Summer Lovin’ by Jess K. '10

I didn’t even know we had suitcases big enough to pack up my life and ship it all the way across the country. But we do, so I started packing a few days ago, and I don’t even know how I feel about that. I’m going to college! In less than three days! Wait, I need socks?

This list, as well as Melis’s, is actually pretty helpful, although I’m not planning on buying half of the things on it until I get to Cambridge since most of it is heavy and shipping would cost me my soul. Other than that, it’s a good way to make sure you don’t forget anything. There’s just one little detail that I found a little odd: “Yearbook from high school as a conversation piece”. My sister and I imagined early introductory conversations going something like this:

ROOMMATE: Hi! How are you? It’s nice to finally meet you!
ME: You too!
(awkward silence)
ME: …hey, you wanna see my high school yearbook?

BEN JONES: JESS!
ME: BEN JONES! How are you? It’s nice to finally meet you!
BEN JONES: I know, it’s –
ME: Did you know my friend Curtis was voted “Most Likely to Cure Cancer?”

(There’s your shoutout, Tis.) Unfortunately, I went to a big public high school of about 2000+, so my high school yearbook is pretty much an encyclopedia, meaning it’s fairly unlikely that any of you will get to see it unless someone starts a PayPal account to donate for shipping. We can still have awkward conversations leading to a discussion of my high school’s terrible homecoming theme, though.*

All this frenzy is a result of my summer dwindling to tomorrow and Sunday, which is a pretty crazy thing if you think about it, especially since I haven’t been doing any of that (thinking, that is) for the past three months. The summer after my junior year I was only in the United States for about two weeks, whereas I spent all of this summer in the US for all but two weeks. I did say I was taking it slow. But what IS taking things slow, for a MIT prefrosh? Ladies and gentlemen, my summer in a nutshell.

Work.

While the average MIT prefrosh may have spent their summer interning at big labs, writing complex programs and pulling down $5000 a month, I sold cakes and memorized how many of each cookie go in a half-pound bag. (Four of the shortbreads, two of the sprinkles..) Yesterday was my last day of work at Schubert’s Bakery in San Francisco, which was sad because I loved my job. Unfortunately it dawned on me that everything I’d learned there is absolutely useless unless I go back to work at the bakery over break (which I probably will, because it always smells fantastic and there’s something therapeutic about making chocolate flowers). I only learned how to decorate cakes, and that’s if I have the molds, the chocolate shavings, the prefilled piping bags, and oh yeah, THE CAKE. So no, I can’t actually make you a white chocolate raspberry mousse. I CAN charge you $25.50 for it, though. (That’s a skill for succeeding in life if I ever saw one!)

Traveling down Memory Lane.

A few days ago, my friends and I went to visit our Calc BC teacher at her house. Ms. Shackelford (we call her Shack) was one of my favorite high school teachers, seeing as she’s a brilliant lady with a fantastic sense of humor that can clarify almost any concept, so I made her promise I could email her when I’m failing 18.02. (18.022? Advice on course selection, anyone?) Which reminds me, incoming seniors – have you figured out who’s writing your recommendations yet? Even better – an English teacher who knows you, and who you trust, to read your college essays?

Soccer.

I don’t mean like going to practice and tournaments and wearing real cleats; my friends just started playing during finals week in honor of the World Cup and we’ve been getting together every week ever since. It’s pretty funny, since most of us are terrible (meaning, someone actually stopped a goal by lying down in the grass), but it’s good exercise and is never boring. Also, there’s nothing like waking up in the morning to your mom yelling about all the astroturf rubber in the house.

Poker.
I’m no Timur ’10, but I love poker anyway. A love poem for poker lovers.

You could be my high card King;
I’m no Ace at this game but I’m not bluffing –
We’d make a great Pair.
I’m being Straight with you when I say you make me Flushed
Though it’s a Full House tonight, I’m Blind to all but you.
I get these urges and it’s hard to Hold ‘Em…
I just want to stroll along the River with you.
so I hope my message isn’t lost on you when I go All In.
Here’s the Kicker, now that my Ante is Up stairs…
“Can I Call you?”
Please don’t let me Flop!

(snapping) Thanks, everyone. Yeah, I dig the beret too.

Eating as much In-N-Out as humanly possible.

Dear East Coast,
You don’t have In-N-Out, so you should probably get on that before I get in on Monday. Thanks.
Love, Jess

Seriously, what’s up with that?? To compensate, my sister and I ate five In-N-Out burgers within the last week. Five. No joke. And we’re really not even compensating, because I think five is more than I’ve eaten in my entire life, but if you’ve never had an In-N-Out burger you can’t even begin to understand what I’m talking about. No, don’t even try. You’ve got NOTHING.

Hanging out with the family.
I have a mother, a father, a sister, and a dog, and that’s about as normal as my family gets. We hold hands in public. We sing like nobody’s business. We dance. We laugh. Hysterically. Constantly. We make up words, make fun of each other, make a 4-unit comedy troupe of inside jokes with a communal love for a good bowl of ramen. I love my family more than anything and to say that I will miss them is an understatement like saying my family is weird.

And then there’s this little thing..
Being excited out of my mind.
Less than 48 hours, folks, until I can genuinely say I’m an MIT student (and write something slightly more relevant). Come say hi to me; I promise I won’t write scathing reports about how awkward our first encounter was. (Can’t say the same for bringing up my high school yearbook, though.)

*SHOES.