![I’m really happy to see that my alma mater beat Temple today on their home court (Philly) for the first time since 1928. This is a file photo of Fr. Jud Weiksnar of St. Bonaventure from (I think) 2000. [From his Facebook.]](http://24.media.tumblr.com/cf09118cdd85bfb4a1d4c5d208e96a20/tumblr_mgw4c79l5k1qz7cydo1_1280.jpg)
I’m really happy to see that my alma mater beat Temple today on their home court (Philly) for the first time since 1928. This is a file photo of Fr. Jud Weiksnar of St. Bonaventure from (I think) 2000. [From his Facebook.]
My friend Lisa, who is an unbelievable catch, on online dating: Seeking Mr. Right-there-jumping-out-of-that-plane.
So I offer this plea to the guys of Match.com. Refocus. Look for a girl who doesn’t mind that you (apparently) want to go off ziplining, but who might want to lay in the sunshine and read a book while you do. (To work on that tan you demand, obviously.) Or pick, like, two of the major things you’re looking for. Like, she has to be adventurous and beautiful, but it’s okay if she’s a waitress. You know? Be a little more realistic. I’m not saying let go of your dreams. But get a grip. Everyone is not Angelina Jolie. (Not that you’d be into her, since she’s athletic and toned and probably doesn’t have time for parachuting with all those babies in tow.)
Dude, I am.
Welcome to the planet. Your mother and father are two of the best people I know and you are so fortunate to have them as parents. Remind me to tell you the story about your father and salsa in the garden apartments circa 2001. Just whatever you do never watch my speech at their wedding.
These are my best friends in the world. I’m so lucky to have them.
I mean really: who didn’t do this in college? This photo was taken in my townhouse Halloween 2002, or 200 Days to graduation from St. Bonaventure. I’m seeing the guy in the middle tomorrow.
Today is a particularly sad day, License to Ill was the very first album I ever bought. This was after my mother looked at me in horror, at her six year-old first born asking her to not change the radio station that was playing “Fight For Your Right to Party”.
Good night and good luck, MCA, thank you so much for everything.
My friend and associate from St. Bonaventure, Dana Cowen posts on her new role as the Research Coordinator for the Rembrandt in America exhibit at the Cleveland Museum of Art.
The man himself, Andrew Nicholson, celebrating St. Bonaventure’s Atlantic 10 tournament win over Xavier. Go Bonnies! I can barely contain myself. We’re going dancing!
Francis and I walked into the Reilly Center Cafe at just after 8:30am to get some coffee before class started, on the big screen television just ten feet from the cash registers was a picture of the World Trade Center smoking. It was just a peripheral glance, I wasn’t really paying attention, and I moved onto my first class of the day. I think it was Native American Literature when the teacher said something about the tragedy in New York and how horrible it is, but looking around the room I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what she was talking about.
After class, people were running around the halls talking about what happened and I had my article writing class. While in transit to that class I found out what happened. We spent the class in the auditorium watching the coverage. Mesmerized, horrified, all of the feelings washed over me while watching this and then I realized: I think my Dad is supposed to be in the city today.
I had one more class, a quiz in my Catholic and Franciscan Heritage class. (That was part of our core curriculum at St. Bonaventure—a whole lot of religious classes that were utterly worthless). I walked into the class and asked the teacher, a sister, if I could take the quiz and then leave to call my Dad to make sure that he was all right.
In a classroom full of thirty students she said no. Later that day my future thesis advisor, a staunch, short, and proud preacher of all things E.B. White said, “Please tell me you walked out.”
I told him I should have but I did not because I didn’t want to get a bad grade, because the kind of person who says no to something like that will sure as hell hold a grudge if I did and I didn’t want a bad grade. I’m pretty sure I got a C+ in the class.
I ran to the radio station after class and called home to Connecticut. My Dad answered and I asked if he was supposed to be in the city today, his appointments usually are in the Garment Center thirty something blocks away from the the WTC, and he said: “No, my appointments are on Thursday.”
