This is my peanut butter jar after one week of college eating:

This is a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich because a non-grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich got boring really fast:

And then after getting sick of eating grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I made this:

Alisa’s very own classy college pita!  The lime makes it very classy, I think.  Also, it’s made with college kid staples:

• tuna salad
• carrots
• lettuce
• rice
• cream cheese
• pepper
• oil and vinegar dressing
• lime juice

Okay, so limes aren’t a staple for most people, but I like limes and I put them in everything (note:  limes do not taste good in ramen noodle soup).

What was a staple meal when you first started living on your own?

Today in Human Geography discussion, we were given a blank map of the U.S. (it had state boundary lines) and a marker to draw where we think the U.S. Southwest is. We all drew on the same paper, and the idea was to have 25 different outlines showing the perspectives of 25 different people. So after the paper made its way around the room, the T.A. took it back to look at.

“You guys, it looks like you all copied off the person next to you. Why does it look like that only one person drew an outline even though all 25 of you were supposed to draw something? Why did everyone draw along the state boundaries? Let’s start over.”

He passed around a new map and we all re-drew our outlines.

“This looks the same. This is not how the other class’s map looked when they were done with it. Okay you didn’t all draw on the exact same line this time, but you all drew around state boundary lines! That’s not the point! So you guys consider northern Nevada to be in the Southwest, even though it’s all pretty and green up there?”

Everyone was staring at the table, so I answered, “Well, if I were driving through there, I wouldn’t consider northern Nevada to be the Southwest, but if someone was talking about Nevada as a whole, then I would consider it the Southwest.”

“So why didn’t you draw a line around where you think the Southwest stops in Nevada?”

“Um… because it looks prettier to follow state boundaries.”

“Because it looks prettier. Does everyone here agree with this?”

Everyone stared at the table.

One guy looked up and proffered, “I’m anal retentive, that’s why I did it.”

[Phone transcription] 

Me: How would you like me to get these photos to you?

Photo Editor: Could you email them to me?

M: I shoot in RAW.

P: So can you email RAW?

M: That would be kind of hard. Each picture is like 3 MB.

P: … oh. Well, can you shrink them?

M: I’m not allowed to do post-processing. That’s your job.

P: Call the editor and see what she says.

M: (banging head on desk) Okay. Will do.

Two fridays ago I was hired to work as a photographer for RedBlue magazine (a student production about student life). I’ve waited to post this until I could get a better feel for the job, and well, I’ve been busy reading The Odyssey (I read the first half in two sittings, and I plan to read the last half the same way this week).

I’m really excited to be paid for my photos. It’s not a whole lot of money– $20 to $30 per story, but it’s better than not being paid at all… Or is it?

I’ve been a serious photo hobbiest for two years now. I’ve been able to do whatever I want with my photos–publish them wherever, edit them however. But now I don’t have the publishing rights and I don’t get to edit. Editing/post-processing, with a computer being the digital dark room, is almost half the fun.

But now this has me wondering. In most newsrooms, do the photographers get to do the editing, or does the photo editor (who assigns shoots and selects photos to be published) do the editing?

Scottsdale, Arizona– A city known for its wealth, its snootiness, and its world-class Arabian horses. The men of Scottsdale are business owners and investors; the women are trophy wives whose duties are to look great, make the house look great, and to make friends who are also great (according to the Scottsdale definition of the word). The children of Scottsdale are raised with Beverly Hills style extravagance– the latest, the greatest, and the most expensive are things that just can’t be done without.

That being said, guess who’s in my Art and Politics in Latin America discussion group?

You’re right! The City of Scottsdale and Mattel Inc. proudly present Scottsdale Princess, UofA Edition! Now equipped with Tucson driving skills, a Gucci bag big enough to hold all those college textbooks, and bleach blonde hair because summer just recently ended.

“So like, did you do the reading?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh… Like, I totally don’t get this class.”

“The reading helps me a lot.”

“I just, don’t have time, you know. Like with everything going on.”

“Yeah. Sorority bid weeks are tough.”

TA announces that homework needs to be turned in.

Scottsdale Princess leaves.

