Sean's Blog

This is a project I did for my Honors class this semester. The...

Sat, 26 Feb 2011 02:45:46 -0600

This is a project I did for my Honors class this semester. The assignment was to create a presentation that told the story of a creation myth. A lot of groups did powerpoints, my group made an original composition.

This is an example of how much academic freedom the Honors program allows.

Heavens

Original music by Sean O’Kelley

Featuring passages of the Enuma Elish, read by Tony Vega

Recorded by Sofi Del Cid

The story of how I was totally negligent but still managed to make friends with a teacher

Sat, 26 Feb 2011 02:14:19 -0600

It was my freshman year, in my first college-level philosophy class that I met Dr. Mustain. She had a tall, slender figure and a little flapper hat that covered her super-short boy-cut. She had a mischievous look to her, and was known to say things in class that were pure gold, although probably best left unquoted. Needless to say, she was (is) an amazing teacher; one of those teachers you try to pressure your friends into taking even if they don’t need to.

Anyways, it was the third day of class and we were about to start reading one of the Socratic Dialogues, but, as usual, I had not bought the book yet. I’m a procrastinator, and a chronic one. Before starting the lesson, Dr. Mustain asked if anyone had trouble getting the book. From the back left corner, I raised my hand, then noticed that my hand was the only one in the air.

Had I had trouble getting the book? Of course not, I just hadn’t done it yet. Did Dr. Mustain know that? Probably; if everyone else had managed to get it then why on earth couldn’t I? She’s a smart lady, I’m sure she had me figured out.

“Talk to me after class.”

Rarely good words to hear. During the lecture, I logged on to Amazon and rush-ordered the book and tried to find an electronic version somewhere online.

After class, I sheepishly approached the podium prepared to offer the biggest apology of my life and beg her not to fail me or request the university kick me out immediately (that was a little joke). However, instead of interrogating me, she simply smiled, asked me to remind her what my name was and invited me up to her office. On the way she asked me why I was at St. Mary’s and if I liked it and other professor-to-freshman questions.

Once there, she picked our text book off the shelf, then personally photocopied every single page of the chapter for me. It came out to around 20 pages.

Anyone who has used a copy machine knows that this is a great act of kindness, especially when it jams a few times.

Three semesters later, I still drop by her office every other week or so and we just talk about life or whatever we feel like talking about. Family life, friends, why Facebook is so friggin’ popular, etc. I consider her a friend of mine.

Moral of the story: small class size matters. Professor X at State University Z is not going to take the time to photocopy things for you because you’re negligent. He’s not going to know your name and might not even remember your face. It’s not that Professor X is a bad person, he just has 1,600 students to deal with, and keeping up with that many on a personal level is impossible.

All but a few of my professors know me by name; they stop to talk to me outside of class, and we have casual conversations. I’ve had lunch with professors before, and not just at the cafeteria. If you put forth minimal effort to get to know them, you will, and they will be greatly appreciative and very willing to go out of their way to help you.

Education was never meant to be done on a 200:1 ratio, and it’s not how St. Mary’s does things.

Apparently it snows in San Antonio.

Sat, 26 Feb 2011 01:32:33 -0600

“Oh look, babe, it’s snowing.”

And that it was. Marivel was looking past a laptop full of homework and pop-punk and out my window and at the patches of snow that were accumulating on the ground. A half smile crept across her face like a sunrise.

Everyone kinda knew it was going to snow. It had been damn cold all week, dropping below freezing on at least one occasion and causing havoc on the roads. There was only a 20% chance that it would, and snow only hits this city every 20 years, but the faint smell of providence hung in the air and a three day weekend waited in everyone’s peripheral. Sometimes you just know, ya know?

The school had iced over at around midnight, when Marivel was getting out of her late shift at the library. She got to the ramp, put her foot down, and it almost slipped out from under her. She squealed a little, grabbed the rail and started to giggle.

“Oh, babe, can we go ice skating? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?”

Oh no…

“Yeah, of course we can.”

“YAAAAAY!”

We went to my room, where I changed into a pair of chucks. Marivel said I should, since they had the least grip out of all my shoes besides my Crocs, which apparently are unacceptable in public. Soon enough, we were outside doing our best to look graceful as we skidded about on the little bits of frozen ground. There were a few others out there, most of which warned us that there was ice about. Marivel just laughed at them and went running for the nearest ice patch.

Eventually we went back to the room, and I opened up the laptop to figure out the remainder of some English homework. An hour or so later, it was snowing.

Most of my readers are from Texas, and most the others are from Arizona, so most of you know how big of a deal this was. To any from up north: it snows here once every 20 years, and many students here had never even seen snow before. In short, this was huge.

We went outside again, and the entire Treadaway crowd was playing. Jorje was chasing Dotti, the third floor RA, with a snowball, and a fresh snow angel lay imprinted on the bricks. There was only half an inch or so on the ground, but it was enough to celebrate for, and the entire university was outside.

We decided to walk towards campus proper, and sure enough, I ran into every single person I know who lives on campus, and threw a snowball at a few of them. On top of that, I met a few new faces and got to talk casually to strangers (always a blessing).

