Alexis Christina Crowley

Soap is strangely comforting. I squirt a little glob of lavender tinged goo on my hand from this bottle that says soap, start the water running (out of a faucet that looks like its being taken over by lichen- really pretty, seriously)get some water on my hands and rub. I see the suds form and I spread them out all over my hands, satisfied by the bubbling action that germs are being murdered. Not that I would know the difference if the germs survived the surprise attack. Run my hands again under the water and feel the pressure the pipes create to spew this h2o. Sometimes I'm so grateful I was born in a place and time with plumbing. I loooooooove plumbing. And the water is pretty too, like the 'lichen'. Well the water isn't really pretty, what it does is pretty. The water is in-visible, it's really just giving you another way of seeing everything on the other side of it.

Studio Elliott

I stepped out of the dining hall and when the air hit my skin I realized it was like ice. I should have worn my jacket. Running through the thin cold air, I felt as though I couldn't breath. My lungs were burning. I finally got inside of Harder and upon entering the ceramics studio I could taste all the clay dust. The air wreaked of sweeping compound and I could no longer see the grey cement floor, just the mounds of red sawdust. As I worked I struggled to see the progress of my project.

Arianna

Noticed around 11:45 am

Finally, a successful pot of coffee after using my new coffee grinder. The smell is the best; I've loved the smell for years, and have only in the past year been able to train my palette to enjoy the taste. I still need to combine the taste with the smell, though. In my experience, they're usually nothing alike, which is curious.

Tasting the sweetly acidic jolt of caffeine that I desperately need. Another night of fairly fitful sleep, but this will help. Talking to my roommate, we mostly make faces and throw jokes around until suddenly, I sip at the mug, and the first gulp goes directly into my lungs. I cough, frantically spitting coffee to the carpet next to me, continuing to laugh, while the acid bites at places in my neck where it shouldn't be. I inhale sharply, gasping for some, any air at all, but down again goes the remnants of coffee in my throat and I cough again to expel them. I try to talk, but my voice sounds weak, pathetic, even. The sound is not at all representative of how I feel though - my brain is on high alert to make sure that the oxygen keeps coming in and the coffee keeps going out.

Feeling the paper towel (that my wonderful roommate delivered to me), the fakey-quilt pattern that's actually just a variant of paper. I mop up myself first and take a glance at the carpet, not wanting to think how I'll clean it up. I decide to drop the paper towel and step on it, making a foot-shaped wet spot, toe prints intact. A shower moves to the top of my to-do list.

Jenna Bloodough

This morning started off in the hot shop at 5am then flashed to Davis G then eased back into the hot shop around noon.
I breaked with an apple so I wouldnt pass out for round two in the hot shop. I was chatterly despite the way campus felt. Campus was still quiet even around noon. Everything was crisp and alive to me but to contradict no one was awake and walking. When I grabbed legit food towards two, it was quiet in Ade. The dull colors is ade always piss me off, its soothing I guess but it makes me tired. I guess I gave in to the general mood, because I came home and napped for five hours. Sundays always seem to be slow.

Sunday morning at the Kellys- Cindi Kelly

Sunday lunch equals cheesy scrambled eggs(2 colors of yellow), italian bread toasting in the toaster, french toast(oh the smell of maple syrup), sausage(just discovered vegetarian sausage, yum), icy cold orange juice on my finger tips, and caramel colored coffee with cream and sugar. Breathe in, breathe out.
Oh by the way, I didn't eat all of this.
The sound of 4 little voices asking for something different. SpongeBob yelling "Fire on the poopdeck", the puppies playing "grrrrr" with each other.
I finish Michael and Mason's french toast. I must test it so I smother it(and I mean smother) in syrup. Oh it tastes good. Better test again.
"Where's my dunking eggs?" hollers Breydon. I look over at his father who is helping me cook breakfast and wait for his answer. Buttering the toast, serving up the eggs, pouring the juice and finally, I sit down to eat my breakfast. Not so hungry anymore but the coffee sure hits the spot. When I finish, I look around at the war zone and contemplate doing the dishes. Maybe if I wait long enough someone else will do them.

