10 May 07

Time:

?

Money:

$18, nametages, Staples (that much I know, although I was also prepared to slip the bartender an extra twenty if he'd had to go fetch ice from somewhere besides the hallway I'd been told I could steal it from.)

More interesting things:

Rode down rain-fuzzy-green Park Avenue as part of the first time I have ever taken a cab from my apartment (well, pretty much; it was the sporting goods store, actually) all the way to school. We passed what was absolutely the largest pack of dogs I’ve ever seen attached to a single dog walker, and spent a little time discussing the cabby’s opinions: it is way nicer to drive in South Bronx than in Manhattan, for instance, and also undertaking makes a fine weekend pursuit (this last was illustrated by lengthy comments on how the preparation of bodies for burial is different from getting them ready for cremation.) I’d say “Only in New York,” but that’s so obvious as to be a waste of breath!

Walked halfway around the sunny, green, and carefully fenced-in park. The grads weren’t even there yet, but that same air of expectant celebration hung buoyantly over all: you’d think by now I would know that that’s just the graduation feel, so now, here, in writing – I get it! And I’m glad I’m signing up for a gig where I get to see it every year.

Foiled my own blog-writing (although that was just now, not on the 10th.) That last note was supposed to be about the Golden Retriever pup I passed on my way back to the office after my trip around the park. He was one of those hefty little bear pups, just like mine was – a proper Golden baby.

Snuck up, repeatedly, on Professor Abercrombie, who was listening to the graduation webcast as staff from both this and the sixth floors put together our little lobbyish area for the department graduation party. As he explained where to find it online, Miss L. called back and asked me to come put it on up front so they could listen while they decorated. I did so, and then stayed to listen myself – my computer has no speakers and (holy crap) Wynton freaking Marsalis played his trumpet for ten minutes in his version of an honorary-doctorate acceptance speech. After a little bit, I headed back to my own desk, but not before stopping to think about how things in this city – here I’m thinking of the River Café and department-sanctioned graduation parties – often manage to combine two characteristics a lot of boring people think don’t particularly go together: “nice” and “classy.”

Fixed up the nametags. I was pretty sure I had everybody - as it turned out, I was, as they say, close enough for government work - but for the life of me I could not remember Professor Number One's kids' names, even though they'd been on the envelope she had handed me earlier in the week. So I asked Professor Abercrombie, who threw back, "What, I'm supposed to know that? I've only known her thirty years!" Ha.

Stood, goofily, near Miss L., who was pouring wine at the graduation party (and only did that much because Miss J. rooted me out at my desk, grabbed my wrist, and threaded me around the back hall and into the big conference room before parking me in front of the sandwiches and waiting for me to pick one.) After a little rooster wine (!) and some more standing around, however, two things happened. One was that Professor Number Six's Fateful Day Visitor came to chat, with all appearances of having decided to do so purposefully. The other was that Professor Number Six himself came to chat, with the same appearances. (Although this, I'm fortunate enough to say, wasn't maybe quite as surprising.) Anyway, I was wearing my green drill team t-shirt (which explains, in part, why I hadn't gotten up and come out earlier - any clothing item that features a drawing of a rifle should probably not be seen in the same room as graduation robes and neckties), which he asked about; only then did it occur to me that Number Six is one person I hadn't told about my mental proximity to West Point. This gave F. Hardy the opportunity to harass me - some comment about the shined boots I wear for supervising; my big brother, I swear - and Number Six the inspiration to say, "Hmmm... the military, huh? Yeah... I can see that! That explains a lot... the 'sir' stuff and all that." [Nod, nod, nod.] Of course, it DOESN'T. It explains my obsession with punctuality and (partly) my fondness for public speaking, but not the "sir" stuff. Someday, somewhere, someone will believe me about that. (Well, if I can convince whoever it is to move in with my family for awhile - it would become obvious how NOT sir-ish all those sir's really are!)

Hopped out of my chair so Professor Alpha could sit down - and, as it happened, stay down for a few minutes. This would have been fine with me regardless, obviously, but it was particularly nice then because we got into an ice discussion. He asked if there were a plan to get it, Marisa and I sort of announced simultaneously that I had that aspect of things under control, and he looked up at me from under his eyebrows: "You've got it? You're in charge of the ice? So you're the ice queen?" This last was delivered in that just-this-side-of-the-gutter voice which required me, I was pretty sure, to respond with a nose-laugh; I decided I was probably right when his next comment was, "Because you know, I wouldn't have thought that about you! turkey noise turkey noise turkey noise."

Announced to Professor Alpha that I was sending an email from his account and justified the announcement by explaining that while there may be lots of things I don't need to ask permission for (this in light of some conversation earlier in the week, when I'd unnecessarily announced something else - who knows what), I was not particularly crazy about just ASSUMING that it was okay to PRETEND to be Alpha via email. But he leaned back in his chair, put his hands up like he was getting ready to catch a big heavy ball, looked out from under his eyebrows, and gave me the say-the-word-'fish' voice: "You wanna be me? If you wanna be me, you can go ahead and be me, babe, any time you want, believe me." Ha again.

