I remember Gerry Immonen's strange and demanding endearments, and the white spittle that would collect at the corners of his old mouth when he would talk animatedly.

I remember Immonen not saying much at my final critique and instead just playing with my piece as if it were fluffy cloth. He handed it back to me with an approving nod.

I remember Cyrus Highsmith not saying much at my degree project final critique. He nodded with a hand on his chin.

I remember when Todd Moore's daughter died. She was our age.

I remember exhausting Friday drawing classes in Lazarek's class, and then after it ended, wanting to draw some more.

I remember when Bianca came back really tan from winter break... like REALLY tan.

I remember Johil's hilarious monotone voice.

I remember Cara's sarcasm.

I remember Alison Kleiman talking really fast.

I remember people staying in the Met for several hours straight and calling it MetOlympics.

I remember working late, coming to my room in Larned, heating up a hot pocket, and drinking Heinekens until I got woozy and fell asleep.

I remember accidentally locking myself out of my room in Larned and having to climb the fire escape up to my window. A few minutes later, I was in the shower when Public Safety knocked on the bathroom door asking if it was me who had climbed in through the window because neighbors had seen someone climbing in through a window in Larned. They said not to do it again.

I remember when Elliot Earls came to our 7th floor studio "party." I was wearing my tigger costume, completely plastered, and couldn't stop jumping around.