Cookie Mas w/ Cuban cigars

     Yesterday, Rebel Girl and King David put on their annual “Cookie Mas” event, a delightfully loose and informal all-day party, featuring cookies (some baked by David’s mom, others baked by humanistic epicureans and dastardly feminists), cider, cheese 'n' crackers, and much mas. Cookie Mas—or "Cookiemas"—is vaguely Christmassy (some red and green cookies, natch), seriously informal (clothing optional), and way fun (Cuban cigars all around). It is always held, of course, in that ridiculous locus of the rotting wing of A200—known laughingly as the “faculty lounge,” a set of couches and chairs and patience-testing HP equipment. (Our “faculty lounge” used to feature a noisemaking Scantron machine, too, but a clever colleague banished that Flintstonian device to the nearby, soul-sucking duplicating/mail fortress.)

     All manner of persons dropped by throughout the day, including colleagues of other Schools—other, that is, than Humanities & Life Sciences, for the Reb and King D are members of those estimable units—administrators, classified employees (who seemed particularly happy to be there), students, and even one or two varmints, though no maggoty rats or mold spores.

The Reb was, again, intermittent host & cheerleader

     “Where,” asked some visitors, “was the scene of the notorious maggoty rat?” I showed ‘em. “It’s gone now, seriously gone now,” I insisted, sensing an unsavory clash between cookie and maggot. Jeannie insisted on telling the whole story, including mention of "300 writhing maggots on the carpet."

     At one point, the Reb declared that this would be the "last Cookie Mas ever to be held in A200," a factoid that immediately inspired tears and "ahhhhs." Feeling sentimental, I pondered: Can an event really be a Humanities event, if it does not occur in a lurid corner of a rotting and molding building?

     Yes!

     I do believe that yesterday’s Cookie Mas, the best Mas ever, achieved a fevered pitch at about noon yesterday. I was in my office preparing and grading exams, but I could hear the laughing and joking and Twister-playing in the background, a pleasant din. Someone yelped. Laughter. Swoonage. "Just like old times," I said.

     I will be insisting that the Reb and King D claim Flex Credit for this event, which exceeded virtually all other college events, official or otherwise, in camaraderie and funitude.

King D resides in the weird end of campus

Tell all the relatives: this is how we drive to work in So Cal