On the Tables

We had a very small meeting today.  So small, in fact, that almost all the mature males were absent.  The only one there was rather incommunicado until about 10:28 this morning, so I was asked to take the meeting of what turned out to be 9 people.  Me.  And I had to start the hymns.  Things went well, I suppose.

Imagine a world where you, a student at a moderately prestigious university, are witnessing the student body president dance wildly with the vice provost, a beloved professor dance erratically with a beer in hand, and the chancellor host a “probability seminar,” an academic euphemism for a poker night. When you have finished imagining that, add a hundred more assorted administrators, staff, faculty, students, and influential friends, add a few more glasses of wine to everybody’s inhibitions, and add the fact the everyone is completely aware the University is paying for this, and you can roughly imagine what last night was like for me.

Back up a few months to the beginning of the summer. My academic advisor sent me an email letting me know he was submitting my name for the Chancellor’s Fall Conference. The event is about 140 people who convene at a lodge in Tahoe to discuss the year’s topic of choice, this one being “Information Technology as a Vehicle for Innovation at UC Davis.” Since, as one might imagine, the Humanities would be severely underrepresented, my name was dropped as I have apparently found the right circles in the past three years.

My role, of course, would not be that simple. I would be part of a student panel which would conclude the conference. I was to speak on how technology affects my life as a student in a positive manner. That afternoon, I constructed a 5,000 word essay on the topic and thus deemed myself worthy of the invitation.

As the summer progressed, I would occasionally be sent emails requesting mailing addresses or signatures for permission, etc. from various high ranking officials in charge, such as Sally Springer, Ph.D., Associate Chancellor Emerita. With a smug little grin, I would reply with the requested information and best wishes for Sally’s summer.

When I got back to Davis, Vice Chancellor Fred Wood requested a meeting with the panelists. There were five of us total, only three of which were able to make it to the meeting. Since he was in charge of the student panel, he simply wanted to see what each would have to say, steering us away from duplicate comments and creating an order that flows.

On a hot Tuesday afternoon, I parked my bike outside Mrak Hall and nervously but pseudo-confidently found the Vice Chancellor of Student Affair’s office, announced my arrival, and sat down. I was then offered water from his assistant, a pleasant surprise I was not expecting.

A few minutes later, the two other panelists showed up, one a Ph.D. candidate in soil science, the other a student in the Veterinary school. As a mere undergraduate, I tried to hold my ground and confidence and maintained a decent sense of dignity.

The meeting was very successful, with the Vice Chancellor as kind and enthusiastic as a parent would be. He offered to answer any questions we could think of, giving his email address for later if need be. The whole experience gave me a warm feeling.

A week or so later, I received my conference binder in the mail. It contained all the information I would need—a program, a list of participants, etc. I received the departure time for my bus, relaxed, and waited.

Well, I waited by going home to Santa Barbara and returning early Sunday morning, getting to bed at 3:45. Alas, I made it on the 1:30 bus and we started our journey to Tahoe.

As a student around people mostly more than twice my age, it was slightly intimidating. I found one of the other panelists and we talked to ease the awkwardness. Once the bus was well on its way, everyone settled down in silence, listening to iPods, grading papers, or doing the required reading which I, a traditional university student, never read.

When we arrived at the Granlibakken Resort, we checked in, got our nametags, and found our rooms. One of the nice things about the nametags is that they only listed first and last names, meaning everyone was automatically on a first name basis. No more Vice Chancellor Wood here—he was Fred.

As people trickled into our cabin, I soon realized that we had the undergraduate male cabin. There was only one other panelist in our place, so that left two student body senators and the president. For some reason, I imagine sheer luck, I ended up with a room to myself. I am not complaining.

As it turns out, I feel we all developed a rather friendly relationship with each other, something that surprised me. Had I not been there, I would have never been associated with the student government, merely because I tend to keep a low political profile and a moderate academic one.

When dinner came into being, we traveled down to the hall and got in line for the Mexican buffet. It was incredibly delicious, particularly for free food. I sat next to one of the directors of internet usage who asked me all sorts of questions about the email system we use vs. Gmail. It was strange to have a valued opinion around such people.

