As you may or may not have divined from my Facebook page, I am indeed in Houston this week. I’m enjoying the spontaneity and freedom of university without classes; I’m just pretending I live at Wiess again, at least for a week. It’s super exciting being on a bike again and yes, I’m slightly sunburned and my hands have bike grease on them that won’t come off, but we had an awesome (sometimes singing) draft line going on this afternoon. Right in front of Brown’s face as they were wrapping up their catch practice. Seriously, how satisfying is that?
Our alumni roster is looking pretty stacked. We should place really well – I would insert “Crush Will Rice and completely destroy them” but I don’t want to jinx it. Now if only it doesn’t rain on Saturday.
It’s also been great just hanging around campus and randomly running into people, catching up with them, throwing a frisbee around, or having conversations about the things that matter. Over the past few months, discussions have consisted mainly of schoolwork or sports.
Now that I finally possess the right to designate myself a “concerned alumna”, I would like to address the topic of tradition. More specifically, I would like to comment upon a certain practice, pleading for a return to the values, customs, and doctrines that characterize our community and our university.
My most treasured memory of Orientation Week (familiar to Rice students as “O-Week”), (besides, of course, playing Sardines in Sewall Hall, ubangeeing co-advisors at other colleges, screaming at other colleges at the top of my lungs, losing my voice, and [of course] Austin Bratton) is engaging in the time-gilded ritual of hedge-jumping. After a thorough primer by our illustrious fellow, who was determined to see us initiated as quickly as possible into the ranks of Real Rice Students, my entire O-Week group lined up for our first attempts. I am proud to note that I rapidly mastered the correct technique: the gently curving approach run, the headfirst launch with the quarter-twist over the hedge itself, and the assertive shoulder landing and roll on the soft lawn. The fact that I emerged with the cuts and scars of warfare upon my arms is further evidence of my dedication and complete hardcoreness.