Daily Meditation

I. Can we ever escape the other? By this, I mean, can we ever escape each other. We – humanity – are inextricably linked. We have nothing but each other.

But some of us keep trying to escape. Some of us keep trying to carve out our own paths where we think we might find “freedom.” We invent various myths to take us there – solitude, self-making, personal conversion and transformation, addiction, self-actualization. Pick your poison.

I am anxious for individuation. Why? This must be a symptom of our current cultural malaise. We are anxious, so very anxious, for individuation, taught it is the ONLY way to escape pathology. Cut off all ties. Cut off all attachments. But does this get us any closer to reality?

Do we sense the futility of this endeavor. It is not good. It is not necessary. It is not possible. We are linked. It’s inescapable. Every action. Every inaction. Every word. Every silence. We delude ourselves when we pretend otherwise. Selfish dalliances, which always bring destruction and shame.

II. Escape is futile, so we might as well learn to live. Might as well learn how to be in relationship, as messy as it is. Might as well learn how to dialogue in a way that is constructive, creative, life-giving. Might as well accept responsibility. for things done and left undone. Might as well love. Might as well make space for each other.

Might as well stay.

My brain hurts. Trying to cram 90 pages of Kant into my skull proved impossible today. But I shall try anew tomorrow.

school daze

Tomorrow, I start school. My bag is laid out and stocked with notebook, papers, keys, and snacks. Just as it used to be. I’m familiar with these routines, but I still have no idea where this week will go. Continental Philosophy – Heidegger, Kant, Nietzsche, Gadamer. Method and Theory in the Study of Black Religion. African Politics and Religion. These are my subjects, but what is my topic?

I’m eager to get on schedule. I want everything predictable, regulated, controlled. The last few weeks have been entirely unpredictable. From our car breaking down, to money bleeding out of our bank account, to death and emergency room visits: it’s enough to make one wonder. But my mom told me earlier on the phone not to be superstitious. She then gave me advice on how to handle unfriendly departmental secretaries (“bug the heck out of them!”). I was surprised and somewhat steadied by her practical wisdom. I forget my mom has been to graduate school too.

There are two kinds of departments – or maybe just one kind – a department that views itself as doing graduate students a favor. How much leverage a department demands in exchange for this favor varies, but I’m hoping my program will be as humane as I thought it would be.

I still haven’t met my advisor/mentor. Still, I trust in his goodness, generosity, and intelligence. I’m eager, though, to replace my imagined perceptions with a face. I have met the other person I will be studying African Religions with. He is a keen, kind, man from Nigeria who has already determined that the two of us will spend all of our time in the library together and eventually write an article. I appreciate his immediate emphasis on we, his belief that we can use each other for mutual success. Americans don’t always think like that.

At our departmental orientation, I was also surprised to discover that I am the only female in our incoming cohort. I suppose I won’t have to feel competitive with another women, which can get quite emotional. At the same time, I immediately attached a sense of superiority to the men around me as if they already knew the rules, and I had yet to learn the game. Regardless of gender, I hope that I can find some trusted companions in this journey. Please keep me in your prayers.

preperations

Hot. Sticky and sweaty – at first it seemed like a dream after freezing in Cape Town’s winter. Would I rather be in a house without central heating or cooling? Fortunately, we do have air conditioning, though it comes at a price. It’s 9:45 PM and 85 degrees in our apartment. I cave in and turn on the AC to drop down to our average sleeping temperature of 80 degrees.

The fan drones on. I’m dreading Monday. Only 3 more days of “freedom” before I’m feeling constant pressure. But this is what I love. I couldn’t escape it even if I tried. I did try.

Our neighbors like to hang out into the wee hours of the night drinking beer and sitting on concrete. They all have previous lives. Previous lives that include previous marriages and various drugs. But it’s the best hospitality we have ever received.

Back to important matters: I need to confront this dread. I am so afraid of working hard. I’m so afraid of loving and losing. My parents gave their lives to work, and they will die working. They had love, but even love and hard work do not guarantee lasting success or money. So, it’s a logic of abandonment. I feel like the choice really is abandon all my expectations and supposed “needs” and lose myself – not to work but to the source behind my work. I have to get back to the center, if I am to survive. But the work still has a place. Now is the time for me to really focus, and I’ve been terribly afraid of focus.

