why don't *you* die, then?

Fresh Hopes and Concerns As Fetal DNA Tests Advance
By Rob Stein
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, October 26, 2008; Page A01

Doctors have started using powerful new DNA tests to screen fetuses for a wider range of genetic abnormalities, spotting more problem pregnancies early but stirring fears that the results will increase abortions as well as confuse and needlessly alarm many couples.

Sometimes I wonder how you can extract DNA from a fetus, test it for genetic abnormalities, and not recognize it as human.

According to the article, Arthur L. Beaudet is the chair of Baylor's Department of Molecular and Human Genetics. The article quotes him:

"Some of these disorders are quite burdensome. They require lifelong nursing care. In some cases these children never walk, never talk, never feed themselves," Beaudet said. "It can have a major impact on the family. People say, 'I wish you had given me the opportunity to know ahead of time. It's really destroyed our lives.' That's why women want to know."

This is really not cool.

I understand that love is difficult. I utterly fail at it all the time. But why must we be cowards? Why can't we step up, be courageous, and love people who are difficult to love?

thoughts while cramming for a current events quiz

Friday, October 24, 2008
Gender equality in military debated
Women cannot hold some posts in U.S. forces, angering advocates of same treatment for sexes.
Jerome L. Sherman / Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

I'm going to let Jason (the Marine) speak. Quotes (with permission) are directly from gmail chat or aim, cleaned for grammar and language.

Women aren't allowed on submarines: "they're not allowed to surface for 3 months. Think of all the guys on board of a sub not allowed to be surfaced with women there."

Women aren't allowed in infantry or cavalry, "basically not allowed in combat." Jason said "You know how bad I feel when women get hit? Imagine how bad I'd feel if they get shot, blown up, anything of that sort." Do most Marines feel that way? "Most of them do. However, there are a lot of female Marines that can kick f---in a--. And all Marines are allowed in combat if there's an attack, so female Marines have fought and died. They're put through the exact same test as the men."

"These women aren't asking for special privileges," said Manning, a Navy veteran. "We think women and men should be allowed to do any job they are physically qualified to do."

What Manning--and most people--miss is that this isn't an issue of physical strength. Sure, men tend to be physically stronger, but there are plenty of women who are physically stronger than plenty of men. Those men who are lower on the "physical strength" scale aren't going to join the Marines. Keeping women from combat has nothing to do with lack of physical strength. This is the United States Marine Corps--if you're not physically strong, you're not going to finish basic training, regardless of sex.

I sent this quote to Jason, and he said "Women can kill people like the best of 'em. Just when they start getting hurt, people freak out." What do you mean by "freak out"? Jason said "If you and I were getting shot at, and you got shot, I would freak out and be more concerned about helping you than shooting back." Are a lot of Marines like this?

"Like this? It's why they don't allow it."

Jason continued: "Also, you have to get into some pretty dirty situations in the field, including field hygiene, involving quickly pulling down clothes, using baby wipes to clean the four important parts, and getting clothed again in less than a minute."

Why are people so upset about it? "They don't want to see women dying. It would be all over the TV. And women would be targeted."

And what about basic training? Men and women go through the same training, Jason said, but they're separated. "Three months of intense training and spewing testosterone can make you really want a woman, and if they're in easy access that can lead to huge problems," Jason said.

No need to be insulted.

Prominent former priest convicted of abusing boy

It really upsets me that the rest of us get a bad name because of the actions of a few. This isn't what the Catholic Church teaches.

It really upsets me when people get angry at the church or hate the church or leave the church because of the actions of a few. This isn't what the Catholic Church is.

It really upsets me when people say or assume or joke that all priests are like this. Most of them are not. Most of them are really awesome.

No takers for contest that requires abstinence
The Associated Press
Thursday, October 23, 2008; 8:56 PM
ATLANTA -- A contest that would pay $10,000 to an engaged couple, as long as they abstain from premarital sex, hasn't gotten any takers. The deadline for the Marriage for a Lifetime contest is Oct. 31. The prize includes free flowers, invitations and other wedding treats.

I thought this was interesting. But it bugs me that they portray chastity as something no one lives by. I know tons of people who live this way--no sex outside marriage. I'm wondering why the contest wasn't advertized more.

