Underachievers, take heart! Alumni news for the rest of us.
By Caren Lissner | Illustrations by Michael Moran
Philip Ashbach, C’93, reports that ever since his landlord finally agreed to exterminate his tiny fourth-floor walkup in Manhattan’s Much-Much-Lower East Side, the roaches have all but disappeared. Ashbach writes, “Raid roach motels are better than Boric acid because you won’t have to worry that your drunken roommate will come home and think they’re powdered sugar, lick them off the floor and keel over, as happened to mine (Grant Russo, W’93) last year.”
Rita Ramirez, Nu’93, reports that she and boyfriend Dave Broderick, W’92, have broken up “for good this time,” and that she can’t believe she wasted practically all of her adult life tearing her hair out over that jerk and missed so many other opportunities.
Sarah Rosenman, C’89, reports that she has received her 175th rejection letter from a major magazine for an article query she submitted, but it doesn’t matter because “it’s really who you know, anyway.” She says her job as a junior high school English teacher wears her out so much that by the end of the day she doesn’t feel much like writing, anyhow.
Jon Waxler, EAS’92, reports that his six years of chasing after Margaret Semple, C’92, have been for naught because she has never been willing to be more than just friends, no matter how many things they have in common and how well he would treat her if she’d just give him a chance. Waxler says that, to his knowledge, Semple is not seeing anyone else, so he can’t understand why she’s being so cold, even after all those e-mail and phone and fax messages he sent telling her how much he cared. Waxler says that at one point, his college roommate, Fletcher Park, W’92, also had a crush on Semple.
Evan Simpson, W’92, writes that he has been living at home ever since dropping out of law school because of the workload, but now his mother Sally Seaford Simpson, CW’63, is driving him crazy with her rules and she ought to realize he’s an adult and can’t be bossed around like some five-year-old.
Janet Hixon, C’83, writes that Maureen Williker, C’83, and Paul Bencham, SW’83, still haven’t sent her a thank you card for the expensive wedding present she got for them last year, which is especially rude considering the bundle she had to spend on the dress and matching shoes and flying to Austin for the ceremony, and it’s not like she’s rich and her grandmother paid her entire college tuition like some people’s grandmother (Phyllis Williker, CW’39, L’43).
Fiona Dozier, Ed’52, writes that her conscience has been bothering her since she fabricated her Penn admission essay 50 years ago about dealing with her mother’s long bout with cancer, and that, in fact, her mother has always been the picture of health but was born under the astrological sign of Cancer, and she is glad to get this off her chest now that the statute of limitations is up for admissions fraud.
Denise Plank, C’79, reports that she is no longer dating because men are disgusting, and she will probably never get married like her friends Jay Parker, C’80, and Beth Armistead, C’81; Ruth Regal, EAS’79, and Mike Farkas, C’80; and David Smith, C’79, and Susan Singer, Nu’79, all of whom shamelessly flaunt their happiness in front of her and seem to be only able to fix her up with total losers.
Sally Seaford Simpson, CW’63, writes that if Evan Simpson, W’92, wants to live in her house, he should abide by her rules.
Ralph Forrest,C’93, reports that he is still on line waiting to close his account at the Student Federal Credit Union.
Dexter Peterson, C’71, still wishes he’d gotten into Princeton.
Horace Tibbs, EAS/W’93, is a sportswriter for The Boston Globe and still believes he’s going to put his five years of Management & Technology training to use any day now. Dennis Slugfest, L’91, has agreed to represent Fiona Dozier, Ed’52, in case the University finds some loophole through which they can sue her for theft of services, statute of limitations notwithstanding.
Peter Peterson, W’50, has a redundant name.
Janet Silas, L’96, thinks Ally McBeal is a crock.
Wilma Flamm, C’95, says that she is nearly broke because she can’t find a job in New York that is at least somewhat creative and pays more than $17,000 per year, and now takes back everything she ever said about “Wharton people” and is preparing her application for the graduate program.
Jeanine Guinness, C’95, is an assistant to an assistant to an assistant at a literary agency in Dubuque earning $15,500 per year with no benefits, and nevertheless thinks Wilma Flamm, C’95, “should follow her heart.”
Todd Stark, W’95, said to Wilma Flamm, C’95, “I told you so.”
Michael Steadman, C’79, is waiting patiently for the thirtysomething reunion.
Patrick Halloran, SAMP’29, doesn’t remember what SAMP stands for, either.
William Carlos Williams, M’06, Hon’52, is still dead. [See related story p. 16].
Jeremy Fredericks, W’86, was recently fired from Deloitte & Touche after his boss overheard him calling it “DeButt and Tush” on the phone. He has since been hired by Andersen Consulting, which doesn’t sound like any sort of body part at all.
Jim Loser, C’88, still asks people what they got on their SATs.
Dara Degnan, Nu’95, is still digesting her last chick’n g’rilla from Stouffer.
Amber Tevim, C/G’89, recently discovered that her name is an anagram of “Bite me, Marv.”
Glenn Hartman, C’68, had managed to stay in various graduate liberal arts programs continuously from 1968 until last year, when he had accumulated so much debt that he had to drop out of the philosophy doctoral program at Harvard, and now muses frequently upon the merits and drawbacks of using fresh vs. canned mushrooms on the pizzas that he delivers at sunset each evening.
Dr. Richard Wilson, M’88, got fired as Chief of Epiglottal Surgery at St. Dave’s Hospital in Nebraska recently after his contact lens fell into a trachea.
Senoj Tenaj, SAE’39, is dyslexic.
Caren Lissner, C’93, lives in Hoboken, N.J. and is working on a novel.