Not to mention the pain --- every move, every transition, always reminds me of my own abyss. I have a constant hunger and need for affirmation and security. Foolish, I know, but it never goes away. I’m so afraid to go at it alone, but that is the only way forward. Alone, but not alone. Still, I feel alone at times. I feel abandoned. I feel frightened. I have yet to fully enter into the freedom I know is mine, because I’m still tangled up in my own needs and expectations.

Still, I’m eager to have a chance to practice discipline, to practice focus, and evaluate anew my values, priorities, and daily routines. I also have to admit when I saw the books I would be reading this fall, I became very excited. I’m still in love with the idea of graduate school, but hopefully, in time, I will come to love and appreciate the process of graduate school as well.

traveling mercies

Sea Point and Around - South Africa, 2009

Hogsback

One of our more delightful finds during our travels across South Africa was the tiny eco-destination of Hogsback. Intrigued by the description in Lonely Planet --- which marketed it as the place where J.R. Tolkein was inspired --- we had to check it out for ourselves. It took a long 12 hour day to get from Durban to Hogsback, but we finally made it.

We quickly learned while driving in South Africa to never drive when it was dark. The roads are hazardous enough in the daylight. Despite all warnings, we found ourselves driving along a bumpy dirt road to find our mountain top accommodations at "The Edge" in the dark! We quickly forgot our driving woes when we saw our lovely forest cabin complete with an indoor wood fire place.

The next morning we explored the Rose Garden, lovely even in the winter.

I love making connections between places and different parts of my life. The Edge at Hogsback reminded me of a cross between Sleeping Lady in Leavenworth and Iona. The mountains, eco-sensibility, British hospitality, and air of spirituality was a great respite from our long days of driving.

From Drop Box

View of outdoor labyrinth and valley. The labyrinth was a good chance for us to process all that we had experienced during our travels and all that we were looking forward to in the next season of our lives. After so much traveling and transition, it was nice to pause for a morning and rest.

waking sense

It has been almost two weeks since my friend and former college Joe died. I remember Joe telling me when we worked together that he was “mixed up” when it came to faith. His honesty at the time impressed me. These days, I feel mixed up as well.

At his funeral, I whispered Hail Mary.

Light and dark both running through me. At times, the work seems about trying to purge the darkness from me. But, my bad thoughts remain, and they always come back. A more modest goal, it seems, is to create enough space within myself for both darkness and light.

Joyce Carol Oats wrote about Simone Weil --- “Ah, the art of being so completely and so brilliantly self-deceived! – is sainthood anything else?” I wonder if I am similarly self-deceived. But aren’t we all? Can anyone see themselves clearly? For me, the nagging fear is how others see me. But I think I need to let this go and simply accept that my vision and motives will always be partial, conflicted, capable of both good and destruction. I shouldn’t waste time trying to figure out which is which.

However, I want to be connected to some sort of reality. I want to be grounded. The only reality I can find solace in right now is materialism and perhaps the hope of another material world that is already and not yet. I find sanity in the quiet: in drinking a cup of coffee, in tasting fresh summer fruits and vegetables, in walking down the block. I find common sense in touching my body, in recitation, and color.

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: world without end. This, perhaps, may be my final comfort.

a long while

hello! I'm not even sure who reads my words anymore, but after a few months of silence, I'm starting to post again.

Than and I are now living in Houston. We have been here about three weeks, though it seems a bit less than that as we have been in and out of the city for various events and obligations.

We accomplished our goal of going back to South Africa this summer. I haven't really processed the trip yet ---- but hope to do a little of that here soon. Suffice to say, it was a good restful vacation. I originally had wished it to be more than a vacation, but I soon found out that everyone needs a vacation from time to time. It was so good to take a break from writing, from thinking, from doing, from working, from daily routines.

Now, I'm eager to get to work, which is as it should be, I think. Nervous about starting graduate school next week, but I hope my curiosity and love of learning will provide me with the sort of courage I need to dive in.

More to come...

a day at the beach

Hamburg, South Africa --- July 2009

are you happy

“are you still living in CA? are you happy? fulfilling your dreams? married?”

At night, I dream of people past. This ache never goes away – I just attempt, some days better than others, to live alongside it. How I wish I could live 100 parallel lives!

A stolen kiss, a whispered prayer, laughter upon laughter

Back when friendship was free.