Friday, October 24, 2008
Today's talkers
Virtual 'slaying,' real charges
Mari Yamaguchi / Associated Press

TOKYO -- A 43-year-old player in a virtual game world became so angry about her sudden divorce from her online husband that she logged on with his password and killed his digital persona, police said Thursday.
Go outside, meet real people, communicate in reality.

forgiveness

I was ready for the fight but not ready for it to take place over the internet. He denied everything and refused to apologize and for the second night in a row I went to bed angry. Thumbing through my Rosary, my mind snagged on the line "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." How could I be forgiven for anything if I wasn't willing to forgive him?

In my head I played out a scene where I yell at him and everybody hears and says "look, dude, she's right." I interrupted it with panicked pleas to Christ to help me forgive him and my mind wandered back to yelling at him. I interrupted it with desperate cries to St. Michael to defend me and my mind wandered back to yelling at him. I was already exhausted when I went to bed and I had no energy for this battle. I was awake far later than I had intended.

I woke up in the morning and opened my Bible and there was Matthew 18.

I fought on the walk to Mass. I fought during Mass. I fought when everyone else got up to receive the Eucharist. And I knew there were thousands of people fighting for me.

I knew where to find him, and I waited there for him. I prayed that I would say the right things and that the wrong things would slip my mind. I prayed that his mind would be open and that he would hear what he needed to hear. I felt a fear crawl up and fidget inside my stomach. I recognized the fear: I must be doing the right thing.

I waited.

He came. He saw me. I apologized.

I told him I shouldn't have gotten into that kind of discussion over the internet. I don't think I said anything that wasn't true, but I wouldn't have said it as harshly had I said it in person. I spoke quietly.

He calmly denied everything I had accused him of.

The silence was awkward. After a minute, he disappeared, I think to the bathroom. I picked up my books and left. Once the adrenaline wore off and I was safely out of his sight, I felt my heart shine. Dance. Glow. Sing. Burst.

I had forgiven him.

I tossed my books on a table and ran outside, laughing. I climbed a tree. Giddy. I called Seth and left him a message.

"Seth, I forgave him, I forgave him. He's still an idiot but it's okay because I forgave him. God is wonderful and so are all the saints and thank you for praying for me."

sovereignty

Thursday in Jackson’s class--the ENG-310 with the horrendously long name: Anglo-Saxon and Medieval British Literature--Dr. Jackson told us something about wills and submission:

1. In order to have submit your will to someone else, you must have a will. (This is a tautology.)

2. Submitting your will to someone else is the greatest expression of sovereignty.

I don't know if he's right or not, but I've been thinking. (For a shorter version, skip to "what I learned.")

examples from literature

Last year in another English class with a horrendously long name--Freshman Rhetoric and Great Books II--we read Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. The book is full of suffering, and toward the end, Svidrigailov attempts to rape Dunya. Sparknotes summarizes the scene (part V chapter V) like this:

Svidrigailov lures Dunya to his room...While Dunya becomes faint with anger and confusion, Svidrigailov offers to help Raskolnikov [her brother] avoid punishment if she will marry him. In horror, she runs to the door, only to discover that Svidrigailov has locked it. He threatens to rape her, warning that he can report her brother if she reports him. She pulls out a revolver, threatens him with it, and accuses him of poisoning his late wife. He dares her to fire, and she does, twice, but manages only to graze his temple. Svidrigailov moves to embrace her but, realizing that she will never love him, lets her go. Putting the revolver in his pocket, he goes out shortly thereafter.

Sparknotes doesn't do the scene justice, and I would quote from the book but it's elsewhere, probably Louisville. Sparknotes misses something key: Dunya drops the revolver. We discussed this in class. Dunya drops the revolver, making herself completely vulnerable to Svidrigailov. A moment passes where nothing happens. Svidrigailov stares at the revolver on the ground, one shot left in it. Silence. Svidrigailov runs out of the room.

Something about Dunya's voluntary, willful vulnerability scared the [feces] out of Svidrigailov, and he ran away.

He threatened to rape her--what better way to assert your will, violently, on someone else? The door was locked and, once she dropped the revolver, there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop him. But she was in control of the situation. She submitted her will, and, inasmuch as these things are won and lost, Dunya won.

