So yesterday I had to take some forms to my professor for letters of recommendation. Don't get me wrong, she is a "distinguished professor," which means she's at the top of her game; she's super brilliant, super respected in her field, and even has her own anthology of British Romantic literature. On top of that, she is, in large part, responsible for my decision to attend grad school (because of both her example and her encouragement to pursue my doctorate).
Nonetheless, she, it seems, is either rather lazy, technophobic or both. Most universities have moved to online applications for letters of recommendation, but she still wanted hard copies to fill out and mail in (which means I had to address and provide postage for many envelopes). Since she notified me of her desire to use the hardcopies via email, I doubt that she is a technophobe. And so I ventured forth to UCLA last night to drop off the copies.
On the way there, I passed by 550 Veteran Avenue, the building in which I lived my freshman, sophomore, and super-senior years at UCLA. Brought back some memories, and strangely, only good ones. I thought of my four senior roommates who took me under their wings when I was a freshman; I reminisced about all the older people in my fellowship who lived there my first two years of college. Since I was the only first-year in the apartment complex, they all shepherded me and did their utmost to keep me in line.
Here's a photo I took of our campus at night:
De-lovely, no? I didn't use the "sepia" mode on my camera; I think the photo just turned out this way because the only light sources are all those yellow-ish lamps on campus. It makes me want to go back east, attend a nice Ivy League school, and wear a rep tie and blue blazer embroidered with my school-crest.
1 comment:
You forgot to mention how you learned to counter a punch with a wrist break and elbow break in one fell swoop.
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