Ok, when I first came to Ithaca as a Freshman, I was ready to go shopping. I needed to add to my hotelie “Friday” wardrobe (business attire) and had high hopes. My RA pointed me in the direction of Ithaca’s very own Pyramid Mall and I excitedly hopped my little Visa check-card-toting self onto a TCAT to make the 5 minute journey to what I thought was going to be a mall. Nobody warned me.

See, where I come from, malls are like, 4 stories with skating rinks and Cheesecake Factories and the number of anchor stores is approximately equal to the number of Starbucks’ (5-6). The perimeters of the properties are littered with chain restaurants and furniture stores. When you walk into the malls at home you’re greeted with impossibly shiny marble floors that lead straight to the queen of all department stores, Nordstrom. Oh sweet Nordstrom, if I had only known I would have to spend four years without you. Anyway, Dallas malls are the real deal. You get the idea.

Sooo… imagine my surprise when the bus driver pulled up to Target and announced we had arrived at the mall. Good one. Um, and where might this mall be?

Attached to Target, apparently.

Pyramid Mall? Not so much. There are a few redeeming stores (3), but you can walk from one end to the other and pass every store in approximately 7 minutes. 7 minutes! It takes me 7 minutes to even FIND A PARKING SPOT at a Dallas mall. Can you please be real? And where is my J. Crew? Starbucks? Even a Macy’s, for God’s sake? No. BUT THERE IS HOPE.

Yes, friends, 2 years later, I finally ventured out to Syracuse to visit the much talked-about Carousel Mall. This is about as close to a real mall as you can get in central New York; 4 stories (I think) with substantial chain activity. Sadly, no Nordies, but a Lord & Taylor pleasantly surprised my friends and me when we pulled up. I am SO happy to say that we spent 3 hours in Carousel Mall and did not make it to even half the stores. A 1.25 hour drive and you’re at the door; it wasn’t even all that crowded on a Saturday. God bless you, Carousel Mall. I can sleep better every night because you exist.

And as for you, Pyramid Mall? Keep your Bon Ton. We are SO over.

Guess what? I giggle every time I pick up the magazine Green Hotelier to do research for my consulting project for Spas class. A group of three of us have a consulting project with a real client who, by the end of the semester, expects us to have completed a 30-pager on how to make the spas at his resorts (which will remain nameless for fear of me crossing some awkward legal boundary that I may be unaware of)….green. It’s a big sustainability study and every day I am reminded that this is an actual project for an actual client who runs an actual business and it is not something I can just leave until the next day. Normally I would say something along the lines of “ummm… good one” but I really don’t even have time to grasp the seriousness of this stuff. And we have a conference call with the client at 7:30 am tomorrow. Ok, yeah, so I tried to be cool and casually mention it, but really I’m pretty much trying to tell you that I’m saving the planet one spa at a time. You can thank me after your hot stone massage, darling.

and grey is in the title because… Grey’s Anatomy starts tomorrow and if Meredith and Dr. McDreamy don’t end up together I am going to McDie. Ok, now watch that sentence end up in the Cornell Daily Sun in some editorial about the blogging project….followed by, “is this how you want our university to be represented?!?!” Eat your heart out, McMeanies.

In other unrelated news, I am getting deep into this Culture and Cuisines project on Ethiopian food. In a couple weeks when my research is through, I am going to manage a big kitchen full of fabulous people who will cook all the Ethiopian food I tell them to and then sit down and eat it. I’ve never eaten it myself, but I hear it’s delish and you get to stuff big chunks of food into other peoples’ mouths. I read in one book that Ethiopians put salt in their coffee and the female washes the male’s feet before he dines. Double delicious. My Culture and Cuisines class is in for some special fun that day….if I can spin this any way I want to, maybe I can convince the class that it’s customary for the male to give the female a foot massage before she dines.

Love,
Green Hotelier (hahahaha…sorry. So funny.)

Ok, I realize Cornell did not commission me to write a blog to be a Carrie Bradshaw and write about my friendships, relationships, or the new Zach Braff movie and its stunning relevance to my life. I know; you’re thinking I should take it to MySpace and discuss it with all the 12-year-old Mariah Carey fans with similar blog entries, right? Well, I think it’s important for me to touch on personal things in here because college is so much more than academics and extra-curriculars; it’s about figuring out who you are and who you’re going to be for the rest of your life. Memo to incoming students: everyone’s experiences are completely different and what happens to me is not what you’re going to go through, but I can assure you that you will experience a whole world of change over these 4 years.

When you get to school, you always think that having done everything right as a child and high school student that you’re going to be the one that success will just snuggle up to when you’re busy living your fun little college life; that happiness and satisfaction will grab hold of you and never want to be without you. Maybe sophomore year we realize that not all of us will actually achieve this, but at least initially we just seem to know that we will be among the few that will, especially if we quickly acquire those skills everyone talks about– those ones that “can’t be taught in a classroom”; the ones that come with the independence of leaving home… well, there’s no stopping us.