Listened to a small part of and just barely suppressed my laughter at a phone conversation in which Professor Alpha included the sentence, "Well, he's an evil little dwarf, if ever there was one." (Okay, I might have snorted.)

Gestured, brusquely, for Anne to move over while I grabbed party beer from the corner of Professor Alpha's office and followed that with a howly directive for her to sit back down and rest her cold-cultivating self instead of participating in the beer-schlep (which she ignored); it may have been this combination of utterly comfortable familiarity, mutual concern for the other party, and willingness to help out even at a less-than-ideal moment that inspired Alpha to observe for the three of us (Marisa had been in the hall) something so nice it's hard to respond to. From under his eyebrows, once again, he said, "I mean, I know I've said this before, but really, it's just so nice - I think it's so great that you all have found each other [this, that, and the other thing] and... you're a nice group. You're a really good group." And as weighty a job as it seemed to reply, we did remind him that it's pretty much all of us T&L people who get along so well and that, furthermore, he and his people - our people! - set an awfully good example. What I didn't mention - what I didn't consider specifically with regard to this exchange until now, actually - was that in talking about the results of one example he helped set, he provided another one, on how to be a genuine and honest and affectionate leader. A hard row to hoe, but one I'll be glad to take up.

Mentioned to Professor Alpha, as the general conversation turned to our plans for finishing the sweaty work and then getting changed, that I would not just be wearing a real shirt but also heels; I got the appropriately impressed response, and one which led to a small conversation between Anne and him about shopping, I think.

Found myself really glad that I didn't have a key to Professor Alpha's office in my back pocket. We had run back to accomplish the aforementioned changing mission, only to discover that Alpha's door was closed. Anne kind of jiggled the handle and made an apparently vague-at-best effort to look into the office through the little window before I took off for the front and the drawer which I knew held the key. I got back, found the right one, turned it in the lock... and discovered Alpha doing his last shirt button: holy crap. I'm not totally sure why he didn't indicate that there was no need to unlock it from the outside - could it have anything to do with the fact that it's his office, for chrissakes? duh! - but man am I glad it took me a second to get to the secretaries' desks and back!

Stood with Mrs. Professor Number Four - a very, VERY nice lady - and, after a couple of comments about how Professor Number Four reminded me of my grandfather and all that (which she really seemed to appreciate), helped her find him. He was talking to a lady that neither I nor Mrs. Number Four recognized, which was fine; the amusing part came when I explained my unhelpfulness - "Well, it's long silver hair, and when you're talking about professors, that could be anyone..." - and she bust out laughing. (And warning me: "You better be careful! Someday YOU'RE going to be a professor, and YOU'RE going to have long silver hair!" But she cut herself short and got very serious all of a sudden. "No," she reconsidered. "Don't go gray. Go blonde. Blonde is much better," so on and so forth. By this time Anne and Marisa had joined us, allowing the whole trio to catch certain observations about men on the street and so on, along with the assertion that as long as Number Four came home to do the gardening he was certainly allowed to teach us a class in the spring and an invitation to their house for an individualized party reprise. I hope that happens. It'd be fun.)

Got, to add to the day's earnestness (oh yeah, Marisa and I had a very nice conversation about how we really felt lucky to get the chance to do so much for the party, even if the Party Professor was insane), one of the nicest responses to the whole thing I could possibly have asked for. Anne and I were standing near Professor Number Four in this photograph F. Hardy organized, and we kind of just stayed there for a bit afterwards. Number Four mentioned that he'd really enjoyed the whole thing, especially in comparison to a retirement party he'd been to last week for someone in another department which had included "just one student! What kind of a party is that? It was an obituary, okay?" Then he added - and here's where I nearly fell over, nothing to do with the wine - "This party was better, and I know Alpha said exactly the same thing to me earlier, right, this party was better than if somebody gave me 400 gold watches, okay?" all of which he concluded with that kind of eyebrows-barely-up, head-barely-cocked, lips-almost-smiling expression he has. Earlier in the evening, we'd gotten a LOT of extremely flattering comments about our presentation, ranging from a big furry kiss from Professor Alpha as he accepted his chair to claps on the back and - holy shit - "You represented ALL of us [grads] exactly as we would have wanted," but the 400 gold watches beats them all, I think.

Hovered my Big Ol' Shopping Bag o' Beer, at the cost of great effort from my right bicep, over the Party Professor's cart; at first I hadn't just plopped it down because we were making sure everything was nice and flat, but then it became more an issue of the Party Prof tossing in a bag of, like, crepe paper, completely oblivious to our organizing efforts. My answer to this was to say, quietly, "Hm, never mind, " while continuing to hover for good effect, with the incredible result that Professor Bravo laughed - out loud! - and said, "You're funny... that - that was good. That was pretty funny." Hot damn, what a night.