Around the Horn

I picked up my parents at the Ithaca airport Saturday morning.  My brother Robert and I walked to Schoellkopf to attend Convocation, where David Plouffe, senior campaign manager for Barack Obama, commended the graduating class for shaping the election and promoting change for the future.  Plouffe also gave a shoutout to my friend CJ, who served as Convocation Chair, and his recent unsuccessful foray with Introduction to Wines.  In other words, he didn’t pass (sorry, CJ).  The Lins then set off on a full day of receptions and get togethers.  The weather was sunny and humid.  “I didn’t expect Ithaca to be this warm,” my mom remarked, as she trailed 25 feet behind Robert and I.  Apparently her solution to the heat is walking at a snail-slow pace while holding her handbag over her face to block the sun: an interesting sight.

Rise and shine!  Drowsy from the red-eye flight…

…cleaned up at the Johnson Museum

Sunday was a whirlwind of caps, gowns, diplomas, flowers, and balloons.  All the graduates assembled on the Arts Quad before the procession started around 10AM.  With overcast skies, I was glad that it was cooler, since sitting in a black robe that doubles as a compact sauna is not an ideal situation for anyone.  During the procession, my heart dropped when we walked through the Day Hall parking lot.  There, professors flanked both sides in their Harry Potter-esque cap and gown regalia, clapping and congratulating us on this special occasion.  It really put our achievement–graduation from a university–on a much more meaningful scale.  It was a bittersweet sendoff as we progressed to the stadium.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen Schoellkopf packed (it apparently has a capacity of 40,000), but it was teeming with family and friends Sunday morning:

Meanwhile, on the other side, Robert reported that the scene at Schoellkopf resembled the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games.  “And now…the College of Arts and Sciences!”

President David Skorton addressed the graduates, asking us to take charge and embrace change.  With our liberal arts foundation and Cornell support, we have the skills and moral character that’ll ensure success in the future.  Then, one by one, the degrees were conferred.  Most notable in show were the Vet grads, who cleverly blew up arm-long plastic gloves to double as those thunder sticks you get at basketball games.  When Skorton mentioned “swine flu,” the flurry of blow-up arms drew a huge laugh.  We sang the Alma Mater as an entire class (I teared up a little bit), and before I knew it, it was over.

It still hasn’t hit me yet.  In a few months, I’ll be moving into an apartment in Manhattan and working in finance, a response which drew a lot of “get us out of this mess” and “finance…oh, I see” comments this past week.  I will be returning to JPMorgan this August, working in their Sales and Trading division, undoubtedly entering a field that thrives on high stress and quick thinking.  This show-no-mercy masochistic environment gets me going, and while I may be hitting the floor early in the morning, working hard every second until evening, I know it’ll be a fun ride.

I have many people to thank in this last (and rather long) blog entry.  First, to my family.  It was my dad who pushed for me to apply to Cornell in the first place.  Although we are separated for most of the year, the support my parents have given me over my 22 years, their respect for the “college experience” and their personal American Dreams have shaped me into the optimistic and direct Cornellian I am today.  To Robert, for becoming a new close friend instead of the pesky brother that makes fun of me…oh, wait…

Next, to friends old and new.  Special shoutout to my 219 Linden roommates (Katy, Hannah, Cath, Court, Michelle, Jill, Kara), some SHpecial friends, my KDs, fellow tour guides, and while it looks like I’m pulling names from a baby book, in no specific order: Jen, Danny, Frankel, Dave, Paz, Schneida, Steve, Scott M., Alex, Ryan, Bryant, Ray, Krebs, James, Jess, Sarah, and I’m missing about 50 other names–please forgive me, and the really nice coffee lady at CTB who always gets my medium hazelnut coffee…apparently her name is Paula.  To friends that I met from the first week of freshman year, and others I met this past year, with so little time left.  Regardless of duration, the bonds are rock solid and long term.  I’m talking about us ladies sitting in rockers knitting together when we’re grandmothers.  Not to ride on any stereotypes, but the guys, well, I don’t foresee us knitting, but perhaps playing golf or something else.  You all have changed my perspective on life and taught me to see things differently.  I’ll cherish our fun nights out, the relaxed nights in, the impromptu discussions, and heart-to-hearts.   While I’ll be able to see a lot of you next year in NYC, to everyone else spreading out in the states (or even going overseas), we are the generation of GChat, email, Facebook, and Skype, and by George, I hope we stay in touch.

Thanks to my elder mentors.  To my professors, who have instilled the importance of learning and curiosity. To Lisa, who got me this blogging job and put up with my antics: you probably think I’m crazy.  To Hilary, my rowing coach for 3 years: thank you for taking a doe-eyed freshman under your wing and giving me knowledge, faith, and the challenge of the sport of rowing, which I look on as one of my most memorable experiences.  To Taiya and Peggy, my tour guiding supervisors, I will definitely miss the hubbub in Day Hall.  Even to my finance gurus at my upcoming job (Rita, DBD, and others, all Cornell grads!), I appreciate your mentoring and look forward to August.

To my readers (Matt, Drew, this is for you):  Thank you for your continued support and comments.  While I was sure that the banality of my routine college lifestyle would be as boring as watching summer TV reruns, I’m glad there was something in my blog that willed the faithful few to keep up with my life.  Maybe it was the pictures…

And finally, thank you, Cornell, for the most amazing 4 years of my life.  Leisurely, I will miss Stella’s half-off burgers, late night pizza from Sindbad’s, Cornell Dairy ice cream, pitchers at CTB, fun nights at Rulloffs and the Palms, Olin Cafe, runs through the Plantations, Cayuga Inlet, the chimes, muffins and soup from Temple of Zeus, the driving range, and of course, Wegmans.  Let’s not forget the prelims, problem sets, papers, the bitter wind, and the hills.  You have challenged me, excited me, and given me hope and opportunity.  I leave the Hill with a sweet taste in my mouth and an enthusiastic smile.  I’ll be back, but for now, I’m ready for the next chapter in my life.

Disclaimer:  If you get the willies thinking about blood and/or needles, spare yourself from reading this entry.  
I try to be a good samaritan at all times; I show up for jury duty, hold open doors, and donate blood.  I’ve been donating for about 5 years now.  A seasoned vet, with 2 blood donor cards (one for CA, one for NY).  However, yesterday was a whole new bone-tingling experience.

The Panhellenic Council on campus holds an annual blood drive, which I dutifully attend.  While many freak out at the sight of needles and blood, I continue to donate blood because I can, and because I’ve never had any horrific experiences.  I’m a quick donor, to the relief of many Red Cross staff; I usually fill the bag within a couple of minutes, rest for 20, and walk out with a hot pink bandage and a smile.

The preliminary procedures were same old same old; I had to verify my identity and answer questions to ensure that my blood is acceptable by Red Cross standards.  Once lying on the donating gurney (?), the initial poke was fine, with blood flowing right through.  A few minutes later, however, the nurse comes back and shoots me a perplexed look.

“You’re still squeezing the stress ball, right?” she asks.
“Yep. Why, am I done?” I respond, somewhat confused.
“Uh…hm….shoot…GREAT…hold still.”
The nurse proceeds to wiggle around the needle.  Left to right, up and down, cranking away.  I have a pretty high pain tolerance, but HOH-KAY, I’m feeling it now.  That needle definitely just hit some bone and/or nerve endings.  The nurse then pivots the bugger.  Wonderful, my vein is being pulled out.  This might get messy.  I can feel the blood rushing from my face.

“Are you sh-sure you know what you’re doing?  This normally doesn’t happen to me.”
“Yea, let me see if I can do anything else.”
Okay, she’s pulling, AH!, tingling, PAIN. “OW!”
After another eternity of playing around with my needle, the nurse gives up and pulls the plug.  She bandages my arm, and I lightheadedly head over to the snack table.  Like a 3rd grader running to mommy after falling off a bike, I meekly approach the snack table, nibble at Teddy Grahams and sip on Capri Sun.  I’ll need a few to recover from my vein-y painful incident with the Red Cross.  Am I still going to donate?  Sure, but you better promise me three times more Teddy Grahams.  And throw in some Lorna Doones.

Kappa Delta held its Date Night at the Johnson Museum, one of my favorite spots on campus.  This is a great way for our sorority to explore Cornell instead of just having a social schedule consisting of formals and crush parties off campus.  And unlike last year, where we had the 6th floor conference room to enjoy the foggy-windowed panorama of Ithaca, we were allowed to walk around the downstairs exhibits this year.  So, how about those pre-Colombian clay pots?
While I try to visit the museum when I can, I was surprised to hear that a handful of sisters (and their dates) had never stepped into the museum.  Other than the temporary exhibits (which we had access to), the Johnson has a expansive collection of permanent works that it rotates on a regular basis.  And again, the AWESOME 5th floor view is something worth checking out.

Last Friday was day 1 of my annual 2-day sorority conference, and as president, it’s an opportunity to network and learn more about KD. Rah Rah Sisterhood. This was going to be a long day, since I had 4 (count ‘em) connections: ITH-LGA-WLM-CHA-MEM. The moment I saw the weather outside though (similar conditions as my starfish-faceplant escapade), I braced myself for the bad news: without fail, US Airways calls to inform me that my flight is canceled. I call customer service, who then books me on a ITH-LGA-CHA-MEM route that will hopefully land in Memphis just before 9:00pm. I get dropped off at the airport, and wait for another 3 hours before the tiny US Airways jet takes off. Had the most turbulent ride of my life coming into LaGuardia, see that my connection flight to Charlotte is delayed, relax a little.

Then my flight to Charlotte is canceled. Midway through sipping my Odwalla shake, the US Airways man outside Gate 16 makes an announcement for all passengers to rebook flights for the following morning.  I am stuck in NYC for the night. I reek of plane, my skin is dry/pimply, pants and sweater are wrinkly from all the different sleep positions I tried to assume while in the air.  I’m exhausted, with smeared makeup and raccoon eyes to prove it, but I have to find a place to stay for the night. Enter James, my lovely Columbia friend who extends shelter and food. I sleep for about 4 hours, board a plane while still in zombie mode, and it’s back on track to Memphis.

So I get to Memphis around 2:00 pm. The conference is already half over. My returning flight is supposed to leave on Sunday at 9:00 am. This means that I was in Memphis for a whopping 17 hours. Talk about Jet Set. This return route was just as hectic with connections: MEM-CHA-PHL-SYR.

I now know why my mom only flies non-stop. On jumbo 747’s if possible. One can only take turbulence to a certain extent before deplaning, rushing to the nearest bathroom, and revisiting breakfast. Connections are also annoying, especially if you’re in Philadelphia and have to walk a MILE from terminal B to terminal E. Yes, that happened on Sunday. I’m a pro at security check now, so Friday’s 3 flights (1 flight to NYC, 2 flights back to ITH) should be a quick and snappy job. On Friday, I will have boarded 9 different airplanes within the past 7 days. US Airways, you guys owe me miles big time.

After my idyllic winter training trip in Orlando, I headed back up to snowy Ithaca without skipping a beat. My bunch of rowers and I needed to come back to the Hill for rush. Rush at Cornell takes place the week before Spring semester classes. Girls visit every sorority and as the week progresses, potential new members and sororities continue to narrow their preferences. It’s a mutual selection process, but it requires new members to talk to sisters, a back-and-forth-getting-to-know-you sort of deal. However, when you’re talking to a girl for a couple of minutes, how much of a lasting impression can someone make? So, while personality and conversation content weighs heavily into selecting houses and sisters, there inevitably is some superficiality to the process.

I’m not bashing the Greek System in any way. I absolutely love my sorority and think that the Greek System is something worth participating in during college–I wouldn’t be the president of KD if I didn’t believe in it. But, first impressions are everything, so all of us just suck it up, strap on a pair of high heels, put on a happy face, and schmooze. Getting to know ladies is refreshing, and I love meeting new girls and finding ones that might be potential sisters in the near future.

Yet, there are consequences to everything. My voice is now gone thanks to the daily screaming and cheering during rounds. I have Barbiedoll-itis: my jaws hurt from laughing and talking and smiling, and my heels KILL from busting out my many pairs of stiletto pumps. I think of rush as a courting process. Peacocks’ colorful feathers don’t last forever. Our house cleans up nicely, but I know I don’t wear heels everyday, especially hiking up hills and trekking through the snowy campus.

There is also such a thing as overexposure to estrogen. Last night, my friend Sam relented that she flirted with a freshman just so she could be close to a Y-chromosome. I never really noticed it during the week, but when I finally talked to my friend Kenny two nights ago, I couldn’t help but break out a sigh of relief. I can’t really pinpoint my exact feelings: I wasn’t glad to see Kenny because I was into my boy-crazy ways again, I was just genuinely excited to talk to someone with a Y-chromosome. It felt so good to talk to someone about non-sorority-related topics, and drop the girl schmoozing and not care about hair and makeup.

Rush is over now, I cannot wait to meet our new members, resume classes on Monday and have equal exposure to the male and female species.

Some Scattergories for you…
Hot pink. Cute fuzzy pens. Pledged. Legally Blonde. Ohmigod!!!!!!!

Answer: sorority. Well, at least that’s what I thought in high school. So, when asked if I would join, “you’re kidding me, right?” would have been my response. I’m not a tomboy per se, but I assumed that joining a sorority would come with the constant pressure of “looking hot” and being perky, all the time. However, there was another worry of mine, underneath all that fluff; I was scared of rejection. I was always fascinated by the exclusivity of a sorority. How can you crack into them? I thought that even if I tried, there would be no way I could ever step foot into a sorority house without being judged or accepted. So why try when you know you don’t have a chance? (my coach would have at me if she ever saw this, but this was high school.)

Flash forward two and a half years. I was installed as president of my sorority on Sunday. Some of my friends back home are probably thinking, of all things good and holy, what is going on?! Yes, I’m super excited and enthusiastic about this opportunity, and I am committed to my house, but holy mackeral, this is INSANO. But you know what? Maybe it’s meant to be. I know that there are a lot of girls out there now who are deciding whether or not to come back in January for formal recruitment. I decided to take on the role as president in hopes to extend this warm and welcoming atmosphere that my sorority has given to me. I’ve gained so much in terms of leadership and networking opportunities, chances that I don’t think I would have taken if I didn’t join.

Formal recruitment and sororities get a bad rep because of pop culture and stereotypes. See first paragraph. But honestly now, I don’t dress in hot pink and stiletto heels to class and I am completely satisfied with my plain spiral notebook and a Bic pen. The main thing I want to get out of Cornell (besides a degree) is the experience. Being part of the Greek community has introduced me to my closest friends, and I’m having the time of my life right now. I am proud to be a sorority sister and I encourage all freshmen girls to go for it. The formal recruitment process works, and you’ll end up in a house that feels like home.

You have nothing to lose, and a whole house of opportunity to gain.

Formal was on Saturday, and while it was fun, Operation: Find-a-Date was an ordeal in itself. Conclusion: my guy game is twice-rejected, outlook grim. My ego is rather bruised after asking two guys to formal and ending up dateless both times. Well, I wasn’t exactly rejected, but guys at Cornell seem to have much busier schedules than I do, and formal would have conflicted with their full agendas. By the time Invitee #2 bailed out on me for a hockey game (I know, right? I can’t compete with the Lynah Faithful.), I was ready to give up on formal altogether.

I ran into my friend Garrison the weekend before formal. Things have a strange way of working out because while Garrison had always been a potential date, I was chicken to ask because before last weekend, I hadn’t seen the guy in a month. He agreed to come to formal, and I am so glad he did. Garrison was the best date I’ve ever brought to one of these shindigs; talkative, funny, and a decent dancer. Not to mention that the guy cleans up very well in a suit and is rather cute. Fine, really cute.

I think I have a case of Post-Formal Crush Syndrome. Symptoms include holding onto the memories of dancing the night away and the feelings of one-night-only exclusiveness. Formals are a breeding ground for crushes, since everything revolves around you and your date. What I’m confused about is why my mind keeps hanging onto Saturday. I know that Garrison is not thinking twice about formal, that it was just a fun night with a female friend. I know that I’m probably just being a movie sap and wishing that I could reenact a hot kissing scene a la the Notebook (P.S. I didn’t like that movie, but you have to admit, those make out sessions make your heart melt.) However, my case of PFCS is probably giving Garrison the wrong idea.

The thing is, as much as I may enjoy the thought of having a significant other, I have no desire to commit to anything, not just because I’m a commitment-phobe, but because I just don’t have time or the energy to keep a relationship going. Plus, it’s college, why tie yourself down when there are plenty of other fish out there? Still, the hard part of my college relationship experience (or lack thereof) is finding a guy that you would want to spend more time with, and having said guy reciprocate. So when you actually find one, you don’t want to pass him up. But, what’s harder is accepting that in most cases, these cool guys are just like you–they “just want to be friends.” The only difference is that girls have very swoon-able hearts, thus are more likely to fall into the relationship trap, while guys run away from anything that has clinging potential.

So to the guys: Relax. Not all girls have tunnel vision towards settling down. And don’t freak out about PFCS, it’s the result of a random burst of chick-flick-sappiness. In the end, movie make-out sessions don’t mean anything unless you enjoy each other’s company first. And to Garrison: Let’s spoon!

In an effort to promote Greek Life on campus, all the sororities and fraternities banded together this week to participate in Greek Week, also known as a chance to show off the piles of greek apparel you accumulate throughout the years, most of which will probably not see many days after college…Anyway, during Greek Week, sororities and fraternities are split into color teams and battle in various activities, receiving points for attendance and performance at the events. Whichever team picks up the most points by the end of today will win the title of Greek Week Champion.

Kappa Delta is on a team with 4 other fraternities and another smaller sorority; together, I present to you…the Orange Team-m-mm (attempted reverb effect a la Olympic Stadium)!! Representing orange has its advantages and disadvantages. Incorporating orange in my daily ensembles has proven to be difficult, as I’m sure that no one has extensive orange representation in their wardrobe, unless you enjoy being compared to a traffic cone. I only have one orange item…bright orange crocs for rowing. If those were seen in public, the fashion police and anti-croc enthusiast Jenna would be all over my grill. So yea, no orange this week, stayed smartly incognito. But all wardrobe choices aside, you cannot deny how great the team motto is: Orange you glad to be Greek?

The Orange team won the 3-on-3 basketball tournament and showed strength in numbers at all the events which included a bonfire, Greek Olympics, and a 5K run. My contributions to Greek Week: I bought a t-shirt, went to most of the events, and donated blood. Donating blood counts me out of the 5K event today which I really wanted to run, but considering that it is sweltering hot outside and you can chew on the air, maybe donating blood wasn’t a bad choice. I saved 3 lives, got to look tough sporting a sweet hot-pink bandage around campus, and scored 10 points for the Orange team.

This just in: my roommate Cathleen won the women’s division in the 5K.  She is a goddess in her own right.

When Fox aired “Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?”, I proceeded to reactivate Netflix. The title “Don’t Forget the Lyrics!” sounds like a grim version of hopscotch: Don’t Step on Lava or You Will Burnnn! Network TV may not be the best for summer surfing. So what’s good on TV? Besides NBC reruns of the Office, I relied on the History Channel, the Discovery Channel (Yes, I’m a nerd, leave me alone), Bravo, anything to escape the unexplainable High School Musical phenomenon. Some highlights:

