Youth

I recall asking my mother for a laser tag birthday when I was 10 years old. I got mini golf instead. Little did I know, twelve years later my dream would finally come true when I would find myself ringing in 22 at the Kalahari Resort playing none other than...laser tag.

Welcome to Pat Hurley's debut on my blog.

Yes, after 10 exhausting weeks of PA summer school, I got on the first train I could and headed to the 'Boo. There is nothing more intellectually relaxing than stomping through a stream, dressing up as a lumberjack's wife, and yelling out Shake Yo' Foot. But before campers came, celebrations naturally needed to occur. A group of us, affectionately referred to as the "old" people, headed to Damon's after placements on Friday. Camp Gray icons like Joe Van Tassel, Mr. Patrick Hurley, and Nicky Kaeler were in attendance and the yucks and grub were good. After at least 19 people had celebrated birthdays around us, my dumb friends decided mine was close enough, and we also celebrated mine.Note the Camp Gray style celebration (aka head rubbing) post-birthday song.

Now, after our meal was finished and they began to turn the lights off, we considered our options for the rest of the evening and also our proximity to the brand-new Kalahari Indoor Adventure Park (as if the Kalahari needed anything else). And we decided to just "take a look".

Well, after giving the terrifying ropes course a look, Mr. Hurley and I decided it would be necessary to check out the laser tag facilities. After going down into the deepest, darkest crevice of the adventure park, we found it. And it looked good. So we loaded a card with enough cash for all of us to play one round and headed to the Kalahari basement for what was sure to be an enjoyable throwback to our childhood.

Lindsay was crucial to the success of this adventure. She was confident that if we worked the employees just right, we could get more than one game out of this. I was skeptical. Nonetheless, there was a bit of a wait before we were able to enter the laser tag arena, but this provided a wonderful opportunity to establish a relationship with our laser tag employees. They were no doubt a bit surprised at the sight of us...I think the average age they typically see down there is 9. But this lead to some jocularity and a bit of a guessing game as to what Mr. Hurley's actual age is. Let's just say they overshot it a little bit (...33!) So as Mr. Hurley repaired his damaged ego, we set out into the laser tag arena. Black lights, bright scenery, it was truly a sight to behold! I discovered several things while we were there: #1 I am not very good at laser tag. #2 Although I am not good, I am consistently not good, and there is something to be said for that. #3 Never wear a floral print shirt to laser tag (you will "light up like a Christmas tree!") #4 Kids, small ones, are ruthless and have no mercy on people who wear inappropriate attire to laser tag (thus contributing to #1). Despite these things, it really was exhilarating and I felt like I was channeling my youth. Dodging lasers, beaming up the sirens, trying to physically harm the children who were playing with us...all around fantastic. And Lindsay was indeed right. After finishing our first game, it only took a few minutes of schmoozing before the laser tag people beamed us up again for another go at it. And another. And another. Yes, four games for the price of one at the Kalahari Resort. We were even so much fun that the employees came out to play with us (again, they make a living at this, so see #1). I'm not really sure why they thought we might be any sort of competition, but I think we made their night, and they certainly made ours. Well played, fellow tagees, well played.


Back row: Joe Baker and me (looking friendlier now than we ever would again--we had just met)
Front row: Mr. Hurley, Carol!, Lindsay, and Bill Van Wagner

Summer Summary

Nothing, no nothing, brings me more sadness than disappointing my faithful readers. So when I break this news to you, please know that it was truly unavoidable and there is absolutely nothing I can change about it, try as I might. I know that all three of my faithful readers have been waiting at long last for the exciting catalog of my summer escapades, but this is where I fail you, faithful readers: my summer was pretty much uneventful.

I know, I know, you have been looking forward to this day for so long, and here I have so little to share. But we all know that I have a true art for being able to write long winded entries about almost nothing (see all text above), so fear not. I'll find something to say about my summer.

Immediately following senior week (sufficiently covered below), summer school began. I am not sure who thought up the idea of summer school, but I have a feeling that that person will share the same circle of hell as perhaps the people who thought up clam shell plastic packaging for the last ink cartridge I bought. (By the way, did you know that over 6,000 people a year end up in the ER due to injuries trying to open that stuff? Wish I had my own personal Jaws of Life sometimes...)

So back to summer school. It was difficult but interesting. For the first time in my life I am taking classes that are applicable to my future career--who would have thought?! Much of the summer was spent preparing to give real live patients a physical exam and take a medical history. To that end, many friends became much closer friends as I checked out their heart, lungs, skin, etc. Check out how thrilled Joe was to be my guinea pig:

(Look at that face. Would YOU trust that? God help my future patients...)