Elliott's Life

Joy from family and friends;
Smiles and laughter brought on by good memories.
I feel as though I couldn't be any luckier.
The good times never stop.
New experiences
accomplishments
I smell happiness
I taste happiness
I hear it calling my name
When I look in the mirror I see happiness.

01.30.10

Today, I went to Ade Dinning Hall with a friend I hadn't eaten with in a long time. I got a whole wheat tuna sandwich with pesto and honey mustard, and a bowl of 'Sunshine' soup (which contained squash, small oats, and celery) -it looked very bright, very yellow, like someone conjured up unsweetened Sunny D. I also ate some raisin toast with butter and some scrambled (government welfare) eggs. Some of these things were dry, some were a bit oily, others were semi-wet; crunchy, squishy-looking.

MMmmm...yummy.

Did I mention I think pesto is weird...yet I still find it oddly delightful?


...These lunch posts are really starting to make me wonder about what I am eating and if I should be eating it. I need to go explore other eateries.

Arianna

Noticed at 4:40 pm

I'm walking up the hill(s) from Harder back to my apartment. I'm bundled and warm, but there's hair in my mouth, and if I swipe it away, my gloves will add a static tickle to the walk up. So, tasting hair. My tongue divides the small chunk into individual stands and I count five, no six?Later gasoline smell from a car that hasn't been used since the cold snap fills my mouth. It's only familiar because my own car belched the same noxious fumes earlier in the day.

Smelling nothing. It's too cold to smell.

Seeing the salt-stained sidewalks. Intricate patterns scatter like veins over the bricks; I even stop once to follow a line or two but lose them quickly to the mêlée.

Coughing cold. Feeling cold. There must be a crack between the end of my glove and the beginning of my coat; with each opposite step my wrists get a breeze of cold air. I dig them deeper into the already shallow pockets, making them seem even more pathetic. My pants have frozen in mildly odd forms - not conducive to walking quickly or up a hill or both.

Hearing only the music through my enormous headphones, which are placed precariously over my hat. I guess I've adapted well to winter.

Crowley

I noticed (in the midst of a wicked personal conversation to the left of me) the recycling receptacle next to lil' alf. Its in the shape of a huge soda bottle, about 4 ft. tall, black with a pepsi label around its belly. Its got a sort of rectum for you to insert your bottles into under its 'cap'. Bizarro. I mean, I've seen it before but everythings so weird that you don't notice anymore. (Its sitting next to 4 computers, like those aren't bizarro in and of themselves. They've got their own language.) smells looks feels sounds and (probably) tastes like plastic.

Arianna's Yesterday

Fantastic things people should take notice of:

- the smell of sautéing garlic
- air so cold it makes you cough
- comfortable silence
- camaraderie
- comfortable pants
- zombie gore
- art show openings
- hot showers in the dead of winter
- getting a little lost (literally or figuratively) and not giving a shit
- Bill Murray
- sitting in a comfortable chair after standing for 2+ hours
- feeling so giddy, you'll burst if someone makes you happier, then not being able to fall/stay asleep because your mind is racing with possibility


Needless to say, I experienced all of this yesterday.

Cindi Kelly's heavenly lunch

I went to lunch with a friend. I tried to be discreet about being mindful as I ate my lunch. She would have understood though. I investigated the cafe we entered. It was cozy, quiet, and comfortable. Many paintings on the wall to give me something to look at. I settled on staring at a painting of a woman rich with browns. I ordered rice bowl curry with seitan. I could hardly contain my excitement at having something so exotic for lunch. It's a good thing I looked at it before I ate it because it was red and full of tomatoes and little square brown things. I asked my friend to taste the brown things because I don't eat meat and it was beef. We called the waitress over to tell her she brought the wrong thing. She tried to argue with me but I won. She took it back and brought me the right lunch. It was served in a beautiful ceramic bowl of blues and greens. The bowl was heavy and felt right for a winter lunch. Hum, not very warm though. I looked at my stew wondering what the green stuff was. Zucchini. Good. The sauce was creamy and spicy. The seitan had just the right amount of texture. The carrots were sliced at an angle and presented nicely in the bowl. I was so intent on my food I heard nothing but the spoon scraping roughly against the ceramic bowl. The savory dish was like a little piece of vegetarian heaven. I wanted to lick the bowl clean but I contained myself. Thank you God, for giving me this excellent lunch.

Victor D. Franco

10.29.10

Geez, my posts feel so un-super when compared to everyone else in length...

:D

Anyway, I yet again didn't have time to lounge around in the Dinning Hall today. Around 12:48, before studio and after a final RA interview and a work study meeting, I scurried to Powell and had a salty, sweet, cheesy, steamed green, beige, yellow, pink, and white meal. It was alfredo sauce with ham and broccoli on top of some curly pasta I forget the name of plus some biscuits with gravy.

Oh I almost forgot, the cooks at Powell ingeniously discovered how to smoke a biscuit. The biscuits tasted like what I surmise BURNT CHARCOAL would taste like...and they didn't even look burned on the outside. I threw them out. GULP.

My Small Ancestry- Alexis (O'Doyle- Riccio- Crowley)

So I guess I was going through my clothes to sort of weigh my options for the coming cold days, because I sometimes have walked out of my suite recently and felt entirely unprepared. That logic didn't last long, I got distracted. I tried on one of Grandma's sweaters and it still smells like her. Remnants of perfume from what must have been 15 years ago, sweet and deep. I can see on top of her dresser the crystal bottles of musk, which I loved to spray on my wrist as a kid, and then I would go through her jewelry and try it on, also in crystal boxes (they were really plastic but to a kid if its clear and faceted, its crystal). We won't talk about the gross bottle of patchouli, what were you thinking grandma? I further break down that sweater smell and there are hints of laundry detergent and dryer sheets - which is very fitting because it seems like my grandma was always doing laundry, cooking, or watching soap operas with a glass of O'Douls (and always saying 'balls, I'm so discouraged'). But it smells like my mom too, having been in her closet for the past few years since my grandma died, hanging close to the dresses that hold on to the lady stetson that I bought my mom at Wal-Mart for christmas a couple times. The 'anniversary' of Grandma's death is coming up this march, right around her birthday. Funny thing. Anyway the fabric is thick and soft and woven and thats just exactly what my grandma's character would feel like. The way it sort of hangs like some sort of crazy luxury bohemian blanket reminds me of old pictures of my mom. The faded teal is the color of the grain in the light blue wood paneling of Grandma's living room. The ribbed v-neck collar is her fashion sense, like how she loved movie star sunglasses- space black or turtle shell brown, big lenses and big smiles. I remember sitting on the bench by the upright piano (surrounded by that light blue wood panelling, and dark brown furniture and carpeting- essential to the memory), fishing out a pair from her collection that sat on top of the piano, putting them on, and her telling me, hand to heart 'ahh! You look like a movie star!' And of course she's thinking more Sophia Loren than Lindsey Lohan. When she died I inherited one of my favorite pairs of those movie star glasses that I used to wear alot in my later teens- square turtle shell brown frames and the best damn sun blocking lenses I ever looked through. One day this time of year I was walking around my neighborhood in a sort of lasso shaped loop where you had to walk straight a block, go in a circle, and walk back that same straight block. I had those sunglasses in my coat pocket. I went full circle and got to the point where I had already walked, and a few feet in I saw my glasses on the ground, shattered. And of course they shattered like a movie star, all beautiful and sad.

The sweater is no movie star, but its not shattering any time soon either.

Justine Cruz

Arriving at Powell around noon there was surprisingly not nearly the amount of loud and stinky students as usual, not having to walk around the sitting area five times before finding a table to squeeze into was rather nice. The booth where we sat was chilly; well at least compared to the blistering hot shop but definitely not as cold as the snowy tundra that was occurring outside all day. Deciding what nasty food to eat today was not much of a challenge, I usually just head for the salad bar because you really cant go wrong, but today there was a surprise! I sat down at the table with my colorful salad that I knew wouldn't taste nearly as good as it looked, I smelled something that could possibly be delectable. It was warm, and cheesy with some strange green lumpy floating masses in it (I know doesn't sound very appetizing) but as I looked over to see my friend spooning this goop into her mouth, I jumped up to get myself a severing of it. As excited as I was, I also spooned this cheesy liquid into my mouth getting that delicious taste of broccoli cheddar soup slipping across my tongue and sliding down my throat, which made this very cold white wintery day so much better!

Ursula- Lack of sunlight

My hands never froze from the walk from Harder to Powell as they were still burning from the rod that didn't look so hot until I held it and held it because i couldn't drop it or else the sky would fall down into the glass shop and I would be blamed for the calamity. Not really but my hand was burnt in the crease where the knuckle meets the other two bones in my finger so when I grabbed my fork to eat my discolored pasta it was a bittersweet cold but burning sensation of the room temperature metal and the burning flesh. The brown and white pasta tasted like parm cheese, not parmesan because it was missing something...I think cheese. But I have come to terms that everything here is missing something including the inhabitants who are missing some serious sunshine which leads to seasonal depression. That's why all the paintings become increasingly morbid then they should really be to express complete originality...but I could be making this up. The winter is also why a lot of girls are orange too. It's amazing what lack of sunshine does to people. They get cravings for carrots.

Arianna

Noticed at 4:43 pm.

Glancing over at the counter next to the sink, I realize someone needs to do the dishes. I roll up my sleeves, and get to work, clanging and clinking around until the dishes are organized. I try to be quiet, as my apartment mate is in her room working, but my failed attempts only seem to amplify the noises I make. Dink - I take a dry plate from the dishrack, starting a minor avalanche of pot lids, ceramic plates and tupperware. After they resettle, I take a small bowl, only to cause the avalanche again. Eventually I mentally give up "being quiet," and the avalanches miraculously stop.

Filling the sink, the water makes the bubbles only build around where the water causes commotion. Too much soap? Maybe yes. The sink is only a third full when the bubbles in the edge of the sink. Damn. After a few rounds of wash, rinse, wash, rinse, the water loses its heat. Washing the bubbles off my hands to rinse the clean dishes, it's obvious now I used too much soap. My hands are still slippery even when clean. Also, I love the underwater clanking of the dishes; different without the water, but still distinctive.

Tasting only the gum I've had since 1 pm. Only the barest hint of minty fresh left. What's more is that it's probably just my imagination of minty fresh.

My vision is taken over by my memory momentarily during the silverware as I try to remember what's in the cupboard and then refrigerator.

Smelling, first, photographic fixer on my hands from earlier, then soapsoapsoap.

Still undecided on dinner.

Victor D. Franco

01.28.10

COLD. So very cold. This weather is rediculous. 'Cold' also describes the dessert which I finally had the chance to have today...rice puddding with cinnamon on top. It was creamy, sweet, feisty, frigid and soft yet firm -runny snow, lumpy snow, and dirt...perhaps some sand.

Before dessert...I had a hotdog and some tortellini salad; salty, creamy, pasty, meaty.

There wasn't a great selection today.

Jenna Bloodough

Approximately 12:10
Merely a cool down. Powell smelt like sweaty boys, which may have been due to the junior ceramic boys consuming a booth and a table right next door. It also may have been my table but if so that was with good reason; the hotshot since 8:20 am. Besides the scent, it was white. The blizzard pretty much consumed every window. I didn’t notice much. We were beat from glass blowing and my hand within a few short hours summed up my body during summer vacation, burnt.

Untitled: Elliott

I find myself at a loss for words when I collide with a new medium of art. It's a new beginning. Snap, crackle and pop went the hot unused glass. That was what I was greeted by upon entering the hot shop. Heat spewed from the furnace roasting my skin like the depths of hell. My body became dry from the heat and my mouth became parched. I step out for a moment to quench my thirst with water that tastes like rusty metal. Returning back to the hot shop I realized that looking into the furnace is like staring into the sun.

The White Wind - Nick

My winters have always been different. While the weather may seem like a non-confrontational subject, never have I been so confronted. The part of the day that best defined my weatherly disorientation was mid morning. I drove to tinkertown through light snow which induced childhood nostalgia of my Minnesota youth. Although when it snows in MN, it snows: ceaselessly... for days. Although when I got into my car to drove back towards Alfred, gail force winds kicked up whiteout conditions with gigantic eddies and twisters of snow. However at this point it had apparently stopped snowing. I parked at Alfred, walked to the bookstore, and then outside. The sun shown down reflecting off of the white terrain. The wind was calm. Shadows of the buildings and trees were exaggerated by the contour-less monotone. The unpredictable weather reminded me of the hills of Hawaii or the valleys of Oregon where I have spent time. This week has been my first week settled down in a region of four seasons. I love it. I hold the hills responsible.

Becca Polinski

January 28, 9:11pm

Excited and frustrated
Maybe almost panicked
Tap tap tap a keyboard flies away
Sounds of expedience running through my head
Taste of the tangs left on my lips
With remnants of a smooth burn
The addiction always fits
Vision quickly moving
Just so much to see
Drawings to the left, piles on the right
Life simply strewn about
As the door opens the buttery popping smell
Wafts through my senses
The smell, simply a memory to taste

Alexis Crowley

I wish I could remember the moment I woke up, or the moment I fell asleep. I can't because I'm a regular human but they both must of happened and now here I am. Full on daylight in my room, the blinds are being silly and trying to hold it at bay. It's okay blinds, you can't protect me from a thing like sunlight, but I appreciate the effort nonetheless. I should have awoken to minimal morning light or something like that. I had PLANS for today, but those get deleted like emails you didn't read on time because if you can't sleep at night you sleep during the day. I lay there for a minute in my fabric oven, I'm convinced I have the best blankets in the world. I can feel the sleep still hasn't really left me, it's like a thick liquid coating, it pools in places like the bend of my arm, drips off in places like my fingertips and nose, and air dries in places like the back of my head. Deep inhale through my nose and theres that dry morning feeling. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and its sticky from non-use, and theres that tangy morning taste. I look down my arm and marvel at skin and nails and hair and random dots and blue ink and ownership. I put my head down on my pillow and another deep inhale and this time theres a smell that comes in instead of plain cold air. What a good good smell, I marvel at ownership again because it smells like my home. Not the house that I live in back in CT, and not this friggin suite, but my home that I can take with me everywhere I go. If I were an animal I would rub my pillow cases on trees to mark my territory. And if I were an animal I wouldn't be mad that I slept so late. Shit, I probably wouldn't be able to sleep so late, my biological clock wouldn't let me. Too bad I'm a regular human with a broken biological clock.

Bologna??? Cindi Kelly

I missed the first day of blogging and I feel ashamed of myself. But I will let that feeling go, knowing that today is a new day and missing my first post is not a mortal sin. Let me tell you about me having lunch today. I don't usually do it so this morning I had to try on some consciousness. I made a lunch to bring to school with me. Vegetarian bologna. Sounds like an oxymoron. Made from wheat and has the texture of bologna. If you don't eat meat, why would you want to eat something that reminds you of meat? Because it's easy to prepare. Two pieces of fluffy white bread, 4 carefully folded pieces of "bologna", squirt mustard back and forth on the bologna(very important that the mustard goes on the bologna in this pattern), top with piece of bread. Didn't cut my sandwich today. Probably a mistake....... Add an apple and some carrots-voila! Lunch. Sitting in the library, I take a breath and think about nourishing my body. Mouth says yes and stomach is not sure. Do I feel hungry? Not really but I am going to eat. I pull out my baggie with sandwich and think that it doesn't look so good. White bread yuck. Maybe some specialty bread next time. It's squishy in the bag. Unzip. Touch. Smell the mustard and yeast. Lick my lips and take a bite. I feel my teeth sink through the layers of bread, mustard and bologna. Mouth waters and I begin to chew. Sometimes I like to chew each bite 50 times but I don't think I will today. The sound of chewing in my head and then bookbags rustling and keyboards being typed on. I eat. The bread is sticking to my teeth. Now some carrots. They still feel chilled from the refrigerator this AM. I love orange. I love carrots. They look moist and shiny. They are wet. I put one between my front teeth and CRUNCH. I wonder if anyone is annoyed by my carrots. I try to chew quietly. Right. Eat, breathe, think. I look at the snow and wonder what my drive home will be like. When my carrots and sandwich are gone, I put the baggies back in my bookbag. Can I recycle them somehow? Sated, I move on. Think I'll eat my apple later.

