Hopefully this will become a series, where I make an installment at odd intervals whenever I notice odd quirks about the dining hall food. The Lowe Hall Gourmet just sounds so series-like, doesn’t it? Well, tonight’s first installment is about one of our favorite Lowe Hall cuisines.
Some of the best food that one eats in Lowe Dining hall comes in a bowl with milk poured over it. Cereal, one of the healthiest foods there is (which is why the Atkins diet is so dumb), is readily available every day in our humble cafeteria. Thanks to tonight’s delicacies, Salisbury steak and Soup bar, I had the distinct pleasure of dining on a salad, an apple, and a bowl of the culinary perfection that is cereal.
The dining hall has many varieties of cereal, between ten and twelve kinds on any given day, sweetened and unsweetened. People with all kinds of cereal interest are bound to find something worth munching on—be it Count Chocula or Cheerios. The bowls, spoons, and milk are all within easy reach, so it’s a simple dish that’s easily prepared by the densest of chefs. There are other cereal-like choices next to the cereal, such as oatmeal and cream of wheat, but these are entirely different birds, and not meant to be included in a cereal dissertation. When I’m in a healthy mood, I go for the Crispix. When I feel like a little bit of a calorie splurge, I go for the Lucky Charms.
Once at dinner, I relished a bowl of Lucky Charms as if it were one of the best meals I’d eaten in weeks. I informed one of my tablemates, “My mom never really buys me lucky charms.” “Does she love you?” he replied. I was appalled at the suggestion, but this story demonstrates the strength of cereal in our lives. He postulated that if my mother did not buy me Lucky Charms, she did not love me. I then went on to explain that my mother buys me my most favorite cereal, despite its considerable expense beyond that of simple Lucky Charms—that cereal being Basic 4.
You may be thinking, “Basic 4? That’s a silly cereal to have as your favorite.” I would be inclined to agree, because anyone who knows basic nutrition knows that there are no such thing as four food groups anymore, we now have the glorious “food guide pyramid,” yet I continue having this glorious delicacy as my favorite. I think it’s because I like having fruits and nuts in my cereal—the dates, the cranberries, the walnuts. My second favorite cereal is Raisin Nut Bran, another admittedly bizarre cereal. My mom buys me both at once, and I switch off days eating them.
As I previously mentioned, I had a bowl of cereal as my main course at dinner this past evening. After debating strongly between Crispix and Lucky Charms, I decided that since I’d already had a salad and an apple, Lucky Charms was a permissible indulgence. My tablemates and I discussed cereal this evening, and they agreed that cereal was a delightful choice when compared to Salisbury steak. Thus raised my interest in the subject: cereal becomes a primary food source when other foods are scarce. I could relate it to my senior thesis experiment, but I shall refrain from doing so in this particular entry.
One of the main topics of our conversation this evening was the ridiculousness of advertising for cereals, especially children’s cereals. One girl at my table said, “When I was little, I very seriously asked my mother why they wouldn’t let the rabbit have any Trix. Her reply was, ‘But honey, Trix are for kids.’” This discourse intrigued me, so I replied, “Do you think it would have been better had your mother said, ‘But honey, if you give cereal to rabbits, they die.’” Trix is just one of the cereals that has a bizarre mascot. Tony the Tiger, I am sure that Frosted Flakes are grrrreat, but they are the same thing as Corn Flakes with sugar. Toucan Sam, when I follow my nose to Froot Loops, I am invariably disappointed, as I feel that this is one of the most disgusting cereals on the face of the planet. Lucky, if they are always after your Lucky Charms, why not just put them a safe, or in the bank? At least Fruity Pebbles and Cocoa Pebbles have a fitting mascot—Fred and Barney. Apple Jacks don’t taste like apples, but nor do Apple Cinnamon Cheerios.
What amazes me is how they are now trying to turn junk food into cereal. Granted, I love these two cereals when I need a sugar rush, but who are the ad wizards who came up with these? Oreo O’s and Reese’s Peanut Butter Puffs, while both high-quality sweetened cereals (with the price to match), tell kids that a healthy thing like cereal can be degraded to the level of cookies and candy, but still be good for you. Kind of blurring the lines a bit, eh? I only eat these cereals sparingly. Give me a good bowl of plain Corn Chex any day.
I still say, however, eat whatever cereal you desire. Cereals are meant to be fun, and they are always a fun substitute when the main course in Lowe Hall isn’t exactly what you were hoping for this evening. Sorry, no, it isn’t Pizza bar. How about some Golden Grahams instead?
You have gotten the royal scroll from the king of Portoga. You read it to Nourd the dwarf so he opens up the passage to the east. After battling your way to Baharta to buy some pepper for the King, you discover that the shop is closed! The shop keeper’s daughter and fiancé have been captured, and they are being held captive in a nearby cave, and he refuses to sell any pepper until they’ve been returned. You fight valiantly through the cave and find the secret door. Unlock it with a magic key and descend the staircase. You get attacked by the kidnapper’s henchmen, but you quickly defeat them! Hurrah! Go and push the button on the wall that opens the lovers’ cells (being kept separately just to make them suffer, no doubt). Prepare to leave, but then, the head kidnapper appears! You fight the head kidnapper (who you already beat once, when he stole the crown from the king of Romalay) and two of his henchmen, and you are victorious. You return the kidnapped daughter, get some pepper for free, and return to the king of Portoga with your prize. In return for the pepper from the far away east, he gives you a boat. Now that is a sweet trade-off…especially considering you didn’t even pay for the pepper.
This crazy story was not of my own creation. Getting pepper for the king is just one of the subplots of a video game called Dragon Warrior III. Designed for the original Nintendo (NES), this game is just one of the many classic games from bygone years of video game glory.
About four years ago, I went with my boyfriend at the time to visit his grandparents’ house. He was a writer, and spent most of his time at the computer. I needed something to occupy myself, too, so I picked up some Nintendo cartridges and sampled the lot of them. I finally hit my mark with the video game Dragon Warrior. In this game, you played a hero who traveled all around the known world trying to kill the bad guy (the basis of any good console RPG). When I picked up the cartridge, however, all of the game slots were taken by names. Well, rather than just give up and put it back, I tried one of the names, figuring I could determine the quality of the game form someone else’s save slot. I wouldn’t have to save over his or her copy, and he or she would never know I had touched it. I opened the first file, marked “Awes,” and saw what unfolded. The game hadn’t even been started. Since the file was untouched, I assumed it was free for playing. The character’s name was Awesome, not a name of my choosing, and I played as Awesome for the whole week. I got to see cool messages like “Awesome hath learned a new spell” and “Thou art dead.” The archaic English of Dragon Warrior never got old.
About a year and a half later, getting bored at college, I decided to download an emulator for Sega Genesis. I wanted to play a game I loved as a child, and was pretty good at—Pirates Gold! I found it on Sega Channel, which my nephews had, and I played it addictively every time I babysat them. I moved on from Pirates Gold! to Sonic Spinball, one of my other favorite games at the time. Always one to gravitate towards CRPGs, I did an internet search on the best console RPGs for Sega Genesis. That was when I stumbled across Shining Force. This game was massive indeed—you controlled up to 12 characters at any one time. This was the first RPG that I successfully beat. I was so proud of myself; I downloaded Shining Force II, the sequel. After I beat that, I downloaded the prequel, Shining in the Darkness—which sucked. The gameplay was really inconveniently laid out, and the mechanism for battle was incomprehensible. Still, I carried on.
After my first laptop died (a Gateway, a quality computer that crashed due to user negligence such as viruses and spyware—I really loved that laptop), my parents invested in another laptop for me, based on my brother’s choosing since he was an IT guy. He chose an IBM Thinkpad. He got me a nice A series for cheap off of EBay, and… oh wait, this entry isn’t about laptops.
So on my new laptop, I decided that Nintendo was the way to go this time. After beating Dragon Warrior I on my ex’s laptop, as Awesome, I might add, I downloaded a bunch of RPGs for my new emulator. I discovered there was a Dragon Warrior II, III, and IV, all of which I promptly took. I also got the classic CRPG for NES, the beginning of a dynasty, Final Fantasy I.
Last fall, I beat Dragon Warrior II. I am currently in the process of beating Dragon Warrior III. I spend a lot of my free time sailing around the world in my newly acquired boat. Awesome is still learning new spells, still killing Magicians with one fell swoop, but only now when you die it says “Awesome is utterly destroyed.” I guess since you never actually die, they figured utter destruction was a little less final. While Dragon Warrior I was a solo mission, Dragon Warrior II gave you two other sidekicks, who you had to rescue in order for them to join your party, much like in Shining Force. Dragon Warrior III features a party that you can construct, much like Final Fantasy I. Six creatable characters, four free spots. FFI has Fighter, Thief, Black Belt, Red Mage, White Mage, and Black Mage. DWIII has Hero (Awesome, who you have to choose), Soldier, Fighter, Pilgrim, Wizard, Merchant, and Goof-off—so, more like six characters for three free spots.
While I could discuss the virtues of fine video game classics for pages, there are some modern changes that just leave me stumped. I remember the first time I saw Sonic the Hedgehog followed by the Nintendo logo (Sonic Adventure, or something like that, available for Game Cube). My childhood video game brain could just not function under those circumstances. Things like that just leave me stumbling…no matter how Awesome the oldschool games are.
