THINGS: Pictures with Santa Are (kind of) Like Meetings with the Dean

Well, folks, the Christmas season is here! 

Now that we've all tolerated those fake made-up, commercialized holidays like Halloween and Thanksgiving, we can get to the real holiday we all look forward to: Christmas. 

Confession time: This is actually the first year I have listened to Christmas music before Thanksgiving. Usually this is my sentiment about the holidays, but I just couldn't resist the crooning of Michael Bublé and the cheeriness of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree." My sincerest apologies. 

There are plenty of things about the Christmas season to look forward to. First, there's the fabulous launch of Black Friday. 

Just a note on naming things after colors: I've noticed that if it's named after a color, it's usually a disease. Black lung, Black Death, Black Plague, yellow fever, scarlet fever, jaundice, red measles, pink eye. Black Friday...conveys my sentiments exactly.

Here in America, we’ve decided it would be a good idea to make this madness last two days and put our laziness to work; I give you “Cyber Monday”! Next, you've got the longest marathon of tacky original movies ever (Thanks, ABC's "25 Days of Christmas"!) And then there are all the chaotic, traffic-filled shopping malls you love. Don't forget the joy of choosing a Christmas tree (if you haven't copped out and bought a fake one yet) and the entire festivity that is decking the halls. You get to again realize that you suck at cutting pretty paper and using Scotch tape properly. You’re blessed with the symphony of ringing doorbells as boy scouts and other small children walk miles to sell you popcorn and chocolates and giftwrap and other useless crap. And this year, on top of all of that, you have the joy of worrying about the end of 13pik in the Maya Long Count calendar!

            Don’t worry, guys. My archaeology TA is Mayan and she promised me that the world wouldn’t end.

Am I forgetting anything?

Ah, yes! The wonderful privilege of having your photograph taken with the one and only Santa Claus!

You see, though he is only one man, Santa has somehow found a way to be in every mall, town hall, and children’s store simultaneously. I don’t know about you, but I’m impressed. Such a skill would be priceless. I’m not entirely sure where in the parenting handbook it says to place your child on the lap of a complete stranger impersonating a 4^th c Greek saint, but my parents followed the handbook.

I remember it being quite an ordeal. Mom would buy matching formal outfits for you and your sister. Matchy-matchy all the way! After at least 30 minutes of hair-doing and tights-straightening, Mom said you looked “so cute!” You turn to your sister and give her the let’s-get-this-over-with look.

Pile into the car! You’ve done this since you were born. But you can’t really remember. You were only, like, a baby then. And now you’re four, so it’s really different, you know?

Mom tries to explain what’s going to happen in her best Christmas cheer voice. You were too little to understand just how strange the entire concept was, so you just went along with it. Something about a picture, smiling, not pulling your sister’s hair this year, and Santa.

SANTA.

There was something in it for you: the wish. When it was your turn, you could tell Santa just what you hoped he’d bring you on Christmas morning. The pressure is on. What to say? You’d been making that wish list since last Christmas, and now you had to pick just one thing that you wanted the most?! Well, you had some time to think about it. You brought your list with you and mom can read it to you while you wait in line behind all those other suckers who think they’re the best kids there. Santa knows, guys. You’re all getting coal.

Your turn. Alright: picture? Check. Smiling? Check. Not pulling sister’s hair this year? Eh…Ok fine. Santa?

“SANTA?! I know him!”

Yes! This is your moment, kiddo. You’ve waited since last year. Don’t freeze up. You’ve gotta say…uh… oh! That’s right!

“Mister Santa, can I please have a pink puppy?”

Phew. Alright, that went pretty well.

And there you have it! Evidence of your successful endeavor is later placed in a frame and set on the mantel for all of the weird relatives to marvel at on Christmas morning.

We're Santa's favorites

But now that I’m all grown up, I don’t get to tell Santa what I want anymore. I don’t take wear matchy-matchy outfits with Camille and have funny pictures taken with a stranger in a pretend beard and a red suit.

I’m a serious university student now. And university scholars don’t have pictures with Santa, they have meetings with the Dean, like I had on Monday.

It turns out that the Dean is quite like Santa in some ways. And meetings with the Dean, essentially elevator pitches, are kind of like taking a picture with Santa.

It’s quite an ordeal. Mom helps you choose a formal outfit. Preppy all the way! After at least 30 minutes of hair-doing and tights-straightening, Mom says you look “so cute!” You turn to your roommate and give her the let’s-get-this-over-with look.

Run across campus! You’ve done this since you were in middle school. It’s just a teacher conference of sorts. But you can’t really remember. You were only, like, a baby then. And now you’re nineteen, so it’s really different, you know?

The office assistant tries to explain what’s going to happen in her best collegiate cheer voice. You were too little to understand the entire concept, so you just went along with it. Something about forms you had to fill out, smiling, not pulling any funny business, and the Dean.

THE DEAN.

There was something in it for you: the wish. When it was your turn, you could tell the Dean just what you hoped she’d approve for you – a custom major called Cosmopolitanism. The pressure is on. What to say? You’d been working on this idea since last year, and now you had just one meeting to express the entire premise of the major you wanted most?! Well, you had some time to think about it. You brought your list with you and you can read it to you while you wait in line behind all those other suckers who think they’re the smartest kids there. The Dean knows, guys. Your majors aren’t as cool as mine.