You will note that the building looks a bit dim in this picture. I will tell you we went through many, many patients in preparation for our Standardized Patient Exam. Some kind souls would literally go from physical to physical if they were friends with many PAs (note to self: befriend only one and you'll get out faster!) This picture was taken late on a Friday night stuck in the building. Sad, I know. But I don't think the program foresaw what would come if they remodeled the building and gave us 24-hour swipe access to it. Yes, frazzled PAs would do what any other reasonable individual would do after a lot of hard work on a Friday night:

We played poker.

Now you may be thinking to yourself, "Self, is that really ALL Monica did this summer? If so, that would be sad." You would be correct in that assessment, but in fact I did have a few exciting events to keep me going. I visited my family for Fourth of July, visited my good friend Lindsay in Racine, and traveled to Madison for one of the most beautiful weddings of my life (Terese and I attended the wedding escorted by our friends Tom and Dave. They knew we would get emotional, but they weren't prepared for just how emotional we would be. As Alison began walking down the aisle, Dave noticed me tearing up on his right, Terese bawling on his left, looked at his watch and whispered, "It's been four minutes!")

In between these big events, many smaller events occurred in what became a Thursday night ritual, if you will. It all began one night after JJ, Jack, and Ryan asserted their manliness by helping me move. (I bribed them with Sobelman's burgers first.) After moving me entirely in under 90 minutes, singing the entire time, we all grabbed a well-deserved beer and stepped out onto the fire escape. Ryan de-asserted his manliness by grabbing a Smirnoff Ice. No one knows why. But it was there on the fire escape that we planned our summer. We agreed to go to weekday Mass together once a week, and as luck would have it, the night that worked out the best was in fact Thursdays. You see, we are all frequent school-year-Thursday-night-Mass goers, so it was only fitting to attend Thursdays in summer as well. This time however, Mass was at 5:30 PM and would be promptly followed by a barbecue each week on my fire escape. Without fail (ok, July got a little weak) we met for Mass and brought a truly delightful array of goodies to Apartment Y. JJ brought wine and store bought coleslaw each week, Jack tantalized us with marinated steak fajitas, and Ryan rarely brought anything but ate twice as much as anyone else. Others joined us on these occasions as well and these times spent trying to light my Roundy's brand charcoal are some of my best summer memories.

The group culminated with a trip to Miller Park for Jack's birthday. Our very favorite Jesuit, Fr. Thomas Anderson, joined us for this celebratory occasion. Fr. Tom drove us in the Jesuit Toyota RAV-4 (vow of poverty?!?!) and made a quick detour into Walgreens when we realized no one had brought buns for our tailgate. Ryan flew in and showed true all-star potential by avoiding the long lines at the check out and making his purchase in photo. Genius.


The trip became moderately to significantly awkward when, while the rest of our group was setting up the grill and Fr. Tom and I left to grab our tickets from will call, I noticed that a friend of a gentleman I had recently ceased dating was tailgating just three cars away. Ducking behind a car, I then had to explain to a Jesuit how I needed to avoid this situation in case my former datee was accompanying said friend. Yes, in the Miller Park parking lot, behind a Chevy Silverado, Fr. Tom became my wingman.

Fortunately said friend was tailgating with his family, and no awkwardness ensued. However, as we would later walk to the stadium, Nicki would inquire more about the story behind this gentleman I had formerly dated. As I began to tell her more, I would recollect how I less-than-gracefully found out this gentleman was 28 years old:

"My sister is 27 years old."
"Oh, so you're not the oldest?"
"No...I am. I'm 28."
"Oh."

Fr. Tom, overhearing this situation, gave me judging eyebrows and said something to the effect of, "If you want to have any luck with love, you better work on your game."

Dismayed, I replied, "You know your love life is bad when you're getting advice from a Jesuit."

He quipped, "You'd be surprised how much you learn in the confessional."


Truly, an exercise in humility. Sometimes I wonder what in my life isn't.

(By the way, this photo is of us in our seats in the The Very Last Row at Miller Park. Yes, the nosebleeds of all nosebleeds. The best part was, there were people already sitting in these seats when we got to the park. People, in the last row, with plenty of other seats open for us to just grab and sit, and Fr. Tom KICKED THEM OUT. I don't know if he was trying to be funny or honest, but either way it was hysterical...and mortifying.)