I’ve discovered love never dies, even when the lights have gone out. We have grown into our own lives. Yet, I still think of you.

the home stretch

Waiting and restless.

I’ve been thinking about going back to South Africa and back to school for so long, it’s hard to believe that it’s almost here. It’s hard to believe that it has been seven years since my first trip to Cape Town. I’ve been talking about graduate school since then, and it’s amazing to be almost there. 

The reality of studying for the next five years is slowly sinking in. I’m hesitant about this new identity: scholar.I’ve spent a long time running from it. Hiding and submerging the stirrings of my heart and my intellectual gifts. All the while, I could not escape the ideas that captured my imagination and left me hungry for more.

More justice. More reconciliation. More dialogue. More change.

I’ve been afraid of commitment – the demands of commitment. I’m afraid of discipline. I’m afraid of failure, but perhaps even more afraid of success. And yet, I continue to step forward. Baby steps. I don’t have to have this whole thing figured out just yet.

Looking back, it’s been daily work. One step after another, an email here and an email there, studying for the GRE, connecting thoughts and fragments into a personal statement, reading, pushing myself to be faithful to the tasks right in front of me. And now, I will be part of this world --- long reviled and desired --- 

converting to atheism and back again

New Statesman - Why I believe again

Really lovely quote in this longer piece in the New Statesman about the journey from doubt - to unbelief - to belief. The article profiles A N Wilson, once a religious man turned atheist, who is now slowly grasping back to God again.

"The existence of language is one of the many phenomena – of which love and music are the two strongest – which suggest that human beings are very much more than collections of meat. They convince me that we are spiritual beings, and that the religion of the incarnation, asserting that God made humanity in His image, and continually restores humanity in His image, is simply true. "

His suspicion of "conversion," in his case to atheism, rings true with my own experiences. The q & a portion is also quite interesting. Wilson says his fear of death pushed him back to God.

institutional privilege

A new thought: maybe instead of talking about institutional racism we should change our terminology and start talking about institutional privilege.

I've been thinking a lot these days about how it's a question of priority - I want to change tactics and start drawing attention to how institutions prioritize the needs or desires of certain groups or individuals over others based on their culture/race/ethnicity.

We are never going to completely remove systems of power, but power should be used on behalf of and for all.

perfect day

It’s a perfect cloudy Saturday morning. Everything is quiet – except for the sound of our mouse Basil running on his wheel and the lone cry of a bird outside. It’s the first time in a long time where everything feels right in the world.

Of course, everything is not right in the world. News of bombs in Iraq yesterday broke through my thick wall of violence fatigue. Glimmers of anger surfaced: how can they kill their own citizens? The world is on edge to see what will happen in Pakistan. And I wonder what the victory of Jacob Zuma in South Africa will mean for the future of Africa. Meanwhile, death and grief touch those I love.

But in my corner of the world, things are ok. I know three things: I am quitting my job at the end of May, in a little over a month I’ll be in South Africa, and in August I will start taking classes again. Our perfect plan of going to graduate school together hasn’t panned out, and yet, in times where there are big gaps, holes and question marks, I find myself feeling strangely free.

God has been so faithful to us. I often wonder, in seeking meaning and purpose in my life, if I construct this sense of God’s presence as a way to cope with chaos and uncertainty. Who knows? The truth is that looking back we have been so taken care of these last two years. Every need has been provided for and beyond.

And now, once again, we are moving into the great unknown. With a limited amount of money in our savings, we are following our dreams to Africa and hoping that not only will Than find a job next year but that a way will open up for him to pursue PHD work – in Houston or elsewhere. And I am preparing to enter a PHD program in a field still somewhat obscure to me: religious studies. The dissertation is still a long way off, but I can’t help wonder what will take shape. What will I devote myself to studying and writing about? What ideas will capture my imagination and just not let go? How will this next season connect with all my past seasons? What new threads and long forgotten ones will emerge?

at home

tortured nation

Divisions Arose on Rough Tactics for Qaeda Figure - NYTimes.com

Only one of the MANY articles this week realized on US interrogations and torture. I feel so sick when I read first-hand accounts of torture and waterboarding. Sicker than I felt 4 years ago when I was protesting but we only had rumors. Now, we have proof and testimony and paper trails that show this was not isolated instances but an overall strategy supported by the Bush administration.