This entry will be unfortunately short, but I wanted to sing the praises of a beautiful program that has already been written about previously. I was discussing my music at an Eye Contact meeting when someone said, “You should get on iTunes and share that.” So I did. Now there’s no people getting free music here. You can listen to other people’s music for free, but you can’t borrow it and keep it for yourself. It’s like window shopping at a pet store—look at all the animals you want, but no puppies are coming home with you unless you shell out the cash. While all of my most favorite CDs are not uploaded yet due to a snafu dealing with my car, I have some pretty quality things on there (mostly thanks to Cat, who is awesome). Believe me, it brings joy to my heart to go up to “edit preferences” window and see that two users are connected to my music. I can’t believe that people like the same sh…stuff that I do. So please, download and share the love. Sorry Windows users—must be running Windows 2000 or XP to be eligible. Share your music (which is a lot like love).
I, as a scientist, am always pursuing the answers to my own pressing personal questions. Occasionally, however, some subjects pique my interest that are a national—nay, global concern, and I feel it is my duty as a scientist to research and answer these questions, if at all possible. One such issue of high fascination is the actions and socializations of a prevalent group in our species. Their loudness can disrupt entire dorm floors and even cafeterias full of people. Their eccentricities are well-known and rarely appreciated, until people enter their territory. Sometimes, their actions lead us to believe they are downright mad. Who are these vociferous villains? The theater majors. Today I hope to demonstrate key themes of theater life. Through my undercover reconnaissance deep in to theater territory, I have determined the specific pathways in a theater major’s life that leads to insanity.
Insanity arena one: Classes
I have, to date, taken three classes with the designation TR. Two of these classes are traditionally taken as freshman theater majors: Acting I and Costume Technology. These classes, which are first and second semester courses respectively, allow me to know the beginning phases of Theater Madness. It starts in Acting, where weekly improv games allow the theater majors to relax and be comfortable with doing zany things in front of other people. These games, in addition to scene and monologue work, make a theater major used to talking a lot. Costume Tech was my case study for courseload: a long class that required an immense amount of outside work, nearly all of which had to be finished at St. Mary’s (quite a hike from Brownlee, and even far from Havey, where most freshman are). Theater classes tend to be longer than average: an hour and a half three days a week, as opposed to 50 minutes. These longer classes must add to insanity, for art majors (three hours, two days a week for studios) and science majors (three to four hours, once a week for labs, and often two labs a semester) also have a touch of insanity to them. English, business, and history majors tend to be quite normal.
Insanity area two: Work
I have been privileged to infiltrate one of the most elite forces in the theater—the workstudy department. My workstudy hours for the Costume Shop are allegedly four hours a week. Simple, one would think—but no! My hours in the costume shop this week have been far from it: Wednesday (2/2), 3.5 hours; Thursday (2/3), 4 hours; Friday (today), 4.5 hours; tomorrow I am supposed to arrive at 11 AM, and I have no idea when I will be finishing. I have been following these hours to further research the key of insanity. People running in and out making inane comments, random puppet shows, and scary clothing all add to a level of madness unbeknownst to people who have never ventured back stage.
Insanity area three: Rehearsals
This research area is the most crucial to my study. I would not have been able to monitor this portion of the theater so closely if it had not been for the mole who gave all to aid my analyses. Last fall, I was a member of a two-character, ten-minute scene. My rehearsal schedule was quite insane; I was at St. Mary’s for three hours four nights a week. It was a foregone conclusion that I would not be doing homework in my room. At these rehearsals, I was required to repeat the same lines over and over again, while doing the same actions. Every time these words and actions needed to be put together, however, the audience needed to feel like that the story was new to me. I cannot stress how much madness this can lead to. I memorized my lines quite quickly for the ten-minute scene, all while doing work in a completely different scene for my acting class. Running, staging, blocking, costuming, props (especially Frankie) lead to my slow mental deterioration during the intervening weeks.
Insanity area four: Aftermath
The most obscure point in theatrical madness I dub “The Aftermath.” After actors and technicians have devoted their precious time to a play, after they’ve done nothing but the same hour and a half of someone else’s life a thousand times, after they’ve spent all of their spare days/hours/minutes at St. Mary’s Hall or Reeves’ Theater, it all ends. The production run has completed, rehearsals are finished, and all of those lines that they memorized can be forgotten. The empty time wears on the nerves and brain. The sudden freedom, which seems like days at a time, makes an actor long for the next role and purpose. The aftermath of a long run of a show is immense.
My goal of answering the great question of theater insanity is finished. I am continuing my reconnaissance deep into theater territory, as I have gone too far for the point of return. There are so many minutia that just beg consideration, yet these questions are mine alone. I hope you have learned a little something, a question that has crossed the minds of everyone in the cafeteria whenever a thespian starts hollering. I now know why they are all crazy—and I’m afraid that I have joined them.
~Stephanie