But maybe somewhere around junior year we find that there may be something “stopping us.” Whether it is the temperament of the professor we thought we had handled but really had not; the sorority politics of which we were unaware; the politics of romance, be it unfortunate timing or dishonesty or whatever the case; losing sight of our goals, letting go of faith in ourselves, the disappointment of failed friendships or even failed classes, the sparkling visions we had for our college careers on those first Freshman year mornings may turn into barriers. So, after a while, you’ll be forced to look deep inside yourself and figure out exactly what makes you happy, exactly what you want to accomplish each day, and exactly what you need to be secure in yourself and to pursue your dreams.

You’ve only got 4 years here to “find yourself” and, when it comes down to it, the things that make you happy are the only things that matter. Do not let any “major crisis” stop you or even make you turn and look back; years from now, it will probably be a blip on the radar.

And it really doesn’t hurt to solicit help from your girlfriends, either.

“Listen…you know those days when you get the mean reds?”
“The mean reds? You mean like the blues?”
“No… the blues are because you’re getting fat or because it’s been raining too long. You’re just sad, that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?”
“Sure.”
“When I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump into a cab and go to Tiffany’s. Calms me down right away.”
-Breakfast at Tiffany’s

You’ll notice I haven’t written in a while. Why? Oh my goodness, it pains me to say this: I have come down with a wicked case of the Mean Big Reds.

The Mean Big Reds are an aggressive, Cornell-specific strain of Holly Golightly’s Mean Reds. Things just suck. Every Cornell student at some point will get infected with this horrible, horrible ailment; most of us, like me, will get it more than once.

When I first came here, I never thought it could happen to me! You see, a lot of us come to Cornell from high schools where we were a pretty big deal. I’m not trying to brag or anything, but at Plano West we had this thing called “Who’s Who” in the yearbook. Let me tell you something: Jenna Bromberg was who’s who. That’s right. I strutted my stuff around this campus on day one, ready to take on silly little Cornell. Well, guess what? Small fish, gigantic pond. Reality sets in.

Failed my first prelim (with FLYING COLORS). Thought I had a steady relationship with a boy for the first month of freshman year… good one. Apparently he thought differently. Late-night visits to Bear Nasties gave me a freshman 15 any Southern Momma would be proud of. My email inbox overflowed, I called my parents once crying my eyes out saying I wanted to come home. (”Mom, It’s too hard! It’s not fair!”…etc). This is when I first figured out what the Mean Big Reds were and how I learned to get through them.

The thing is… sometimes it just sucks. Every one of us will go through the small fish, big pond thing. We all will fail at something– some of us even for the first time. An audition won’t go our way; we will oversleep for a final exam. Your first finals week? Good luck. You won’t get the summer internship you want, or maybe you won’t get into the sorority you want. You might even be that guy who leaves popcorn in the microwave for 10 minutes and it sets off the smoke alarm, causing all 500 of your dorm residents to evacuate into the bitter Ithaca cold (also prompting the creation of the insanely popular facebook group, “hotelies, you don’t have to go to a culinary institute but at least learn how to make popcorn.”)

It happens to all of us. But you know, when you’re at Cornell, you don’t even have time to deal with it. That’s the beauty of the whole thing: even with the Mean Big Reds, whether you’re a sad freshman, frustrated sophomore, heartbroken junior, or terrified senior, you’re forced to put one foot in front of the other. Yeah, sometimes all you want to do is turn off your cell phone, stay in bed all day, and bond with the Style Network and a fat tub of Frozen Yogurt. Been there, honey. But…you failed a prelim? Too bad. You’ve got another one in two days. Get going. Dumped by boyfriend? Sorry, you’ve got commitments from 8:30 am til 7 pm and a big pile of homework waiting for you (AND Project Runway). Didn’t get the internship you wanted? Tough luck sister. Put on your power suit and stilettos because you’ve got another on-campus interview tonight.

Look: you failed the prelim because it’s hard. He dumped you cause he’s an idiot. You didn’t get the job because your shoes weren’t cute enough. (just kidding….in most cases)

So, to all of you who are suffering from the Mean Big Reds on this Thursday night: finish your homework, chuck that tub of froyo, and put on some cute earrings, girl. The best cure for the Mean Big Reds is an even meaner night out.

OPEN LETTER TO FACEBOOK.COM

Dear facebook,

Over the years, you have done so much for me. When I was first accepted into Cornell as a high school senior, I turned to you. I set up an account as soon as I received my NetID and promptly began poking and friending random Cornell guys that I thought were cute. Soon, however, I learned that poking and friending randoms were not socially acceptable acts, and I quit cold turkey. Still, even though I was “that girl”, you stuck by me, dutifully pulling me through those long mornings working at the Vail Marriott during the summer after my freshman year.