Something similar happens in the Beowulf movie, and I will tell you and spoil it in order to prevent you from watching the movie. A warrior is about to kill Beowulf (the hero), so Beowulf rips off his armor, piece by piece, walks over and says go ahead, kill me. And the warrior can't do it.

In Jackson's class, we're reading the Canterbury Tales, and today we discussed the Wife of Bath's Tale and the Clerk's Tale.

A superficial reading of the Wife of Bath's Tale says the tale is about what women want most. The Wife of Bath has had an unfortunate number of husbands and--well, she's very beautiful--she uses sex to get what she wants from her current husband. Meta touta, a knight rapes a maiden and the queen's council sentences him to death unless he can figure out what women want most. He eventually finds the Wife of Bath, who by this time is old and ugly. She tells him that she'll answer his question if he promises to comply with her first request. The knight agrees, the Wife whispers in his ear, the knight tells the queen that women's greatest desire is sovereignty, and the Wife requests that the knight marry her. He does so, reluctantly, and in bed that night she gives him two options: she can be ugly and faithful or beautiful with no guarantees about who she's sleeping with. He lets her decide (giving her sovereignty) and she becomes beautiful and faithful (exactly what he wants).

The Clerk's Tale also deals with the issue of sovereignty. The Marquis chooses the daughter of the poorest man in the poorest village to be his wife. She agrees to obey his every wish (whether he makes her laugh or suffer) and to be always happy and never grumble. They have a daughter and he decides to tempt her: he takes away her daughter and leads her to believe her daughter is dead; she bears him a son and he does the same; he sends her back to her father with nothing; he announces that he's to remarry and asks her to plan the wedding. She doesn't bat an eye, doesn't weep, just lets him do what he wants. In the end he marries her again.

what i knew and what i learned

Marriages work best when the husband and wife both submit their wills to each other.

If both parties go into a marriage selfishly, she she will be either manipulative and controlling or passive and clingy; he will be either abusive or a pushover.

There's a difference between being passive and submitting your will. I can't explain it (I tried and failed), but anyone can tell the difference between a man who is genuinely courteous and a man who is genuinely a pushover. A courteous man will do what the woman asks because he wants to please her; a pushover will do what the woman asks because he's afraid of not pleasing her. Or because he wants something.

Courteous men are wonderful, and the mark of a courteous man is that he submits his will without being passive (I think).

I've been topsy-turvy for at least a year trying to figure out how to be a good woman. Ask me how to be a good man, and I would tell you to go read "If" by Rudyard Kipling and the Boy Scout Law. But nobody writes those sorts of things for women.

But the answer is simple. To be a good man, what you have to do is submit your will. To be a good woman, what you have to do is submit your will.

Submit your will. That's all. It's simply a matter of pride.

Simple, but not easy.

I complain that I can't be "helpful" at Hillsdale but I think I'm really complaining that I can't show off how physically strong I am (not that it's much).

I get really offended at woman jokes, but honestly? that's a matter of pride, too.

I get upset when they need volunteers and they have men move tables and women bring food out. That's completely pride.

Submit your will.

First to God.

Second to other people.

But submit it. Humble yourself.

nothing too exciting

workout

Marcellus, who worked ranger staff at camp, was shocked to discover that I go to college.

"You've got an education and you're still doing physical labor?" he asked me.

I didn't know how to respond. Is education a way to avoid physical labor? Is physical labor lower than white collar work?

Saturday mornings at camp are equipment moves. Nick said "It's like getting paid to go to the gym."

I wonder.

Am I going to grow up and get a white-collar job where I don't have to do physical labor then spend my white-collar money on a gym membership because I sit at a desk all day and get out of shape?

army men photos

how we made the army men

I had a request for army man photos, and they will be here right after I show you our dinner. Bob killed a year-old doe on Monday, picked vine-ripened Byron tomatoes on Wednesday, and we feasted Thursday night. We didn't have any spice, so Bob crushed some pringles and added those. I don't even like tomatoes and they were good. Bob Ferberger is a good cook. Jason Middleton is a good tomato washer.






And as requested, the army men. I haven't had a chance to trim or paint them, so they're still a little rough. If anyone knows where I can find enamel paint in very small amounts for cheap, please let me know. (The duck is from the library's table at the Source.)




