Little Clark Traditions

In between now and my move to New Zealand in just under 2 months, I have four separate trips planned to visit family and friends. I leave for a quick one tomorrow with my parents to head down to my little cousin's high school graduation. I should prooobably be packing for that little jaunt, but instead...I reminisce. Oh vell.

My school's claim to fame is that the one and only Sigmund Freud came to visit and give a series of lectures in 1909. It was his first time in our very own US of A and he hated it so much that he refused to ever set foot on American soil again. We commemorated with a larger-than-life-sized statue of the man himself, right in the center of our campus. He's a landmark. It is a rite of passage as a Clark student to take a picture with Freud. Or many, many pictures. In fact, on admitted students days there tends to be a steady stream of newly admitted students waiting to pose with him. Señor Freud is also a popular advertising location as campus groups frequently dress him up with t-shirts, funny hats, and sandwich board-style adverts. His stern glare only adds to the imploring that you rage against genocide! vote  _______ for student council treasurer! come to the benefit concert tonight! 

Our unofficial mascot:

the Fighting Freuds

Get on that, Clark.

Of course, being the procrastinator and exxxellent photo-documenter that I am, there was nary a Cheryl & Freud photo to be found. Ari (my roommate of all four years of college in case you're just catching on) was in the same rowboat. Clearly our Res Life & Housing office knew what they were doing when they paired us together as freshwomen. After our final finals of undergrad were submitted, on the last day before graduation we decided to become legitimate Clarkies and actually snap a pic with the founding father of psychoanalysis in statue form. 

Evidence:

The tent and chairs do not normally grace our campus green. Those would be a graduation special. Oh, and I tamed my lion's mane! More on that in excruciating detail later. 

Before we nabbed this little gem of a memory, we partook in some other nostalgic practices. There is a fiiiine dining location on campus called the Bistro, which is supposed to make it sound fancy/trendy/hip but is really still the same food service provider as the dining hall (or as I once saw a brochure refer to it: the "campus restaurant" ........riiiight). Most of the "Bistro" food consisted of deep fried deep fry or salads that appeared diseased, but it had a couple redeeming qualities. Ari and I had a tradition that whenever we would both get so stressed that we were well aware that we were being Crazy, we would have a roomie bistro date where we would get these genius sandwich concoctions called Monkey's Uncles (I know). Grilled peanut butter, Nutella, and banana on texas toast sammies. I would order mine sans banana, because let's be real about cafeteria fruit. I didn't need any of that contaminating my Nutella. 

frighteningly accurate

found this on a quick tumblr jaunt, so....it could be from lit-ra-lee anywhere. 

Well. Leave it to our school to wait until we were off the meal plan to revamp the Bistro. I walked in there once and not only had the menu completely changed--for the better--but it looked like a space ship. I was the one wandering around with the perplexed look on my face. Unfortunately, they did away with those sandwiches. Outrage. We had traditions to uphold. So on the last day of our undergrad lives, the last day as roommates, the last day before I moved away, and she stayed. The day when we were trying our hardest to ignore reality, we made our own nutella & pb sammies and picnicked outside the Bistro before snapping our pic with Freud. Take that, change.

I meeeees it.