Dinner at CSUEB
(once again for context you may need to read the previous two days first. monday, then tues.)
So, I headed up to CSUEB (Formally CSUH) yesterday to take part in the annual President’s Circle. Norma Rees (CSUEB President) throws open her home once a year and lets in people who gave a certain amount of money (Never mind how much that is.) to campus come drink wine and eat crab bruchetta’s.
She has a modest Morrison style track home up in the Hayward hills overlooking Castro Valley and a semi wooded canyon. In the distance you can see downtown Oakland, San Francisco and a good part of the Bay. It was 80ish in temperature, the sun was moving close to the coastal hills, and I was still thoroughly worked up from my conference call with Miss Missouri Compromise and her crowd. I needed a drink.
Crab bruchettas, shrimp cakes, giant garlic mushrooms Norma had on the menu. Red wine she did not. When I asked if there was any I was informed by a very polite and quite good looking young woman (note I now think of like 24 as young) that they only had white. “It was the carpet.”
I looked down. Yep, red would stain it. So would white. Most of you know my opinions on white wine, and it’s backed up by the basement collection. The only white gets left by visitors. But I was done arguing for the day, and I had been told not forty minutes before I should be more open minded. I said, “Filler up.” Probably in a more academically inclined sentence, but it escapes me now. I positioned myself by the kitchen so as to intercept the good looking waitress for snackie-poos and be able to travel about two feet for more wine. If I was going to be open minded, I really wanted to be opened.
I was soon joined by a gentleman who introduced himself as someone that sponsors scholarships for a couple students each year. He asked me where I lived. I told him Berkeley, Elmwood Park area. Turns out he used to live here. He then started asking all sorts of questions about my house, what I was doing etc. I told him the whole restoration story, and that the Berkeley Architectural Heritage Association (BAHA – they actually go by that name) had nominated me for an award this year. (More on that tomorrow.) He said, that sometimes Berkeley give you a tax break if you win. I took a real liking to the guy! Anyway, I only mention this whole conversation because, I go to the award ceremony tomorrow night, and given that this a Berkeley award, I’m sure there is going to be a silly story associated with it. Stay tuned, or browse my web page as the case may be in a few days.
Anyway, the scholarship giving guy and I talked for a few glasses of wine. Then we went out on the deck and talked to student scholars for a few more glasses. About six glasses of wine, six discussions of what someone’s major was and some cool eats later, it was announced the guest speaker was going to start. We went in. --Me drinking the last of my wine to protect the carpet.
Now for some years at this event I have been asking if they could get someone from the College of Art and Letter’s to talk. I give my money to the Departments of English and Speech Communication. At these president’s events we always get these scientists who talk about global warming or a cure for psoriasis. Not that I don’t think science is important. I studied it. I make my money from it. But I also studied English and Speech. So I’m an articulate and well written scientist. I want representation.
Well, turns out, they brought in the resident poet for the talk. She went to Iowa. –They all do. The professors of poetry writing I mean. Professor, what’s her name, started in about the greatness of poetry in something or other. I was a bit tipsy so I didn’t really follow. I started thinking about how she wasn’t making sense, and her logic didn’t flow. But she’s a poet, who went to Iowa, they go there to do hang with other non-linear thinking types. From the corn fields they dribble out the pain of their lesbianism or dead love or something. It flows in manner Spock wouldn’t get. Then I thought, “Cool a poet. Someone I can finally talk to at this.” Oh wait, she has an MFA from Iowa. She’s published. (Well so am I, but not like her. Not Iowa published.) I can’t talk to her. I’m not worthy. I’m only a rocket scientist who goofs around with poetry. I’ve only been published three times. I’m drunk. I’ll make about as much sense as she does right now, if I try and talk poetry. How do I get around this?