I thought the backdrop fitting--the flag is from my great-uncle Nick's casket. A real Army man.





These guys (lying down, below) are a little weird. They only have one leg and foot each. Past their waists, it's sort of like a mermaid except with a shoe instead of a tail.





This guy is supposed to have a rifle, but the end if it broke off, so it looks more like a pistol. Bob, Jason, Mike and I thought the way he's standing to shoot looks kind of funny. The only part of the conversation I'm willing to post online is that Jason (the Marine) said he must be a Navy man.




The mold for this guy didn't work very well. This might be the first successful version of him.





This one isn't a guy at all but she found someone's old Marine BDUs at a garage sale.

fall break part 2: mining

Nick told me he found five pounds in an hour. I didn't believe him: I said "Nick, you're a liar." So I went out and found fifteen pounds in an hour. I came back and said "Nick, you're not a liar, you're a f--kin' slacker."
--Mike Beratta


The rifle range has been open since 1966 (I think) and until now no one has thought to mine it for lead. When kids shoot .22s they have to return the brass casings which are then exchanged for a couple bucks, but when the bullets hit the targets or the birm or the clays, we just leave them there.

Well, not anymore. Mike had over 100 pounds of lead by the time we got to camp, and he took us to the rifle range--about a half mile from the parade field--to mine some more.




During the summer, staffers from shooting and eco-con (when they teach astronomy) tell stories: the rifle range looks like a sandy crater, and gullible campers easily believe that a meteor landed there a few years ago. You have to go down a sandy hill to get to the blockhouse and shooting pavilion, then you shoot right into a sandy birm opposite. (I can't find "birm" in any dictionary, and I've never heard the word outside this context. The birm is the sandy wall you shoot into.) We went to the birm and Mike showed us the mine.

There was no ominous, clanky elevator descent inside the earth, no black lungs, no fog of soot--just a couple pig buckets, a shovel, and a wooden-framed screen.

We shoveled sand onto the screen and sieved it through, leaving rocks, clay pigeon fragments, sticks, marijuana, maple leaves, and bullets.




We did some sorting at the birm--removed anything big or alive. Everything else we dumped into a pig bucket.
.

The orange shards are clay pigeon fragments. If you look closely, you can see bullets. Some are smashed; some are not.
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.
Mike drove us to the shop. During the summer, he gave us talks on limiting the amount of people on a golf cart, but all four of us piled on with our buckets of lead and rocks. Levi came with us.



Bob and Mike rinsed off the rocks and lead while Jason and I drove back to the range to drop off a pan of rocks. When Jason and I returned, we had a table of wet rocks and lead to sort.

It was a Kalkaska October evening, and by the time we were done, our hands were numb. I went to the shop bathroom to rinse off my hands, and Mike called to me over his shoulder:

"Make sure you put the seat back up when you're done."

I had already kicked it back up.
.


.
We had a nice bucket of lead. I had to crouch down and push up with my legs to lift it.
Bob tried lifting it by the handle and it snapped and broke, spilling lead all over the shop floor.
.





.
A handful or two of lead went into the ladle and we melted it with the gas torch. Tapping on the side of the ladle would bring any leftover dirt to the top: the lead, heavier, would sink. Within a couple minutes, we had a ladle of pure lead to pour into the molds.
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.
The round molds worked pretty well;
the army man molds had to be heated and sometimes they wouldn't work. I used Mike's pocket knife to trim an army man and ended up taking his arm off. We put the broken army men back into the ladle and melted them down again.

Then all that was left to do was trim the edges.

fall break part 1

THE PLAN:

Nathan from Hillsdale drives me to MSU on Wednesday. We get there about four. I hang out with Jacob until Jason is done with LCC class at 6. Jason picks me up at MSU, picks Bob up in Byron, and we drive up to camp. We stay there until Tony picks me up Friday afternoon.

THE EXECUTION:

Reunion

Nathan dropped me off at the bus stop at MSU and drove off before Jacob got there. I set my stuff on the bench and stood looking for him. Not 15 seconds had passed when I heard his voice: "behind you." I went to give him a hug and I was two feet off the ground, in his arms. I'd forgotten how strong he was (how?).

"It's so good to see another staff member," he told me, his smile so wide I thought it would break his face. I knew there were thrills of delight shooting through his body--he was in a Class B uniform and he hugged me without permission. He was giddy when he saw that I tautline-hitched my sleeping bag to my duffel bag with climbing rope.

I forgot how much I missed him.

MSU

The lounge in the student union was much quieter than Grewcock. We chatted for a bit, then I started talking to students about food safety for my "man on the street" story for my journalism class.

The first girl I talked to was a second-year grad student, and I wasn't at Hillsdale.

The second girl I talked to told me the FDA should do something to keep our food safe, and I definitely wasn't at Hillsdale.

We put my stuff up in Jacob's room--his dorm is larger than my sophomore class--and wandered around campus for a bit. Campus was beautiful. They allow--and even encourage--you to recycle. And I found this:


And as much as I whine about fancy-schmancy donor-schmoozing nonsense at Hillsdale, MSU's bathrooms were kind of gross and I'm glad ours are nice. But, Hillsdale, I can flush the toilet myself.

We got a phone call from Jason and he was on his way. We were going to meet him at the international center.

Reunion

I set my bag on the ground.

I used to tie my toes in knots to prevent myself from running across the room and tackle-hugging when I meet people I haven't seen in a while. I always thought it was annoying--probably because it's a very feminine way of greeting people--but I remember talking to Jason about it and he said he loves the tackle-hug reunion. I believed him. Jason loves women and is kind of a sucker for anything feminine. Few men are completely comfortable with telling any woman that she's beautiful; few men can do so without hitting on her or being creepy. Jason is one of those few.

He was wearing a gray hoodie and his staff hat (cover). He had his eyes down and he walked straight, stoically. It took me a bit to recognize him. And when I did he had two doors to go through and four steps to go up, so the tackle-hug thing didn't really work. I had to pause before going down the steps so I couldn't get enough momentum. I caught him about halfway up the steps, gave him a hug, and sort of walked him back down the steps.

Jacob told Jason to show us his pride and joy, and he pointed: "it's right there." It was beautiful.



Pizza and Ice Cream



Departure

Jacob carried my bag and he was thrilled to have something productive to do. We got my stuff loaded into Jason's car and it was time to go.

Jacob gave Jason a talk on taking care of me. "Watch her," he said.

"Just, not while I'm getting dressed," I added.

I gave Jacob a hug before I got into the car and when we let go I felt like my heart snagged on something came ripping out of my body.

I forgot how much I missed Jacob. I almost yelled after him when he walked away.

Drive

Jason is a good driver. I felt very safe in his car.

Reunion

We didn't have Bob's address, but we knew it was the blue house after the field in the outskirts of Byron. We tried calling him but he didn't get service.

We found his house, said hello, and loaded up his gear.

"You're bringing your rifle with you?" Jason asked.

"I always bring at least one gun with me when I go up north," Bob replied.

Jason looked at me. "I hope," he said.

I called Mike and he said we could crash in treehouses. We wouldn't be at camp until after midnight, and no one else was on camp.

Drive

I looked out the window and saw Cassiopeia--something I learned at camp this summer.

We stopped in Sterling for caffeine. Jason winced when we got out of the car.

"What's that smell?" he asked.

"Look." Bob pointed across the street.

Cows.

Arrival

Jason turned his brights on once we got on the dirt road. Leaves scattered the path--red leaves, I think--and a breeze brought a maple shower onto the car. I thought of a flower girl spreading petals across the aisle for the bride to walk on. It felt like: someone made this path for us and they were awaiting our arrival. We were late, but we were coming home, and someone was waiting for us.

I felt a hush as we drove past the twelve wooden signs on the way into camp: trustworthy. loyal. helpful. friendly. courteous. kind. obedient. cheerful. thrifty. brave. clean. reverent.

We drove around to treehouses 6 and 7. Bob and Jason set up in the Lizard Lounge; I slept across in Robin's Rainbow Room. Their cabiny smell surprised me. I never noticed it during the summer.

I was cold.

Happy to be home.

Morning
I woke up before the guys did and

Sometimes over Christmas I'll wake up early in the morning--just early enough to see the sun sparkle the innocent, fresh new snow that fell overnight. No one else is awake and I feel like this beauty was created just for me. And it makes me feel special and happy and giddy inside.

When I woke up that morning, alone in the treehouse, I felt the same. Everything was beautiful.


I walked around by the boathouse and OA dock then out to the burned area and Three Bs. Everything was delightfully beautiful, but my camera couldn't see much of it.





I knocked on the door of the Lizard Lounge around 10 a.m. We packed our things into Jason's van and we went over to Mike's house.

At Mike's House

Mike offered us instant oatmeal. None of us took the blueberry oatmeal, and he told us afterward he was hoping we would because he didn't like the blueberry.

We chatted.

He showed us the mines.

two men

I was sitting in AJ's before lunch tweaking a paper for Anglo-Saxon, and a friend stopped by to say hello. We chatted for a bit and, as so often happens here, the discussion turned from weekend plans to abstract concepts. Well, I thought it was abstract concepts, but the issue was more personal for him than I knew. It seemed like suddenly: "You don't understand how angry you just made me, Mary." His face turned a little red--an angry red but not a furious red--and he clammed up and wouldn't listen to anything I had to say, even my apologies. He walked off.

I thought I should feel bad about it, so I stared at the table for about thirty seconds. Then I realized that I wasn't upset at all--as far as I could tell it had been a friendly conversation the whole time. I shrugged and went back to my paper. (It was about 11:15 and the paper was sort of due at 2:30.)

Someone else walked up, and I'm not sure how to describe him without plastering his identity online. I don't know that I've talked to him enough to call him a friend, but we're friends on facebook. I have one class with him, but mostly when we talk, we talk business. I always got the feeling that he didn't like me much.

"Hey, Mary, do you know who that was?"

"Yeah, that was" and I told him my friend's name.

"Yeah, I know it was him, but is everything okay? I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it sounded kind of awkward."

I shrugged. "Yeah, he's one of my friends. I'll give him some time to cool off then I'll go apologize."

He gave a small laugh, a "heh-heh," one with two breaths. The first was nervous and the other relieved. "Okay. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm okay." I nodded. He started to turn. "Thank you," I told him.

And that was that.

blues!

Amanda called me, excited that my story about skulking during the SAI ball was in the yearbook. Thrilled, I ran from the Collegian office in Grewcock to come see. We were sitting on a bench in front of the library flipping through Winona, when I glanced up and saw a Marine recruiter in his blues walking toward us.

Amanda and I looked at each other and laughed.

When he got closer, I looked at him and said hello.

He returned the greeting and continued walking passed us toward Grewcock.

I recognized him. He was the one with the blood stripe in AJ's.

I could go find him later, but what would I say to him? My standard line, "you should have worn your blues," wasn't going to work. But he was wearing his blues, and I couldn't pass this up.

We couldn't think of anything, and it was time to get back to my paper, so I walked back into Grewcock.

I ran back out to Amanda with an idea, but after telling her I realized it was a little weird.

I danced anyway. Called Jason (my Marine friend from camp).

"Hey Jason! Guess who's here today!"

"Bob?"

"No."

"Marine recruiters?"

"Yes. And guess what he's wearing?"

"Blues?"

"Yes!"

"Was I right?"

"Yes on one thing, no on the other."

"Let me guess. They look good and your clothes are still on?"

He was right.

Went back into Grewcock. And when I opened the door, the recruiter was there. There are two doors; we met between the doors. He stood aside and let me walk through first.

"Hello," I said.

"Hey, how's it going?" he said (not asked).

I reached for the other door handle.

"Wore my blues today," he said.

Giddy.

possibly the nerdiest moment of my life (thus far)

I was at adoration this evening and had a very profound thought but couldn't for the life of me figure out how to express it in English. I wish we had a dative of reference.

homecoming festivities

Sometimes your parents tell you not to do certain things, and they tell you why. And sometimes you assume that the reasons they give are a little exaggerated. Trying to convince you not to do it. But sometimes you find that what actually happens when you don't take their advice is about twenty times worse than anyone ever let on.

I've never seen anyone as drunk as I saw on Friday night.