Follow-up question, extra credit: Guess who’s going to be doing the whole entire group’s work when project time rolls around?

No, this is not about my reading of The Odyssey (which, but the way, I think I did well on that quiz). This is about the fact that yesterday was Sorority and Fraternity bidding day.

Basically, this is how it works: the student tours all of the Greek Houses and learns about why that one is better than the one next door. Students write down their top 5 choices. The next day, they tour those 5 places again, and select their top 3. In the mean time, the Greek societies are notified of which students want to join. On the final day, if a Greek club puts your name on their acceptance list, and that same club is in your top 3, then you have a match.

Today all the new acceptees were wearing Greek shwag. Everywhere I looked was a girl wearing a shirt that said Phi Delta Pi Gamma Kappa Theta Tri or something. I was almost jealous when I saw the shwag bags. But then I remembered that sorority girls aren’t referred to as “sorostitutes” for nothing.

I just got out of classes for the day. I have four classes starting at 8am and ending at 11:50am; each class lasting 50 minutes. That leaves me 10 minutes in between classes to pack up and run to my next class. I feel bad because I like talking to professors, but I have absolutely no time at all…

The University of Arizona is a madhouse. There are thousands of students going everywhere, trying to find classes. Riding a bicycle around is a joke. Even though the campus is pretty much closed to cars, there are some places where cars have access. So on the way to find a class in a building I had never been in before, I was trying to ride my bike (this building was on the other side of campus), there were students so thick it was like a mosh pit, a semi was parked in the bicycle lanes, and cars were trying to drive through all of this pretending all the while that honking would help the situation. I felt like I was in an Indian market.

My classes seem okay. My English class has 25 students (it’s an honor’s class, so it’s small), but the other three have around 250 students. Most of these classes have two lecture sessions and one discussion session per week, and a couple of my professors wanted us to sit in sections according to what discussion group we were in. Ha, ha, right! They were lucky that most of us even found the class in the first place.

I’m feeling really overwhelmed. Everything was such a blur this morning. I’m sure I’ll get everything figured out, but right now I need to go. The first four books of the Odyssey have to be read by Wednesday; I’m being quizzed on it.

So I met my roommate.  Her name is Ivvette, and she’s from Phoenix.  I have yet to meet someone from out of state at the University of Arizona.  She’s pretty nerdy, but not in the computer way (which explains the lack of a facebook).  She speaks like 4409345902342 different languages.  Also, her junior year of highschool she was a page on Capitol Hill.

Now normally, I would probably be jealous.  But I didn’t feel jealous at all.  I’m sure it looks great on a resumé, and I’m sure it was a great learning experience, and I’m sure I would have wanted to do it if I had the opportunity.  But right now I’m happy with my experiences.  I was with my family every day, almost all day long through my whole entire life. I can’t imagine that anything else would have been better in my junior year of highschool.  I formed amazing friendships and had fun times with my swimmer buddies. I wouldn’t have been able to swim if I were at Capitol Hill.  I took college classes and fell in love with professors.  I’m not sure that you can fall in love with congressmen.

One other thing: Ivvette said she wasn’t at all surprised when the Foley scandal broke.

On Wednesday I went down to Tucson and put all my boxes into my new apartment. I feel like an adult now because I have apartment keys and my own mailbox. It’s not the Wilhelm Family mailbox anymore. It’s just the Alisa Wilhelm mailbox.

My roommate didn’t show up while I was there, so I still have never talked to her. It’s like camp, but a little more nerve-wracking because we live together for 9 months instead of a week.

Also, I haven’t been able to dig up anything about her online.   Strange, because, oh I don’t know, EVERYONE has a facebook.

I left her a note on the kitchen counter saying I’ll be back on Friday. Maybe I’ll bring a peace offering of M&Ms with me.

Ever since I moved to Arizona (like 5 years ago), people have been telling me about the giant toads that come out when it rains. When it’s dry, the toads dig a little hole and live underground. They don’t come out to eat, or drink, or anything. They just sit and wait for sometimes years in between rains. It rained pretty hard the past few days, and I finally got to see the toads.