That evening was filled with the guest lecturer who seemed to lecture more at the audience than to it. He had some hard hitting ideas that started the conference with sort of a bit of desperation. In all, it was a good speech, albeit a little harsh.

The chancellor announced the probability seminar and all left for respective evening activities. For the students, that meant sticking around for a discussion.

In all, there were about 7 undergraduates and 10 graduate students. We all shared our experiences as students and expectations for the conference. It was very welcoming and open, creating a great set of relationships right from the start.

When I got back to the lodge, I found everyone making full use of the amenities. The place was fully stocked with everything except for food and nicer than any of our apartments. Looking in the closet, you would find duplicate appliances among the board games and Coleman lanterns. It was amazing. We turned on the stereo, lit the fireplace, and acted like college students until we decided to go to bed.

Breakfast was served from 7:00 to 7:45, the first event starting at 8:00. I was there at 7 sharp, eating with a professor from the writing program and discussing mutual acquaintances. From 8 until noon, we were all stuck in a giant hall and put nearly to sleep by lectures about specific uses of technology in different disciplines. Hoo boy.

Lunch was cheeseburgers served buffet style. I sat at the kid’s table and we discussed school. Of course, by kids, I mean students, most of whom are in graduate school and were talking about being TAs, but still, we were kids.

After lunch, we met in smaller groups and discussed more specific aspects of technology. I found myself in the group relating to Campus Culture. Since the groups were smaller, I found I had much more to say. Especially when it came to the areas of student culture, such as piracy, facebook, or the Epic Quad Battle, my voice was a power of insight.

After this, we had a few hours of break time, so the students climbed up to the top of our little hill and found a gorgeous view of the lake. It was relaxing being in such solitude, yet we had all bonded enough that it wasn’t awkward at all. We all have plenty of pictures of each other too.

Dinner was a sit-down meal, wine on the tables (.com), and food brought out on plates. It was a long ordeal, which made things slightly annoying because the overall volume forced conversations to a level of yelling. I had a nice chat with one of the Spanish professors about the Classics department, a group of people with whom we are both familiar.

After dinner, the kids all found a quiet corner and talked some more, then eventually found our way to the dance room.

Oh boy.

It took a while for people to start trickling in, but that happened right around the time they could hear the 80’s music blasting down the hall. Chancellors, Provosts, professors and staff—all of whom had taken advantage of the wine—all found more options at the bar and lost all inhibitions, sense of titles, and temporarily misplaced the memory of spouses and children.

For three hours, I watched the various people dance, taking pictures and videos for potential blackmailing. I held enlightening conversations with various people, most notably a graduate student in Textiles and Clothing, who made me feel very confident about my somewhat obscure style.

For three hours, I politely refused all naggings to get me on the dance floor. I succumbed only twice, once for the Macarena (because I somehow promised I would dance to that song), the other for OutKast’s Hey Ya! The latter only came about because it was midnight and there was a faithful few who needed one last dance before going to bed. Also, I think I made an impression on the Vice Provost, a fact I can hopefully use to my advantage later.

Reminded that I would have to speak on a panel in the morning, I managed to get to bed at the ripe hour of 2am, only to be awaken by my thoughts in preparation at 3:45, then my alarm at 6:30.

I finally got to breakfast at 7:10, surprisingly late for my usual punctuality. Strangely, only about 10 people had made it to breakfast, a testament to their night prior.  As Vice Provost Pat Turner so uncomfortably put it, “What happens at Granlibakken stays at Granlibakken.”  That said, I jotted down a few word outline to guide my thoughts, then went back to my room to pack up.

While there, I gave myself 5 minutes and tried to talk as casually as possible about how technology has influenced my life. It was embarrassingly awkward. I was doomed. It’s not that I hate public speaking, but I hate preparing for things. I had done what I do best—procrastinated.

There was an hour or so of reports from the small groups, during which I wished I was still sleeping, then a break to check out. With all that taken care of, I returned to the room to sit on the stage behind a long table.

