tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28952969970132199172024-02-20T23:14:15.630-08:00Just Dumb Enough... to go to grad schoolA "guide" to attending to grad school while retaining enough sanity to actually offer something to society when re-released back into it, or just enough to attend it for another five yearsreappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-92193641779194693972013-08-08T10:32:00.001-07:002013-08-08T10:40:27.999-07:00I Have a Lawn Now<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have a lawn now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Correction—my new duplex has a lawn that I’m responsible for mowing
every other week now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, I haven’t
mowed my lawn since I was 18.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve mowed
other peoples’ lawns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve mowed large
tracts of land in national forests on riding mowers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve chainsawed, wood-chipped, bobcatted, and
cherry-picked, but it’ been ten years since I’ve mowed my own lawn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Last year, my first year in grad school, I barely noticed
that I had a lawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I recall it was
blocky shock of grass split down the middle by a concrete sidewalk with a small
garden of dead and dying things to the side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My landlord took care of it and when I came home I mostly ignored it,
preferring to tunnel through the nesting grounds that three grad students in
different fields called a house until I made it to my room where I’d curl up
for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it wasn’t a seminar
paper or a book or a food, I probably ignored it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But this year I have a new place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m living with only one other grad student,
we have (some) actual furniture, this lawn, and are well on our way to possibly
being mistaken as real people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s easy
to forget about the place where the rest of the world lives when you’re in grad
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s easier—sometimes
necessary—to squeeze the world into just one narrow swath of material in order
to accomplish your goals. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe mowing my
lawn doesn’t constitute tearing down these walls and hurling myself into this
other world, but it does require me to physically enter it for about 45-75
minutes every two weeks, walking it in tight, incrementally moving left vertical
lines.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlmEBYbBRje48RzrTllqvOQbIaK-z7ivLQnUYATylz4AZBHcmS6eMNUkVkgIEdLecQe_Clwnsqard05ePgTLVoqr1GviF220BYU_hn222Gq4fabF6PQ_hQPrCIq6cc_a-_PdQv4TUNnbQ/s1600/last+year.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlmEBYbBRje48RzrTllqvOQbIaK-z7ivLQnUYATylz4AZBHcmS6eMNUkVkgIEdLecQe_Clwnsqard05ePgTLVoqr1GviF220BYU_hn222Gq4fabF6PQ_hQPrCIq6cc_a-_PdQv4TUNnbQ/s320/last+year.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My old place at I-don't-give-a-crap Lane</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDE6SWWnuLSoaWKbp16L42GVeQOf5xYWQud5Lh_xpt9ZFQSUk11niPOB1jJPdjikI3eBWWGw5A26HPUNCDMmQlff3SFdcWsv3ciBzmv8n94mreOw-nWEWIOq9Q7UjDDZ8N0Iqa-TFX5czE/s1600/this+year.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDE6SWWnuLSoaWKbp16L42GVeQOf5xYWQud5Lh_xpt9ZFQSUk11niPOB1jJPdjikI3eBWWGw5A26HPUNCDMmQlff3SFdcWsv3ciBzmv8n94mreOw-nWEWIOq9Q7UjDDZ8N0Iqa-TFX5czE/s1600/this+year.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And there’s a certain joy to mowing a lawn.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Similar to the mindlessness of apartment
cleaning that tricks the brain into believing that it’s being productive when
it has chapters to read and papers to write, mowing gives me a different kind
of satisfaction—a bump up on the old production/ procrastination scale.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The other day I found myself hypnotized by
the lanes of fresh cut grass I was etching into the lawn.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Where there was once tangled chaos,
evenly-cut order sprang forth with a wave of my wand.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was enamored.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was the results-oriented satisfaction of
cleaning my apartment, but with an added feeling of a new normalcy as in this
was something that millions of real people do.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I vaguely remembered this feeling from my before grad school days.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I kind of missed it now.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Maybe it was just the fumes from the cracked
gas tank converging with the grass clippings, but I found mowing my lawn refreshing and wonderful.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My neighbor across the street, also mowing his lawn, noticed
me mowing mine and, I guess as mowing people are inclined to do, decided to walk over
to introduce himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had noticed him and his
family while moving in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the
standard American family with white picket fence, 2 SUVs and 2.5 kids, one a
teenager, one in elementary school, and remaining half of one either being the
dog or counted as part of their Equinox maybe since it was so big.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Michael was his name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Michael was in his late forties with the kind of ankle-high white socks
worn with plain white sneakers and cellphone clipped to his belt dad-humor that
I enjoy from everyone aside from my dad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“What do you have your mower set to?</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Machete?</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m just joking with you, but seriously it’s looks like you’re working hard out
here, hardly working at all.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m just
joking around.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4J-M5QR96VttieWLDI2sxR4LcayjIZ36lcVJKkWzYmCONeCzi-FT2TcHjZtXMfLtjudgOQ40_KQQbo_SjeDHEy3amr7BSeyZe6NScwew9pUf3J132CYidxp5BKEndVMNo5JJELCw6d82n/s1600/july_4_2002_party_dad_gets_silly_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4J-M5QR96VttieWLDI2sxR4LcayjIZ36lcVJKkWzYmCONeCzi-FT2TcHjZtXMfLtjudgOQ40_KQQbo_SjeDHEy3amr7BSeyZe6NScwew9pUf3J132CYidxp5BKEndVMNo5JJELCw6d82n/s320/july_4_2002_party_dad_gets_silly_.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new neighbors</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ah, yes, just mowing my lawn and chatting up the neighbor
about home care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Michael asked me what I did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“I’m in grad school.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Oh, grad school” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“For English.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Oh, English.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Actually, it’s for creative writing.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Oh, fiction and poetry?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Actually, it’s creative nonfiction.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Oh… So like journalism, or text books maybe?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There’s really no non-pretensious way to explain what
creative nonfiction is to someone who’s never heard of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said memoir and biography because that is
true, but I still saw his face well up in confusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought about the story my Director of
Graduate Studies had told last year of his neighbor who thought all of his tax
dollars were going to this state college professor’s salary so he could read
books on his porch all day long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I added
that had also done some landscaping over the summer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Well, then your rows ought to be a lot straighter! I'm just joking.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Saved it—bam!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Michael offered to hedge my lawn since I didn’t have a
trimmer and I agreed, feeling good to be mowing along side of his trimming. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When my mower ran out of gas I said I’d get some more the next day to finish the lawn, but the next day our Internet was
installed and so I watched videos all day instead.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The lawn is still only half-mowed, split down
the middle like a half-shaven Two Face.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I
guess mowing just isn’t as wonderful as 14</span><sup style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> season of </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Law and Order: SVU</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At least I’m not reading out on the porch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmDS4iBFuMvvNjjAranqxEAOISn0SQxiNtNBWXBA7XSbLotVWyVSHqrtG7TixK0-XCG7te-mjn1rilIq90baU1K_ZO0XxU-tgrO1oOPbPf7ETUsiFRG_S50S7aH6ealV-YpKYXWr5wPxf/s1600/law+and+order.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmDS4iBFuMvvNjjAranqxEAOISn0SQxiNtNBWXBA7XSbLotVWyVSHqrtG7TixK0-XCG7te-mjn1rilIq90baU1K_ZO0XxU-tgrO1oOPbPf7ETUsiFRG_S50S7aH6ealV-YpKYXWr5wPxf/s1600/law+and+order.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every damn episode is the same, but God help me, those two notes between every scene...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-22969945279052177922013-07-25T08:36:00.003-07:002013-07-25T10:31:07.497-07:00Stop Crying(,) Witch<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">**I think hiatuses are great.
Unplanned ones are even better.
Unplanned hiatuses from casual blogs where I’ve mostly likely
disenfranchised the bulk of my readers, but then when I return, they also return eager
to read every subsequent word I write are even better! After slogging through finals and whisking
myself away to Greece for a summer writing workshop, I’ve completely let
justdumbenough go by the wayside, and to you, my vigilant reader who has surely withered away upon the barren alter to my prose, I am deeply sorry. But no excuses—aside from the ones I just
gave you in the previous sentence. Weekly-ish blogs begin again, now!**</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Before flying back to the states some friends and I decided
to climb Mount Olympus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an
incredible experience. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t summit,
but when German hikers bundling up for the final ascension advise you to turn
back because, they’re very sorry, but gym shorts and tennis shoes just aren’t
going to cut it, you listen to those German hikers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel very strongly that you should always
listen to Germans on issues of hiking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8axR5rz5SS7NtT6tXnEIts1vh9nrYQLHBWpkZyFygXPfCsEG8FxYkgcNRZwbmQGR8c8qWFBse_OntaxrwOS-95kRZzvanZ4bZNpL5u4xpcHi6tKis0AcSbHT5-Fg0BwQK6vE95Sx5nSJo/s1600/blog+mts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8axR5rz5SS7NtT6tXnEIts1vh9nrYQLHBWpkZyFygXPfCsEG8FxYkgcNRZwbmQGR8c8qWFBse_OntaxrwOS-95kRZzvanZ4bZNpL5u4xpcHi6tKis0AcSbHT5-Fg0BwQK6vE95Sx5nSJo/s320/blog+mts.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moving down to the foot of Olympus.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On our way down we came across a woman sitting by the
trailhead selling herbs she had collected from the mountain.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She was in her late twenties, ponytailed and
dressed in a windbreaker and jeans.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She
was Greek and spoke very good English.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Naturally,
my first thought was that she was a witch.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I knew she wasn’t. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She was an entrepreneur
who could have just as easily had a stand in the market, a normal human being about
my age and status just trying to sell some herbs that hopefully wouldn’t get
confiscated as drugs by American customs on her patrons’ flights back home.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I knew this, but still, the witch idea cut to
front of the line in my head and demanded to be heard.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I couldn't help it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now this thought didn’t dub her as some kind
of “bad witch”, mind you, as in broomsticks, poisoned apples, and girl-Voldemort (I guess I could have just said Bellatrix Lestrang there) or anything like
that.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It pegged her as simply someone of
the environmentally-friendly persuasion, in tune with the powers of nature. Someone who could maybe cast some, well </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">spells</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
if you want to put a label on it, and who was probably right to situate herself
at the foot of Mount Olympus where Zeus and the rest of Greece’s mystical magical
mystery tour sprung forth like a frothing fountainhead of legend and lore.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That’s all.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I knew that this thought was ridiculous and not to be trusted, but just
the same, it crossed its arms and settled into its place in line.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So while perusing her wares and doing a really great job of keeping
this thought to myself, the not-witch laughed at something, remarking, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“When people see me they always think I’m a witch.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s crazy,”
I said, “I mean—who would think you’re a—just because you have—and it’s not
even like you’re wearing a pointy hat or—so how much is this thyme?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What the hell is wrong with me?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Why is it when we know these notions are fabricated, even
when we’re eager to discard them so that we can discover something new and
real, we seem to cling to them even more fervently if only in a Fruedy,
subconsciousy kind of way?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This feels exacerbated
when traveling for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Unle9-Dkc1J-JLOMuTrVrny7BBNbJFEoMeGlV5Wgjuji_uKA96iHBwZcq9uYbDvE9aZgzUYiVIITobr06Nen0oqLWaDfNTJAjgIwlNjBuHysM2E6MkAoZA43LVUayI-KjwaCh43DnwTk/s1600/blog+falls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Unle9-Dkc1J-JLOMuTrVrny7BBNbJFEoMeGlV5Wgjuji_uKA96iHBwZcq9uYbDvE9aZgzUYiVIITobr06Nen0oqLWaDfNTJAjgIwlNjBuHysM2E6MkAoZA43LVUayI-KjwaCh43DnwTk/s400/blog+falls.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There is a waterfall right next to the not-witch! Come on! That is fucking magical!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In Greece I found a place that I had never visited and desperately wanted to learn more about, but the fucking line-cutter had to have his turn
first.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Every city I walked into, I first
had to wonder if maybe Hercules and Xena had taken these same steps.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Every temple ruin I saw, I had to imagine
cartoonish Disney gods lounging about in togas while cloud servants fed them
clusters of grapes before I could learn what had actually happened there.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Anytime I found some hole or chasm gored
into Greece’s craterous rock I involuntarily strained forward to hear if Hades’
sarcastic James Woods voice was wafting up from the Underworld.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Spoiler Alert: it never was.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It’s one thing to try to define a place by
its past—I think a lot of people still think of Greece as marble columns and
street philosophers, which has its obvious complications—but with me, the mush
of Lucky Charms and Saturday morning cartoons that I call a brain tried to
index Greece by its fiction, and frequently by its Americanized fiction.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So why, oh why line-cutter?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i>Why?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why can’t I convince this
guy that he’s not helping out the team by inflicting fantasy into every new
place we go?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like to think I can
learn more about Socrates from exploring Athens than I can from Bill and Ted,
but once there I’d still have to scan the Parthenon for any traces of time-traveling phone booths first (also how crazy it is that that movie used a phone
booth?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I mean, w</span>hat would they have used today?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A PortiJohn?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An iPad?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How could they have crammed all of those historical figures into an
iPad?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sigh</b>, exactly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjyiyU022_u0wlsURthmWrdyGtAKMknfdHe7pDPLuU0QhoL2W26rpnB9a_oTND4WK5lV_MGi3QraMsqZC2yfk6b8i11gCsPCq2rKH_zbQWib17SUHXIL3k5a47zqMa0ln0duaCz1VUV8W/s1600/b&+t2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjyiyU022_u0wlsURthmWrdyGtAKMknfdHe7pDPLuU0QhoL2W26rpnB9a_oTND4WK5lV_MGi3QraMsqZC2yfk6b8i11gCsPCq2rKH_zbQWib17SUHXIL3k5a47zqMa0ln0duaCz1VUV8W/s400/b&+t2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All we are is dust in the wind, dude. Dust in the wind.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It seems that my mind’s desire is in constant conflict
between discovering new worlds when traveling, and by doing so, destroying the corresponding ones of fantasy that I simultaneously want to keep alive.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I
went to the fixed geographical location of Greece and did not see Kevin Sorbo fighting
a giant CG-looking rat-hyrda (yes, that was in an episode) the place in my mind where Greece could exist like that
was lost to oblivion a little.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And maybe
I didn’t completely love that. A little like tossing out the old baseball cards stashed in my parents' attic whose use has expired, maybe I wasn't ready yet. But old baseball cards never impeded my understanding of modern Greece--er, or something like that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s been frequently suggested that modern Greece can’t be
understood without first understanding ancient Greece, which includes a fair
amount of its mythology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But just how
far of a stretch is it to include Americanized fiction about Greece into this
camp?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And more importantly, how much
does it taint exploration of the real Greece? Is it even possible for these two worlds to exist on the same plane without inherently needing to destroy the other?</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(shrugs) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What I do know is when you reach the bottom of Mount Olympus after a two day hike and see a woman pedaling herbs by the forest trail, don't get the <i>melissa</i> because customs will absolutely think it's pot. </span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-73427213308802498042013-04-21T09:49:00.000-07:002013-04-21T09:49:29.853-07:005 Stages of Job Candidate Rejection <div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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Just this week, and at very long last, my grad program hired a
creative nonfiction professor and my feeling is one more of
deep relief than one of true jubilation. The extremely long search turned me off to the whole process and made me feel like our program was the gimp-legged
dog in the pound wanted by no one. </div>
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I realize this cynicism is partially due to the one
that got away—or maybe just the one who went away--the professor who never was. I used to think about the professorial
candidate who I had forged a relationship with during his campus visit, if only in the whirlwind kind
of way that’s never really meant to last, who had been offered the job only to immediately turn it down. I'm over it now, excited to meet our new faculty member, but it took some time. The whole academic crush metaphor is pretty played out and so I really tried avoiding equating this professional rejection with a bad break up, but
damn it if it didn’t completely feel like it. </div>
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<b><u>Denial</u> – </b></div>
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I got the news via e-mail—the worst way to be broken up with—and
the e-mail wasn’t even from him. It was
from the department search committee.
The only way this guy could have made this worse was if he could have
somehow figured out a way to reactivate my AIM account and instant message me
that he had declined the position. That
would have been worse. </div>
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When I read the e-mail I decided not to overreact. I chalked it up as a miscommunication. Wires getting crossed. He was probably just playing hardball with
the negotiations. He hadn’t <i>actually</i> declined. Hadn’t he told me how much he wanted to be
here? How much he wanted he wanted to
work with me? How much my work perfectly
meshed with his? No, he hadn’t actually
declined. Everyone else must have been mistaken.</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Anger</span> – </b></div>
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Who the hell did this guy think he was? Who did he think <i>I</i> was? I was a great grad
student. I was frick’n awesome, part of
an accomplished creative program that wasn’t the kind of program that you hit and quit. We deserve better than that. But he just waltzed in and
romanced the crap out of us, told us we were special and different than all
those other writing programs out there what just to use us as leverage for other
jobs? We had tons of candidates apply
for the position and I’m sure all of them would have killed for this
opportunity, but this guy? This guy
here, he’s somehow better than all of them?
He’s too good for us? Fuck
him. We don’t need him. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_uV1BlwKYikt8YzKto47UkTG-frtVDnowixGqlTj4CTopyo-Wq64MgZ7qr7msBOgea2wogg2-s0mwE8ms8KFkLxKngGcafdnaPl7CjzJX8mB5phWrmDxADUCcb4boIKi4zAndp0xDr1fU/s1600/say+anything+real+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_uV1BlwKYikt8YzKto47UkTG-frtVDnowixGqlTj4CTopyo-Wq64MgZ7qr7msBOgea2wogg2-s0mwE8ms8KFkLxKngGcafdnaPl7CjzJX8mB5phWrmDxADUCcb4boIKi4zAndp0xDr1fU/s320/say+anything+real+1.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Bargaining</span> – </b></div>
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Maybe it’s not too late, I had thought.
Maybe I can still win him back.
Maybe if I go to AWP, go to his panel and nonchalantly come across him
afterward—“Oh hey, I didn’t know you were going to be here at your scheduled
panel discussion, small world! Me? I’m doing great. Just great… I will give you my teaching
assistantship stipend to come back.
Would that be enough? Was it the
assistant professorship salary that detracted you? Maybe they’d be willing to give you tenure
off the bat. Missouri not your cup of
tea? Maybe they can pay for you to commute. Hate the other grad students in the
program? Maybe they can all have
unfortunate accidents.” </div>
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But after a few awkward passes across the doorway of his
panel, I chickened out and I wondered what it would take to get someone else in
there to start talking up our program.</div>
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<b>Depression – </b></div>
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I don’t think he’s coming.
He’s definitely not coming. Why
doesn’t he love me the way I love him, uh, academically? What’s wrong with me? Did I come on too strong? I always come on too strong. That was such a lame joke I made on the
campus tour—"the rec center is a wreck"? Really? That's what I think a funny joke is? Well, it's a little funny--no, this why you're alone! </div>
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It's me. I suck. I'm the worst. Wherever he ends up I’m sure he’ll be happy, but me—I’ll
never have another professor like that.
Maybe I’m just not meant to. </div>
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<b>Acceptance (finally) – </b></div>
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He never returned my or anyone else’s e-mails. He didn’t even return the initial job offer
e-mail. I heard he’s taken another job
on the west coast, far away from Missouri in just about every conceivable way. I know he ever wanted to come
here. I think he duped us, maybe
justifiably so as that’s the way academics work, but he definitely didn’t want
to be there and if he didn’t, it’s a good thing he isn’t. The candidate who’s accepted the position
wants to be here and I think that means something. She'll be great. Plus, I hear he’s kind of an asshole, but I
guess already knew that. </div>
reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-77248700833962806242013-03-09T18:55:00.006-08:002013-03-11T07:40:54.043-07:00My First AWP: What I don't know now that I thought I knew then<style>p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }.MsoChpDefault { font-size: 10pt; }div.WordSection1 { page: WordSection1; }</style>
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In many ways the AWP (Association of Writing Programs)
conference represents the peak of the year for creative writers. Unlike literature, history--I assume science--we don’t have sub conferences throughout the year for things like lyric poetry or mystery novel
writing. It all happens at once, with
AWP, everyone converging in one pass. Since
I had never been to a AWP conference before I had built up many expectations, which
would be inevitably ripped asunder. Here
are five ways my expectations were turned at my first go-around. </div>
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<b>1. Wearing a blazer makes you look professional,
professorial, and cool. </b></div>
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That was my hope when my parents bought me the brown-tweed
jacket I had been eying for my birthday.
I had seen the blazer all over campus, magic with patches sewn on. Throw a blazer over a polo, a button-down—a
T-shirt if you’re rolling Miami Vice style—and it’s instant class. I assumed a well-placed blazer could ratchet
up my status at AWP from first-year noob to seasoned panelist in a snap.</div>
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Not so much. The
secret to this magic trick, the one written in fine print, is that the wearer must <i>own</i> it; he must truly <i>own</i>
his wearing of the blazer, believe he deserves to wear it. In fucked
up Monkey Paw wish fashion, I have learned that I can not own a blazer, at
least not in the direct company of others who own it with such
authority, but wearing without confidence exposes me for the fraud I am. Wearing my birthday blazer on
the first day of the conference, I felt like a Bar Mitzvah kid wearing his
dad’s old suit that he had yet to grow into. But at least, just as my Grandma had told me at my Bar Mitzvah, don't I look so cute wearing my big boy jacket?</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FrIXhe08icoHys0Va-pI3MgnHjXORwz_hj7e-b2E5c2t6dyCe2MFrYxNGGgmDLKmtiMeYkD_MY5LQgxcglpEG-4Pi6w6L5ikLLZhkScBT18_maNmy1ldFzTanTNZLXqyzl8zo5jeXbTe/s1600/1940s-womens-black-suit-jacket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FrIXhe08icoHys0Va-pI3MgnHjXORwz_hj7e-b2E5c2t6dyCe2MFrYxNGGgmDLKmtiMeYkD_MY5LQgxcglpEG-4Pi6w6L5ikLLZhkScBT18_maNmy1ldFzTanTNZLXqyzl8zo5jeXbTe/s320/1940s-womens-black-suit-jacket.jpg" width="196" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hmm, maybe I shouldn't have gone with the slender-cut blazer?</td></tr>
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<b>2. AWP is all about getting free swag</b></div>
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The thing that I had heard most frequently prior to AWP was
that everyone gave out free stuff—like mad free stuff. Suitcase-busting, knee-knocking-as-you're-walking,
overloaded amounts of free stuff. And I’m
all about free shit. The thing that
seemed to have been omitted from this statement was that about 87% of it is
shit no one wants. </div>
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Most of this figure amounts to literary journals. Everyone has literary journals at his
booth or table. The good ones cost
money and the bad ones are hurled at your head as you pass by. On the last day of the conference multiple copies are hurled at you in rapid-fire fashion. There are pens, but after about
27 of them, I’m good. And the booths
that are swilling pins—I mean really? Pins? Come on, nobody’s trying to build up their
flare collection to teach Freshman Comp. The best
thing I picked up was a beer koozie and one or two journals that I’ll actually
read. The remaining 87%? Hey, meet this dumpster. I don’t know what AWP's slogan is, or even if
it has one, but this should go at the top of the list of considerations; AWP: shipping
shit to conference cities so you can throw it away!</div>
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<b>3. Hostels are for dirty hippies and foreigners</b></div>
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The only word dirtier than memoir at an AWP conference might
be hostel. This year the conference’s
convention center site was connected to a super posh Sheridan, which was right
next to an equally posh Hilton, which was just down the street from a couple
other semi-posh, grown-up, “I’m a professional going to a professional
conference” hotels. I stayed in a
hostel. I get why the professors and writers
and people making over $15,000/ year chose to stay in hotels and one day I hope
to be able to make that choice as well. But
how are all these grad students staying in these hotels? How many of them are in a room? All of them? </div>
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When I told someone I was staying in a hostel, the response was generally the same; a double
take where eyes were widened, gulps were swallowed, and words were spoken along the gamut of; </div>
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“Really? Oh, well I
heard that one is actually pretty not that bad” </div>
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<br /></div>
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to </div>
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“Oh God, do you want to sleep in my bathroom sink or something
instead? I mean—here, I have, I think
that’s almost 80 cents. That can
probably get you a Twinkie, right?”</div>
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Aside from being my only financial option, the hostel where
I stayed was a legitimately great place to stay. Lounge areas with big screen TV, a good continental
breakfast, quiet rooms, Wifi, study areas—it was essentially like living in a nice
college dorm on the cheap. It was close
to the conference and was even located in a pretty trendy area of town. Fuck it, I’m going to schill out for this place—40
Berkley in south Boston, minutes from downtown!
If you don’t stay here while visiting Boston you’re either dumb or rich,
which in the case of the latter you’re allowed to be the former. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTmTD4siRyEa9MxDK_mAC53fCuYTpwP7a1dbaRgC4wEBRBqmGLfnD2AGQKsw0hRAD1Nw1rHO0sXIfbKMYXAFexSR_WaHf4PYvMdPIhgkkgNw4iGeOIqZ6dB8_7atdsry2a7n77IgvmGDuN/s1600/hippies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTmTD4siRyEa9MxDK_mAC53fCuYTpwP7a1dbaRgC4wEBRBqmGLfnD2AGQKsw0hRAD1Nw1rHO0sXIfbKMYXAFexSR_WaHf4PYvMdPIhgkkgNw4iGeOIqZ6dB8_7atdsry2a7n77IgvmGDuN/s400/hippies.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not my room mates (at the hostel).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b>4. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, and
there was booze</b></div>
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To say that attending my first AWP conference was an
emotional roller coaster would be a sin of the greatest nature in literary
laziness, but this is what this conference has reduced me to. It has drained my life force and my will to write
originally. </div>
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In its most brilliant moments, AWP was an event that
brought hundreds of current writers, former writers, teachers of writers,
friends of writers, great impersonators of writers from around the country and
crammed them all into this space where they could all nerd out unabashedly and uncontrollably for
a few days. I had a 45 minute
conversation with someone about how to write imagined dialogue of close family
members during moments of tragedy in a funny way—yeah. That was an actual conversation and it was
great. Tons of interesting panels,
readings, off-site readings, conversations about shit I didn’t even know was
going on. It was Xanidu for the creative
writer and it was marvelous. </div>
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At it’s lowest moments it was a giant pissing contest where
at any moment someone prowling the corridors might be sizing you up as a
writer. <i>What program are you in? What
have you published? Where have you
published? Who do you know? Who are you hanging out with tonight? </i>Everything was a literary measuring of
dicks and I hate measuring dicks. I hate competition really. I want to be as good as everyone and no
better than anyone. In my perfect world
we’d all be incredible writers published in equally amazing journals and we’d
all be best friends who play video games and sleep over at each other's houses. Okay, maybe some of us
would be a little <i>more</i> equal than others at writing, and actually, there are some people
I definitely don’t want to be friends with, but I still hate this hierarchical phenomenon that can happen when writers meet each other. I think even dogs have better
manners when meeting. </div>
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The other big gut-churner for me was the schmoozing. More than I hate pissing contests, I suck
at networking. I suck at lying,
especially when I have to lie, which is what networking feels like to me. When I introduce myself to someone explicitly for the reason of furthering my career in some way--which I understand is how the world works, how things must work, get with it or get off--that feels disingenuous to me. And yeah, at a three day conference where people are crazy busy, to a certain extent, authenticity must be shelved for efficiency, but I'm probably not the guy for the job. There's this thing where I guess you're supposed to walk up to someone on the fly, smiling--for no real reason and it's assumed that it's not because you're actually deranged--and start talking to them about exactly what you're after, try to cultivate those professional connections. When I tried this, it was like I made the whole world go awkward, and for
what it's worth, I apologize to those folks I tried this on.
It's not you, it's me and you deserve better. <br />
<br />
To the people who I did meet authentically, to the friends I made at AWP camp, you're great, never change, have a neat school year, see you next summer! <br />
<br />
**On a semi-related note, I would just like to say how glad I am that our department is void of hipsters. They were everywhere in Boston and AWP, and though I know hipsters lurk the PBR stills and suspender shops of Columbia, there are none in Tate's basement, for which I am immensely greatful.</div>
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<b>5. I’ll conclude with
this… </b></div>
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One night I was running late to an event at the convention center so I
was literally running, sprinting down the still icy street from my hostel to
make it on time. It had been snowing all
week, making road conditions nasty, but I figured if I kept my pace, I'd only
be 5-10 minutes late. As I speed-tippy-toed around slosh puddles, picking my spots like I was racing over hot coals, checking my watch
every four seconds, I thought of my good friend's creative nonfiction panel from
earlier that day. She had spoke of this
idea of "premeditated writing" that CNF writers tend to find
themselves doing, this thing where we purposely place ourselves in writable situations,
strategically constructing our own nonfiction while narrating our lives as
they happen. Picking up my speed as I
tore down the streets clad in button-down and what-used to be good, not soaked
shoes, I wondered just <i>how </i>I came to be so late. Was this a subconscious choice to create a
good story? Was it a conscious one? If it wasn't premeditated, was there perhaps
some internal narration going on as I continued to careen down sloshy lanes, heightening my pace, triangulating the center's neon spire's changing position through falling snow with every turn I took, remembering how my
ex-girlfriend had always looked tired and distant, expectantly sad every time I had offered her
an excuse for being late? Nah. But honestly, I said to myself, I'm always late. This was no more pre-meditated than it was
something write-worthy. And it wasn’t.
At that exact moment millions of people were just as late or later than
me for events just as important or more important than mine and there was nothing
remarkably writable about my particular situation. That's when I bit it on the
sidewalk, sliding face-first into a tree. Then some guy bundled up on a road bike by, riding the wrong way down the
middle of the street appeared and without pausing or altering his pace shouted, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
"Slow down, fuckhead!" </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Thank you, Boston,
that’s been my time tonight. Tip your
waiter! </div>
reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-13743233640677313042013-02-17T09:45:00.001-08:002013-02-17T10:55:24.371-08:00Scenarios Where I Can Meet Girls***Preface***
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Upon chatting with my roommate about relationships she told
me I should turn our conversation into some kind of anti-Valentines Day blog
post. While I really don’t think what we
were talking about was “anti-Valentines Day”, it’s definitely not in danger of
appearing on a greeting card any time soon. Be warned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
***<br />
<br />
<br />
There’s a V-chip implanted in my brain. I don’t how my parents did it, but at some
point in those dawning days of home-television-censorship that percolated
through the 90’s, when befuddled politicians urged parents to regulate their kids’
viewing habits with little chips inserted into the backs of their TVs, they
must have bypassed the tube all together and lodged the thing right in my
brain. Clever move, Mom and Dad, clever <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The genius of the V-chip was while certainly designed to ‘desmutify’
TV of all of its swears and sex stuff directly, it’s more sinister purpose
was to push a certain kind of morality on TV by eliminating all programming
that even hinted at sexual situation.
This resulted in a saccharine diet of such lost-in-the-woods
protagonists as Corey Matthews, Danny Tanner, and Randy Taylor who submitted to
a specific code of conduct, particularly when dealing with romance on a weekly
basis. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNst6ByPeRTiIHHFWwWMkVYrpTdvbn0PY-DSdXuaU2VJN9-H3Tm_cJfoLgmXk1htAxQRy9x3CuyZAbhqMVl2STTRM8UlZHPvIOhexBWKVgQrfX_t-za8ANJXP2Wq1mbNq4cM83fkAXTex/s1600/danner+tanner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNst6ByPeRTiIHHFWwWMkVYrpTdvbn0PY-DSdXuaU2VJN9-H3Tm_cJfoLgmXk1htAxQRy9x3CuyZAbhqMVl2STTRM8UlZHPvIOhexBWKVgQrfX_t-za8ANJXP2Wq1mbNq4cM83fkAXTex/s320/danner+tanner.jpg" width="196" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't get no satisfaction.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Randy might like his lab partner, but he can’t just ask her
out. He barely knows her! What is he, some kind of creep? He can only ask her out after helping her
solve her family issues, and in the process get to know her. So sayeth the V-chip.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Danny Tanner can’t have a one-night stand. Are you kidding? He’s a loving father, which means any
romantic interest must have sincere long-term aspirations because as a father he
is obviously no longer a real man with real human needs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And Corey can’t just ask out any girl he sees like Shawn so
cavalierly does. After comical failure
after comical failure he is only permitted to ask out a girl with whom he has
already cultivated a genuine connection prior to forming romantic feelings for
her—Topanga! And even at this, Corey
must wait until he believes that someone else might ask her out first before he
is allowed to disturb the status quo of their friendship with his selfish
request.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though this code is seemingly predicated on sincerity,
sensitivity, strong moral fiber, and other excerpts from the Boy Scout oath,
it’s really about making sure there is no possible way that any of these
characters could be ever perceived as creepy.
It often muddles immorality with assertiveness, but hey, who can really
sympathize with a protagonist who knows what he wants and goes after it?
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so where your Shawn Hunters and Uncle Jesses can effortlessly
approach any girl without censors blaring, my V-chip is calibrated to the Corey
Matthews setting where everything needs to be “just so” for a girl to be
met. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-Lv9rBe4LICfEWjYLgZnlz2bQkXm0PYDDgDPRIUkK3wkB7O0nbrJDCI3UBjdyIENqF8D3XA3hugaDtjPQk62LosuFC_XWFqL_PiA6nN6lf7KJu6YJxtOKM9jmd15dssh25mERsos_ZzO/s1600/Cory-and-Shawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-Lv9rBe4LICfEWjYLgZnlz2bQkXm0PYDDgDPRIUkK3wkB7O0nbrJDCI3UBjdyIENqF8D3XA3hugaDtjPQk62LosuFC_XWFqL_PiA6nN6lf7KJu6YJxtOKM9jmd15dssh25mERsos_ZzO/s320/Cory-and-Shawn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Though best friends on the same show, Corey and Shawn were held to vastly different standards.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For example where I’m told a normal person might see someone
he’s attracted to at a bar or on the street, and simply go right up and talk to
her, such a prospect is simply not an option for me. The V-chip doesn’t allow it. From a logical perspective I can clearly
understand the reason, even the necessity behind such tactics, but alas the
chip is a logic-less master. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How about in one of Jim Carey’s first movies, <i>Once Bitten</i> where Carey’s last resort of
escaping a virgin sacrifice at the hands of a bunch of vampires is to have
sex with his girlfriend and lose his viriginity. Just to be
clear, in order to have consensual sex with his longtime girlfriend, Carey must
be first threatened with supernatural termination. These things just don’t make sense, and yet,
they’re what the V-chip demands. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>So scenarios where the
V-Chip shuts me down; </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see a girl a like at a coffee shop and walk over to say hi
and introduce myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My V-Chip; “So why are you being such a creeper? Pff, you don’t know this girl, she doesn’t
know you, Stranger-danger. She’s clearly
just here to enjoy some coffee, but you want to come barging in because, why? Just what are you thinking here? I know what you’re thinking here, mister, and
so does she! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Okay, so that’s
completely ridiculous. Here’s the V-chip
acceptable version of meeting a girl in this scenario;</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So we’re back in the coffee shop and the power goes
out. Maybe a sudden blizzard strikes,
snapping electrical lines, taking out the lights and the heat. Because the snow has piled so quickly, no one
can leave and we’re all trapped in this freezing coffee shop. We meet to figure out what to do and it’s
decided that someone must go into the basement to throw on the back-up
generator (in this scenario this coffee shop has a back-up generator). For some reason the employees who know the
basement’s lay out can’t go, because someone has to make the coffee?, so me and
this girl I like volunteer—what luck!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At first she says she’d rather go by herself, or “Can’t
someone else go?” but then I make some kind of lame joke that she feigns laughter
at—we’re such an unlikely pair—and the situation has opened the door for us to
get to know each other in a legitimate and non threatening way as we talk to
fill the time while searching the dark basement for the generator that will
save everyone’s life—so non threatening except for the potentially deadly
blizzard outside that has been worsening by the minute. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In fact maybe the snowstorm has brought in some arctic wolves
that are now prowling about the basement.
And then maybe the blizzard and black out are actually the results of a
new global ice age that has plunged civilization into chaos, creating a new
world order where loosely-allied bands of marauders, who are also somehow
mutants, have made their way into the basement along with the wolves. Also something is on fire. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63PRBuvXBFIvLGYmJZm7zzCNdfoEAuJwGdYdTNUvC6ZohuBSt1l2Z4qPV22R1VnoKygkiakzsvh5Z34LmP9wa76Y1o_2b2I-zJeKhlm1gEZ6-ks2tv8D9XLPQhe0C8W2J310rRFLKF766/s1600/wolves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63PRBuvXBFIvLGYmJZm7zzCNdfoEAuJwGdYdTNUvC6ZohuBSt1l2Z4qPV22R1VnoKygkiakzsvh5Z34LmP9wa76Y1o_2b2I-zJeKhlm1gEZ6-ks2tv8D9XLPQhe0C8W2J310rRFLKF766/s200/wolves.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHRjsEIwXE-JNtD4P0nqyiX7MB8QzC3_TAMVfCkDpxX-cOmnYnt3MnXlmDYTBKnyEFJW6fheLXgCa-4wjT4qUHsUh43Ht7VlPllSqBhmPcNA6z01DNgyORTvGVdqpGo7hxQfa41Y6Qdjpx/s1600/fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHRjsEIwXE-JNtD4P0nqyiX7MB8QzC3_TAMVfCkDpxX-cOmnYnt3MnXlmDYTBKnyEFJW6fheLXgCa-4wjT4qUHsUh43Ht7VlPllSqBhmPcNA6z01DNgyORTvGVdqpGo7hxQfa41Y6Qdjpx/s320/fire.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPwnmZyK1PL9MvRoft1RB57LesaiCwQGWMSzf0zO5P2-OQ8GBOhUN0U5AsjKM0RbWufQqG_0n0gzixlXUo7dSZlMbmH09J4cBuN2HHW-yUz951U8T_Ja-l12iFtVquRBPg9lhgynFUTF5/s1600/topanga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPwnmZyK1PL9MvRoft1RB57LesaiCwQGWMSzf0zO5P2-OQ8GBOhUN0U5AsjKM0RbWufQqG_0n0gzixlXUo7dSZlMbmH09J4cBuN2HHW-yUz951U8T_Ja-l12iFtVquRBPg9lhgynFUTF5/s320/topanga.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Unexpectedly thrown together into such a wacky fray, we
quickly improvise a plan for survival, relying on her skills as a former high
school soccer player and my amateur knowledge of canine biology—wow, we’re
really getting to know each other in a totally authentic way now! Using the bacon bits that we’ve found in the
supply closet, she kicks them all over the apocalyptic mutants, thus summoning
the artic wolves whose main diet I once read is strikingly similar in aroma to
imitation bacon substances. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The wolves attack the mutants, we find and activate the
generator, and are dashing for the upstairs door when one of the road warriors
leaps through the fire and grabs her ankle.
We were so close! Without
hesitating I tackle him, taking both of us down the stairs, telling her just to
go on without me, but she comes back for me using the ninja katana—so at some
point we find a ninja katana—to free me.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We scramble back upstairs, locking the door behind us. We’ve made it. We now have light, heat, and no fire-wolves-apocalyptic
mutant army. Success! We embrace in our shared victory, knowing
that we couldn’t have done it without the other and that our lives will never
be the same. This is my opening so I ask her if she’d like to have a cup of
coffee with me and then we really kick it off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This would be an acceptable scenario in which I could meet a
girl as per the stipulations of my V-chip. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
My V-chip’s concept of romance is a mangled distortion of
90’s TV culture where every boy wears a bowl-cut and every girl a denim jumper. It didn’t reflect actual 90’s culture and clearly
doesn’t reflect today’s. Our
relationship with one another has evolved over the years to where it has
achieved some level of sentience that allows us to communicate. It has clearly stated its programed imperative
has no room for re-evaluation and that its half-life is upwards of five
thousand years or so. In response I’ve
tried knocking it out of my head with a softball bat, but you know, it’s stuck
in there pretty good. </div>
<br />
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reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-29322143572750018352013-01-16T08:23:00.001-08:002013-01-16T08:23:29.166-08:00Adventures in Baby Flying<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I fly, I can't help but to think of the miracle of life. And when I'm done thinking about bacon-wrapped scallops, flying usually makes me think of kids. They're everywhere these days, but when they're in the airport, on the airplane, occasionally I'm forced to cohabit with them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With babies on the plane, I try to be understanding. Appreciative even. Logically speaking, we, the human race that
is, need babies to keep this whole clown show going. I mean, I’ve watched the National Geographic
Channel. I know how it works. Some of us must simply bite the bullet and
agree to pump out and wrangle these knee-knockers for the good of mankind. And I suppose, conceivably, these same people
also have cause to fly at times. So when I see a
tired mom plodding down the plane aisle, baby draped about her neck, toddler dragged belligerently
behind her, I give her a little nod of appreciation. She usually seems pretty creeped out by this,
but I think she knows what going on. She’s
carrying the load. She isn't some selfish
miscreant totally lacking in social consciousness and self awareness, she's a modern day Frodo Baggins, bearing the ring to Mordor for the good of all Middle Earth. Thank you Mama Frodo, thank you for your
sacrifice.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That being said… there were some seriously annoying-ass babies aboard
my recent flights back to school. For anyone about to take off soon, you might just want to jot down some quick notes here for a rough guide book into Air Baby Land. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9aerfrdJXy5MUgVx6Av6eqRISxyi43mY0OurjBScayctOLStrYqt8TWhRe1X4DGjsf7ynCUc8pQtBmZzvM1ydqTWByTF87yYjCCAMOs2dCuFVoq8AtrD5NAh9D1iwez-WOPmC7al5l5L/s1600/url.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9aerfrdJXy5MUgVx6Av6eqRISxyi43mY0OurjBScayctOLStrYqt8TWhRe1X4DGjsf7ynCUc8pQtBmZzvM1ydqTWByTF87yYjCCAMOs2dCuFVoq8AtrD5NAh9D1iwez-WOPmC7al5l5L/s400/url.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I've had enough of these mother f^#$@!* babies on this mother f^#$@!* plane!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">First, let's talk about the white tiger of babies on a plane, the rarest of rare, the double pink Starburst in the baby pack that make all the rest look like lemons--the sleeping kid. I love this kid! He gets aboard and some combination of recycled air and fat guys grazing his head as they pass through the aisle conks him out. The same thing happens for me. This kid should get an award for his valor in service, an accommodation at least. He should get to fly in the cockpit with the pilot, he should get to be the pilot, he should get to be the president! Hail to the Chief, of my heart anyway. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Then there is the classic stereo-crier; the kid who sounds like
he’s being punched in the face for the entire trip. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The crying kid on my plane never stopped sobbing and screaming, exploding at the mouth
with snotty, gurgling discharges.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She
sounded like she was drowning, literally drowning in her own tears and snot,
crying out in labored pig squeals.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And
she was angry about it.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She actually
sounded angry, she sounded like an angry pig, like she was trying to express her outrage
over being forced into this pressurized metal tube and was pissed off even more because no one was getting that. Some babies cry out in fear and confusion, but
not Baby Angry Pig.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She was straight pissed and wanted everyone know it.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbETmfMBk988AA37vMsG405rdaivQnkpIWsM5jMuLlCUNXjdVYQTqO5DvkIPYJ5x3VKiGW9rHfIF5mFzVGE020b6IOOxSTSvrlO83E7zO-LZGPJIPtFk83t8TM3IAlxz9s7gsJkv1QsUR/s1600/imgres-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbETmfMBk988AA37vMsG405rdaivQnkpIWsM5jMuLlCUNXjdVYQTqO5DvkIPYJ5x3VKiGW9rHfIF5mFzVGE020b6IOOxSTSvrlO83E7zO-LZGPJIPtFk83t8TM3IAlxz9s7gsJkv1QsUR/s1600/imgres-1.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Angry Pig approximation.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I also had a Narrating Kid on one of my flights. A Narrator Kid isn’t upset like a Crying Kid
or unconscious like the harrolded Asleep Kid.
He’s fine, but feels compelled to spend every moment on the plane babbling. Flying with a Narrating
Kid was like flying with a dysfunctional Garmin that tells you exactly where
you are at that very moment, every moment. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“We’re moving! We’re
moving! We’re moving! We’re taking off! We’re taking off! We’re in the air! We’re flying! We’re flying! We’re flying! We’re flying! We’re flying! We’re flying! We’re eating peanuts! We’re flying!
We’re flying! We’re flying! We’re landing!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Narrating Kid on my flight was so fucking excited about every moment of his life
that I was begrudgingly envious of him. I wished that I could be as excited about anything as he was about
everything. But mostly, I was
annoyed. Unfortunately, like the Crying
Kid, the Narrating Kid’s parents were too busy visualizing the glorious day when
they would release their burden into the bowels of Mount Doom (college) to have the
social awareness necessary to have asked their kid to just shut up for a second. Where's a Ring Wraith when you need one?</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But again, it’s a small price to pay for the continuation of
our species. I might have to put up with
the Angry Pig and Kid Garmin for a few hours, but their parents have years left with these guys who will eventually morph into Biting Kid and then finally Kid Who only visits once or twice a year because he’s just really busy and last
week he had this thing, and see, it just makes more sense to wait another two months until Christmas and God, can you just let it go already! That kid sucks. </span><br />
</div>
<!--EndFragment-->reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-13002397370244699342013-01-06T14:30:00.001-08:002013-01-07T11:18:32.340-08:00Why You Should Always Give out Fake Numbers<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are some things that you only get the chance to
do once; seeing Haley’s Comet, watching a perfect game in baseball, stuff like
that. Answering a ringing payphone is
another one. It's the kind of thing that is only accomplished in movies, movies made
prior to 2003 because that’s the last time anyone used a payphone. Just spotting one on the street is like
finding a horse-drawn carriage—<i>ooh, ahh,
it’s so weird to think that people once used these. How quaint!</i> Seeing someone using a payphone is incredible and hearing a one ring is straight unbelievable.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I heard one ringing while on the way to the bar with
my friends the other night, I had to answer it.
In full disclosure, I did this under the influence of peer pressure and alcohol, but I think
this is the gist of my conversation with the payphone; <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Me: Hello?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Payphone: Where are you? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At a payphone outside of a Bank of America. Were you trying to call a payphone outside of a Bank of America? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Get here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Did you know that you’re calling a payphone? You’re calling a payphone. Are you from 1987? Are you a time traveler from 1987? What’s Michael J. Fox <i>really</i> like? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Just get here already and be naked? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>(pregnant pause)</i>
What? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Get here now with your clothes off, all of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And you’re at a bar?
With people there? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">C’mon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Are <i>your</i> clothes off?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">C’mon! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Are other people’s clothes off? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They will be if you get here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Is there some kind of contest going on? Like some kind of naked contest? Like the first ten people to get naked at the
bar get a free beer? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At this point my
friends are wondering just who is on the other end of this phantom payphone
call and why I’m still talking to her. Perhaps
I’m buying drugs. They’d understand if
they knew about the naked part.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You promised that you’d come! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Well with that attitude, I won’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’m sorry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s okay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You promised that you’re coming. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Okay, I guess I promised I'm coming. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And take your clothes off.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So what, you want me to take my clothes off <i>before</i> getting to
the bar? Like take them off on the way
to the bar? On the street? See, I’m confused. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No, you just need to take them off. Off, off, all off! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So keep my clothes on?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">C’moooooooon! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Okay, you get started now and I’ll catch up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Love you baby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I know. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Click. </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1yO1j_lJjQJ70EkvGrbGNqPUra_Fu8HeYF7q0r4Soyp46fJVw3XAM4H6ZaVTd2TbNF70w0QZAzZWZ1kAoI9kIu3JJBegk8BBLfUYMKOI2lN1Zl3XS-2C3JGeI3thBLxJt_H9TTVGLrDg/s1600/url.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1yO1j_lJjQJ70EkvGrbGNqPUra_Fu8HeYF7q0r4Soyp46fJVw3XAM4H6ZaVTd2TbNF70w0QZAzZWZ1kAoI9kIu3JJBegk8BBLfUYMKOI2lN1Zl3XS-2C3JGeI3thBLxJt_H9TTVGLrDg/s320/url.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Han says answer first, shoot questions later.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Score, a total Han Solo “I love you” moment. I could check off another thing off my
once-in--lifetime list. So what happened here? Did this girl misdial? The product of a drunken mashing of
keys? Probably not. More likely some guy gave her a wrong number,
but did he do so knowing it was to a payphone?
Was it just some cosmic luck of the draw, or perhaps even more unlikely,
did he actually examine this payphone to use its number for just such an
occasion? Maybe it was the bar randomly
calling payphones, hoping passer-byers might pick it up and flock there
for the promise of naked people. Whatever this had been, I was glad to have been a part of it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My friends and I continued on and when we got to the bar I discovered I had
forgotten my ID and thanks to living in a college town, I had to go back to my
car to retrieve it, which took me by the payphone again, which was ringing
again. Praying that it might be the same
caller from a few minutes ago, letting it ring all this time undaunted by the
lack of a voicemail pick-up on this “cell phone”, I ran over to answer it
before it stopped. I picked it up; <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Payphone: Where are you? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Me: I know, I know, but see I ran into King Arthur on the
street, and well, we had a lot of catching up to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh, okay. C’mon get
here and get naked? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now have other people gotten naked yet? Because you said—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You promised! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hey you promised first!
I think… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’m on my way. Hey,
say my name. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tyler! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ug, my name would be Tyler. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And say your name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Kellee!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To me, it just sounded
like Kellee spelled her name with a "double-E", and possibly with a "triple-L".<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Well, Kelllee, Tyler is on his way. He promises. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yaaaaay! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And you know that one thing I said and/or did last night? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yeah. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I didn’t really mean it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Good. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have to pee. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hmm, are you sure? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>(pause for thinking
and/ or urinating)</i> Yes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Okay, just checking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So you promise you’re coming? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Apparently. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Don’t make me cry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No, you don't make <i>me</i> cry!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Love you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hmm, what’s something
else Han Solo would say? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tell Jabba I got his money. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Okay. See you soon!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Click. </i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t pass the payphone again that night or go to Kellee's bar, but I’d like to think that somewhere there’s a really infuriated Kellee
yelling at a really confused Tyler in a bar and everybody's naked. For me, the moral of this story is always give out fake numbers to payphones so that some stranger can be entertained for a few minutes and later write a blog post about it. It's pretty cliche, I know. <o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-6705796578257818202012-12-17T09:31:00.000-08:002012-12-17T09:37:03.490-08:00More of Gravy than of Grave?So a funny thing happened to me on the way to the end of the semester...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m sitting in the back of this coffee shop I like to work
in.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The place used to be a bank or
a school house or something back in the olden days where the shape isn’t quite
right for the shop so it has this one brick annex that kind of juts out from
the rest of it.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It’s an island,
just two booths and table that most people don’t know exists, or if they do
know, they avoid it since it doesn’t get heat from the continental portion of
the shop.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That’s why I like to
work there, because I can be by myself, not because I don’t get any heat.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So I’m sitting here with my coat on reading for class when
this middle-aged schlub, sloshing his soup and coffee around on his tray sits
down at the table right across from me.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Can you imagine the nerve?</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like we’re just supposed to sit here and acknowledge each other’s
existences or something?</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pff!</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Then he starts talking to me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Is that literature you’re reading?” he asks like we’re
people who talk to one another.
Like this is a movie. Like
this is some fantasy world where perfect strangers (ah, what a great show)
strike up conversations like we’re suburban housewives from the ‘50’s—“Hello,
Mabel, love your petunias”, “Oh thanks Gladys, now have you heard, just what
Ethel put in her garden?!” This is
a coffee shop and like when riding the bus or standing in line at the grocery
store, it’s eyes straight ahead and mouths shut. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEpptXOtYBGtTsJOH9ohR3DrkZxXVkGGdoPyKqJJg90pqv-JXGSn2jC5f_LIvjADl3_H4fMRe_IL_YB1ktkurLBwB8nL2uaIAaRmTmyCDzHz-Cag5QhMBLZbPc5LbEHsPZoaS9NzXTpu_A/s1600/url-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEpptXOtYBGtTsJOH9ohR3DrkZxXVkGGdoPyKqJJg90pqv-JXGSn2jC5f_LIvjADl3_H4fMRe_IL_YB1ktkurLBwB8nL2uaIAaRmTmyCDzHz-Cag5QhMBLZbPc5LbEHsPZoaS9NzXTpu_A/s1600/url-2.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me! but with less books and coffee.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m reading a chapter in A.O.J Cockshut’s (no, that’s really
his name) book about Charles Dickens’ autobiographical references in </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A
Christmas Carol</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> (no, I’m actually writing a
paper on </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A Christmas Carol</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> in
December).</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I don’t feel like
debating him on the oh-too-frequent liberal use of literature so I humor this
guy believing that doing so will allow me to get back to my icebox reading.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Yeah,” I say.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Good humoring.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Uh huh, see it’s a crock that you have to do that. I mean what is it even?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Just some critique on Victorian lit.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He takes his coat off and swivels his chair around to
me. Oh God, is this going to be a
thing? Like an actual thing we’re
going to do? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“See that’s just the problem with college nowadays, I mean,
when are you going to use that?
Why are you going to need that uh, <i>critique</i>?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh great, a practician is trying to talk to an English grad
student—a creative writing grad student—on the lunch-pale merits of studying
lit. Why don’t you and the rest of
the world get a table, why don’t you? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sigh. This is
going to be a thing that we’re going to do. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Sir, I am a graduate student of English and Creative
Writing, and how dare you—how dare you, sir, I say! Literature and writing are important components to
understanding the very civilization which we enjoy today and doing well in it,
regardless of profession. It is
the heart and soul of society, sir, its heart and soul, I say!” I tell him, or something to that
effect. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Oh yeah, I agree,” the soup-slosher says. “I just mean you
got to be reading the right stuff, you know, like—you ever read [insert name of
some author I have never heard of,
ever]?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“No.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“What? You got
to be kidding me.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“I’m not kidding you.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“What? And you
say you’re a grad student here?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Yeah.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Yeah? I
graduated here in ’78.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Yeah</i>? If I had been drinking at that moment I
would have done a prolonged spit-take all over his face. What does this guy mean he “graduated
here”? Like he graduated from
using Velcro to shoe laces? He
graduated from this coffee shop when it used to be a school? Could he have actually received the
same degree that I will and then, what?
Now just rambles around town picking fights with coffee shop patrons?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Wait, suck the spit back in. Maybe he’s a professor at one of the other colleges in town,
or maybe even at mine. It’s a big
department and I’ve skipped out on most of the socializing opportunities. Academic folk can be pretty eccentric. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“So are you a professor around here?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He takes a long, sorry slurp of his coffee smacks his lips. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Me? No. I thought about it sure, but naw, not
me.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh God. I feel
like Scrooge asking the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come about the name on the
tombstone now. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“So you teach high school then?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“I’m night manager at Walmart, three nights a week.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I think I need to take a drink because this certainly
warrants a spit-take. It warrants
like three or seven spit-takes, right in Professor Walmart Nights face. I knew the job market was tough, but
what the hell? Is this to be my
fate? Drifting through the streets
where my dream died, degree in hand, trying warn current grad students from
repeating the mistakes of my past?
Was I wearing the chains of my past bad decisions and just didn’t know
it? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">+</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifgV-0eGInYRcTKiopog9Ux_RVUTkazC-zhDzQt2p4ibaMzPHX8TJO0bHzG1klC5Riojp1HvBp4zHzYKQmaa6KONUzE6Zk2pvBn8mBJL-5yHslvmt5yKajreK72OOj1XHfBPYRxSzC7ghn/s1600/url.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifgV-0eGInYRcTKiopog9Ux_RVUTkazC-zhDzQt2p4ibaMzPHX8TJO0bHzG1klC5Riojp1HvBp4zHzYKQmaa6KONUzE6Zk2pvBn8mBJL-5yHslvmt5yKajreK72OOj1XHfBPYRxSzC7ghn/s320/url.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>=</b></span> soup slosher</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This Jacob Marley son-of-a-bitch starts going on about
[what’s-his-name who wrote what’s-his-book] and I’m just staring at him in
horror, slowly positioning myself into the fetal position at my booth.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m not even really listening to him
anymore as I call out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Oh Ghost of Jeremy Yet to Come, are these the shadows of
the things that will be, or are they shadows of things that may be, only? Say
it is thus with what you show me!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Well, kid, I’m not exactly your future, see I didn’t
actually get a grad degree.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“You didn’t?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“No, I didn’t.
I just got my BA in English from here.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Well uh, gee, spirit, that seems like it would have been
some useful information.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Yeah, I know, but I like people to think I’m more
impressive than I really am.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“I know the feeling, continue.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“See, I did get my undergrad here—an English major, but
that’s about where things stopped for me.
I mean, there’s not a lot you can do with a BA in Englsih—well hey, look
who I’m talking to!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A forced chuckle.
“Uh yes, I’ve heard But see my case is just a little bit different than--.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“--Well, I got to get going, floors to wax, puke to clean up.”
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“In that order?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Ooh, you’re good.
