, and that was enough for me. I'm a bit worried this will suffer from a typical comedy sequel pitfall of just rehashing a lot of the original's jokes. "Inglourious Basterds": Quentin Tarantino defined a lot of my high school personality. I'm curious to see what I think of a new film of his now that I have four years of college behind me. Will I be more cynical? Will I be as bored as I was with the masturbatory "Death Proof" (2007)? Or will I find that my love of Tarantino is not just colored with nostalgia and embrace this new film? If nothing else, this definitely is one of the few films I can assuredly say I will be seeing in theaters. See you at Commencement, folks! Now that sentence is scarier than Voldemort, Megatron and the T-1000 combined.
It was 1995. I was eight. My mom let me stay up past my bedtime because there was no school the next day, and I decided to watch television. I curled up on the couch (I may or may not have been wearing my favorite pink footsie pajamas) and was channel surfing. Just before I decided to go upstairs to go to bed, I came across a man with a thick Boston accent standing in a simple, white-tiled kitchen. He was chopping parsley for a marinade for chicken. I had just come across my first-ever episode of "The Essence of Emeril," and from that moment on, I was hooked. I was instantly transformed into an eight-year-old Food Network junkie.
This isn't going to be my typical column. I'm asking you to go into this with an open mind and a willingness to accept that this is not meant to incite anger or upset people, but instead provoke contemplation or discussion. Even if you disagree with this, I hope you ask yourself (and can answer) why you disagree.
I feel compelled to write this week about someone only 65 days older than myself who has already achieved more, in life and death, than I ever will.
As I recently participated in a shameful yet innocently coy conversation with a Harvard law professor, I was eager to understand what was so tantalizing about the situation. I am uninterested in romanticizing with a man 20 years my senior, but what qualities were sexually riveting? If I wasn't attracted to his age, what created an appeal to flirt back?
Squarepusher, the experimental musician, recorded an album last year inspired by something that most people might assume to have been a psychedelic-drug-induced hallucination but that the artist laconically calls "a daydream."
Beginning on Sept. 10, Michael Jordan, among others, will be inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame. When Air Jordan takes his place on the stage, flash bulbs will be popping to commemorate the high-flying, Gatorade-chugging scoring machine who dominated the 1990s. Next to Jordan that day will be a man sitting stoically, lips shut and arms folded -- a man whose place in the Hall deserves far more recognition than it will get. I'm talking about John Stockton.
Once a semester, like clockwork, I write a boring, predictable column about my complete shock and awe at the superhuman abilities of one LeBron Raymone James. This semester will be no different.
We've all been there. A bunch of your friends are hanging out and suddenly you or someone else brings up something relating to "Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory" (1971) or "Terminator 2: Judgment Day" (1991). Everyone laughs or nods in agreement except for one guy. After a few awkward moments, he breaks the silence by saying, "I've never seen that."
I can sum up the major themes of all of my columns from the past year in one sentence: I have a spontaneous peanut allergy, I am very annoyed by Rachael Freaking Ray and Alice Waters, and Anthony Bourdain is my walking Buddha. I was fortunate enough to sit down with Tony (I have permission to call him by his first name -- it's on tape) before he gave a lecture entitled "How to stop worrying and enjoy globalization" on April 2. Globalization was the farthest thing from my mind, but the worrying part definitely rang a bell. What the heck was I going to say to a man whose books I have read and re-read countless times? It's not like I can swap stories with him about trekking through Vietnam or the best place to eat sheep testicle in Morocco. I decided to talk to Tony about several issues that are important to me, minus the peanuts, to get his perspective on food in America: