Emily Lindsey graduated from Brown in 2002. She also dated a former roommate of mine. I'll let her tell you the rest!

1) What made you come to Oregon?

Fate. No, really. I was born here. And while I can`t actually claim to *live* anywhere these days, Portland still functions more-or-less as my base camp: It`s the closest thing I have to a permanent mailing address; it`s where I keep most of my things that don`t come with me when I travel; it`s where I`m registered to vote; and it`s one of the only places on earth I could see myself staying for a lifetime.

2) Please briefly describe your exciting work and travels.

I'm a professional nomad. That is to say, I am an itinerant, wandering pan-field scientist (marine biology, archaeology . . . occasionally I dabble in stratigraphy).

I have spent the last three autumns on the east coast, doing research, visiting friends, and SCUBA diving for money.

At the first sign of inclement weather I head south. The first winter after graduation I spent on the Antarctic Peninsula, where I assisted with the zooplankton component of Palmer Station's Long Term Ecological Research program. The following winter, and the one after that, I was invited to work as a field assistant on an archaeological dig in Chilean Patagonia (it's a cave site with tiny lizards, giant sloths, and some very old humans). I hope to return this year for the third and final season of excavations. After that, I will probably start heading towards graduate school.

I move around a lot. In the last three years (since graduation) I have driven across the North American continent twice (west, through Canada, and east through the states). I have lived in Oregon; Rhode Island; Arkansas; Colorado; and Santiago. I live in research stations, tents, and other peoples' houses. I was once sent on a sort of marine biology courrier mission to Ecuador, where I was half-adopted/half-kidnapped by a very friendly Ecuadorian family who took me SCUBA diving and brought me to their family reunion. I have trekked through Patagonia with a backpack full of wine and avocadoes, and cooked curry on a rental car's engine block in the Atacama desert. I have been hazed in a time-honored maritime ceremony while crossing the Antarctic circle. I have travelled on luxury cruise ships, South American cargo ferrys and icebreakers. I have seen wild grizzlies in Denali and wild roosters in Hawaii and black-and-white spotted dolphins in the Straits of Magellan. I have eaten krill sushi and pan-fried piranha and lemon ants straight off the tree (even though I am a vegetarian). And I have watched the sun rise at such high latitudes that, for three split-seconds, it turned green.

3) Can you explain your cool name classification scheme so others may use it?

Certainly. My friend Ilana (Brown `00.5) and I developed this system to facilitate personal references in a world (such as a college campus) where first names are often replicates, and where surnames are of little use or importance. [Case in point: Ilana and I had been close friends for several months when we realized that we had no idea what each other's last names were.] There are two basic notations: prime and subscript. A prime notation indicates that this is the first person with that name that you've befriended. Subscript notation indicates how you know that person.

For example, in this instance, the Ilana mentioned above is for me Ilana'. She is also Ilana-sub-food-co-op, which is how we met my freshman year. My other friend Ilana, whom I met through my ex-boyfriend, would be Ilana-sub-Roger. [Sam, I'd really appreciate it if you could create the subscript notation for the web-page -- I don't know how (or if) I can make my e-mail do it.] I guess it's kind-of silly, but surprisingly infectious.

4) What's your funniest Brown memory?

Travellers quickly learn that the most entertaining stories almost invariably stem from adverse situations. In this case, the thwarted attempt of six friends to acquire pie during a middle-of-the-night run to the 24-hour L.L. Bean store in Maine shortly after graduation is the first thing that comes to mind.

We had been camping out on a friend's property on the northern coast. It was the sort of college trip you always imagine, but rarely ever have time for when you're actually in college -- the days were filled with hikes and clothing-optional swimming holes, and the nights by beer and campfires.

This particular evening began with us delivering an oven to a left-wing activist minister on the shore of a lake somewhere between Bar Harbor and Damriscotta, but that really is another story. Anyway, on the way to Freeport, two occupants of the vehicle, who had spent the previous summer doing fieldwork at a nearby research station, suggested that we stop at a favorite diner of theirs that reportedly served really good pie. We wandered in and told the woman at the counter that we would like six pieces of pie to go.

"You can't do that," she told us.

"Why not?" we asked. "You sell pie. We want to buy pie. Here, look, we have money. You have pie right there, in the case. Why won't you sell us your pie?"

"Because six pieces of pie is a whole pie, and our restaurant's policy is that you cannot get a whole pie to go unless you order it a day in advance."

"But," we pointed out, "we are not trying to order a whole pie. We are six individuals, each of whom would like a slice of pie to go. If we didn't know each other, you would allow each of us to get a slice of pie to go, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she said, "but you came in as a group. Therefore, as a group, you are trying to order a whole pie."

One of the people who had originally suggested the restaurant grabbed my arm and headed me out the door.

The saleslady turned to the remaining petitioners. "If your friends come back in here," she said, "you're still a group."

We came back in. "What if we ate the pie here?" I asked. "Then could we get six pieces of pie?"

"Oh, yes," she said, "you could have six, ten, twenty pieces of pie if you ate it here."

"Do you have doggie bags?" I asked.

"Yes, we do."

"Ahh . . ." I said, "So, if we were to sit down and order our pie here, then decided that we weren't hungry . . ."

"No" she said. "That would be getting it to go. And you can't take six slices of pie to go."

We complained that this was the worst implementation of policy we had ever heard. The lady told us we would have to take it up with the manager.

"Where's the manager?" we asked.

"He's not here," she said, "you'll have to come back in the morning."

"We've driven 200 miles to get here" we protested.

"You'll have to talk with the manager."

We considered getting only five slices of pie, and sharing them. We discussed among ourselves strategies of coming back in disguises, or of stopping strangers on the street and asking them, like teenagers trying to score illicit cigarettes, to go into the diner and buy slices of pie for us. In the end, though, we decided that we didn't want to support such a foolish system with our money, and headed off for the only place in the U.S. where you can get fitted for crampons at 2:30 in the morning.

The surreality of the situation was only heightened by the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile we discovered parked next to our truck in the parking lot.

5) What's your favorite restaurant in Portland?

Oh, but there are so many!! That`s one of the marvelous things about the city (for one who, like me, is posessed of a lifelong, profound obsession with food). Here, I made a list, but keep in mind that since I`m based in Northeast, the selections are a little skewed towards that corner of the city.

Places we go when we don`t feel like cooking:
-- Nicholas`, of course, on SE Grand Avenue -- excellent mid-eastern food, great prices, lively atmosphere. They do take-out, too.
-- Leaf and Bean on NE Fremont is a little pricier, but does great soups and sandwiches, and they put something in their salads that I find totally addictive. [but, oh, no!, they're closing!]
-- Cha-Cha-Cha: good, cheap, healthy, fast and predictable.
-- Bella Faccia pizzaria (30th and Alberta). It's no coincidence that severl of the places on this list are within walking distance of my house.

Places I take friends from out-of-town:
-- Montage, of course
-- Rimsky`s, because of the tables (referring to Bistro Montage, under the Morrison bridge, and Rimsky-Korsakoffee House on SE 12th; Montage has cajun-style food, communal tables, incomparable leftover packaging, a latin inscription over the door, and the strangest ATM I`ve ever seen; Rimsky`s has coffee/dessert-y things, great titles for menu items, occasional live music and an entertaining, if slightly disconcerting, bathroom; both of these places have the advantage of staying open into the wee hours)
-- The Kennedy School (although sometimes just to look around), because one cannot come to Portland without an introduction to the McMennamins` empire.

Places to eat breakfast:
-- Gravy, on N. Mississippi Ave
-- Tin Shed, on NE Alberta
-- J&M Cafe, on SE Ash (not far from Nicolas`, actually)

Places to go if you have a little bit of money: Bernie`s Southern Bistro, on the newly gentrified NE Alberta Street, does some really nice gourmet extrapolations of U.S. southern cookin`, and their outdoor patio/bar is fabulous on summer evenings; Pazzo (Italian restaurant downtown) is always impeccable; and Andina (upscale Peruvian joint in the Pearl that just was listed as the Oregonian's '05 restaurant of the year) holds a special place in my heart as the only place I know of in town that serves Pisco Sours, the national drink of Chile (though they will tell you Peru has the monopoly on this beverage).

Oh, and Bridgeport Brewpub (in NW) has always been a favorite, but I confess to being a bit concerned about the in-progress rennovations: cement floors, self-service and the open loading-dock were just fine with me.

And finally, Ripe, site of the first Oregon Brown Alumni supper, definitely gets two thumbs up.