I'm conflicted on the issue of justice... what should be done?

reconciliation at work

Despite feeling pessimistic about the status of race relations in the US right now, I was really inspired by an article in the New York Times today about a white director - Bartlett Sher - who directed the play Joe Turner by August Wilson. In his lifetime, Wilson only wanted his plays directed by African Americans, as most black directors did not have access to high-level directing positions. It's interesting that the title of the article is "Race is an Issue in Wilson Play, and in Its Production." The title suggests a story of tension --- and while there are inherent tensions anytime we talk about race --- even more importantly it's a story about reconciliation at work.

How did Sher - a white man - end up directing this play? The article offers some important clues into his journey.

1) First, Sher is someone who has had a long term relationship with the black arts community and has used his position to consistently advocate for blacks in theater and film. He had also built a long-term relationship with Wilson's widow and worked to earn her trust.

2) Second, Sher was willing to listen. He recognized the limits of his experience and instead of maintaining a position of authority, he developed a posture of learning --- drawing from the experiences and knowledge of his black cast. In many ways, there was an inversion of power as Sher allowed himself to be "directed" by the cast.

3) Finally, Sher was willing to allow for and face questions, cynicism, and anger at the choice of his direction. Sher himself recognizes the contradictions of his position and is willing to face these contradictions --- the fact that he might be taking an opportunity away from a black director --- and at the same time Sher advocates publicly for black directors to be involved in the directing of not just black plays but larger canonical works.

On the other side of things, we see something really important happening with Wilson's wife --- who gave her blessing for Sher to direct the play. Interestingly, she has a different vision than that of her late husbands, which may have something to do with her own background as a Hispanic American: “My work is to get these stories out there,” she said, “and to help ensure that audiences walk out of the plays with a deeper understanding for these American stories and for the ways our cultures intertwine.” Wilson's widow also has a desire to cross-cultural relationship and understanding. While the article does not say this, I think she wanted to model this cultural entwining in allowing Sher to direct.

I find this story so beautiful. It's about relationship, about openness on both sides, and about the desire to deeply understand one another through art and experience. It's clear Ms. Romero, the cast, the producer, and Mr. Sher were willing to make space for each other --- and face the hard questions as a result. I recognize the validity of wanting to have a black director direct a high-level black play and cast, but I was so inspired and encouraged by the interesting and brave path these two, the producer,and the wider cast and crew have forged. The writer of the article only hints at this incredible process. I'm glad he shared the story - while not downplaying the serious issues it raises - and I only wish we had more models like this to draw from.

post-racial? - perhaps just tired

After reading a interesting analysis of a recent Newsweek article on race at Princeton yesterday at Reconciliation Blog, I couldn't help but feel pessimistic about the complexity and ambiguity of race relations in America.

On top of that, I'm feeling BURNT OUT. In the two years that I have been here, I’ve seen our Organization of Latin American Students organization fall apart, our Student Senate position for cultural awareness disappear, our “cultural awareness week” collapse to one day, and the Black Student Organization hover on extinction at least 3 times. I’ve been forced to ask some hard questions about the relevancy of these groups and “awareness." The campus is no more diverse than when I arrived: we still only have 2 Hispanic professors and 1 African American faculty member.

Our forum on race this year took an astonishing turn with some or our black students proudly claimed that they would never take any scholarship money based on their racial/cultural background--- in response to a white student’s complaint that she felt “racism” because she did not have access to the same types of federal funds that minority students might have (never mind she has a full golf scholarship --- but that’s because she worked hard, right?). I really didn’t know what to do with that conversation. The black students felt proud because they challenged a stereotype; I felt sad because I tend to think the real problem is the assumption that we all start at the same place and if we “work hard” then we will get what we deserve. White privilege in action.

Then, there are the conversations that I have almost daily with my staff. They are supportive to an extent but still resist policies and strategies that address openly the issue of race on our campus with all the convenient dismissals: it’s not really that bad, “they” just need to find their place here, the world is just broken: we are always going to be this problem so why try. The result is effectively a policy of silence and assimilation. Every year some brave souls try to start the conversation again, but after a few meetings, it dies. Meanwhile, it gets harder and harder for advocates of diversity to stay here.