Becca Polinski

January 27, 11:53 pm

Head throbbing, its been a long day
Body weighted in my back
Vision is blurred and static
Heavy lids ready for closure
Taste of tea, herbal and strong
Still warm down my throat
Smells of the cold and floral herbals
Sounds of a familiar tune
Magic and Dance

Nick Moen's "The Crane"

A chill creeped up my spine as I stepped out the door by the loading dock during my morning break of glaze calc.  Instead of my ears, my eyes were heavy from listening to the lecture for 2 hours.  At 10:15 the sun had made its way across the sky and was casting a huge shadow on the ominous crane that was operating outside of Binns.  The men were motioning to each other, attempting to guide this behemoth away from destruction.  The taste of oolong lingered in my mouth from my morning tea, especially since i took a sip of the dregs surrounding the open leaves.  Fortunately the tea left a sweet taste on my tongue.  Unfortunately that sweet taste became covered by a heavy dark tobacco as I took the first drag of my cigarette.  The construction was loud, no anomaly there.  The sound of heavy machinery hummed with intermittent yells from the workers hopefully concerned with safety.  There seemed to be a lot of lolly-gagging by the workers on the ground.  Maybe it was that time of morning.  My nose was flooded with cool air which got stuck in a thick mucus which tends to hinder my sense of smell this time of year.  My hands were cold, so cold that one stayed in my pocket while the other gripped the butt with the sleeve up past my thumb.  It would have been more pleasant had the sun been out. 

Arianna

Noticed at 5:32 pm

I was faced with a lightly fantastic sunset driving back to Alfred today.  From 5:32 to 5:37, the sun had slowly crept behind the Western-most hill (and out of my eyes), and left brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges streaked across the sky, broken only by dull blue-gray clouds.  With the sun out of the way, the fog of dusk set in on the hills, leaving the already purple-gray hills to dull even further.  Groups of singular trees become a shaped glob of vertical lines against the sky.  A bright moon is behind me.  The sky is meant to be looked at tonight.

Tasting ginger ale.  Bubbles.  Fake ginger flavor (I think?).  Dinner.  2 minutes later, skunk.

Smelling gasoline on my hands from saving 6 cents per gallon in Corning.  Then later... skunk.

Hearing my music, me singing, the engine revving when I make it work harder.

Feeling the stitches on my steering wheel, my ass sitting for too long, my feet wanting to move.  Emotionally feeling a little dejected, but overall positive.

Ursula Hilsdorf

After being awake since 4am and only consuming coffee, activia, and applesauce for breakfast I was anxious to get to Ade to eat some sort of indistinguishable food item. The walk to my destination was painful as my oversized yellow jacket hood was having trouble staying atop my skull because of the wind that made my vision blurry as it created salty water in my plain brown eyes. As I walked the steps up to ade I felt a burning sensation in my feet from being up on them for so many hours. The heat, falling from the dining hall made me unzip my jacket quickly and remove the hood that finally was affixed to my head. The scent of warm things to be eaten filled my nose but it was quickly invaded by dirty dish water as I passed the broken conveyor belt. I scanned the dining hall wondering if my aviodances were sharing the same joy of filling their stomachs with a poor excuse for a meal that would soon turn into irregular bowel movements followed my unpleasent visits to the toilet. Luckly I ran into the person I shared living quarters with previously to my new roommate. She was eating what appeared to be *gasp* something potentially delicious. It was a visually appealing browned chicken breast with a sort of barbecue glaze painted on it. I asked for a taste and ripped off some muscle. It was a bit chewy as it swam about my mouth and was taken by my esophagus. It was enjoyable, a bit spicy like something spicy would probably taste. I decided to trump over to the chicken being served with a lovely bun that looked like the ones in those fast food commercials. I made a stop at the salad bar to spoon blue cheese next to my chicken in case i decided it didn't taste good with it. I then went to the drinks that I had passed walking to the blue cheese. Sparkling water. I sat down in a corner with my roommate where we sit, everyday except the days when we don't eat there...obviously. The dull chatter is sometimes broken when I amuse myself with eavesdropping on conversations involving some slut that hooked up with the guy they were hooking up with the previous saturday. It was a silent conversation because we were both stuffing our faces with the pretty good chicken with the blue cheese and the lovely bun. I couldn't drink the sparkling water because it stung my tounge when the bubbles popped. We left shortly thereafter to discover that the chicken that tasted good was probably filled with a lot things that shouldn't be ingested for it disagrees with the complicated process of digestion.

Elliott Thorpe

I entered the world famous five star restaurant of Aide Dining Hall. The Hostess Danielle swiped my card and showed me to my seat. This fine dining experience offered a wide variety of delicacies, ranging from breakfast foods to of course dinner. I delighted in eating my breakfast first with two helpings of crepes. Two strawberry and two apple smothered in decadent strawberry and chocolate syrup with a helping of whipped cream. After devouring my first course, I returned to the self serve, all you can eat pasta where I was delighted to find ravioli. After taking a bite of my first ravioli, I was surprised to find it was not the ravioli of my liking. . . it had mushrooms in it. So I decided to dispose of the non-edible content. I decided that the salad bar would be a safe choice to find food to my liking and I decided to get a side of grilled cheese with a salad of spinach. I ate that and then I sat around people watching while they all indulged in the fine cuisine. Oddly it was quite quiet and I then noticed that I felt full. As I left the elaborate dining service the smell of all the cheap food faded into the night air.

I LOVE college food . . . NOT! :P

Today's Lunch by Adam Biggar

As I climbed the stairs to the Powell dining hall, the cling and clatter of plates became shaper. as each step i took the clanging of plates and the chatter of the dining room filled the hollow air. once in the dining hall the air was filled with the smell of food. The most noticeable was that of todays cuisine of General Tso's chicken. filled with rosy cheeks from the cold outside, students were bustling about grabbing food to nurture their starving bodies. after i had put my belongings down at my seat i entered the contest for food. there was not really any pushing or yelling, it was a competition for who could take the last of what was left so others had to wait. Avoiding the long lines i found myself looking at sickly greasy pizza, the cheese oozing with an orange fluid. wanting other things, but not wanting to wait i took a slice, them made my way over to the chocolate milk. The opaque liquid filled my cup and i could smell the chocolate as the stream stop leaving my cup over flowing. I calmly walked back to my seat and then started eating. the pizza was mildly revolting taste, even after i had soaked up the noxious orange fluid with a napkin. the taste lingered in my mouth and I found myself wondering why I had taken it. i then drank my milk, the smooth chocolaty flavor filled my mouth deteriorating any taste of the pizza. As i drank my dry, coarse throat was relieved, as the moisture absorbed into it. I finished leaving no trace of chocolate milk in the glass i calmly pushed my chair back with a scuffled screech, silenced by the carpet underneath, it made the same noise as i pushed it in. walking out I heard the same noise as i heard coming in, only this time fading more and more as i walked out the door.

Victor D. Franco

01.27.10

In the midst of my rush to eat something and get ready before my R.A. interview at Residence Life at 2:00 pm, I asked a friend to swipe me in at Powell because I had forgotten my ID card in my room; it was 12:45 and didn't feel like walking back 20 minutes in this weather. Hmmm, I forget and lose things quite a bit...

Anyway, I entered the dinning hall, set my stuff down, and got a plate of 'general tso's chicken' (which contains chicken and broccoli) and some of what seemd like jasmine rice to accompany it. It wasn't that bad. It looked like something you could call Chinese Food, but of less quality than normal Chinese Food. It was orange, brown, green, and semi-fried. The smell was pungent, but not in an unpleasant manner. It was all gooey, vinigar-y, and made a CRUNCH sound with each bite. It did the job.

Dinning Hall food isn't very appealing or sensuous...most of the time.