Your turn. Alright: forms? Check. Smiling? Check. Not pulling any funny business? Eh…Ok fine.

The Dean? Yes!

This is your moment, kiddo. You’ve waited since last year. Don’t freeze up. You’ve gotta say…uh… oh! That’s right!

“Dean Bergquist, I would like to create my own major called Cosmopolitanism. I have all of the paperwork right here and I’d love to chat about proposing it as a departmental major.”

Phew. Alright, that went pretty well.

And there you have it! A beautiful, signed and approved form; evidence of your (hopefully) successful endeavor will later be placed in a frame and set on the mantel for all of the weird relatives to marvel at on Christmas morning.

Psych! I totally took a picture with Santa this year. Merry start of the Christmas season!

That's little, enthusiastic me in the bottom right!

PLACES: Pluto Is (kind of) Like My Junior High Experience

This Tuesday, I had the privilege of attending a lecture given by astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson at Vanderbilt. (…And by privilege, I mean I waited in 38-degree weather with about 200 other people for an hour. But it was worth it!)

In case that name means absolutely nothing to you (don’t be embarrassed – I didn’t know who he was either before this week), he’s the guy who officially demoted Pluto.

Ah, Pluto! My favorite little dwarf planet (it prefers “little people planet,” please). I remember the fateful day in 2006, the first day of 8^th grade for me – gotta love them awkward years – when dearest Pluto was stripped of its honors as the ninth planet in our solar system. I’ve always been small in stature myself and Pluto was that one planet with which I could connect. Apparently I wasn’t alone. Tyson himself wrote a novel entitled The Pluto Files: The Rise and Fall of America’s Favorite Planet.

Now, I’m not about to call the awkward junior high phase  “America’s Favorite School Years.” But I will admit that there are some striking similarities between this little person planet and my middle school experience.

Firstly, as Tyson pointed out in his very entertaining lecture, while Pluto’s demotion was mourned by all, “Pluto’s happier now!” “Pluto is now a big fish in a little pond,” Tyson stated.

I attended a small, Christian private school from 2^nd grade through 8^th grade. My graduating class was the largest in the school’s history: 28 people. Whoa there! Gettin’ crazy. I was the class artist, one of three musicians, and, well, everyone was the class brainiac (SRVCA was pretty nerdy back in my day).

I’m going to take a minute to brag here: the same year Pluto got kicked out of the solar system, I won 1^st prize in the 8^th grade science fair.  My project was about how fast different chocolates melted depending on their percentage of cocoa. True confession time: I did the entire project the night before. Take that, teachers! And I now hate science. (I’m an English major, dreading the physics lab Vanderbilt requires me to take next semester).

I was a big fish in a 28-person pond. Pluto was once 1 of 9 planets. Now it’s 1 of only 5 dwarf planets in our solar system!

Next, the majority of the time that the scientific world has known about Pluto’s existence, it was thought to be something it’s not. Discovered in 1930, Pluto was originally classified as another planet in our solar system. I’m not really a numbers person, but here’s how I got to that conclusion:

            2006 – 1930 = 76 years

            It’s been 6 years since 2006, so we’ve known about Pluto for 82 years.

            76 years of incorrect assumption / 82 years of known existence = 92% (majority)

For the majority of the time that the world has known about my existence, I was expected to be a math/science kid. Growing up, I dreamed of being an architectural engineer or a cardiovascular surgeon (Imagine my mom’s enthusiasm when I announced I wanted to be a writer and a musician!) Born in 1993, Emma was originally expected to continue with her trajectory of advanced mathematical and scientific thinking.

            I changed my mind in 8^th grade (just like Pluto!), so

            2007-1993 = 14 years

            It’s been 5 years since 2007, so I’ve been alive for 19 years.

            13 years of incorrect assumption/ 19 years of known existence = 74% (majority)

Thirdly, there is decreasing discussion of Pluto. Nobody really wants to talk about the little planet anymore. Teachers won’t tell their students about it in the same way they did back in the day because it is no longer a major point of the solar system. And for many Americans, it is undoubtedly still a sore subject (I can tell you first hand that there were numerous outbursts from frustrated Pluto-activist audience members on Tuesday).

Let’s be real: nobody really wants to dwell on the memories of junior high years. It was awkward. Voices got squeaky, people grew (or didn’t), the cool kids hung out at the mall, your mom had to drive you on “dates,” and, worst of all, dances were awful and weird.  There are those occasional moments in the rest of life when you reminisce on the horrors of middle school, which everyone who’s ever been 12 has inevitably encountered. But that’s it.

There is one final way that all of our junior high experiences are like Pluto. One of the most fascinating things that I have ever learned about space is that when you look out into space, you are literally looking into the past (yes, that inspirational scene in “The Lion King” is actually Simba’s dad talking to him from the past). This is because of the time that it takes light to travel; essentially, this conundrum means that we are looking at old light. While Pluto is not that far away from us, so its light we perceive in telescopes isn’t that old, it is still in the past.

And aren’t we all grateful that statement is also true of our middle school dances?

Oh yikes, buddy. 

Happy Thanksgiving!  

(Just in case you're still in the hell that is junior high, this is for you - ignore everything it says. Lies.)