09-19-2014, 12:34 PM
Hey my dad was Walt (once) from Denver. Yeah, don't think so.
The only thing I remember about moving in to the lovely Escondido Village was that I arrived too late to move in coming from L.A. (sleeping on a couch with GT friends) from San Diego (sleeping on the floor with HS friend) from Las Vegas (redacted) from Denver. I'm pretty sure I found the absolutely most cockroach ridden notel/motel on El Camino to spend my first night (of many, many, many) on the Peninsula. Can't remember much noteworthy between pulling the linen out of the VW and starting classes. A ton of ants in our apartment and a cool roommate from Kuwait, who worshiped Carlos Santana btw, but nothing stands out.
Moving to the ATL involved sending a trunk full of clothing and bedding ahead to the campus P.O. and hopping Delta to Hartsfield pre-MARTA stop, so I took a two-hour or so cruise through Atlanta on the Super Shuttle, landing at some hotel on 10th Street. Walked to the P.O. the next morning and lugged my trunk to the dorm, where I proceeded to have three different roommates in two weeks while people moved around, ending up with a guy named Jay from Boston, who had a girlfriend, so I had in effect the room to myself. Once my GI tract adjusted to all the dietary lard I was fine.
Parents never came with me. No way Jacketrette would have done her move in day without us. (Dad pretty much did all the moving. Third floor dorm room. I didn't have that much crap when I moved in; and yes she was informed of that factoid once or twice.) Jacketree Junior would have done it without us, but it isn't every day you get to watch your kid inducted into the U.S. Navy, so he had to put up with not only parents and sister, but an assortment of grandparents, aunts and uncles who I guess really wanted to watch the Blue Angels. Dropped him off in civilian clothes at 8:00 a.m. and saw the dazed, sweat-drenched and buzzcut sailor in his starched white works for all of 15 minutes at 6 that night before they slammed the Bancroft doors for good. Hard to believe we go back for 2/C (junior) parents weekend in about three weeks. I'm sure time is flying faster for us than it is for him.
The only thing I remember about moving in to the lovely Escondido Village was that I arrived too late to move in coming from L.A. (sleeping on a couch with GT friends) from San Diego (sleeping on the floor with HS friend) from Las Vegas (redacted) from Denver. I'm pretty sure I found the absolutely most cockroach ridden notel/motel on El Camino to spend my first night (of many, many, many) on the Peninsula. Can't remember much noteworthy between pulling the linen out of the VW and starting classes. A ton of ants in our apartment and a cool roommate from Kuwait, who worshiped Carlos Santana btw, but nothing stands out.
Moving to the ATL involved sending a trunk full of clothing and bedding ahead to the campus P.O. and hopping Delta to Hartsfield pre-MARTA stop, so I took a two-hour or so cruise through Atlanta on the Super Shuttle, landing at some hotel on 10th Street. Walked to the P.O. the next morning and lugged my trunk to the dorm, where I proceeded to have three different roommates in two weeks while people moved around, ending up with a guy named Jay from Boston, who had a girlfriend, so I had in effect the room to myself. Once my GI tract adjusted to all the dietary lard I was fine.
Parents never came with me. No way Jacketrette would have done her move in day without us. (Dad pretty much did all the moving. Third floor dorm room. I didn't have that much crap when I moved in; and yes she was informed of that factoid once or twice.) Jacketree Junior would have done it without us, but it isn't every day you get to watch your kid inducted into the U.S. Navy, so he had to put up with not only parents and sister, but an assortment of grandparents, aunts and uncles who I guess really wanted to watch the Blue Angels. Dropped him off in civilian clothes at 8:00 a.m. and saw the dazed, sweat-drenched and buzzcut sailor in his starched white works for all of 15 minutes at 6 that night before they slammed the Bancroft doors for good. Hard to believe we go back for 2/C (junior) parents weekend in about three weeks. I'm sure time is flying faster for us than it is for him.
Yeah, I just stare at my desk, but it looks like I'm working .I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work. Peter Gibbons