Hamilton College Admission Journals: Rachel Richardson

Hogwarts at Hamilton!

Fri, 30 Mar 2007 20:20:36 GMT

Over Winter Break, I neglected my brand new colossal copy of John Updike’s stories to follow the exploits of Harry, Ron, and Hermione once again. I think I excused the choice by calling it preparation for the upcoming movie and seventh book, but honestly, I wanted to pretend I went to Hogwarts – because who doesn’t want to be a wizard, with an owl and a wand and all sorts of adventures? Once, though, I actually was a wizard.

I went through a dark phase during high school that was essentially centered on the works of J.K. Rowling – I spent a good year of my life writing fanfiction and re-reading the four books that were available at the time. When I came to Hamilton, I immediately volunteered to participate in Hogwarts at Hamilton, solely for the name. Even though my fanfiction days were far behind me at that point, I was still ridiculously excited to actually be a Hufflepuff, if only for a weekend. Every year around Halloween, Hamilton students decorate the ELS building to look like an English castle of classrooms, don ties and cloaks, and re-enact Harry Potter.

Students and community members (and veritable hordes of small children) come through for tours of “Hogwarts,” while the “students” perform skits based on their assigned classes. I was Hannah Abbott (which was my own idea and therefore solidifies my secret identity as a dork), and was a student in Care of Magical Creatures, along with Neville Longbottom and Madame Pomfrey. Hagrid was also there, of course, enacted by a rugby player who now lives in the suite above mine. Snape, coincidentally, lives next door. Two other students volunteered to be mermaids, which involved a lot of cadaverous-like makeup and fake seaweed, while I stuck my hair in pigtails and talked like a Liverpool pipsqueak.

There are plenty of volunteer opportunities at Hamilton, but Hogwarts at Hamilton might be the easiest way to do some good and have an awesome time simultaneously. After we did our little scene (where Hagrid poorly translated some Mermish and I asked a lot of questions about the giant squid), the touring kids could ask questions. One particularly precocious visitor told us all about the Strait of Gibraltar. Later, a few of my friends came through in Halloween costumes (one went as a Slim Jim) and did their best to humiliate me, to no avail.

I still have the cloak in my closet – I’m pretty tempted to break it out and revisit my former, more magical days.

Good Eats

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 03:25:15 GMT

I was a very lucky freshman, even with the crummy room situation and a less-than-flawless transcript. I made friends with upperclassmen, who, in addition to owning cars that could transport me around, knew the best haunts of the area and how to get to them. I’d been at Hamilton for less than a year, and I’d already feasted on the finest of Central New York cuisine – beyond, of course, our fine dining halls.

In retrospect, I might have come to Hamilton solely because of Minar. We do have Indian restaurants in Tulsa, but, for some reason, Minar is infinitely better. A full dinner – with appetizers and a mango lassi – is around $20, but the weekend lunch buffet is an absolute steal at $10. While the employees of Minar don’t know us by name, they do know us by sight. The rice is always ready, the naan is hot, and I’m pretty sure there’s something in the masala sauce that releases extra serotonin in the brain. After a midday meal at Minar, dinner is unthinkable, which means you can use your allotted dinner to get equivalency at the Diner; nothing tops off an Indian feast like a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

I was skeptical of Tex Mex at first – mainly because its name is just “Tex Mex,” and because, as an Oklahoman, I felt nothing in New York could beat Taco Bueno, either in price or taste. Finally, though, I was sold into the cult of the One Pound Burrito – although I always order a Half-Pounder. The food is cheap, filling, and delicious. Chips are free with every meal, and the salsa bar puts Taco Bueno’s to shame. There’s also a spectacular vista on the drive there, which is just as amazing at night as it is in the day.

Lastly, there’s the Only Café, which, appropriately, I’ve only been to once. It’s called the Only because there’s only one guy who works there, and he does everything. The menu is a little limited, but the atmosphere – specifically, the inane amount of kitsch on the walls – makes up for it. The Only prides itself on hot sauce and strawberry shortcake; not only is there a veritable library of Tabascos, but the shortcake is entirely handmade, down to the whipped cream. If you’re in a rush, the Only’s a bad choice, but if you’ve got time to kill with people you like, it’s definitely worthwhile.

And, of course, there’s a McDonald’s in Clinton, if you’re feeling particularly homesick. Or stir-fry at McEwen, in addition to random entrees – last week I had some Garbanzo Croquettes with Tzatziki Sauce. Not bad for a campus meal plan.

Seasonal Affective Disorder

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 03:06:57 GMT

It’s one week until Spring Break, papers are piling up (both in my planner and at the Writing Center), and the entire population of Hamilton is under the weather somehow – either with the campus-wide half-flu that’s going around (which I’ve been combating with a lot of sleep and tea) or with looking at the dirty snow. It’s not quite time to despair, nor is my only hope to bite the bullet and lock my door until next Friday; there are little things that are always a pick-me-up.

I live in Milbank 12, but every night I make the trek up to Milbank 29, because that suite is a little quieter and, consequently, easier to work in. I walk through all the suites between 23 and 28 at least once a day. I push open half a dozen doors and turn as many corners, pass as many kitchens and common rooms and stairwells. Needless to say, the scenery doesn’t change much. Tonight, though, to shake things up, my 29er friend and I decided to run, pell-mell, as though Campus Safety were on our tails – which they weren’t. So we sprinted, leaving a fleet of confused, studying students in our wake. It was awesome, and definitely a highlight of the week.

Getting off-campus is also a consistent perk. Usually, we drive down College Hill Road onto Route 12, but last weekend, we went up the Hill instead. I’d never been that way in the daytime, and was completely ignorant to the vast amount of farmland Hamilton is surrounded by. While the view did reiterate the fact that Hamilton is pretty much in the heart of nowhere, it was still pretty striking – all that snow, all that land. The Midwesterner in me thrilled at the sight of wide open spaces; it’s a good thing I don’t have a car on campus, or I would drive around all the time, just to look out the window.

Most of the time, though, I’m stuck in my dorm room, with little to divert me aside from Facebook. Since we’re all connected to the same network, however, iTunes allows any user to peek into someone else’s library. Recently, we’ve discovered a box set’s worth of middle-school slow dance songs, and all the one-hit-wonders we hadn’t heard since then. The set-up is perfect for impromptu dance parties.

There are other things to do to – ice cream for dinner is always helpful, as is a trip to the gym or library – but the fact remains; the weather may suck and I may be sick, but I can keep myself amused, just by being here.

Happy Snow Day

Wed, 14 Feb 2007 18:36:51 GMT

While I was in high school, there was always one day in winter when I’d stay up late to check the news, waiting for Tulsa Public Schools to be cancelled for a snow day, and sometimes it was. I knew that wouldn’t happen when I got to college, so last night, I went to bed at 2 a.m., tired, but ready for the next day.

I woke up before my alarm went off because someone was shouting in the hallway – actually, it wasn’t really shouting, so much as repeating the same two words over and over, in disbelief and joy: “Snow day. Snow day? Snow day!”

We all opened our doors, frizzy-haired and bleary-eyed, and confronted him. I was still half-asleep when I checked my inbox, but sure enough, there was an email canceling all classes from our Dean of Students. My neighbor started blasting “It’s a Beautiful Morning,” and then we all went back to bed until lunch (which, I should add, we went to in our pajamas, because it’s a snow day). Needless to say, we are all grateful for the bit of weekend inserted into the middle of the week; I plan on reading, staying in my pj’s, and watching the snow drift until it’s taller than me (which will be in about an hour, I’d guess).

Ironically, it’s FebFest — last year, many of the events were cancelled due to too little snow, while this year, we’re hoping the weather doesn’t jeopardize our IMF show on Saturday. Fortunately, Chris Thile and How to Grow a Band made it to campus last night, and I caught the last half of their show in the Barn. The detour was probably one of the reasons I was up so late, but it was absolutely worth it; Thile joked, during the encore, that he and the band would love to meet us all afterwards, “mainly for financial reasons. No, I’m kidding — let’s have a snowball fight or something.”

Oh wow — the Buffers, our male a capella group, just walked into Milbank to deliver Buffergrams — guerilla serenades especially for Valentine’s Day — covered in snow. I’d completely forgotten it was Valentine’s Day; it’s more of a Happy Snow Day to me.

You’re Listening to WHCL 88.7 FM, Broadcasting Live From the Basement of Bristol, Here at Hamilton College in Clinton, New York.

Sat, 10 Feb 2007 23:51:45 GMT

Hamilton is small. You probably know that. Hamilton is so small that the levels of overlap can get somewhat ridiculous — for example, to pool myself with the other student story writers, nearly all of us are interconnected in some way: Sarah and I both work at the Writing Center, Greg and I are both members of the Media Board, I once rode the Jitney with Victoria during Orientation week (I think she was buying goldfish), Geoffrey and I had a class together last year, and Leighton and I were once in the radio station at the same time, trying to coordinate a live broadcast of a lecture. It’s a little like a giant Venn diagram, and after a while it starts looking like a Spirograph doodle.

One of the largest circles I chase my tail in has to be the radio station, and yes, this entry does serve as publicity for it. If you’re in the area, tune in to 88.7 FM any day of the week, for the best in college radio. If you’re the rest of the world, we also stream our broadcast online at whcl.org. If you’re especially interested in stalking me, try Fridays from noon to two p.m., when my own show, Fervently Eclectic, takes to the airwaves (but be warned, I am a very awkward DJ and have dorky playlists — two weeks ago, I had a birthday-themed show, because it happened to be the day after my twentieth.)

I’ve always loved the radio; my Oldsmobile at home has no other source of music, and I think that’s why I was so excited to become a radio DJ, not to mention the hours I spent as a child in my room with a microphone and a tape-deck, pretending I was a one-girl news crew. I still get a rush when I go down to the station, located next to the bookstore in Bristol, and the giant, blue and pink neon WHCL sign is lit up and buzzing. I’m down there every few days, at least, because this semester, I happen to be General Manager of WHCL, and I am as proud as I am intimidated by the position. I run meetings every Monday with the e-board, send out all-campus emails, and had to face a whole room full of people when we were just getting started (there’s the Prospective DJ meeting, the Accepted DJ meeting, the pre-Accepted DJ meeting for the e-board, and on and on). More importantly, the radio is on the air, regardless of my involvement. My predecessor, the current Assistant General Manager, wrote on her e-board application that she was applying because she “couldn’t get enough of this stuff.” The same goes for me — technically, the radio is an extra-curricular, but I’d major in it if I could.