Top Chef: Food and TV were meant to be together. This show has 15 professional chefs facing off in weekly cooking challenges, picked off one-by-one a la Survivor by host Padma Lakshmi, chef Tom Colicchio, and hardtack food critic Gail Simmons. The kitchen attracts super-competitive masochists, as evidenced by abrasive chef Hung and “bulldoggish” chef Howie. Add flaming sautee pans and sharp objects, steamy chefs, delectable food concoctions, and you’ve got good TV. Current favorites are CJ, Dale, and Casey. Bravo also wins for best overall programming, except when they marathon mafia/gangster movies (Godfather movies, Carlito’s Way, etc.) and the mediocre Welcome to the Parker. Bravo Wednesdays 10 pm

GREEK: Yes, it’s on ABC Family and yes, it capitalizes on every fraternity/sorority stereotype. It’s a guilty pleasure teen dramedy about Rusty, an engineering newbie pledging a fraternity (hm…Cornell?). Older sister Casey is in the O-M-G-hottest sorority house and has to deal with sister drama, past/present boyfriends, and being seen in public with Rusty (not in her best social interest, you see). Memorable line: “He’s an Ivy Leaguer.” “Well, barely. He goes to Brown.” ABC Family Mondays 9 pm

Ice Road Truckers and Deadliest Catch: I vicariously live a rebel life thanks to these bad boys. At first, my mom thought I was going to join a crab fishing boat crew after I was plastered to the TV watching the Deadliest Catch marathon (I find Mike Rowe’s voice strangely soothing, which is creepy because “He’s fifty, Jen.” -my brother Robert) Now, Mommy Lin thinks that my goal in life is to drive trucks on frozen lakes. Driving a truck is like having a bicycle as your ride. Driving a truck on ice is the upgrade to a Harley: 20x badder. The show follows truckers delivering gargantuan items for diamond mines in the ice-cold Arctic Circle. The Ice-cracking noise gives me the chills every time. No wait, that’s just my teeth chattering thinking about -40 degree weather. The History Channel Sundays 9 pm

Any others I failed to mention? Give a holler.

Last weekend’s weather was less than optimal, and this weekend brought on weekend number 2 of crummy weather. So, with gale force winds and rain, rain, rain, the intrepid Kappa Delta Council still decided to head out to the Hoffman Challenge Course for our Council-Building retreat. The Hoffman Challenge Course is one of the facilities owned by Cornell Outdoor Education about 10 minutes outside campus in the hamlet of Varna. COE is also in charge of the Lindseth Climbing Wall I tackled last month. At the site, there are different courses which consist of “High” and “Low” elements. So, many of these activities involve problem solving, a little physical activity, and a possibility of straps/harnesses if need be. Although ideally council would like to be doing this:

We were stuck in a yurt (Mongolian inspired hut) for most of the outing: Sorry for the blurriness, but it gives a more spooky feeling, yes?

In the yurt, we as council played a few problem solving and communication games, which brought us back to those group-building activities of middle/high school. It was a good way to escape from the daunting pile of school work, and roughhouse a little bit in the yurt. However, claustrophobia inevitably sets in, so our guides Paul and Amanda assisted through the process, and then made executive decisions to send us outside. The activity would be the “flying squirrel,” and we would need straps. Now these puppies were even more complex than the rock climbing harnesses, so it took us a good 15-20 minutes to get the 8 of us outfitted and ready to tackle the flying squirrel.

strapped in, but we’re not done yet…we needed extra windbreakers over our straps (it was THAT windy), so in the end, we looked like this:

Eight warm inflatable Kappa Delta councilmembers.

So what exactly is the “Flying Squirrel?” We walked out to the course to find a rope hanging from a pulley, strapped onto a tall tree, about 30 feet up. One side of the rope had one carabiner, for the “squirrel”, and the other side of the rope had carabiner clips for the group, the “dog team”. When everyone was strapped in, the point of the activity was to have the squirrel and dog team face each other and try to run towards the opposite side. However, the squirrel would inevitable fly off into the air with the overpowering of the dog team, creating a hang gliding effect. Whee! So all eight of us had the opportunity to be the squirrel and hang glide around. The activity taught us team work (in the dog team), and also gave each girl a thrilling ascent to the top of the rope. We had fun, we let loose, it was well worth the gale-force winds. When we left the yurt, all of us had successfully tightened our reigns (haha.) as leaders of Kappa Delta.