“So, since feeling is first:” she quoted Cummings. I woke up from drunken tirade. Cummings? My favorite poet! I can talk Cummings. Oh wait, she’s a professor, no I can’t. She’ll kick my ass. Then she started talking about these poetry readings that the department of English sponsors. They only cost $250 to put on. The dean of the School of Arts Letters etc. gives her the cash from the friends of campus fund. She wished she could do more. “Hey that’s me”, I thought, “I could talk to her about more readings.” She wouldn’t get too intellectual about poetry with the guy that sponsor’s her poetry readings. So, she finished her speech and ended up standing next to me, while Norma thanked the poet and talked about us. (The donors.) I leaned over to the poet. “We need to talk” I said, not really sure why, other than I was drunk and I was a rocket scientist over exposed to non-linear thinking that day.
I then realized I actually had to have a reason, other than just saying. “Hi, I give money for a poetry, English and what not.” As my mind had been opened by the wine, it wandered into the hills a bit. The sun was setting orange on hillside. I started thinking about the conference call on how to blow up rockets quicker. I wondered what the root cause of my frustration was. Then, I hit upon it. Working with Miss Missouri Compromise was a bit like being in the writer’s workshop. I was the only scientist and mathematician in a tribe of preachers. I got A’s in writer’s workshop. My stories were easy to follow. They flowed. Everyone else seemed to be discovering their savior. It was all about their feelings. Cause, ”Since Feeling is First, who pays attention to the syntax of things” Cummings said. That was the problem with the NARS. They were depending on their feelings. They felt with a little faith, the rockets would stop blowing up. I felt it was a matter of science and order. They seemed to think it was a random act of …..Well, not them that’s for sure. They were managers with business degrees or something. All they needed to solve the problem was a slogan and proper motivation. But in that moment as the sun lit the hills like the flames of a night launch ascending and not blowing up from Vandenberg, I hatched a plan. Long term, not short term, I couldn’t do much about the current NARS in my life. But if I could distract even one or two NARS from an attempted life of science, I could save future generations of rocket scientists.
The poet was looking at me. “Hey,” I said. “I’d like to sponsor quarterly readings at the University. Maybe even establish financial help for people who want to study writing at CSUEB.”
She looked at me with surprise. “Wow, how generous.”
I smiled back. “Consider it an investment in the future.”
So, I headed up to CSUEB (Formally CSUH) yesterday to take part in the annual President’s Circle. Norma Rees (CSUEB President) throws open her home once a year and lets in people who gave a certain amount of money (Never mind how much that is.) to campus come drink wine and eat crab bruchetta’s.
She has a modest Morrison style track home up in the Hayward hills overlooking Castro Valley and a semi wooded canyon. In the distance you can see downtown Oakland, San Francisco and a good part of the Bay. It was 80ish in temperature, the sun was moving close to the coastal hills, and I was still thoroughly worked up from my conference call with Miss Missouri Compromise and her crowd. I needed a drink.
Crab bruchettas, shrimp cakes, giant garlic mushrooms Norma had on the menu. Red wine she did not. When I asked if there was any I was informed by a very polite and quite good looking young woman (note I now think of like 24 as young) that they only had white. “It was the carpet.”
I looked down. Yep, red would stain it. So would white. Most of you know my opinions on white wine, and it’s backed up by the basement collection. The only white gets left by visitors. But I was done arguing for the day, and I had been told not forty minutes before I should be more open minded. I said, “Filler up.” Probably in a more academically inclined sentence, but it escapes me now. I positioned myself by the kitchen so as to intercept the good looking waitress for snackie-poos and be able to travel about two feet for more wine. If I was going to be open minded, I really wanted to be opened.
I was soon joined by a gentleman who introduced himself as someone that sponsors scholarships for a couple students each year. He asked me where I lived. I told him Berkeley, Elmwood Park area. Turns out he used to live here. He then started asking all sorts of questions about my house, what I was doing etc. I told him the whole restoration story, and that the Berkeley Architectural Heritage Association (BAHA – they actually go by that name) had nominated me for an award this year. (More on that tomorrow.) He said, that sometimes Berkeley give you a tax break if you win. I took a real liking to the guy! Anyway, I only mention this whole conversation because, I go to the award ceremony tomorrow night, and given that this a Berkeley award, I’m sure there is going to be a silly story associated with it. Stay tuned, or browse my web page as the case may be in a few days.
Anyway, the scholarship giving guy and I talked for a few glasses of wine. Then we went out on the deck and talked to student scholars for a few more glasses. About six glasses of wine, six discussions of what someone’s major was and some cool eats later, it was announced the guest speaker was going to start. We went in. --Me drinking the last of my wine to protect the carpet.
Now for some years at this event I have been asking if they could get someone from the College of Art and Letter’s to talk. I give my money to the Departments of English and Speech Communication. At these president’s events we always get these scientists who talk about global warming or a cure for psoriasis. Not that I don’t think science is important. I studied it. I make my money from it. But I also studied English and Speech. So I’m an articulate and well written scientist. I want representation.
Well, turns out, they brought in the resident poet for the talk. She went to Iowa. –They all do. The professors of poetry writing I mean. Professor, what’s her name, started in about the greatness of poetry in something or other. I was a bit tipsy so I didn’t really follow. I started thinking about how she wasn’t making sense, and her logic didn’t flow. But she’s a poet, who went to Iowa, they go there to do hang with other non-linear thinking types. From the corn fields they dribble out the pain of their lesbianism or dead love or something. It flows in manner Spock wouldn’t get. Then I thought, “Cool a poet. Someone I can finally talk to at this.” Oh wait, she has an MFA from Iowa. She’s published. (Well so am I, but not like her. Not Iowa published.) I can’t talk to her. I’m not worthy. I’m only a rocket scientist who goofs around with poetry. I’ve only been published three times. I’m drunk. I’ll make about as much sense as she does right now, if I try and talk poetry. How do I get around this?
“So, since feeling is first:” she quoted Cummings. I woke up from drunken tirade. Cummings? My favorite poet! I can talk Cummings. Oh wait, she’s a professor, no I can’t. She’ll kick my ass. Then she started talking about these poetry readings that the department of English sponsors. They only cost $250 to put on. The dean of the School of Arts Letters etc. gives her the cash from the friends of campus fund. She wished she could do more. “Hey that’s me”, I thought, “I could talk to her about more readings.” She wouldn’t get too intellectual about poetry with the guy that sponsor’s her poetry readings. So, she finished her speech and ended up standing next to me, while Norma thanked the poet and talked about us. (The donors.) I leaned over to the poet. “We need to talk” I said, not really sure why, other than I was drunk and I was a rocket scientist over exposed to non-linear thinking that day.
I then realized I actually had to have a reason, other than just saying. “Hi, I give money for a poetry, English and what not.” As my mind had been opened by the wine, it wandered into the hills a bit. The sun was setting orange on hillside. I started thinking about the conference call on how to blow up rockets quicker. I wondered what the root cause of my frustration was. Then, I hit upon it. Working with Miss Missouri Compromise was a bit like being in the writer’s workshop. I was the only scientist and mathematician in a tribe of preachers. I got A’s in writer’s workshop. My stories were easy to follow. They flowed. Everyone else seemed to be discovering their savior. It was all about their feelings. Cause, ”Since Feeling is First, who pays attention to the syntax of things” Cummings said. That was the problem with the NARS. They were depending on their feelings. They felt with a little faith, the rockets would stop blowing up. I felt it was a matter of science and order. They seemed to think it was a random act of …..Well, not them that’s for sure. They were managers with business degrees or something. All they needed to solve the problem was a slogan and proper motivation. But in that moment as the sun lit the hills like the flames of a night launch ascending and not blowing up from Vandenberg, I hatched a plan. Long term, not short term, I couldn’t do much about the current NARS in my life. But if I could distract even one or two NARS from an attempted life of science, I could save future generations of rocket scientists.
The poet was looking at me. “Hey,” I said. “I’d like to sponsor quarterly readings at the University. Maybe even establish financial help for people who want to study writing at CSUEB.”
She looked at me with surprise. “Wow, how generous.”
I smiled back. “Consider it an investment in the future.”
posted by Stan at 8:01 PM
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