Or heard, really. I woke up when my roommate came in, about 2 a.m., and I heard another friend say "Call me if anything happens, okay?" I sat up and asked my roommate what was going on. Someone on our hall was very, very drunk, she told me.

"Is she conscious?" I asked.

"She's in the bathroom retching now. Her sorority sisters brought her up."

A little bit later, I took my phone and went to the hallway, thinking: I don't want her to die of alcohol poisoning on my hall knowing I could have made a phone call. One of this girl's friends was in the hallway, and I talked to her. She said not to worry about alcohol poisoning. "She's throwing up, which is good. It'll get it out of her system." She and a couple other friends were there and planned to stay as long as they needed to. She said she'd been in the same situation before and she knew what to do. I asked if this was typical behavior of this girl or if she learned something that night, and it sounded like she had learned something.

I went back to my room.

"Up, up, up." (groan) "You need to sit up." ("I am sitting up.") "No you're not. Sit up. Drink some water." ("That requires movement.") "I don't care if it requires movement. Drink water." ("No. That water tastes bad. No wonder I'm throwing up.") "Drink some water."

She sounded miserable. I heard her say--not as slurred as I expected--how miserable she was. And her girl friends stayed with her the whole time.

I finally fell asleep sometime between three and four, but I wondered.

Most of my friends don't drink or don't drink much, and the ones that do don't do it around me. But what if they did?

I know I am willing to drive someone home (if I had access to a car) and willing to make as many phone calls as I need to to find a car if someone called me drunk.

I know I am fully prepared to tip over a table of shot glasses if someone's being stupid.

I know I am ready to call for help if someone passes out drunk.

But would I stay up all night with a profusely vomiting friend?

I hope I never have to. But I wonder.

a missing blood stripe

I'm done with my morning classes by eleven o'clock every day, and my afternoon classes don't start until 2 or 2:30. Usually I bring my work up to AJ's and work on it there--saves me another trip to my room, and I get to watch people. And I'm about 20 feet away from the table where military recruiters sit when they're on campus.

Before today, the Marines have been here twice and the Navy once. (I like Marine haircuts better.) Today my sister is here, and we went back to my room after lunch. I left the room around 1:40, ran to the EAR to print something out for my two o'clock class. Saw recruiters outside Grewcock.

Remembered that I had a letter for Justin (friend from camp, MRP2 in San Diego) in my backpack. Ran downstairs and slipped the envelope in the mail slot. Ran to the EAR to print out my article for class. Came back, thinking about what I was going to say to the recruiters (because, come on, I couldn't pass this up).

I thanked them for being there because it reminded me to send my letter to a friend in San Diego. They reacted in an utterly normal fashion--that was strange, but you're welcome.

"And, you guys should have worn your blues today," I said.

And walked away without making eye contact.

Thought it was strange that only one of them had a blood stripe on his pants.

Well, I went to class, then (with Anne) to pep band rehearsal, then to work on the Collegian cart, then to dinner. And as we were walking into dinner, I saw that the recruiters were still on campus. I wanted to ask the one why he didn't have a stripe, but, both recruiters were sitting down with a student, folder open on the table, having a serious conversation. I wasn't going to interrupt that. So Anne and I went to dinner, and after dinner picked up Collegians and sat down in AJ's, reading. Patient.

Amanda and Jeff stopped by. And we talked and laughed for a while. Jeff still hadn't find the girl he was looking for.

Finally, the recruiters stood up. Shook hands. The student walked away.

And I walked up.

"I have a friend in the Marines--two friends, actually, one of them's in San Diego right now. I'm curious, I saw you don't have a stripe on your pants. I'm wondering."

The one with the stripe said told me it's a blood stripe--which I knew and should have said--and told me something about rank that I didn't really pay attention to. I recognized him. He must have been here before.

I said okay, cool, and walked back to the table with my sister and friends.

The recruiters got their bags packed, picked up their covers (hats), put on their coats, and walked.

Past our table. They walked probably 5 feet from me.

I made eye contact with the Marine with the stripe. I waved. A shy wave.

He acknowledged it, then continued walking.

"Hey, you guys should have worn your blues," I called after them.

He turned.

Made a vowel, the sort of vowel that says "there's that obnoxious girl again." Or anyway, that's the way I heard it.

And left.

Our table was giddy.