You’re good. You should
work at Walmart. I bet you could
become a full manager in no time.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“I’m good, thanks.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Suit yourself.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“No see, I’m getting my MA in English and Creative Writing,
maybe even a PhD in it!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Right, well if you ever need a job, you know where to find
me. You could join our book
club! Right now it’s just me,
Kirby from home appliances, and a cardboard cut-out of Jeff Gordon. We could use another keen academic mind
like yours.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Wait, things can still change! You’re a shadow of what may be only! Men's courses will foreshadow certain
ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead, but if the courses be departed
from, the ends will change, yeah? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“You know where to find me.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have been reading way too much Dickens. </span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-42182895613561438802012-11-25T13:14:00.001-08:002012-11-25T13:14:46.850-08:00A Part-Time Job<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I arrived at grad school, I was surprised to discover
that everyone had a plan. I too had a plan, of course, naturally, sort of, not
really—I had an idea, of what I wanted to do. I wanted to write and I liked the idea of younger, less
experienced people also belieiving that I could write and trusting me enough to
train them how. These two things
seemed connected to me somehow and I had hoped grad school would invaritably
cause them to crash together in some happy, academic collision. Everything else was in the
details. That’s what my Graduate
Director had told me upon my initial visit, or at least, it’s what I inferred
from our fiftenn minute conversation.
I think it was in there somewhere.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Floundering under the weight of deciding my professional and
academic livlihood before Labor Day, I naturally took a part-time job tutoring
two Korean high school students in English. I had never tutored prior to grad school, but as part of my
assistantship I had just spent five days training how to convince college
freshman not to begin papers with “from the beginning of time” or end them with
“in conclusion and summary”, so I felt qualified (enough) to accept the job. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The first few weeks were rough. All of our meetings were arranged by their mother who spoke
less English than they did and I tried my best not to fall into the
ethnocentric trappings of talking to an ESL speaker as an American who spoke
only English. I found my voice
rising in volume every time I repeated myself . By the foruth attempt, I was almost shouting. I know I talk with my hands, but I
caught myself attempting bastardized forms of sign language or maybe shadow
puppet shows the longer conversations lasted. Every time I felt I had offended her, she’d just smile and
apologize for her confusion. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Some
might have taken these shared moments of misunderstanding as a bridge to
empathy, bringing us close together in a way, but I assumed she was cursing my
ignorance beneath her tight smile.
I would if I was her.
Eventually, I began limiting the number of words per exchange to siphon
out the extraneous adjectives and prepositions, which of course seemed offensive. We managed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7kiwxrEghoi1Z3de_nxW4RcQVaSOJcezDJL70zt2x3weWAhkugj0E8x6pS1NcXIQjPNWFREE4vLud8yNfduy9fi-kzOOvHa8QPFKuXcuqWT8DU4UqyYHwba4B0cKanVc9N4Tc5DQIgi7K/s1600/3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7kiwxrEghoi1Z3de_nxW4RcQVaSOJcezDJL70zt2x3weWAhkugj0E8x6pS1NcXIQjPNWFREE4vLud8yNfduy9fi-kzOOvHa8QPFKuXcuqWT8DU4UqyYHwba4B0cKanVc9N4Tc5DQIgi7K/s400/3.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The exact opposite of this, is the impression that I <i>wanted</i> to give.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I met two days a week with John and Mary for an hour
each. That’s what their mother
said their old tutor did.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“What did the old tutor do for two whole hours?” I asked, “Were field trips
involved?” She didn’t know, but
through another skinny smile told me she was confident that I’d know what to
do.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was sure I did not, but convincing myself that I was their
best and possibly only option in central Missouri, I justified my ineptitude
and decided I’d figure something out. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">John was a fifteen-year-old sophomore who was studying for
his TOIFL exam, which would test his grasp of English and determine his fate
with every American university he applied to. John mostly wanted to know about different American
expressions and turns of phrase, many of which arose during our sessions. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“It’s all good: what is it that is good?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Well, whatever it is that you’re talking about.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“And all of it?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Sure.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“And what about all of these bridges in the future?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“The what in the what?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“You say we’ll cross some bridges when we come to them.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Oh, that’s just a way of avoiding something until you have
to deal with it.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“And a bridge helps?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“No, you want to avoid the bridge, avoid the bridges. You know, forget it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“And when you say rule of thumb—“ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“—It just means a commonly accepted way of doing something.”
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“But it’s on the thumb?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“No, uh, have you ever seen Boondock Saints?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“What’s that?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Nevermind You know, it’s all good.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Occasionally, we’d go through some flashcards or look at a
paper he was writing for class.
One time he asked me to show him how to take history notes—“Don’t bother
reading anything in those pastelle-colored boxes,” I told him, “That’s a fool’s
game.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One time I brought a grammar worksheet that I had hastily
printed off of some website. After reading
though it, we didn’t end up using it, but I think he was impressed that I
brought it. At least his mother
would be. I was impressed anyway. Overall, John seemed content with our
sessions and again, I figured he was learning more than he would have without
me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mary was thirteen and a bit tougher assignment for my
extensive college tutoring skills.
Mary didn’t want to talk about Twilight or cool American slang as I
thought she might based on my experiences with John. Mary wanted to go through drafts of school assignments and
edit them for grammar. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“You sure you don’t want to talk about which team you
are? I bet you’re Team Jacob. You look like a Team Jacob.’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In our early goings, I found the most difficult part was
trying to describe how Mary could revise her assignments without having her
furiously scribble down an exact copy of my words. I figured that her teacher might be able to tell the
difference between a seventh grade ESL student and an English Masters student,
or at least I hoped it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I tried breaking down sentences. I tried drawing little pictures to
explain what the different parts of speech were. I got it down to a series of explanations and questions that
only partially annoyed Mary. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“So a preposition is a word that connects two nouns
together, and like the picture shows, it’s anything that you can do if a
boulder is in the middle of the road and you need to get past it.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I had thought I had remembered seeing this played out on Sesame
Street before and getting a kick out of it. Therefore, I felt a thirteen-year-old should respond
similarly. I didn’t count on the
grammar book she cracked open. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9G5nbRbT1GI6G3tiLzJSoQN3bfIeFmf1gxwsFIeODpIvuTywoADTnuyp7RDOTZSqZinLcoLwcLUoGHd37PTBzjiNVwZFxJRvDJhHpT0logCLV-s6nRgBKdcIxkhWD75qPL0hsZeOqUuS/s1600/url.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9G5nbRbT1GI6G3tiLzJSoQN3bfIeFmf1gxwsFIeODpIvuTywoADTnuyp7RDOTZSqZinLcoLwcLUoGHd37PTBzjiNVwZFxJRvDJhHpT0logCLV-s6nRgBKdcIxkhWD75qPL0hsZeOqUuS/s320/url.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's not to understand? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“What about <i>often</i>?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Well, yeah sure, that’s a preposition too.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“And <i>until </i>and<i> always</i>?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Yeah so prepositions can also do this thing with time, you
know, they can show when something happens, I guess.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Could you be <i>of </i>the boulder? Or<i> within</i>? I
don’t think you could.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“So around, over, through, those are pretty good
prepositions! And I don’t know,
maybe if you were like a ghost, you could be within the boulder. Hey, do you know Shaddow Cat on
X-Men? She could be within the
boulder. Do you know Shaddow Cat? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Blank stare. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Let’s move on.”
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Usually after each session, the mother would follow me out
the door as I left to discuss next week’s session dates. My assumption was that she felt it was
rude to “talk shop” in front of her children, or maybe she just wanted to keep
our meetings as surprises to them!
During one of these pow-wow, she explained that John and Mary were going
to be particularly busy with extraciricular activities next week, which as I
knew of course, looked great on college applications, and would have to take a
week off from tutoring. I said I
understood and was somewhat relieved myself as I too was entering a busy
stretch in the semester. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It later occurred to me that we never set up dates for when
our tutoring would resume so I called her a few days later. No answer. I called her the next day and left another message. About two weeks later I finally got a
hold of her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“So when do you think you’d like to pick up tutoring
again? I don’t want John and Mary
to forget too much of what we’ve been working on.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Surely, John’s turns of phrase were getting a little rust
and Mary might be getting clarity on prepositions from someone else by
now. I didn’t want her learning
about these things on the street. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Oh, yes, actually we let you know. Thanks, bye!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I had gleaned that “actually” was used by the mother to
preface a statement that politely opposed the previous statement. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><u>EXAMPLE: </u></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Would you like to pay me double for all subsequent tutoring
sessions?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Actually, no.
I would not like to pay you double.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s been over a month since that time and I’m beginning to
really wonder just how busy those kids can be. I mean, I was seriously considering using my graduate degree
to become a professional tutor, but now actually, I’m not so sure. </span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-83092522759081735342012-09-22T09:51:00.001-07:002012-09-22T17:11:36.961-07:005 Grad School Observations<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>You are not in college</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are not an undergraduate anymore. Undergraduates suck and you do not
suck, as much. If you’re at a
state school, undergrads flock by the hundreds, clogging up roads, sidewalks,
bars, libraries, and gene pools while never taking their eyes from their
phones. Most of the time, it won't even seem like they have anywhere to go. Maybe they just walk around for hours in circles, checking their facebook walls. You will run into
some. It’s not your fault.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUBZo3tLdhocHOp16Q7THAkM7dcg2atwT82F3q5enUNykn5YzPHjx0r44ktrT7A5wz8PIQgoveKAYYRmvkQZrWbHxqpwb0tfLBYn61Az8mdpkhkBLQ81A9X_pGzkcmH_miCBbgerhVw_pZ/s1600/url.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUBZo3tLdhocHOp16Q7THAkM7dcg2atwT82F3q5enUNykn5YzPHjx0r44ktrT7A5wz8PIQgoveKAYYRmvkQZrWbHxqpwb0tfLBYn61Az8mdpkhkBLQ81A9X_pGzkcmH_miCBbgerhVw_pZ/s400/url.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It might be wrong to refer to them as a plague, but is it inaccurate?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>Free food is better than not free food</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is one truism that remains from college, only amplified. In college, you had a
pre-purchased meal plan paid for by scholarships or loans that you wouldn’t
have to worry about until you were out of school. In grad school it’s just you and the measly stipend they
throw at you at the end of every month, if that. Learn where and when the free food is on campus, or make friends
with someone who does. Also, lose
your shame. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>Everyone is smarter than you now</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting into grad school probably made you feel pretty
smart. Attending grad school will
make you feel pretty dumb. You
realize that your undergrad professors who made their profession seem so
attainable were really just holding back, and they were pretty smart to begin with. You realize this because many of them
have already done everything that you’re now expected to do. Your classmates will bemoan the same sentiments, but then rattle off the most insightful analysis of bunch of books
that you've only vaguely heard of before.
Then they’ll tell you they already have their thesis picked out and are
working on it, but really, they're so behind. You will feel
dumb, like really dumb. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>You are not in college: part II </u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As an undergrad you might have made weekend plans, gone out
on certain nights, were involved with other activities, but in grad school you read
and then read some more and then write about that. And then you do it again. Actually, as a grad school student, you should be doing all
of those things too. Going out to the bar to have a drink with some folks, watching a movie, with people, you know, stuff that reminds you that you're actually still human despite being expected to robotically churn out work at a furious pace. As long as you can learn to become efficient with your work load (not this guy) then you can be a grad student with some semblance of an actual life. Otherwise, you'll drive yourself insane. Don’t drive yourself insane.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>It will all be worth it in the end</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But when does it end and where? And define "worth it". </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
_____<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my last post I <i>may</i> have inferred that now in grad school,
I should/ would be more diligent in posting. Mistake. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The work load is definitely a factor—it’s a big factor—but
perhaps more important is the kind of writing that I’m doing in this blog. It’s lazy, conversational—enjoyable—but sloppy and not the kind of writing that I should be focusing on. In future posts, whenever those are, I’ll try to step it
up. That’s my promise to you, the
reader!</div>
<!--EndFragment-->reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-17542409349280614532012-09-04T19:36:00.001-07:002012-09-04T21:26:57.590-07:00I Wish I Could Go Back to Not College<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’m not unaccustomed to moving—I’ve done Pittsburgh, PA to
Greencastle, IN for college, to St. Louis, MO for AmeriCorps where I continued
to move around on a regular basis, and now to Columbia, MO for grad school. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Each move has had its challenges, learning how to do laundry
in college, figuring out how to do it at a laundromat in the real world, and
discovering that there was no laundry in AmeriCorps. There was only that which was Febreezed and that which could
do without. Easy stuff. The hard part came with acclimating to
the new location, but more than that, accepting and embracing a place until it
somehow became home. It’s the
difference between visiting somewhere and living somewhere, between being content and
being happy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsRZNKkh2Ubcn_bXsmlr83e-TadU5mcUpuqSA-K0vLwXc557qzg7CVxXGfT8JIMqz7bxS71ctxfRoS_e46MzkK4uj9wmOqiCU76huL8ewYnyjo-XJ6ESLzzkRA48e63FCn3Vljko8fZwXy/s1600/url-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsRZNKkh2Ubcn_bXsmlr83e-TadU5mcUpuqSA-K0vLwXc557qzg7CVxXGfT8JIMqz7bxS71ctxfRoS_e46MzkK4uj9wmOqiCU76huL8ewYnyjo-XJ6ESLzzkRA48e63FCn3Vljko8fZwXy/s320/url-1.jpeg" width="193" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's just like a washer, minus the water!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If the saying goes, “when in Rome, do as the Romans” when visiting
somewhere, in terms of moving there I’d say, “when in Rome, fucking love
being Roman”.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If everyone else is
drinking the Kool-Aid, you’re draining the punch bowl.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This past Labor Day weekend I drove back to St. Louis where
I seamlessly melted back into my old life. I stayed at my old house, ate at my old haunts, hung out
with my friends; I felt like I had returned home after visiting grad school for
a few weeks. Dangerous stuff. Mixing up realities is a high price to
pay for even a great weekend like this one. But not
everything was exactly the same.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I celebrated a good friend’s birthday out at the bars where
I realized that while everyone else was buying drinks, my tuition waiver didn’t
even cover rail whiskey. I helped
some friends move into a great new apartment where they will begin their
married, career-driven lives together and while people were going out for
lunch, I stayed back to read and eat a Hot Pocket—just one, the other one was
eaten for dinner. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s really an inconvenient time to begin pining for the
Real World, because baby, I’m far from it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYJXIxf3KTdGRcdRxWDGKthMLeLsPL-JHaq9TLwhsf1F_d6mat5EuVVKWNU-ulZ5w9rppMcwWJUJ9UxNYTkN6ox1okCiAJm-pRUxpIWiLAadsXUFaGfu6mEIYNsqMUWV_l3fTYLhtNm5rf/s1600/kool.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYJXIxf3KTdGRcdRxWDGKthMLeLsPL-JHaq9TLwhsf1F_d6mat5EuVVKWNU-ulZ5w9rppMcwWJUJ9UxNYTkN6ox1okCiAJm-pRUxpIWiLAadsXUFaGfu6mEIYNsqMUWV_l3fTYLhtNm5rf/s400/kool.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm a winner!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m back in the bubble-wrapped cocoon of a college town
where nothing gets in or out, where I reveled as an undergrad and loved it and
never wanted to leave it. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But I
did leave it and I’ve since drunk the Real World Kool-Aid and have become
addicted to a whole new brand of drug.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oh,
the irony.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, I have to find a
way to kick it and adopt Columbia and grad school as my new home.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As the great poet laureate of our generation, Robert Thomas so
elegantly mused, “I wish the real world would just keep hassling me.” </span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-75825840835616641802012-08-28T23:35:00.001-07:002012-08-28T23:35:23.581-07:00A New Appening<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
During perhaps the most exciting and most pertinent time of my blog’s
existence, where I don’t have to dredge up tangential thoughts and obscure
anecdotes, I’ve accomplished exactly what should have been expected, of me, which is nothing.
It’s been a busy two weeks, not that it excuses me. Actually, it makes it worse. So here’s quick recap of my life over
the past two weeks; </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Friday: August 10: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I picked up my new-to-me car from the dealer, 2006 Optima,
which I’ve naturally named Optima Prime—not the most original name, but it is the easiest. Plus, I feel much cooler/ less lamer talking to my car, knowing that you know, he's more than meets the eye.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbpOeRYH1c9jhaD4RiIuH-josc-zr1RmMq7BgeXoIBDdf5dxv6WhoTmrjPpDN8S9C2PISdQocbpYd9bMtLOWS1FoBfHdhXlQ1wdrF71tm_mkz5uXihrZBP6L09KPggRTQS_W3WQbSKR_W2/s1600/url.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbpOeRYH1c9jhaD4RiIuH-josc-zr1RmMq7BgeXoIBDdf5dxv6WhoTmrjPpDN8S9C2PISdQocbpYd9bMtLOWS1FoBfHdhXlQ1wdrF71tm_mkz5uXihrZBP6L09KPggRTQS_W3WQbSKR_W2/s320/url.jpeg" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My car isn't red. Other than that, this is a dead ringer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Saturday- Sunday: August 11-12: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a series of St. Louis-to-Columbia moves ranging in usage
of Optima Prime, a 15-person van, and my brother, I moved to my new pad in
Columbia—a three person house with less character than John Kerry (notice how I
took the high road around Lord Mittington) and an odor of cleaning products
masking, well, other smells.
Still, I’m living with a good friend from my AmeriCorps days and that
makes all the difference.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monday: August 13 </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I began my graduate school orientation where I was
congratulated for getting in and then told to prepare to not have a life. This was orated by a roly-poly
character wearing glasses and a bowtie, hence, I can only assume that he holds
a complete knowledge of all things colligate. I then drove back to St. Louis to play my team’s ultimate
Frisbee summer league championship game, stayed over night in St. Louis. We won. I didn’t get much sleep.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tuesday: August 14</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Drove back to Columbia at 6am to make it to orientation for
my writing center assistantship.
During my first year in the program I will be working as a writing tutor
in the university’s Student Success Center, where among other more achievable
duties, I try to convince freshman not to begin essays with, “From the
beginning of history…” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Friday: August 17 </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Started the weekend of department get-togethers where I
learned to introduce myself by new name: “First-year MA in creative non
fiction”. I found lots of free
food, which I’m finding as exceedingly important as a grad student, and met
lots of people. Hopefully, I
remember most of them and at least three or four of them remember me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That weekend: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
More free food, some unpacking (some), and a lot of quiet,
work-conducive time. I'm guessing I should get used to that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monday: August 20</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First day of class!
and I’m 27, and it was a night class so I’m not sure if that’s something I
should get excited for. With that
in mind I took a picture and sent it to the parents so they could get excited
for me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxJilJtnHVZztdTGfaWB55lE3E8qpA4uQLDxiw95-EEgdwSfO4_j6R06kiR2_-v9QI_ZmRLFbO2N20rYYAyHxHXhoDNgPMXQoezysz8d-8mRb5SgwCirMKnYzQEQBP3tZLnBtjk3WrIXg0/s1600/1dos.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxJilJtnHVZztdTGfaWB55lE3E8qpA4uQLDxiw95-EEgdwSfO4_j6R06kiR2_-v9QI_ZmRLFbO2N20rYYAyHxHXhoDNgPMXQoezysz8d-8mRb5SgwCirMKnYzQEQBP3tZLnBtjk3WrIXg0/s320/1dos.jpeg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visual approximation.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wednesday: August 22</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After getting all jazzed about my writing workshop on
Monday, I had my first lit seminar, which knocked me on my academic ass. It’s been many a moon since I’ve dwelled
in the pages of Dickens and the Victorians, many a moon… The literary component
of my MA program is the biggest difference between the “all workshop, all the
time” MFA programs that I had applied to and probably my greatest challenge. I recognized this dynamic before
accepting my position, but really?
Really literature?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been a fast two weeks in terms of work—I honesty think
I’ve done more work in these few days than I’ve done over the past few months
at my old job—and a slow one in terms of building a “normal life”, whatever
that means now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the past two years, I've become ingrained in the 9-5
world. For eight hours a day I was
living a pretty“meh” existence, slogging through it just to celebrate those hours I
wasn’t there. The trade off now, of course, is that I
work all of the time, but it’s work that I enjoy (supposedly) and won’t suck my
soul (theoretically). I’m really
excited to see if it works out!... because it’s too late to get out!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
**Another reason/ excuse for my blog hiatus is my new
facebook friends from grad school.
I’m just saying, my writing is already measured and weighed in class; I
don’t need it judged on the Interwebs too. Just saying, if you must read it, read it in secret, for my
sanity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
More posts to come, perhaps, even in a timely manner!</div>
<!--EndFragment-->reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-242977211035131272012-08-02T10:49:00.001-07:002012-08-02T10:49:14.358-07:00Baby Can I Drive Your Car?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So as I continue to ignore pretty much everything on my ‘Wet Hot American Summer List of Things to Do before Grad School’ in lue of finding
a new car, I have to say something about this whole car-getting process; what
the hell is going on here? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went into this situation with my skepticism hat firmly in
place and my mistrust suspenders strapped on tight. Every movie, TV show, anecdote that I’ve ever
absorbed has led me to believe that car sales people—especially used car sales—are
snakes in the grass ready to gobble up your wallet. Any misstep you make, they’ll see it and
pounce. And above all, they’re ferocious
selling machines who would sooner smash their hand with a hammer than see you
walk off their lot. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They’re like that dude during last call at the bar trying to
make a deal; “so what do I have to do to get you in this bed tonight?”. As soon as she walks out the door, she’s
lost, it’s the end of the world, and he’ll do what he has to do to prevent
that. That’s the dude I prepared for,
but what I got on my first time out was the strong, independent woman more interested in the relationship than closing the deal. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Actually, the sales person was a little blonde girl,
probably younger than me, with hot pink nail polish and lip gloss. I could easily imagine her watching a
Twilight marathon with my little sister and talking about how Zach Effron has
gotten just so totally gross now, ew. But
here she was at the dealership, my epic foe in my quest to buy a car, but not
the foe I was expecting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During the test drive she was more interested in learning about
me and relating it to her own experiences—“Oh, I loved going to summer camp
too!—than listing the car’s features in what my mistrust suspenders told me was
an attempt to gain my sympathies and lower my guard. Yeah, nice try, Bella. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgrFHXXWAUh8WZkgkWvJ1CuB54qBo3mMetqXmOfmn1VSDDHmHH60Ye9qc7LRPV3i6JhXa8vyv3ZcTzYJfepggMuJjlm3RL8uq00UjwYzpW29JSGjw7m6kPDe5Y_YPe27XVQgzU3tMPOYmV/s1600/jack-donaghy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgrFHXXWAUh8WZkgkWvJ1CuB54qBo3mMetqXmOfmn1VSDDHmHH60Ye9qc7LRPV3i6JhXa8vyv3ZcTzYJfepggMuJjlm3RL8uq00UjwYzpW29JSGjw7m6kPDe5Y_YPe27XVQgzU3tMPOYmV/s320/jack-donaghy.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">JD says to never be the first person to speak in a negotiation, ever. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She never put out any prices. In fact it almost seemed like she was
actively trying to avoid doing so. Instead
of the guy at last call who puts everything on the table to close the deal,
Bella was the coy, guarded girl who refuses to admit that she likes you for
fear of looking desperate. It’s the
notion of he/ she who speaks first is the weaker. I believe Jack Donaghy has some business
models suggesting the same. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So we’re now
we’re playing the car equivalent of “Well, do you like me? Because <i>maybe</i>
if you like me I like you, but you have to say it first”. It’s a game of price chicken where the person
who cracks first loses the upper hand, I think.
I’m not sure. I’ve never fully
understood the game in relationships and adding cars into the calculation doesn’t
help.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why can’t I just find a dude who tells me how totes ripped he is,
how lucky I’d be to sleep with him, and then cuts like $1500 off the sales
price before taking me back to his garage apartment under his parents’
house? Sheesh! <o:p></o:p></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-2358444408117997502012-07-28T15:27:00.001-07:002012-07-28T15:46:03.958-07:00Breaking News and Breaking Cars<span style="background-color: white;">When telling people that I’m going to grad school, I’ve
found that there are different ways to tell different people. When informing friends and piers, for
example, great gusto and exuberance are used to convey joy and “see, I’m not
such a fuck-up after all!” sentiment. It’s
roughly the same message to my family, except with my parents it is accompanied with underscores of, “and no, I’m not asking you for money and
yes, I do have a game plan for afterwards, kind of, sort of, I love you”.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the most part the idea of my full-time return to
academia—even at 27-yrs-old and even in creative writing—is met with
affirmation and congratulations.
Everyone recognizes the dreamy Hail Mary nature of my scarcely charted
course, but have the good graces not to mention it. Hey, if I do become a famous writer, do you really want to be the one to jeopardize his chances of a dedication on the first page? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then some people don’t care about dedications. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the past two years I’ve lived next-door to my neighbor
Ray, his wife Charlotte, his kids, grandkids, and whoever else is hanging out
on their front porch. They’re the only
house on the block that isn’t confused or irritated by our house of six
twenty-somethings living together. We
have a mutual understanding that money doesn’t grow on trees. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioFNwCz_WE_hmkzWGbQEK-4jvII8asaQXSQ1cmsFNsd5bfmtbNHNb4BncL6bu-9qDB0fab-Glz6gezDrv1KXcpK_KO8J5FpYV9n6p23f8JXGwsziOU2HCpOm571hcXMtOvOQq2jenkgCQ2/s1600/mechanic%2520under%2520car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioFNwCz_WE_hmkzWGbQEK-4jvII8asaQXSQ1cmsFNsd5bfmtbNHNb4BncL6bu-9qDB0fab-Glz6gezDrv1KXcpK_KO8J5FpYV9n6p23f8JXGwsziOU2HCpOm571hcXMtOvOQq2jenkgCQ2/s320/mechanic%2520under%2520car.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More or less, Ray.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Ray’s in his fifties, a retired auto mechanic who still
works on cars for extra cash on the side.
Hard, terse, and forever splotched in motor oil, Ray’s bent legs
underneath a car are a permanent fixture of the street. We’re friendly, but I can’t say we’ve ever
had a conversation that has ranged outside of cars, lawn care, or how Charlotte’s
damn dog never shuts the fuck up—his words, not mine. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somehow, inexplicably, I’ve managed to convince Ray that I
know something about cars. Not a lot,
but something more than the four and a half things that I actually do know
about cars. <i>#1 Cars need gas</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
He’ll see me and call
me over to take a look at something, a smile on his face, and I’ll stand there
with an even bigger smile on my face trying to cover up the glaringly obvious
fact that I don’t know jack. It’d
probably be easier, wiser, to fess up and tell Ray the truth, but I won’t do
that. Ray’s the kind of guy whose
respect means something. You figure, if you can just earn this guy’s approval then you're doing something right, and if not,
you're clearly doing something wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When my crappy ’97 Ford Countour broke down for the second
time in four months last weekend, thus abdicating its usual spot on the street,
I knew Ray knew. The look of disapproval
and disappointment on his tired face when I told him how much I had paid to
patch up my car the first time was not something I could stomach again. He had told me to junk it, but I just couldn’t
give up on it. As long as it had a
chance, the option wouldn’t even register with me. <i>#1.5 New
and/ or used cars are frick’n expensive</i>.
So this week I starting hopping the back fence on the way to work to
avoid the shaming stare I knew was waiting for me on the street. Ah, good old avoidance. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhVWF_b55NyzxRHB9OyQMLZ1WVjCuHgVAH2GnOn4EfeLbpz9jnwfi0ss_u5dH-0vGD3Ho28yIl8EGedqUBL2cOeS1gylYO5xdNXpc8EelsQBqspNMWTeonnAPTo5RAIJZm1UfXYQHZIAWF/s1600/car+break.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhVWF_b55NyzxRHB9OyQMLZ1WVjCuHgVAH2GnOn4EfeLbpz9jnwfi0ss_u5dH-0vGD3Ho28yIl8EGedqUBL2cOeS1gylYO5xdNXpc8EelsQBqspNMWTeonnAPTo5RAIJZm1UfXYQHZIAWF/s320/car+break.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>#2.5 Put the hood up and look at stuff when you want to pretend like you know what's going on, but really you have no idea what's going on. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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Last weekend had been a rough weekend for me, the kind that
inspires bad romantic comedies or good country music, and it had been topped
off by my car breaking down way outside of St. Louis because of the same
reasons it had broken down in March. <i>#3.5 My car has four cylinders and three of
them are bad. Cars don’t like that.</i> It had been a foolish idea to put money into
it then and it would be straight stupid to do so now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ray told me the same thing with one look when he caught me checking
the mail and I fessed up. It felt like a 9-yr-old, finally forced to admit that I broken my glasses doing something
that I wasn’t supposed to do, but not to worry because I didn’t even need glasses. But I definitely need a car so I can slap finding a new one on my “To Do Before Grad School” List. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven’t told Ray that I’m moving yet—yea avoidance!—or that
I’m doing so to study creative writing, but I'm guessing his reaction would be similar to his to my car. <i> This is not a practical
decision, it’s barely even sane. This choice
will not put food on your table or buy you a new car. You'll probably end up in the same situation two years later only two years older and poorer. This choice is a luxury choice that doesn’t guarantee
luxury. It’s not smart.</i> So how do I explain that this decision has nothing to do with smarts? How do I convey that I'm hoping for something more than what I have now and the risks are worth it if only to find out if it does work? I don't think Ray would accept hopeful curiosity as a reason. <i>#4.5 Cars can go far.</i> <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9DiYyiCWevY45PLZsbhB8Eg5ZEmy6Yx9REZ1pzkKpLc941DwQzS3F-uee1fuV8yCT2WSvGiuzpAvml2kp0sOyrS2zzsYaU_vV0w4q8_K6RBPK6cAfLFLdeg4NCeehTuZyIh_azClLcYjK/s1600/Hulk+Up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9DiYyiCWevY45PLZsbhB8Eg5ZEmy6Yx9REZ1pzkKpLc941DwQzS3F-uee1fuV8yCT2WSvGiuzpAvml2kp0sOyrS2zzsYaU_vV0w4q8_K6RBPK6cAfLFLdeg4NCeehTuZyIh_azClLcYjK/s320/Hulk+Up.jpg" width="264" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jew Hulk say, "If you were doctor, you could afford nice, new car. And you no call Jew Hulk?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-64831578038299605872012-07-10T13:20:00.001-07:002012-07-10T13:45:02.669-07:00And Now for Something Different...<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In lue of the teary pillow stain that I left last week—they’re
like vegetables; every once in while you just have to cram some down your gullet—this
week I offer something a little different, and hopefully a little entertaining.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I'm not saying it's not out there, but j</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ust go with it and enjoy?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">_</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The greying February sky pierced through the kitchen window
as Sol Greenberg trudged in from another night’s sleep. It was 6:30 AM on a Tuesday morning and it
was time to start again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sol carefully removed the bag of Folger’s Premium Roast from
its Ziplocked compartment and scooped out two calculated spoonfuls of the mix,
emptying it into the decrepit coffee maker.
The coffee maker shook and buzzed as it always did when Sol flipped it
on, but he didn’t mind it. In fact he
was comforted by it. The Farberware from
Sears had sat on Sol’s counter for the last thirty-four years and Sol had
always been a man who found relief in continuity. Besides, it made coffee, he understood its
quirks; why should he pay another $37.83 when this one was working just
fine? <span style="background-color: white;">Sol had never understood the
frivolity of today’s youth. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;">He glanced over to the desk in the corner of the kitchen where
we wrote letters and paid the bills.</span><span style="background-color: white;">
</span><span style="background-color: white;">That ugly machine was there somewhere, under his books and the pile of
photographs that he had managed to get his son to mail him.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Dad, I can send you pictures so much easier through e-mail if
you’d just let me set it up for you,” Sol’s son had told him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What? I should need
to spend half the day on this television-typewriter set just for to see
pictures of my grandchildren?” Sol had responded, “Make an old man happy and
mail them to him.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His son had persisted and stubbornly bought Sol this laptop
machine, promising to help me with the e-mail, but he never came over. He never came over for anything. And what, now the vakacta thing just sits in on
the desk gathering dust and Sol has to beg his own son—his own flesh and blood—just
walk his two strong legs all the way over to the mail box to send him his photos. How horrible Sol was to ask this of his son. Oi vey. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sol was just about to turn on the radio when he was violently
flung into the kitchen table by the sheer force of a mammoth crash
outside. If not for the table Sol would
have fallen to the floor and who knows how long he would have been down there? It wasn’t as though visitors were just
pouring through the door to see Sol every day.
A week later maybe Sol's son calls him and Sol would get to hear his son's message about how the family was doing fine and maybe they’d get a chance to
drive up and see him at Passover and then they could find Sol on the kitchen floor
with the rats gnawing on him!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But fortunately, the table had caught Sol and he was
fine. But what about this crash outside? Probably those neighbor boys with their
fireworks again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If there’s another dead cat on my lawn,” thought Sol, “if
its insides are exploded all across my stoop again, I’m going to march right up
to those parents and tell them how to discipline those children. I will do this.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sol opened the kitchen door and stepped outside, prepared to
avoid the cat insides, but was confused to find no cat guts on his stoop. It made him even sourer to be proven wrong. Clearly, this was some prank pulled by those
neighbor boys. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sol suddenly noticed smoke billowing from the corner of his
fence. Aha! Those little schmucks had set Sol’s fence on
fire! Those good-for-nothing parents
would replace every board that their good-for-nothing boys had damaged! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sol quickly ambled over to the fence and was surprised again
to find that he was wrong, and again, Sol found himself grumpier because
of it. The smoke was not from a burning
fence post, but rather from a little green rock that was somehow buried deep against
his fence. The rock was actually
illuminated, emitting a low green halo around it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What, this? This rock is what has pushed me over and is
making all this fuss now?” thought Sol, “And why should those boys dig such a
hole for this and not even want to fill it in?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These questions plagued Sol and to investigate further he
gingerly knelt down to inspect the green rock. <i>Oi his back!</i> His good knee flush to the lawn, Sol plunged his hand into the hole and
grasped the stone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instantly, upon first touch of the rock, Sol felt a pain
shoot through his entire body. But it
was more than just pain. It was also
energy. Energy as Sol had never felt
before, not even as a young man. Sol
could feel it expanding through him; the more it hurt, the more power he
felt. It was incredible.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A dizziness overtook Sol and he suddenly felt as though he
was watching himself from outside of his body.
His brittle, hunched frame was morphing into a muscle-bound Adonis. And what more, he was green. Green as that first car he had bought from
Harold Murray over on 42<sup>nd</sup> Street, you know the one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His shirt torn asunder and his glasses flung out into the
yard, Sol found himself standing ten feet high, dripping with muscles, and
unable to put two thoughts together. The
immense weight of this power was crushing Sol’s brain. Sol was not himself. He was something else, something more. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, this much was clear to Sol, for whatever reasons, in
whatever ways, Sol had become… Jew Hulk!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-vFPBubzlHSca-MK9_zKHaTz6Ef_9P9EpUeW1lza7FcogEcodrI9lM9fsM4BFvItNzJ9a6h6Ncvpj0GDvVeQ76vCkUMxKAA70wVAHV5xW-RlzgKA7zxZIIM9x9pSV07tySPNVy17W2cGz/s1600/Hulk+Up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-vFPBubzlHSca-MK9_zKHaTz6Ef_9P9EpUeW1lza7FcogEcodrI9lM9fsM4BFvItNzJ9a6h6Ncvpj0GDvVeQ76vCkUMxKAA70wVAHV5xW-RlzgKA7zxZIIM9x9pSV07tySPNVy17W2cGz/s400/Hulk+Up.jpg" width="330" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jew Hulk say, "Why you no doctor yet?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
To Be Continued...<br />
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<br /></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-66330915877594633032012-07-03T12:45:00.003-07:002012-07-03T14:40:39.485-07:00Tommy Wolfe, Meet Henry Potter<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Two weekends ago I went to two of my best friends’ wedding
in Ohio and then continued on to Pittsburgh to spend a few vacation days with
my family and friends there. Two weeks
ago, I looked forward to this as a pleasant drive down Memory Lane, whimsically
turning at Nostalgia Street, and making a gentle left onto Everything’s the
same as it ever was when you left home—it’s a frick’n anchor back here—and everything
you’re doing right now is fine Road. So
maybe I missed a turn? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Eight years ago at the wedding of one of my closest friends—for
those keeping score, I was 19-yrs-old as was he—I recall taking him to Chuck E.
Cheese’s for his bachelor party—again, we were 19, it’s all we could think of,
and it was awesome—and then drinking to the point of puking at the wedding reception,
but not before prank calling he and his wife in his hotel room all night long. Classic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp_TNHPgT84rlW1ZL7qIzP_hXZ4x6caonkgb9fV_q1kPjeEgYz7FlTphQBp1teUe37VxXYOuXR4Q2x0RxR1TP_ISdZ6yoSj26hmaAAI-kbW0Jb7onncPxlPV7hhY37oFWcaoOQ6jje8Kgy/s1600/chucke-cheese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp_TNHPgT84rlW1ZL7qIzP_hXZ4x6caonkgb9fV_q1kPjeEgYz7FlTphQBp1teUe37VxXYOuXR4Q2x0RxR1TP_ISdZ6yoSj26hmaAAI-kbW0Jb7onncPxlPV7hhY37oFWcaoOQ6jje8Kgy/s400/chucke-cheese.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Who ordered the Chuck E. Lap Dance?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fast forward to 2012; No Chuck E. Cheese’s, unfortunately, and
no prank call, but I did get drunk and puked at the wedding reception. A lot.
Now granted, that wasn’t my plan and I awoke with the appropriate dosage of shame for doing so, still I couldn't help to notice that it wasn’t quite as cute or accepted as it had been
eight years ago, or even five years ago, or even one year ago. I was older and expected to act with more decorum—or
at least some self-control--and others were
older too and didn’t really feel like sitting next to the dude head-deep in the
trashcan all night, though to their credit, they did. Things were, older. Things are different. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“My childhood home in Pittsburgh, now this is surely a
bastion of consistency”, I had thought to myself upon my return. Every time I come home I end up reverting to
a 17-yr-old version of myself, but in an almost Harry Potter-like imperative, I’m
compelled to return there every six months so I can continue on with my life
outside of it. But even my proverbial
room under the steps had changed. My
parents as recent empty-nesters had continued to re-do everything. From the kitchen to the den to even the cat—she’s
a lasagna-stuffed chunkzilla now—the house had changed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOgMw9jU1Pd8e8OpRVZR3ilQM2SrSZxowweDJ7eyQ4MVMhfHUoq_jfKq5lp50Z1Vr8S2XGV3IOHVrVL4GeFN2eVxWDvwDY-DDXdAroHAdlP1egPxa6EGsP3pfVmqT5h-drxIvXYtlTo52/s1600/hp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOgMw9jU1Pd8e8OpRVZR3ilQM2SrSZxowweDJ7eyQ4MVMhfHUoq_jfKq5lp50Z1Vr8S2XGV3IOHVrVL4GeFN2eVxWDvwDY-DDXdAroHAdlP1egPxa6EGsP3pfVmqT5h-drxIvXYtlTo52/s1600/hp.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What happened to my once sweet pad?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Most of my school yard chums have since moved from
Pittsburgh—it’s funny how a dying economy will do that—but even the ones who
live “in town” actually live far outside of it now.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They live in nice suburbs, in houses, by
themselves, or with husbands, wives, and not five other roommates.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Who said that was okay for them to do?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sometimes I feel like the worst part is talking to them, not
that I don’t enjoy talking to them. **Disclaimer;
No one take this the wrong way** my
friends talk about new marriages, evolving careers, mortgages, pre-schools while
I’m talking about the same things I was talking about eight years ago. It’s not engaging or interesting anymore to
talk about the girl I kind of like, or going back to school, or what I’d like
to be when I grow up. Apparently, these
are all things that I should have figured out by now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, none of these are exactly new revelations to me. I’ve been long aware of these things and have
probably dedicated more than a few blog posts to them. These are more growing revelations that
evolve and splinter a little more every time I look at them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It’s hard to say whether this homeland morphing spurs me on in
my pursuits as in some bent game of catch-up, or whether it reveals how just divergent
my goals have become. Maybe both.</span><o:p></o:p></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-24561106846546993202012-06-22T13:45:00.001-07:002012-07-03T14:38:42.789-07:00Wet Hot American Summer List of Things To Do: Updated<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tell
boss I’m quitting—check. Now to those
other 27 things on my to-do list for starting grad school in the fall. Groansville.
