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Sep. 11th, 2007 10:45 amNot into writing at all. But taking lots and lots and lots of pictures…
The Monterey Peninsula's Stanford Club held a reception for incoming students at Quail Lodge. I decided that Max and I had to go because well… you know, free food. Plus the invitations were on this really cool transparent parchment.
So we got there and for the first forty-five minutes or so there were no real live incoming students at all save for Max and one other hapless girl, the first Salinas resident in recorded history ever to be admitted into Stanford. She'd been the president of her local 4-H Club. We had an invigorating conversation about raising swine.
The other guests were all Stanford alumni in various stages of decrepitude. Networking apparently is a very big deal for Stanford alumni.
At one point I found myself at a table full of real estate developers panicking over the collapse of the sub-prime mortgage industry, which is also the collapse of the supra-prime mortgage industry (of course) although that, as yet, has gotten little press.
"I'm not worried. Fannie and Freddie will kick in," said one real estate developer confidently. He was about forty, seven feet tall and had the most fantastic set of gleaming white choppers I've ever seen. But I noticed he was drinking a lot of the free wine.
"Good heavens," I said. "I suppose you're against welfare for the poor?"
He blinked at me and frowned.
"Then why would you be in favor of welfare for the rich?" I continued.
Cause it's me that's getting' it, bitch, his eyes said. But he was polite enough to change the topic.
That, however, was not my biggest faux pas of the afternoon. My biggest faux pas was that I was wearing blue and gold, the colors of Stanford's archrival, UCB. (True, I am a graduate of UCB but the fashion choice was purely coincidental: I'm not one to color coordinate with institutions of higher learning.)
All in all, a fun couple of hours. I like being a gadfly. Plus eventually some other students showed up and one of them had a mother with whom I felt an instant bond. Remember how back in elementary school you would see somebody you liked, sidle up to them and say, "Wanna be my Best Friend?" It was like that with her. We were both entrepreneurs, both outsiders. We batted business plans around and then moved on to sex.
The free food, though, was pretty mediocre.
I've also – for reasons too boring to go into – been driving back and forth to Salinas a great deal. Salinas is a butt ugly town, but interesting to me as all places in transition are interesting. That hideous corridor along North Main? As recently as forty years ago it was all open fields. It was developed so farm workers would have some place to spend their meager remuneration. Every once in a while amidst those liquor stores, gas stations, and cheap furniture emporiums, you come across a relic of the rural past – like this feed store in a tin building, right in the heart of the gang warfare zone.
Also I've been watching Mad Men, rereading The Stress of Her Regard, and observing Robin's rapid metamorphosis from child to teenager. A leetle bit heartbreaking, that last.
The Monterey Peninsula's Stanford Club held a reception for incoming students at Quail Lodge. I decided that Max and I had to go because well… you know, free food. Plus the invitations were on this really cool transparent parchment.So we got there and for the first forty-five minutes or so there were no real live incoming students at all save for Max and one other hapless girl, the first Salinas resident in recorded history ever to be admitted into Stanford. She'd been the president of her local 4-H Club. We had an invigorating conversation about raising swine.
The other guests were all Stanford alumni in various stages of decrepitude. Networking apparently is a very big deal for Stanford alumni.
At one point I found myself at a table full of real estate developers panicking over the collapse of the sub-prime mortgage industry, which is also the collapse of the supra-prime mortgage industry (of course) although that, as yet, has gotten little press.
"I'm not worried. Fannie and Freddie will kick in," said one real estate developer confidently. He was about forty, seven feet tall and had the most fantastic set of gleaming white choppers I've ever seen. But I noticed he was drinking a lot of the free wine.
"Good heavens," I said. "I suppose you're against welfare for the poor?"
He blinked at me and frowned.
"Then why would you be in favor of welfare for the rich?" I continued.
Cause it's me that's getting' it, bitch, his eyes said. But he was polite enough to change the topic.
That, however, was not my biggest faux pas of the afternoon. My biggest faux pas was that I was wearing blue and gold, the colors of Stanford's archrival, UCB. (True, I am a graduate of UCB but the fashion choice was purely coincidental: I'm not one to color coordinate with institutions of higher learning.)
All in all, a fun couple of hours. I like being a gadfly. Plus eventually some other students showed up and one of them had a mother with whom I felt an instant bond. Remember how back in elementary school you would see somebody you liked, sidle up to them and say, "Wanna be my Best Friend?" It was like that with her. We were both entrepreneurs, both outsiders. We batted business plans around and then moved on to sex.
The free food, though, was pretty mediocre.
I've also – for reasons too boring to go into – been driving back and forth to Salinas a great deal. Salinas is a butt ugly town, but interesting to me as all places in transition are interesting. That hideous corridor along North Main? As recently as forty years ago it was all open fields. It was developed so farm workers would have some place to spend their meager remuneration. Every once in a while amidst those liquor stores, gas stations, and cheap furniture emporiums, you come across a relic of the rural past – like this feed store in a tin building, right in the heart of the gang warfare zone.
Also I've been watching Mad Men, rereading The Stress of Her Regard, and observing Robin's rapid metamorphosis from child to teenager. A leetle bit heartbreaking, that last.
