Yes, this entry happened a full week ago. Lay off.

Saturday, the 16th

11:01- Rocky shows up as expected and helps me finish up packing. Namely, he sits at my desk and teases me while I finish up packing, and then I make him carry down my ridiculously heavy bags downstairs.

11:38- Sarah finally shows up, late as usual. With Margaret and her mom, Sarah and her mom and stepdad, Rocky, my grandparents, and my entire family, our kitchen is understandably a little packed. But I love it. We’re all just standing around and talking and eating chocolate chip cookies. Hard to go wrong.

12:25- Lift off. Namely, artfully maneuvering The Beast (our large, should-no-longer-be-in-commission Suburban) out of the garage and around my grandparents’ two cars. Don’t ask me why they drove separately- I live in Michigan.



12:30- A mile and a half from my house, my dad asks if I have the key to my bike lock. As I hadn’t even planned on bringing my bike until less than an hour before, I had totally forgotten it. Typical of a family trip, we clearly have to turn around to retrieve the key in question.

12:33- My dad has already started making bad jokes about the state of our 7 year old Suburban. This is potentially going to be a very long trip.

12:38- I find the key. Success!

12:39- Second try at the leaving thing.

1:43- We are in serious Hicksville, Michigan. Seeing as our state only has 3 large cities of note, that I live in one and will not be passing through another, this makes sense.

This is a beautiful state, though. I keep taking pictures of random corn fields because I won’t be this way for a while. Maybe Christmas, if we go to the other side of the state to visit with family.



3:05- After passing through Flint, the third most dangerous city in America, we come to Port Huron and the Canadian crossing. Like no kidding. There are actually street signs for Canada.



So we pay our tolls, cross the bridge, tell the woman on the Canadian side that we are not carrying any firearms, tobacco, or alcohol with us, and we’re good to go.

3:25- So we’ve been on the Canadian high way for a while now, and the speed limit around here is 100… km / h. But it’s still awesome to see speed limit signs for 100.



3:44- I feel like I’m driving through Kansas, not Canada.

4:09- Ooo, the signs are now in both French and English. I don’t think we’ve entered into Quebec, but maybe all three of us missed it. Or not. I don’t really know, but I’m fascinated. 3 and a half hours of being in a car will cause you to be easily amused by rather mundane things like that.

4:47- We’ve stopped at a “Service Centre” for a leg stretching and dinner getting. So we elect to visit Wendy’s, which is fine with me though not my favorite, admittedly. But I’m trying to figure out what to order and as I’m not that hungry just want a plain hamburger, which is nowhere on this menu. I know that these chains change their marketing to fit different countries, but this is CANADA, not Vietnam or something. No plain hamburger, and no regular dollar menu for me to fall back on. I end up ordering way more food than I need to, and it’s not until we get our order hat I realize that with the exchange rate, there is no dollar menu.

Way to go, Shannon. Exactly where am I about to be dropped off, again?

Around 5:30- My dad knows the father of a kid who went to my high school who is currently at Boston College, and said father told my father you can take some route 20 something or other and it’s a short cut to Niagra. So we get off the highway, follow what we think is the right road, and after 10 or 20 minutes realize that we’re not finding the road we thought we were supposed to hit, nor are we going in the right direction.  This is understandably not good. We are in the middle of the Canadian countryside and can’t seem to find where we’re going.

5:47- We stop at a gas station and ask for directions to this mystery route we’re looking for. The guy we ask, a local, doesn’t really know what we’re talking about, and just points us in the right direction.



This would have been helpful… had we not already had a compass in the car. We try our luck again in finding the route.

6:03- Verbatim from my dad, after discussing why the road we’re on isn’t on the map with my mom: “I’m just going to wing it.”

So, armed with little to no knowledge of Canadian geography and a car compass, we set off into the Canadian farm country yet again.

6:09- A text message from me to Rocky, when asked how my live blogging was coming: “Well my computer doesn’t have a whole lot of life left on it. But now we are lost. In Canada.”

6:24- We seem to have hit civilization again and the land of slightly traveled roads. My mom insists that this road is in fact on the map and will eventually lead us to the highway we were on originally. This is progress, at least. We’re heading southeast instead of north.

6:30- So apparently this route 56 we were on turns into the route 20 we were trying to find earlier, which should eventually run into the high way we were originally on, called the QEW.

6:34- Now our route 20 has become Centennial Parkway, which my mom assures us will spit us out on the QEW.

6:39- Over an hour after we first got on our short cut, we finally get back to the QEW. And my computer is dying from all this hour of activity, so I am taking a well earned power nap.

6:54- Lake Ontario. I live by Lake Michigan, drove over Lake Huron, drove by Lake Erie, and have now see Lake Ontario. Had I lived in the UP, I could have totally hit up all 5, which would have made this even more epic.

7:06- We hit the Niagara Falls area city (?) limits. This would make you think we’re getting pretty close, right?

7:30- Wrong- apparently we’re crossing in Buffalo instead. We thought we could make it over the border with our original tank of gas, but the low fuel light goes on and with the luck we’re having today, we really don’t want to push it and inevitably have the car die in the middle of the bridge to New York. Because that would probably have happened.

7:41- We hit the border of the US of A, get through more easily than we got into Canada (they didn’t even ask about the illegal drugs in the back! I mean…)



9:09- After some driving around Rochester, New York, we make it to our hotel for the night, after which we decide to hunt down an Applebee’s for some dinner.

11:38- I finally get some wifi and am able to submit my blogger application and watch Phelps win his 8th, which is ridiculous , by the dubs. And then I go to sleep.

Sunday, the 17th

6:00- WHAT IS GOING ON. My dad had gotten a wake up call and it was a rather abrupt alarm in the middle of my oh so nice sleep. Well, screw waking up. I roll over and go back to bed.

6:19- My turn for the shower, apparently. My brain is still trying to figure out a) Why I’m awake and b) why it’s so light out so early.

7:46- After packing up and grabbing a quick breakfast, we are on the high way to MIT. OMGZ.

9:40- We cross over the Erie Canal.  My third grade psyche had sort of made it a bit more glamorous than the muddy creek it is in real life.

11:13 – We hit the exit for the Massachusetts turnpike. My dad’s latest joke: “Well, at least we’re going to Mass on Sunday.” Oh, hilarious, Dad.

11:29- MASSACHUSETTS. OH. SO. CLOSE.



12:15- So we’re on this 5 mile downcline in the mountains of western Massachusetts. (The fact that there were mountains there alone was news to me. But anyways.) Two signs that we see back to back: “Run Away Truck Warning” and “Falling Rock Zone.” Gee, so reassuring.

12:21- I don’t think I’ve mentioned how nervous I am yet. So for mentioning’s sake, the fact that I am going to college really just hit me like 3 minutes ago. I am going to college. I am no longer living in Michigan.

12:53- 54 miles to Boston.

12:58- A car almost merges into us, and we almost die. Almost being the operative word.

1:57- omgwegotoffthehighwayinBoston.

2:30- I AM AT MIT.

And the week since has been ridiculous, and is coming soon to a computer near you.

[If you have a slow internet connection, I apologize. This entry is totally going to screw you over.]

This is how my weekends usually look.

Friday night: have a social life
Saturday: Work 8 hours at Dick’s folding clothing for ungrateful people, hang out with Rocky
Sunday: Work 8 hours at Dick’s again, UCTF, hang out with Rocky again

Consequently, between VAI and Dick’s and tutoring I had worked 8+ hours every day for 5 weeks straight, and decided that I was probably justified in taking a day off for once. So last week I told Dick’s that my extended family (which would have been, like, 9 people anyways) was coming into town and I had to entertain them on Sunday.

This was a lie. No, I do not feel guilty.

So with the prospect of a full day off, I was pretty pumped going into work at 8 am Saturday, even though I woke up 15 minutes before I had to be there because I had been up way too late playing cards the night before (with Rocky, shockingly) and then I skipped breakfast and didn’t pack a lunch and didn’t even have a chance to shower. That’s how excited I was about this day off. That, and I was going to the Coast Guard Festival in Grand Haven that night for the first time ever with Rocky and his sisters and a friend right after work, and I hadn’t been in direct sunlight for more than 5 minutes in over a month, and I was just really excited about the next 36 hours.

So around 11:30 or so (man, good things just seem to happen to me at work around then), my boss comes back to my cave in apparel and notifies me that there have been payroll cuts for the weekend and “I don’t think anyone told you, but you can go home at noon.”

Most people would be exceptionally unhappy about having their hours cut in half. It just about made my day.

At exactly 12:00 pm, I leave behind my mounds of clothing processing



and head off into the great outdoors and the 30 second walk to my car which has constituted the majority of my sun exposure during the entire month of July. Eight minutes later, I’m home and have no idea what to do with myself. I mean, what are you supposed to do with free time during the day?

Clearly, catch up on laundry and watch the Food Network for an hour and a half while eating cereal, which was not a bad way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Headed over to Rocky’s to play cards yet again with his family, and by 3:30 we were on the road to Coast Guard.

Fun Fact: The Coast Guard was actually founded in Grand Haven, a mere 45 minutes away from where I grew up, hence it hosting the national Festival and headquarters. Rocky, his older sister Sam, and I were informed of this by a very unhappy native ahead of us in line while waiting for Pronto Pups.

But I digress.

The point is that for a week every year, Grand Haven becomes a veritable carnival- art fair, carnival rides, carnival games, enough greasy food to kill small children, and some of the best people watching this side of the Cuyahoga. Despite having lived a cumulative 9ish years in the area, I’ve never been to the Coast Guard Festival and Rocky apparently felt that this was some crime against humanity, hence my going.

Admittedly, I really sucked on the picture taking front- Rocky knows I blog, but I’ve never really hung out with Sam and figured my constantly stopping to take pictures of what is normal stuff for us wouldn’t go over fantastically well.

If you don’t feel like spending money, there’s really not a whole lot you can do at Coast Guard- we had to get Pronto Pups (more on those later), and we had to stay for fireworks, but that still left like 6 hours for us to burn. So we walked out to the pier, past the Coast Guard cutter that was open for tours,



and out to the end where the waves were crashing over the break wall





and heading down the channel.



Unfortunately, any record of the rest of the night is lost here because my camera died, but in summary: food, playing cards on the grass by the car, fireworks, 2 hours of traffic, singing outrageously loud to the radio with the windows down, and general frivolity. I got home completely exhausted but still grinning because I had so much fun.

And remember, this wasn’t even my day off. For that, Rocky and I had tried to get a group together for the beach, which was an epic fail. Basically, we have a few friends that we hang with who in turn hang out with a lot people which was how we were going to get a group together. FAIL. Our friend Ashley had a family function, which in and of itself pretty much knocked like 10 people off our list. We’d invited our friend Kevin at CTF the week before, and Rocky had invited our friend Nicole earlier in the week.

And that’s who we ended up going to the beach with.

Now, people outside of Michigan don’t seem to believe that we have beaches. We do. Lake Michigan is pretty much just as effective, if not more so, than the oceans in creating good beaches. We don’t have salt, we have tons of beautiful dunes (ever heard of Sleeping Bear Dunes?), and you’re never more than 2 hours away from one. It’s a good gig.

The problem, though, is that they’re only usable for like 2 months out of the year and everyone tries to go at least a few times. Lots of cars + not a lot of parking spaces = creative parking solutions. There’s this one spot I found by a grave yard a quarter of a mile from the beach that, oddly enough, no one really seems to park at, and we always park there.



Yay beach!



"Henrietta is such a cop-out name. It's like, 'well, we really wanted to have a son and name him Henry, but since you were born we'll just call you Henrietta.'" "Dude, Henry is a weird name."



Almost there.



Michigan is gorgeous . Enough said.



(In case you were curious.)

So we hiked over to the beach,



set up camp, went for a swim, and ran out of things to do after a half hour. And because it’s just that type of destination, we decided to walk to the pier again- when bored at the beach, that’s just what you do. So we walked out to the end again, hung around for about a minute, and turned back.

Kevin: You know, I’ve always wanted to go pier jumping.
Rocky: I’ve never done it.
Nicole: Aren’t there rocks?
Me: Uh, if you break your legs, it’s not my fault.

After finding a spot sans rocks and with a 6 foot sandy bottom, though, Kevin, our resident Marine (he’s in ROTC), decides to give it a try.



Well, if Kevin goes, then clearly Rocky has to go,



and Nicole’s iPhone is taking really good pictures so I clearly have to give this a try, too.



But tied for my favorite pictures of the entire day:



and



I have weird friends.

I’m actually not sure pier jumping is entirely legal, especially in Coast Guard City USA, but whatever. Green flag conditions, sandy bottom? I think we were okay.

As fun as flying off cement structures is though, we had to make our way back to our spot eventually,







which understandably worked up a bit of an appetite. And this is where I must introduce the wonder that is Pronto Pups.



(This is Cholesterol COUNTRY. Health addicts please continue on and have a nice day.)



First of all, we don’t pronounce it like “pron-TOE.” Here in West Michigan, we have a tendency to just drop t’s in the middle of words. For instance, one intersection by my house is that of the roads Burton and Breton: if you heard me say it, you wouldn’t think there was a t in either word. Mitten, kitten… the list goes on. We either just insert a handy glottal stop or ignore it all together. In the case of Grand Haven’s beloved high calorie delicacy, we pronounce it prahno pups. Don’t ask me why. I just live here.

They’re pretty much the best way to get a heart attack ever, though, and you can’t really get just one.



And in case that picture can’t quite get your taste buds dying for a bite of the greasy goodness, just think, even John McCain stopped for one a little while back.



And if anything, that probably killed that appetite even more. Remember, I live in Republican country. This was, quite literally, front page news in the Grand Rapids Press.

Our trip back out was far less eventful than the night before’s- with Coast Guard ending Saturday, the city had pretty much cleared out. We managed to get home in time for Nicole, Rocky, and I to go to mass (no way was I waking up early for it after the ungodly hour I went to bed the night before), and then Rocky and I had to haul to UCTF.

In case you didn’t catch McCain’s eating corndogs making front page news as indicative of Grand Rapids not having a whole lot of newsworthy happenings, let me make this quite clear- nothing happens in Grand Rapids. Namely, running around downtown on a Sunday will not get you shot, involved in gang violence, mugged, or pregnant. I’m serious. This town is home of the Christian Reformed Church- how crazy do you think it gets around here? Half the town is still in church when we’re running around.

The basic premise is simple- you run around downtown Grand Rapids playing capture the flag. We divide into Red and Yellow teams, of which yellow is clearly superior



and then hide the flag somewhere on our territory of several city blocks.



Our team tends to like parking garages- they’re abandoned on Sunday nights, easily defendable, and all over the place. We switch it up, though. Parking lots are good, alleys with two access points, the like. We play until it gets too dark (read: 10:30) and then we head our separate ways, most of which involve eating in some capacity.

After Pronto Pups two days in a row, food at the beach, and reheated chicken from Rocky’s mom on our way to CTF, though, I admittedly wasn’t that hungry afterwards. And considering I have one more week of work and stress left, I figured I’d had my fair share of cholesterol for the month.

And on that note, in a month from now classes will have started. Scared shitless? Heck yes. Totally pumped? You bet. Will I miss weekends like this? You have no idea.

This is why you stay in school.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fred_Holdsworth

Real blog entry tonight, promise. The whole having-three-jobs thing is kind of taking away my normal free time. Shocking, right?

Hey,

    CONGRATULATIONS!!! You've been accepted into the Freshman Urban Program FPOP for August 2008.  Please respond to this e-mail either accepting or rejecting your position in this FPOP.  Please e-mail me regarding any questions or concerns you have.  More information will follow this e-mail in the mail.   

Thank you,

Arti

Orientation Coordinator

Class of 2011

FUP ftw!

If I actually talk to you on a regular basis regarding MIT stuff, you’ll know that I was (/am) pretty much the most indecisive person ever regarding dorms. As in, I was eliciting my 12-year-old brother’s help in choosing (“COLIN. WHICH NAME SOUNDS BETTER, MACGREGOR OR SIMMONS. WAIT, NEVERMIND. HEADS OR TAILS.”), friends that stopped by my house to give me a ride somewhere (“Yeah, I know we should have been there 20 minutes ago, but you have to watch this video and tell me what you think of the dorm… ignore the men doing stripper dances in underwear on the bar.”), or advice regarding aesthetics (“Which dorm looks nicer? Seriously, anything would help at this point.”).

You’d think that wanting to go to this school since forever would make it easier, but all it meant was that I knew pretty much everything about all the dorms going in and was convinced I’d be happy pretty much everywhere.

June 2
The lottery opens. I was originally going to be all hardcore and enter it right away, but then decided that my completely unranked dorm list probably needed a bit more thought.

June 3
I get my first of many emails from Robin Smedick and the freshman housing lottery folks, just letting me know it’s open. Gee, thanks! I had no idea. So I decide that I probably should start trying to rank the dorms, and 3 hours later-

(Facebook wall conversation)
Shannon: Why. Is. This. Dorm. Stuff. So. Difficult.
Rocky (my best friend who was later subjected to #2 above): Because. Girls. Are. So. Indecisive.

June 5
Email #2:

Hello Shannon,

According to our records, we need to hear from you regarding your undergraduate housing preferences.  I want to encourage you to enter well before the deadline on Friday, June 13, in case you have any questions or need help resolving technical issues.

Ok, Robin, I’ll keep that in mind. (Current progress: “Well, I’m probably living on West Campus… but I sort of already decided that back in December...”)

June 11
Email #3:

Hello Shannon,

According to our records as of 2 PM, we need to hear from you regarding your undergraduate housing preferences.

I KNOW. STOP SENDING ME EMAILS.

June 12
Things are getting desperate. My list is still unranked, though has advanced slightly to the Like, Eh, and I Don’t Think So categories, and I have a likely #1. In the interest of getting everyone and their mothers’ opinions, though, I decide to shoot the following email to Ben Jones.

OK, honestly, I need your help with dorm choice. What dorms could you see me fitting best into? Because I keep having this mindset of "well, I'll really be fine anywhere" and that's not helping me narrow down my choices much.

Thanks a bunch.
Shannon

In English: PLEASE HELP.

After some sage advice from the fountain of wisdom that is BJones, I get a top 3 and decide that all is well with the world and that I can just go to bed, because I have all day tomorrow to think about it, right?

Um…

June 13
I wake up at a leisurely 12:10, have a seriously late breakfast, watch a bit of the Food Network, take a shower, and hop on the computer around 3. I’m just browsing around the interwebz, not concerned a bit about my FPOP applications (that I haven’t started yet) or the housing lottery because hey, it’s due later tonight.

That would be wrong.

I get on facebook, and decide to check the MIT Class of 2012 group for juicy gossip, aka housing discussions, and one of the more recent wall posts is someone who mentioned that FPOP applications were due at 5pm. “No,” thinks I, “that cannot be.” So I go to the First Year at MIT website where all the deadlines are, and sure enough, I see this



and flip out. I’m not having a good week with planning out enough time to do things, can you tell? So I rush to the FPOP site, decide that I’ll do apps until 4:30 and then go work on dorm stuff, and start typing out some mad-awesome responses, like "what good does a friend-less dead fish do anyone?" or "Be Ready (for MIT) And Investigate Neurology! I'm really sorry, but that's the best acronym I could come up with."

I’m flying through my application essays when I get Email #4:

Hello Shannon,

You are receiving this email because as of 3 PM on June 13, we still had not heard from you yet regarding your undergraduate housing preferences or rooming preferences.  To give you a little extra time to enter the lottery, the deadline to enter online is being extended to 5 PM EDT on Sunday, June 15.

THANK YOU, ROBIN SMEDICK.

So I went on to submit my FPOP apps on time and question the wisdom of my dorm list for yet another day, finally submitting it this afternoon around one. It was, indeed, most beauteous. So without further ado…

FPOPS
1. FUP
2. FLP
3. DBCS

DORMS
1. BC
2. Baker
3. MacGregor
4. Simmons
5. East Campus
6-17. And so on and so forth.

And finally, my answer to the information that's supposed to hook me up with a roommate. Like, if the Admissions Office thought I was nuts after writing my essay about being afraid of closed shower curtains, I'm just going to hope that the Rooming people don't think I'm too weird. It started out OK, but then I got totally off track and couldn’t think of anything else to say.

I'm going to be on the sailing team at MIT, which I'm totally stoked about. Also, I think the word stoked is awesome, along with cacophonous and juxtaposition. I'm a fan of consonants. I've never had a piña colada, but as I don't like the taste of alcohol or coconut, I suspect I wouldn't like it.  Bummer, right? I do, however, enjoy getting caught in the rain. I’m a die hard Notre Dame Fighting Irish fan, and would find it exceptionally hilarious if I were roomed with someone who cheered on USC. My favorite color is blue, though if I were a Crayola crayon I’d totally have to be Dandelion, because it’s clearly the best in the box.

And I’m honestly not sure what else you would need to know about me.

So the moral of the story is to plan ahead so you can write even awesomer essays than mine that don't involve dead fish and comparisons to Crayola crayons. And if you can't do that, Facebook.

The End.