I forgave you when you expanded to include all the state schools and even HIGH SCHOOLS because I used you to learn more about that hottie from Wind Ensemble. You gave me his AIM screen name, I IMed him with some question about rehearsal that I clearly knew the answer to, and we have now been together for a year and a half. And it’s all because you played wing-man.

And you, darling, have saved me from financial accounting homework on countless cold evenings. You have been like a real-time People magazine, keeping me up to date on all the juicy hookups and breakups. For months now, you have been keeping photographic evidence of every weekend’s events…all while giving me the opportunity to de-tag the photos that I don’t want mom to ever come across and to delete those that make me appear less than supermodel-esque.
BUT IF YOU DON’T SHAPE UP, WE ARE DONE. THIS RECENT BEHAVIOR IS ATROCIOUS.

You see, facebook, when I woke up today to yet another miserable Ithaca morning (it has rained for, like, a month now), I looked forward to checking in with you for the latest updates on the facebook friends I cared about. HOWEVER, I logged in to see that YOU DID IT FOR ME. Newsfeed? Can you please be serious? Not only does the new layout of the profile make me laugh (relationship status right on the very top– in other words, “her name is Jenna, but she is in a relationship; still interested?”), but I have NO desire to be greeted with “Random weird chick from your hall freshman year has declined an invitation to the Pi Chi Kappa Mu Zeta Delta Alpha Toga Party!” or “Awkward kid from your high school English class has written on his little brother’s wall!” Does everyone really need to be alerted the very second i join the “i’m sorry but you don’t look good in leggings” group? OH MY GOD STOP THE MADNESS.

My least favorite feature BY FAR is the relationship status announcements. Should anything happen in my relationship, be it a marriage or breakup or an “it’s complicated”, it will be displayed in bold letters on all 717 (I’m embarrassed) of my friends’ homepages within seconds.

What could be better? Well, I’ll tell you: should it be a breakup, facebook displays an appropriate, sensitive graphic to accompany the announcement:

Now, you just try to argue with me when I say that this little broken heart icon is about as tasteful as Anna Nicole Smith. Facebook, you have a few days to shape up or you and I are gonna be dunzo quicker than Britney’s first marriage.

Love,

Jenna

UPDATE: There is some ridiculous backlash (I almost feel bad for you, facebook, my darling):
A Day Without Facebook (this makes me giggle)
The Petition (already 22,000 something signatures)

When you say something stupid on a campus tour, 20 people hear it and are likely to forget about it when you deliver your next joke (not that my tour is like a Margaret Cho set or anything). One particular incident comes to mind: I was explaining to a lovely group of visitors that “the painted footprints running across the Arts Quad are there because, as legend has it, when a virgin crosses the quad at midnight, AD White and Ezra Cornell’s statues come to life. The two men, our founders, journey to the middle of the quad to congratulate each other on the chastity of Cornell’s students as the chimes ring from the clocktower.”

“…but that obviously doesn’t happen these days! Anyway, can anyone guess what the most popular major within the College of Arts and Sciences is?”

And…cue awkward stares from tour group.

What I really meant to say was that the chimes don’t go off anymore because there are sleepy students living down on West Campus who are in no mood to hear the Cornell Chimes after 9 pm, which I thought I had mentioned earlier in the tour. My bad.

They forgot about my little Janet Jackson slip once I started talking about how the whole quad gets hardcore toilet papered the day before spring break. No worries. But… now I’m saying things on the internet. What I say can be quoted anywhere, read by anyone, ripped apart by whichever critic decides to do so…and it’s tough to erase the kind of stuff that provokes negative criticism. I learned that I can’t please everyone in this thing, and that by putting myself in such a public arena, I should be careful how I represent myself. I am tempted to quote Christina Aguilera’s “Here to Stay” now, but I won’t. Ok, but this is a very Full House kind of moment I’m having with you here and it’s making me uncomfortable.

I will say, though, I shouldn’t have to censor myself. I am writing to represent an institution of higher learning…and one of the best and most progressive institutions in the world. Yet, if anyone read the entry I just wrote about a rather personal issue, you’ll notice it’s gone. It was censored.

Yes, that’s right: BIG SCANDALS, people. The allegedly “uncensored blog” was censored. Two people in particular contacted me directly and had some choice words for me about my last rather provocative entry and “suggested” kindly that I take it down.

Enraged yet? Ready to camp outside of Day Hall (the administration building) with the fervor of a Redbuddy?

No such campout necessary. The two disciplinarians were… Mark and Jutta Bromberg. My parents. The gentleman who pays my tuition and the lovely lady who gave me life. Those, friends, are two higher-ups you never, ever want to mess with. So sorry, mom and dad (especially about that Bursar bill). I will try to be a little less Dixie Chick with my personal rants next time.