The End. (Kind of.)

So, I’m officially an Ohio State graduate! Again! And all I got was this lousy mug.

Of course, I kid about the mug. I somewhat begged Megan (our fearless MSE advisor) for the mug during the Senior Breakfast on Sunday, because most everything I’ve received from the department can’t be used on a daily basis. That cast metal Ohio Stadium ashtray we made during our first quarter lab? Yeah, I don’t smoke. The huge personalized ceramic stein we received for graduating? It will look nice with some flowers in it, once I have a garden. All those chunks of metal from three years of lab – some mounted in bakelite, some not – don’t even make good paperweights. This mug will be nice for my daily cups of tea, as long as I don’t start word-finding and as a result, cause my blood pressure to spike. (Is it just me, or is “CORROSION” mocking you, too?)

For whatever reason I keep feeling compelled to write some sort of wrap-up of my experiences these past three years, but I can’t do it. Not only will I creep toward schmoopiness and never return, but the idea bores even me. What I will say is that I enjoyed my three years in MSE more than I did my first four years at OSU. I’m sure it had something to do with perspective, and being surrounded by some really fun people, and also this thing called a curve that is used a LOT more in engineering classes than it is in history classes. I couldn’t have done it without the generosity of my professors. I’m not sure I would have passed myself in some of those classes, especially with my repeatedly frightening performances on final exams. (I’m not a terribly good test-taker, okay?) But now, according to Ohio State, I’m a historian/engineer/writer, which is a strange little sandwich of professions. I don’t know where I’m headed next, but I have a sneaking suspicion it will turn out to be pretty interesting. (And it will not involve another bachelor’s degree.)

I’ll continue to write, but now unaffiliated with OSU and MSE, at a blog location to be determined. If you know me personally, shoot me an e-mail to let me know you’re interested in following along in the new location. Otherwise, you’re welcome to leave a note in the comments section with your request for the new web address (avoid the spammers by formatting your e-mail like joeschmoe-at-osu-dot-edu), or who knows, I may just end up posting the new address in the comments section sometime down the road. Thanks for your readership!

I am that girl

I woke up early this morning to drive down to Athens for my good friend Jen’s graduation from Ohio University’s College of Osteopathic Medicine. I knew that after the ceremony, her extended family and some of her friends would be picnicking out by some cabins in one of the many breathtakingly beautiful state parks in southeast Ohio, so I wanted to make a quick stop at the grocery store to pick something up before hitting the road.  Sparkling grape juice sounded good to me – fun for kids and adults alike! Who doesn’t love sparkling grape juice?

I figured that it’d be a quick dash in and out of the store – make a beeline to the juice aisle, grab a few bottles of Welch’s sparkling grape juice (I am all about going name-brand for special occasions), swipe my credit card, and be on Route 33 before I knew it. However, there was no sparkling grape juice in the juice aisle. So I began walking purposefully through the aisles of the grocery store and bemoaning the fact that Aldi wasn’t open at that hour. I know where the sparkling grape juice is at Aldi! And it’s inexpensive! I love Aldi!

After about a minute of pacing and grumbling, I ran into a guy stocking meat.

“Excuse me,” I said, “Where is your sparkling grape juice located?”

He gave me an aisle number, and I power-walked in my dressy clothes to what ended up being the juice aisle. I scanned the shelf again, then walked over an aisle to where the pop (or soda – whatever) is located. There was a guy unloading pop (“soda”) from a cart.

“Excuse me, do you carry sparkling grape juice?”

The guy stood up and said, “Um, I don’t work here. I work for Pepsi. And I can tell you that we don’t carry that.”

Oh, you work for Pepsi? my internal monologue said. Is that why you have the word “Pepsi” and its logo embroidered on the left breast of your collared shirt? Please excuse the illiterate moron.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

I strode down one last aisle and ran into a (real) grocery store employee.

“Excuse me,” I began, waiting for the employee’s less-than-helpful response. “Where do you carry sparkling grape juice?”

“Oh, sparkling grape juice? That’d either be in the juice aisle or the natural foods section.”

“Well, it’s not in the juice aisle, so I’ll check the natural foods aisle. Thanks.” I walked over to the “sparkling natural foods” section, scanned the shelf and spotted some overpriced Izze beverages (not at all what I was looking for), and wondered if a bottle of plain old (name-brand) grape juice would have the same appeal as sparkling grape juice. I could always shake it up really well, I reasoned. Instead of choosing the ultra-lame route, I walked over to the wine aisle and muttered unpleasantries as I picked out a Cabernet. Not fun for kids, and not fun for people who have to drive for an hour and a half after the picnic.

I waited in line at the cashier, who along with the one other customer in the store probably wondered why on earth I’d been circling the juice aisle for ten minutes. When it was my turn, she asked how I was, and I was all, “Oh, good, good…how are you?” She just stared at me.

Because I am that girl who buys only a bottle of wine at 6:45 on a Saturday morning.