I didn't have any dessert :(

Alexis Crowley

It's 11:45 at the Powell Dining Hall. the lights are bright the colors are bleaker than they should be and it smells like nothing, even though I'm surrounded by food. The only thing I've ever been able to smell at this dining hall is ranch dressing, not a thing I want to smell. I suspect they cooked out all the other scents and replaced them with grease (for meat and cheese) or water (for vegetables). I order a taco salad, and my favorite part is picking out the toppings. The tomatoes are a decent red, the onions are a healthy white and the lettuce is actually pathetic and pale, like when your hands have been in water for too long. I order all those along with cheese and sour cream even though they always give me five times the amount of sour cream I can handle. I pass on the hot peppers swimming in their juices, looking like a perfect swamp in a perfect little black container. I go to get myself a cup of soda, mountain dew - the toxic urine colored one. The plastic cup in my hand feels like industry, feels like cafeteria, feels like 100,000 other peoples hands were there, and now its my turn to get my drink, drink it, and be on to more important things. I leave the metal scraping on plastic scraping on plastic scraping on metal food area and head into the bla bla bla ha ha ha seating area. I sit down by the big windows with a couple friends and those windows give the illusion of a wide open space. I start to eat in my falsely spacious area and oh well the foods not delicious the meat leaves orange slime and the vegetables taste like water and onions. The chips and meat and cheese taste like salt. Salty water onions. I end up avoiding the sour cream which makes me feel like a stupid art student because I think it looks like a dollop of gesso. Everyone mentions at least once that the taco salad is left overs from taco tuesday. Thats okay, I wash it down with that drink that could be made out of anything from uranium to lightning piss (anything other than the dew off a mountain).

It all sounds awful but it really wasn't a bad lunch. Back home dinner is the only thing thats ever good, lunch is usually nothing or breakfast or some sort of mixture of cheese and grain (grilled cheese, chips and cheese, cheese and crackers, quesadillas, macaroni and cheese etc.) so I'm grateful for my salty water onions.

Justine Cruz

Waking up at 4am and making it on time for my 5am blow slot is a new challenge for me this semester. As I get ready to venture out into the black snowy morning, I indulge; not in a nice hot cup of coffee, but a freezing cold can of Starbucks double shot espresso that has way too much sugar (hoping it will keep me awake and knowing it will make my breath smell of bad coffee for hours)! Walking as fast as possible down to the studio trying not to be phased by the blizzard that is whipping me in the face, I make it into the hot shop over whelmed by the drastic temperature change. Stepping into the glowing studio, I feel the warmth immediately emanating from the furnace burning bright red/orange. I take my time getting set up, turning the pipe warmer on to start heating up the rods and turning on music that fills that studio with vibrations of rhythm. After letting the rods warm up its time to grab the ice cold end and spin it slowing into the 2,000+ degree molten glass, the heat so intense it feels like you are melting your skin yet it's so intriguing that it's hard to stop!

Professor Wayne

I'm up. It is 6:00AM Wednesday morning and I am thinking about you all. I enjoyed seeing what each of you did for the 1/2LB project. It really helped in getting to know each of you. That project was about focus..concentrating some energy..paying attention..staying with it..seeing it through.. embracing the tedious when necessary...all of these qualities/work elements will be in play as we move forward.  As far as this blog idea goes, it looks like I can use it this way to communicate a bit, as can each of you, as well as recording responses to the "Being of Being Mindful" assignment. Each day at lunch time...well that was a good question Becca. No it doesn't necessarily have to be at lunch time, but at some point each day----the taking of some special time to stop and observe more carefully..breath, take a break, then refocus on what Mahlon and I have asked you to do. At that point, you may need an actual hard copy journal to make some notes in later transporting them to this site as each day's entry.

Here I will try it:::::Earlier this morning ( or last night/12:30AM ) I was in my bathroom, here at home, I had the water on in the sink and all the lights were off except the warm yellow glow of a night light which was reflected in the mirror. The night light is actually made from a sea shell with palm trees, some water and a boat carved on /in it's surface. I could still taste and smell the orange (which, of course, is the color orange ) I had just finished eating. I could hear the water running into the sink and I could feel the soft blanket texture of my bathrobe around me ( It is blue ). So, Hum??...the sound of water, a soft-comfortable blue robe, the sight of the warm yellow glow from a small night light with a palm tree ocean panorama on it, the taste and smell of an orange, I was transported South. Everything connected in that unplanned moment to give me a South Seas reverie.....  AND it was -----"f------ing" cold outside ( snowing a bit ). I had just minutes before considered turning up the heat in the house. I went to bed with a book on architecture the title of which is :" The Eyes of the Skin."