As it turns out, people enjoyed what I had to say. I was apparently a lot funnier than I thought I was. I opened with what I thought was a cleverly sarcastic joke, saying, “I come from a rather technologically adept family. I think this really shows in my four liberal arts emphases.” This met moderate success. I then went into my story of independence from the parents by starting a blog. This, coupled with the continual references to making them seem like I cared without actually having to talk to them, seemed to make everyone laugh loudly. I actually had to pause for a few seconds so I didn’t have to shout over them.

From there, I went through my relationship with open source software, citing it as an alternative to piracy as well as a way to even the playing field for those who can’t afford private software. I then concluded by going into the field of Classics, talking about how technology affects such a non-technical field.

It was a slightly nervewracking morning, but it was worth it for the entire experience.

A few more questions were asked at the end, but they were all simple ideas that could be answered easily. We were home free.

We made sandwiches, put them in boxes, and reloaded the buses. Of course, the bus ride back was much more lively than the ride there, as all of the new friends had become quite chatty. Also, as we were all running on about 4 hours of sleep, naps were in store.

Alas, we were dropped off at the Visitor’s Center and thus ended our incredible journey through the land of familiarity with the academic elite.

At this point, I’d like to mention that I have plenty of pictures and videos, but for the sake of the integrity of the subjects, I shall leave those off the internet for now.

When driving back to Davis last week, David and I approached the bridge on 680 with caution, expecting the usual toll. I thought I remembered the toll was $3, so I had kept that amount in my pocket for the drive. When I finally saw the signs, automobiles had a $4 toll. I quickly (and safely) found the extra dollar while driving, just before reaching the toll booth. It was so close, I was only able to roll down my window a third of the way, attempting to stick the money out of the window. The toll booth operator looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, he paid for you,” pointing at the car in front of me.

I was slightly confused and in a little state of shock. We each kept an eye on the car, an Arctic Silver Porsche Boxster, wondering about the nice gentleman inside the car. David and I hypothesized that because he was not wealthy enough to afford the Carrera, he gave away small increments of money to charitable causes.

I imposed a courtesy rule forbidding passing the Boxster. This was difficult on several occasions, but as Porsches tend to have more power than Oldsmobiles, I managed. Traffic hit at the bottleneck right at our exit, so we said goodbye to the generous man and left with fond memories of our travels.

Thus, if you ever come across said Boxster, license plate 4WKN028, please thank the driver for paying my toll.

At sometime this morning, I was having a conversation or argument with David in my room. The conversation was interrupted by Jayna screaming down the hall from the living room. It wasn’t a very girly scream, as I would expect from someone surprising or tickling her. It was a scream of loud, short bursts, as if she were simultaneously wheezing. It was a scream of honest, vivid terror.

For some reason, I immediately thought Rigby jumped from her arms and broke his leg again, yet the frantic screaming was definitely from a female, not a dog. This shifted my thought to the idea that Jayna broke her leg (or arm, as I believe I thought). I then had one of those cold sweat waking up moments from a movie, realizing from my bookshelves that I was in Davis, not Santa Barbara, and that both Jayna and Rigby were probably safe.

Unfortunately, the girl was still screaming.

The clock on my ceiling read 6:03am, a fact that did not seem to hinder my belief that she broke her arm. When I finally decided to be a good citizen, I peeked out my open window only to see the wall across the little alley and nothing of note (or in view) from the adjacent building, two apartments down.

I heard a male voice discussing inaudible things with the girl, so I assumed they called an ambulance and that everything was okay. I’m sure this male could have assuaged her much better than a 6am Jeff could have anyway.

At 10:43am, when I was walking to my bike in order to go to the football game, I noticed the apartment next to ours was blocked off with police tape and there was a squad car parked across the way. I contemplated this for a moment, then decided to inquire about the situation.

I walked up to the passenger side of the police car and leaned toward the window, an obvious sign of “I want to talk to you.” The officer finally noticed me, sighed, then cracked his window.

“Is this about the screaming at 6 this morning?” I asked innocently.

“Yeah. There was an attempted robbery. Did you see anything?”

I then went on to tell him about how it woke me up but the angle prevented me from seeing anything. I wished him a good day and went to campus.

In all, it was a strange series of events and interpretations. When I got home, it seemed that everything was taken care of and back to normal, but I did notice they left this one memento of my dream that almost wasn’t: