Hair Club for Dogs

Home?

I currently have no home. Which is strange. Adjusting to this far better than I am is Satchel. Satchel is thrilled to have the three of us all to himself, and is amusing himself with the suburban grass every chance he gets. He's also getting his first real haircut tomorrow, which is why we took a last few pictures of the shaggy shagman to commemorate. Enjoy.

France and France Telecom

SO.

I just got back from France, as in am sitting in O'Hare for what may be a two hour layover but what will probably be a five hour layover thanks to the infinite wisdom of United Airlines, and can finally post again. France was beautiful and wonderful and amazing and filled with much eating and hiking, which are really my two favorite things that aren't baseball or puppies.

We spent most of the trip at our friend Rita's farm in the Dordogne, which is very green and lush with beautiful hikes, lovely little stone villages, and lots of foie gras. Most days we cooked the food we picked up at the great little outdoor markets. This would be after our death-by-ten-mile-hike afternoons and potentially our watch-Julie-get-tortured-by-a-tiny-British-yoga-instructor early evenings. Dinner seldom ended before midnight and never ran fewer than three courses. We ate scallops with the roe still attached (far superior to any other scallops, and apparently unattainable in the States); fava beans prepared two ways, both delicious; salt cod brandade which would make Delfina weep; rabbit prepared two ways (sense a trend?), both wascally, both also delicious; and about fifty pounds of this salty black licorice which could convert even the most strident black-licorice-objector.

This became an even more French vacation when we were cruelly deprived of internet by the wise people of France Telecom, who felt that keeping the DSL up and running and/or repairing it in any timely manner was not in anyone's best interest. I imagine a surly repairman in his little cottage sipping Bordeaux and sneering at a work order. The reality is going for a week without internet did not lead to the end of the world. A bigger issue was no pictures, since my camera has not been replaced yet.

It's very strange to me that at the end of this trip, I am flying back to the OC (hopefully soon) instead of to Philly. I left a bit earlier than most people, but in my week of radio silence, the rest of the Philly I knew fell away and now we are scattered as we will be for the rest of our lives, save for reunion weekends.

Paris

I am in Paris sans camera, so it's the perfect time to blog about my adorable puppy. He is currently having a boys' week (and a half) with my dad, and so far reports indicate that he's having a blast. My favorite story is about a new game he invented. A while back I bought him a ball which lights up and makes noise when it bounces, but we never really played with it. Back at my parents' (two-story) house, he rediscovered it. His favorite thing to do is to carry it up to the top of the stairs and drop it so he gets the maximum bounce/light/sound effect. I'm telling you, if he was a human, he'd be in Mensa.

Paris is pretty but cold and rainy. I have eaten at least two loaves of bread, eaten cheese, drank wine, and seen some art. All in all, not so bad.

Graduate Photo

Proof!

The Graduate

This is my last official post from Philadelphia. I know it's been a while and I have a lot to catch up on.

Beach Week

Coming home without my camera, this is the best photo I have of me so far. It also kind of gives you a sense of the scene (this club was a private party for just us) and how sober those taking pictures were.

The week after finals and before graduation, most of Wharton descends on South Beach for five days of drinking, tanning, and more drinking. It's a trip people talk about for two years as the ultimate Wharton experience, and the one where everyone knows it's the last hurrah so they go all in. I was sort of dreading it to be honest. I don't consider myself a nightclub person (I like to go out, but I like $2 beers and being able to hear people), and the sun is not really my friend.

It was much better than I thought it would be. I was out until about 6am every night (morning?). South Beach is gorgeous. The main area is all art deco hotels, each of which has these unexpectedly beautiful back gardens and pool areas which make you feel like you're in another world. I ate at Nobu and The Delano, I got a moderate amount of sun and no sunburn, and I had a lot more fun than I expected. There were some very weird conversations with people who decided that the last week at Wharton is the time to tell you how much they love you, platonically or otherwise, whether you really know them or not. It was an unexpectedly emotional week, and one where my ribs were constantly sore for unknown reasons.

On the bad front, my camera and phone and cash were all stolen from out of my purse my last night there. All I have to say about that is beware of the sketchy sandwich stand on Washington, and five hours of open bar is a bad thing.

The Rest

I then came back and had to deal with packing-graduating-goodbyes. People continued to go out, but I felt like after Beach Week I was really done. I had to get my apartment ready to go, and to graduate. Marji and Roger arrived late on Friday night and were immediately whisked off to Geno's for a wiz wit' and a wiz wit'out respectively. We ate some great meals, the met some of my friends, and after three hours in the beating hot sun, I gradumacated. Anti-climax of the century.

I moved out yesterday, and leave for Paris in a few hours. It's very weird to be leaving this place. I will never have a time in my life where I have hundreds of people living within four blocks of me, all of whom are focusing on doing the same things. I never get to write a musical comedy again. I don't get to sleep in on Fridays and go to Little Pete's at 3am with a group of people hoarse from singing karaoke at Bonner's.

I am excited about the next year of my life, but I am very sad that this experience is over. I have a set of unbelievable friends who are all moving to New York. I have learned more about myself than I think I even learned about business, though I think I learned a lot about that too.

He's Got the Moving Blues

The End is Nigh

The moving process has begun in earnest, with my largest piece of unwanted furniture taking its leave of me today. I hate moving, and this giant bookshelf has been the centerpiece of my anxiety about getting stuff out of here. The prior tenant left it here with my permission, but since they hadn't re-rented my place yet, there was no one to confirm they wanted it next. Since I didn't bring the thing in, I was convinced I would never get it out. The Salvation Army wanted to pick it up when I would be long gone.

Enter "free stuff" on Craigslist (thanks, Ross!). Within an hour of my posting I had 100 emails asking to come pick up the shelves. They all asked if they could be disassembled. This morning I stood on my ottoman and looked at the top of them for the first time. There I found four tell-tale bolts which looked suspiciously like IKEA allen wrench bolts. My father taught me to never discard an IKEA allen wrench, so I pulled out the five I have and the second one was a match. Forty five minutes later the bookshelf was completely in pieces (Satchel was freaking out through this whole thing. He also hates my packing tape dispenser). Now it's gone. The above gives you an idea of what the unit looked like, and what a disaster my apartment is now.

24 hours until I fly to Miami!

Teaching Tolerance

My dog is black. He is named after an African-American hero. And yet he has somehow developed a fear of people of color (and the very elderly!).

I used to dislike the fact that Satchel wanted to say hello to everyone. Living in a dense urban area and near a large public park, there are many people living on the streets in various stages of drug addiction or general insanity. Having a dog who wants to go jump on their laps and play for a while makes walking the city a tad bit unpleasant. So I was initially happy when his unbounded enthusiasm for visiting with the indigent seemed to be abating. But as it turns out, his newfound choosiness does not correlate with sanity or hygiene, but seems to be mainly racial.

Friendly neighbors he has gladly greeted for months are now met with a sudden stop in our walk, cowering behind my legs, and the occasional whimper. For the most part, these are non-white people who are getting the new treatment. The man at the grocery store we pass who has pet him at least a hundred times, the man running the questionable 'spa' next door, the man who sweeps on Monday nights-- these are all people who were part of our routine and who he used to be excited to see. Now he pulls me away before our chit chat even gets started. I try to laugh it off, but it's a little disturbing. Then yesterday we passed an elderly man with a bit of a limp on the street, and Satchel ran to the far edge of the sidewalk to avoid him. Last week he got freaked out by a (white) woman standing on my corner at 8 in the morning wearing a full length faux-leopard coat and a hat, but that was just good sense.

In his defense, he has proven himself a great friend to the disabled. Yesterday he all but ate the cane of a blind man in playing with him, and then he spent half of our time at the dog park running between the wheels of a man's wheelchair and trying to climb into his lap.

He also prefers poodle hybrids to other dogs. What a snob.

Winding Down

I have been done with my academic obligations for a week and a half now, and yet I feel busier than ever. What have I been doing? Well I still have a pilates class twice a week, so I am still a student of sorts. There are a lot of Philly things I'm trying to do before I leave, such as seeing the King Tut exhibit (which was amazing) and eating at a zillion different restaurants. I visited New York with the Satchman and took the adorable pictures of him playing with Ethan you see above. I started packing up my apartment. I realized I was too late to get a furniture donation pick up that will work for me and am feeling anxious about the fact that I either need the new tenant of this apartment to take my giant bookshelves or need one of my friends who is not departing the day after graduation (nearly everyone) to sit in my apartment a week after I'm gone and wait for the Salvation Army.

I'm also trying to be a terrific dog owner so my puppy won't forget me while I'm gone all summer. By the way, he is officially a dog. I don't know what happened, but sometime this week he calmed down and stopped being such a spaz. End of an era!