I wish that white people would understand that not talking about it is what upholds the status quo and contributes to the every-day feelings of isolation, uneasiness, and the endlessly exhausting process of translation for minority students. There is no sense of safety; there is no sense that they can really say what they think and feel, that their experience will be received. The message our university communicates? It is not acceptable, maybe even “un-Christian” to acknowledge difference. Difference destroys unity. Or rather, acknowledgement of difference destroys the veneer of safety and stability that has been cultivated around the illusion of shared identity.

I’m tired of these conversations too. I’m tired of talking about “diversity” or the Christianized version of “reconciliation.” Don’t get me wrong – I believe strongly in the power of reconciliation, but would I rather have 1) a university that talks about reconciliation so that it doesn’t have to actually make any structural changes and can absolve itself of some guilt while looking a little less white or 2) a university where reconciliation isn’t even part of the vocabulary and everyone assumes that if they can just be a “nice Christian community” that is enough. The former is hypocritical and the latter is naïve. Both, in my experience, are difficult places to work.

And in the end, it’s the students who suffer year after year. They are the one’s desperately waiting, sometimes not even aware that they are waiting. As a community, if we are really going to make this reconciliation thing work, we are going to have to learn how to hold pain, how to hold anger, how to acknowledge guilt, and how to claim an identity of grace, love and forgiveness over all other identities – while still recognizing and celebrating our unique differences. This is the university, the church, the nation, the world, I envision. But how to cultivate this?

Vicky, Cristina, and Boring Barcelona

So, I finally watched Vicky Cristina Barcelona last night. Ugh. I’m so glad I didn’t watch this film the in the theaters. There was some potential at being a really great film that explores the complexity of relationship and desire, but none of this potential ever breaks through. Instead, Allen’s characters and plot end up being shallow and worn out.

While watching, I had to wonder at times if the film was trying to be ironic or self-parodying, but I don’t think so.

Picking Letters, 10 a Day, That Reach Obama

Picking Letters, 10 a Day, That Reach Obama - NYTimes.com

This article is really touching. It's nice to know that 10 letters a day from ordinary citizens get personally read by President Obama. It must be an interesting job to sort through the president's mail.

Lilly Graduate Fellows Program

I'm off to Indiana to interview for the Lilly Graduate Fellows Program!

At a time when I'm feeling burnt out on on Christian higher education, this has been a good - but difficult - opportunity to reflect on my sense of vocation. Preparing for the interview has been an exercise in rediscovering what's really important. As tempting as it might be to look at this program as an opportunity for legitimacy, I don't need the Lilly Foundation to bless my work and deem it appropriate. At the same time, this could be a really cool chance to connect with like-minded mentors and peers. So, we'll see what happens!

Happy Easter

It's been a wonderful week of food.



On Monday, I decided to bring to our monthly potluck
* fresh strawberries, & vanilla ice cream topped with a balsamic reduction *

This was partially inspired by my recent visit to Molly Moon's ice cream shop in Seattle. Her balsamic strawberry ice cream is amazing~I have never made balsamic reduction before, but it turned out great. Than and I loved how the acidity of the vinegar brought out the natural sweetness of the strawberries and added an extra kick to our ice cream.

Then, for Easter lunch, I made my fantasy birthday deserts.

Greek Yogurt & Lavender Cheesecake (above)

Chocolate-Honey Tart
This tart is soooooo eaay and delicious. Check out the linked recipe.
Coincidentally, the recipes also calls for lavender

.

Finally, Than and I celebrating Easter at our friend's Rich and Christine's.
Than is holding the cutest baby at Porchlight!

living in prayer

My Lenten exercises have fallen by the wayside and I ask with Paul – why is that what I want to do, I cannot do?

My ideals are never reached – sabotaged by laziness, sloth, love of pleasure.

I’ve been reflecting a lot recently on work, or rather vocation. It’s clear that there is an intimate connection between the words discipline and discipleship. Now, obviously these two words come from the same root, but recently I feel this intimacy as I pursue my chosen discipline – religious studies – and at the same time ask: what does it mean to follow?

I would estimate that 90% of my work to apply to graduate school involved the unseen emotional/mental/spiritual work of overcoming voices of fear, shame, despondency or rather continuing to press forward despite those voices. Pursuing one's passion in a spirit of hope really is a working-out process, a constant confrontation with false selves and false idols.