Once my fingers were frozen, I went back inside and went to bed with flakes of snow in my hair.

Hi! I'm Lissa and I came across this blog through an e-mail :) I plan on attending St. Mary's in the fall and from the description, your blog seemed really interesting :)

Sat, 26 Feb 2011 01:12:39 -0600

Hey, Lissa.

First off, thanks for the read. It means a lot.

Second, thanks for your interest in St. Mary’s; it’s a wonderful little place (has it’s faults, yes, but all universities do) and I’m sure you’ll love it. Just make sure to get all your forms in and really dig for scholarship. Trust me, the university wants you and will bend over backwards to help you pay for the bill. Also, if you haven’t already, go to sleeping bag weekend (details on the website), which will give a pretty accurate portrayal of university life.

Lastly, ask lots of questions. One of the best that everyone’s afraid to ask is: “What do you dislike about St. Mary’s?” Ask everyone you meet here: students, faculty, your tour guide, even the president of the university, should you meet him (by the way, if you do meet him, he will more than likely remember your name). It will really help you finalize your decision and shows people you’re inquisitive.

Happy application process and I hope to see you this fall.

so’k

Returning to Treadaway

Mon, 31 Jan 2011 21:00:00 -0600

Phone buzzed. Ryan Salts. Probably wanted to hang out, but in all honesty it could have been anything.

“Heyyyyyyy…. wanna help me move in my fridge?” I could almost see his little half smile through the telephone.

“Yeah, sure. What floor do you live on?”

“Fourth.”

“[obscenities]”

The thing about our dorm, Treadaway, is that it has no elevator. Supposedly there’s one somewhere in the back, but I’ve never seen it nor do I personally know anyone who has. Either way, we were going to carry that thing up 4 flights of spiral staircase designed with the intention of making moving in a nightmare.

Supposedly the dorm was originally constructed as a barracks for the Marianist brothers who once resided on campus in great numbers, and was eventually turned into a dorm after the number of brothers declined and the number of students increased. However, during the conversion the designers were obviously more concerned with how many students they could pack into an area as opposed to how comfortably they could house the students.

The rooms in Treadaway are small. Death-row small. 10 square feet of walking space small. The walls are paper-thin and sometimes the fire alarm goes off at 4 AM with no cause.

Despite these things, Ryan and I had both voluntarily moved there after a year in Founders Hall, which is an all-freshman dorm with rooms the size of mansions. Well, in all honesty it was the only dorm left when I showed up to housing registration two days late, but Ryan had actually wanted to live there. I’m pretty sure he just wanted his own room.

I met him in the courtyard, where his fridge was planted next to his feet waiting to be carried. He was talking to Jorge, another resident and a friend of ours. We had met him by spending too much time in the courtyard playing guitar and we became close after, again, spending too much time playing guitar in the courtyard.

“Hey, man”, he said with his big Jorge smile with his thick Mexican accent as he swung his arm in a wide arch to meet mine in one of those half hand shake/half high fives that people give when a handshake is either inappropriate or unnecessary. “Where’s Ponci?”

Of all the courtyard dwellers, Jorge was probably the most dedicated, but Ponci was probably the most popular. If we could be considered a ‘group’, then Ponci was our leader. “Where’s Ponci?” is probably the most common question I’m asked, and the most common response is “Girlfriend’s” or some vulgar variation on that.

We ended up sitting there by the fridge on the circular blue benches and talked for almost an hour. Jorge played Tejano music on his classical guitar while me and Ryan talked aimlessly about Kanye West and girls and whether or not Ponci would arrive on campus an hour before his first class.

Eventually, other people came out, and eventually we had an entire group of people just standing about listening to Jorge and asking each other how the break went and if they wanted to hang out later. Someone brought a bag of chips that were shared amongst the group. After about another hour, everyone had dispersed feeling like the semester would be a good one.

That’s what I like about the Treads; the community is as large and as tight as the rooms are small. And, honestly, unless you’re a room-dweller you’ll probably do well there and make plenty of friends.

When it was just Jorge, Salts and I, we grabbed Ryan’s fridge and carried it upstairs.

——

Edited for grammatical errors on February 3rd, 2011

Oh hai there

Thu, 27 Jan 2011 15:50:44 -0600

So.

You’re here, which means you fall into one of three categories. Either you are interested in St. Mary’s as a possible future home for yourself, you’re not interested in St. Mary’s and your mother is making you read this, or you’re one of my friends who just doesn’t get enough of me in daily life.

Welcome to all.

Before we continue any further, here’s the link to the admissions website. I’d suggest checking it out, as it will definitely give you a better idea as to exactly what you need to do to get in.

www.stmarytx.edu/admission

Anyways.

The purpose of this blog, as you may have already deduced, is to provide you with my thoughts on exactly what it means to go to St. Mary’s. It will explore the groups I’m involved with, the teachers I interact with, the places I love and the events I attend.

This blog, in short, will be about business, English, living alone, playing guitar and interacting with cats.

In short short, it’s going to be interesting.