What keeps me going is a trust that the work matters, despite how I may or may not feel.
There are moments of crystal clarity when everything seems to make sense. Those are few and far between. More often, I find myself in a sea of ambiguity, searching for words, phrases, ideas, and images to guide me on the yet uncharted path ahead. It is in those moments that I wonder: did you lead me into this wilderness to die? Was the clarity I felt a grand delusion, a mockery, a farce? How is it that some seem to know so clearly what it is they want --- and my knowledge is always, at best, partial?

Certainty has never been my companion, but faith has. Faith has rescued and carried me through. But what if faith is just a construct to provide meaning and order in our lives --- a sense of plan --- when life is most chaotic and unpredictable?

I can’t say, but I will close with one of my favorite prayers from Thomas Merton, who like me was a doubter and yet could not stop seeking.

dreaming in green

news you can use

My netflix account is telling me that Than and I have a penchant for independent mockumentaries, dark political dramas, critially aclaimed romantic action and adventure, visually striking exciting military movies, and science-fiction and fantasies.


Psychoanalyse that!

Mousey & Basil

Rice Visit

Whew – we are back from visiting Rice University in Houston. I’m pooped.

Friday was packed. We were picked up at 9 AM, whisked to the university, and I was handed a schedule with a days worth of tours, faculty appointments, and meetings with graduate students. The purpose of the trip was to learn about what it would be like to be a graduate student at Rice.

Some initial thoughts:
- Rice’s campus is beautiful
- Houston is WAY better than people make it out to be (at least the area we were staying in). The weather and vegetation actually reminded me of South Africa, a plus.
- Ah, the comforts of the city: Buffalo Exchange, sushi, and easy access to alcohol. Can you believe that the campus has its own bar???
- Is a library tour with the librarian really necessary?


Rice is modeled after the British university system. Undergraduates live in “colleges” with a faculty member and his family. The architecture is very British as well. Both of us fell in love with the monastic influence in the architecture and educational set up.

As for the graduate program, I think I could do well there. I feel humbled by the opportunity to work with Elias Bongmba. He wasn’t there, but everyone testified to the gentleness I already picked up on by phone.

I did feel a bit intimidated in meeting various faculty members and having to pitch over and over again “my interests” and research plan. I couldn’t help but realize that I am entering the big leagues now, and I have my work cut out for me.

We still have some waiting, praying, deciding to do. As much as I want to speed up this process, I know it’s important to stay open and flexible and present. So be it.

Lent

I offered to reflect on Lent this Sunday --- but I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to say. Lent means something different to me each year or rather Lent teaches me something every year.

The practice of discipline typically illuminates my perfectionist tendencies as I tend to take on too much in order to prove myself worthy. Encountering my weakness, my mortality, and my limits, is always sobering. Reminds me again and again of my incredible need to have grace and receive grace.

Darkness, wandering, and suffering have also been themes. Lent has typically fallen during seasons in my life of pain and depression. During these times, it has been immensely comforting to explore Christ’s own identification with my suffering and to feel Christ’s presence in my wanderings and struggle. Lent has been a time to connect to Christ’s humanity and draw hope from the fact that we share this humanity even as I struggle to grasp the light in the darkness.

This year, I’m trying to keep it simple. I’m not giving up anything, but I’m attempting to make space every day to move my body in worship and celebrate God’s good gifts as I look forward in anticipation and hope. For whatever reason, the image of Jesus as shepherd has been reappearing. I feel as if I am in the wilderness – like Moses – but this time there is a peace as I look ahead and follow the great shepherd who knows where he is going, will protect me, and leads me to still waters which restore my soul. My focus is less on Christ’s death and suffering and more on the anticipation of life. Preparation for life. A second Advent. It’s good and surprising.

more news

I've been accepted into the MA program at Iliff School of Theology in Denver. No word on funding. So, I'm curious if they will give me any money.

I've also been accepted into the MTS program at Candler School of Theology in Atlanta. Candler is the theological school affiliated with Emory, so that could be exciting. Not sure if they are giving me any $ either.

The plus about Iliff is that we would be close to dear friends, the location is beautiful, and Than is wait listed at University of CO Boulder. The downside is the program isn't at the top of my list.

Candler is nice because it would give me an advantage if I wanted to apply to the PHD program at Emory.

But my biggest crush is still Rice, especially since they want to pay me to get a PHD. And they want to fly me down for the weekend. Is it too early to say: I feel sufficiently wooed?

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