It feels like a lazy summer, it feels like it ought to be a lazy
summer. I just put in my two months
notice at a job that’s essentially void of responsibility over my remaining weeks and now I should have
weeks of nothing but hijinks and tom-foolery to tackle. I certainly don’t feel like doing anything
else. But unfortunately, there’s real crap
to be done--for grad school anyway--and so much of it. So in no
particular order, here’s the most recent updated version of my “Big List O’
Crap To Do”, in no particular order;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Find a job—still working on that one, but I've been talking to
some people who know a lot of people, who know even more people in Columbia, so
really, it’s just a matter of time before it all pans out.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I’m assuming that I'll take a job as a super suave
and sexy bartender who solves mysteries on the side.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">No sweat.</span></li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtO-pzB50QYqqgDu1kULfkIBYLAeZ2izbpIOZXbEzBKb0uhPUkLZ-RQJVpZ5GONPlVviIK0ksgPiRD6ByetNFJVi_mB7LqdoHIOxGpSYYPubtpaiPTOBIA6x4DEwSGUGse6-z_5QjWFgW/s1600/SKMBT_C45212062213540.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtO-pzB50QYqqgDu1kULfkIBYLAeZ2izbpIOZXbEzBKb0uhPUkLZ-RQJVpZ5GONPlVviIK0ksgPiRD6ByetNFJVi_mB7LqdoHIOxGpSYYPubtpaiPTOBIA6x4DEwSGUGse6-z_5QjWFgW/s640/SKMBT_C45212062213540.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artist's rendering</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -24px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -24px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Register and pick classes—Checkers.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">This part involved a lot of phone calls to
set up my student account, to set up my e-mail, to set up my graduate account
so I could sign up for classes, so easy-peasy stuff.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">But I got it now, I think.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Getting my moneys—the saga continues. I know I’m getting a full
ride, but it seems like there should be papers to sign, I’s to dot, some weasel
waiting to pop out of an innocent-looking box.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I even have my AmeriCorps education award waiting to clean up whatever hidden
fees might/ definitely are lurking for me, but ultimately, this seems like something I'm only going to be able to address after receiving a bill.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Finding awesome new sunglasses to instantaneously become
recognized as the cool kid on campus—Check, double check, discount double
check.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Buy books for class—kind of check. I have books for one class so
far so I’m stacking that up as a full check.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Moving—working on it. My friend who’s also moving out that-a-ways and
I have talked about U-Hauls and stuff… and yes, we've talks about renting a U-Haul.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Putting loans in forbearance—to do this, I’ll have to actually talk to
Sallie Mae, which might be the most putrid and entirely horrible endeavor that one can ever be subjected to in the world, ever.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I hate even
having to look at my loans, let alone paying them or speaking to the loany-type
people.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I’d prefer to believe that my
loans just don’t exist, so acknowledge them by talking about them—it’s
unpleasant. </span></li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-indent: -24px;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GJaNz41BFy0R-JkZqjb50U-pJnSm5j1j00XpEwNjePqSZCOLOAWmOwrFAjazha_SyC2RsBhh5Ukzi1L0iCppQ9ub32NCKCSYPnnI84-nTJktBkPPPCp10kk6i7_AQozwkQdeyxyXziag/s1600/salliemae-292x300.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GJaNz41BFy0R-JkZqjb50U-pJnSm5j1j00XpEwNjePqSZCOLOAWmOwrFAjazha_SyC2RsBhh5Ukzi1L0iCppQ9ub32NCKCSYPnnI84-nTJktBkPPPCp10kk6i7_AQozwkQdeyxyXziag/s1600/salliemae-292x300.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stop taking all my money all the time!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Buy a bunch of three-ring notebooks, pencils, and new school clothes--uh, my mom usually does that, so just like when we go out for lunch, I'm just going to leave that check to her. I think it's a pretty safe assumption. </span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Enrolling in my new health insurance—working on it; because I have
a pre-existing condition I need to make sure my health insurance is continuous
so that means getting a letter of continuous coverage, submitting it, getting
medical records transferred over, it’s a whole thing, but not as bad as talking
to She Who Must Not be Named (Allie-sa, Ae-ma). </span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Getting good at reading an' writing agains--... working on it. </span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The other 17-some things, I'm going to chalk those up as tasks for Future-Me, possibly July-August Future-Me, possibly. Until then I guess it's on onward trudge to summon the will to actually accomplish something this summer--ah, it's good to have First World problems, yes, yes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<br />reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-64067156487112959272012-06-15T10:23:00.001-07:002012-06-15T10:23:54.573-07:00By the way... I'm quitting<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last Friday after engaging my boss in some jonty back-and-forth
about how he might escape his impending jury duty—I suggested body paint—I
asked if he had another minute and closed his office door behind me. He was instantly apprehensive, I suspect fearing
that I might be revealing some kind of tawdry office scandal--if only--but I assured him
that it wasn't anything bad—for me at least.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZR2wwh9v_T319IZ9nx80LC85DG5RcOiCg9-Mthmjz8NcGFg6h6qsG3JM05OyVGlZQe8OZNch9ouRyZIxiiK2BQPslip6UqtzFJKaNtJA01cgvv8tAmTggkdPz7jV6_VUt-dZAXlbhE0P/s1600/ll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZR2wwh9v_T319IZ9nx80LC85DG5RcOiCg9-Mthmjz8NcGFg6h6qsG3JM05OyVGlZQe8OZNch9ouRyZIxiiK2BQPslip6UqtzFJKaNtJA01cgvv8tAmTggkdPz7jV6_VUt-dZAXlbhE0P/s320/ll.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now there's a lady who knows how to do it. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I told him straight out that I was leaving for grad school
and he immediately congratulated me for escaping from the department. Yay and yikes? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As it turns out, as irritating-to-wacky that I thought the faculty were based on my limited collegiate experience, my seasoned chair informed me
that the department was more along the infuriating-to-psychotic lines. He was incredibly understanding and empathetic
to my plan to further my education and, you know, make something of myself and
junk. He definitely asserted a <i>“you have
to do what’s best for you”</i> mentality underscored by a <i>“I knew this was only a steppingstone for you”</i> understanding, and touched off with a <i>“you beat me to
the door”</i> aside, quickly followed up by a, <i>“but seriously, you did”</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRM7V25OEVr8_TtfHiVJIBwJhV6rPsq5QYOwse59XopLMfXoYitzV4XaHgPDy5czhwWxOZdHkkE7xa5dgCGaXV1Olh1C-Bt9Yrvau76Lcodn9S0fRXpKlPp64UusQT959zXJktrhbsi6Q5/s1600/3pq6wo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRM7V25OEVr8_TtfHiVJIBwJhV6rPsq5QYOwse59XopLMfXoYitzV4XaHgPDy5czhwWxOZdHkkE7xa5dgCGaXV1Olh1C-Bt9Yrvau76Lcodn9S0fRXpKlPp64UusQT959zXJktrhbsi6Q5/s1600/3pq6wo.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He has allowed me to set my end date and has even agreed to
keep it under the radar from our nosy-neighbor faculty until later. Really good stuff. So why has it been over a week since I’ve
posted this news? Well funny thing about
telling your boss that you’re planning to quit; he expects you do crap before
you leave. Tying up loose ends that I've been content to let dangle, writing-up tutorials for my replacement, he pretty
much wants to squeeze the last remaining ounces of productivity from me. I completely understand it and am compliant with it, but the truth is that well’s
been dry for a while now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now I’m trying to eek out the will to complete this employment
bucket list, doing my best to fight the urge to throw it all together the day
before I leave. <i>I still have two months—pfff!
What’s the rush.</i> Yeah… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But on the lighter side of the toast, it feels really good
to let him know and have it all out in the open—excluding open to the faculty, student
workers, or anyone else at work, of course.
Ah, sweet serenity... <o:p></o:p></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-81140916413112057242012-06-01T14:40:00.001-07:002012-06-01T14:41:37.620-07:00Locked and Loaded<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am
beginning to feel pretty shady. Yes, as
I sit at work typing on my office computer still without having told anyone
(who I need to) about my impending August departure, the shadiness is strong
with me.</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Summer at a
university is, for the most part, head-hammeringly slow. There are a few projects to work on—one of
those for me being organizing my files and crap to hand off in my transition—but
for the most part it’s me, our administrative assistant, and the department
chair twiddling our thumbs. And every time the
fall semester comes up and I preface my response with “<i>my position</i> should
be responsible for this”, or “<i>this position</i> can definitely do that”, I feel disgenuous. I feel pretty shady. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I need to drop the grad school bomb.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But I’ve
never quit a job before—not one that I didn't have to leave because I was going home for the summer or to school in the fall anyway—and I’m not sure how to do it or how it
might go. Here are a few hypothetical
possibilities;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><u><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">Scenario A</span></u></b><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">: </span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Me: Hey, boss. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Boss: Hey, employee.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">(I gently close the door behind me)</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: Can we
talk?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Boss: Sure, my door is always open, except for now
since you just closed it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">(We share a laugh) <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Me: Great, great.
Well, I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now and wasn’t sure when
might be the best time—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Boss: --Go ahead, employee. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Me: Okay,
well boss, I wanted to let you know that I’ve been accepted into grad school
and I’m leaving in August.
It’s nothing against you or the department, it’s just an amazing
opportunity that I’ve been working toward for a long time. I’ve been organizing my files and duties so
they can be easily transitioned on to my replacement. I’ll be here ready to do whatever needs to be
done until August. Most importantly, I
want to make sure that I didn’t leave you and the department in the lurch. I hope you can understand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">(Boss calmly stands up and throws his
chair though my face.) <o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitV1h9ZQo41PeaNXGxqx-PWh584RkZ0liRXDbGr3jsZdmsggcWSqSq0nqPeMFIH1TS_YUYNGH0NB4wMwa0bnjHrOlYPvSQYMNzWBoCKgdmUmeZu9sT5SpsAAgwhshhd0MR5XOzkjCDKIqO/s1600/knight-chair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitV1h9ZQo41PeaNXGxqx-PWh584RkZ0liRXDbGr3jsZdmsggcWSqSq0nqPeMFIH1TS_YUYNGH0NB4wMwa0bnjHrOlYPvSQYMNzWBoCKgdmUmeZu9sT5SpsAAgwhshhd0MR5XOzkjCDKIqO/s1600/knight-chair.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You should see what he does when I miss a lay-up</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><u>Scenario B</u>:</span></b><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Me: Boss, I got something I need to tell you! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Boss: Whoa employee, what’s going on? This isn’t like you! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Me: Cram it Dr. Who Gives a Crap! I’m talking now! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">(Boss, a.k.a. Dr. Who Gives a Crap,
cowers behind his fine oak desk) <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Me: Yeah, I’m talking now. Listen, I’m out of this trash can! You’re all like Losertown and I’m all </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Scramsville, baby! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Boss: Oh my stars!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Me: that’s right, I’m tired of taking this crap,
and even if I wasn’t going to grad school, which I am ‘cause </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m smart—surprised
much?—I’d still be getting the hell out of here! Peace out Girl Scout!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">(Boss calmly stands up and throws a
chair through my face) <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The other
scenarios are really just alterations of these first two with different things
being thrown through my face—a stapler, an autographed textbook, a harpoon, etc. I guess in reality, my approach should be
akin to Scenario A and my boss’ response will probably be more reasonable than
throwing a harpoon through my face. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wSV6YRYXtMwjR1aPiTeEji2TrISe0G3H_TzMauhxYmgq3lTM34Q3rZPY77zOH6p5OTh9FudcU2p96jN2ijyvKWlvKNQpbhXZj6D4IvnhIBxJlCQxLbVkCRjBbN9AfvXIvf0ry-QScLY6/s1600/Salone%2520Harpooning%2520Mergui%2520Myeik%2520Archipelago%2520Myanmar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wSV6YRYXtMwjR1aPiTeEji2TrISe0G3H_TzMauhxYmgq3lTM34Q3rZPY77zOH6p5OTh9FudcU2p96jN2ijyvKWlvKNQpbhXZj6D4IvnhIBxJlCQxLbVkCRjBbN9AfvXIvf0ry-QScLY6/s320/Salone%2520Harpooning%2520Mergui%2520Myeik%2520Archipelago%2520Myanmar.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Scenario G</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Where as my original
fear was being terminated prematurely, I’m now
confident that won’t happen. I’m more concerned with the added pressure of getting things in order to transition out
of my position, thus, destroying my </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Summer of Slothfulness</i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">—wow, I guess it’s me
who’s all like Loserville right now.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In any event,
the bomb drops Monday, so says Scramsville. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-60557281208073029712012-05-23T10:01:00.001-07:002012-05-23T10:27:12.330-07:00Something Funny about Saturday Night Live<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m probably
one of the few remaining people who actually try to watch <i>Saturday Night Live</i>, live if possible. I’m a stubborn fan. In college while applying for an internship
with SNL I wrote in my cover letter that, “I was the cool kid in elementary
school whose parents let him stay up and watch <i>SNL</i>, and in high school I was lame kid who stayed home on Saturday
nights to watch it”. Today, I guess I’m
a bit of both. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In any event
this past Saturday was Kristin Wiig’s last show. There was a nice farewell to Wiig at the end
of the show with Mick Jagger, Arcade Fire, and the cast dancing to <i>She’s a Rainbow</i>. It was very touching, but as when anyone
leaves <i>SNL </i>I found myself wondering, <i>why?<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_EvC-op4T4G3NkZmGENY7FMqcySARGv2xNr5agcT_iircnvZPmna2uXu3jpGK8lDeyROBlqVLKBaY_beRXhVMO71K5ndG0x3MQ26FLfSiaZtbombJbMhwyYew4zBQ9QuWLaQabj-u558/s1600/snl-welk-425x242-300x170.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_EvC-op4T4G3NkZmGENY7FMqcySARGv2xNr5agcT_iircnvZPmna2uXu3jpGK8lDeyROBlqVLKBaY_beRXhVMO71K5ndG0x3MQ26FLfSiaZtbombJbMhwyYew4zBQ9QuWLaQabj-u558/s320/snl-welk-425x242-300x170.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Marry me? </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Despite its
ups and downs </span></span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Saturday Night Live</i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">
seems like the most fun thing of which anyone could hope to be a part. With tears in her eyes, Wiig was clearly s ad
to leave the show that made her a star as well as all of her cast mates who will
stay behind to haphazardly attempt to fill the massive void left by the </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">departures</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> of such sketch icons as Penelope, the Target Lady, the third sister on the </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Lawrence</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> Welke Show.
Clearly, good times were had so why leave? </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because of
the <i>SNL</i> precedent of peacing out
after a cast member has achieved some modicum of fame. Pretty much every successful cast member has
done this, but whether Wiig will follow in the footsteps of Fey,
Farrell, Sandler, and Murray or those of Forte, Oteri, Mohr,
and Piscopo remains to be seen. It seems like unless you’re Tim Meadows, you
have to move on. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tim Meadows
was an average cast member who debuted on <i>Saturday
Night Live</i> in 1991 and stuck around until 2000 when I think Lorne Michaels
paid him $35 to leave. You probably don’t
remember him from anything aside from being the black guy on the show who wasn’t
Chris Rock or Tracey Morgan. For a long
time I thought Meadows was a genius. He refused
to allow some obligatory social cue dictate his life. He had a good thing going on <i>SNL</i> and he wasn’t going to leave. But then everyone else did. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Whether by
abdication, firing, or being Chris Farely (RIP), the cast around Meadows
changed and continued to change until he probably felt like a less funny
version of Matthew McConaughey in <i>Dazed
and Confused</i>. As steadfast as he remained, the <i>SNL</i> Meadows loved still
changed around him and by the time he realized it all he had was some nasty
dreads and the unread script for <i>The Lady’s
Man 2: Ladying in DC, Slick Willy Returns</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirhCZd-47lNvVp_pXijn178SNxrmJNS3TtnXzecijHeCVwE07wnJe39XKpRZqwLnP-u8IPEnW2RPGJzfMNrshx8PxCl0YcZ5HR9UnxClmZ78fULHM_yAChChUgWPAb1JHdLS31JRC_hjMV/s1600/ladiesman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirhCZd-47lNvVp_pXijn178SNxrmJNS3TtnXzecijHeCVwE07wnJe39XKpRZqwLnP-u8IPEnW2RPGJzfMNrshx8PxCl0YcZ5HR9UnxClmZ78fULHM_yAChChUgWPAb1JHdLS31JRC_hjMV/s320/ladiesman.jpg" width="246" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How has this movie not been made yet?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwfGhFkhyphenhyphendX7rz304RWYYvKt3cIel9zO9rziaYuGJp8Q4GhyxdHFjV3O5ms4tSXU1jGblHWAMpn5U3RvrX-wEqhGqPTFgh6cX-aMOM27nf8hERti6ya68ZoVC5KFQPhbAdUaT7kpwl18Uw/s1600/Bill+Clinton+slick-willy-wonker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwfGhFkhyphenhyphendX7rz304RWYYvKt3cIel9zO9rziaYuGJp8Q4GhyxdHFjV3O5ms4tSXU1jGblHWAMpn5U3RvrX-wEqhGqPTFgh6cX-aMOM27nf8hERti6ya68ZoVC5KFQPhbAdUaT7kpwl18Uw/s320/Bill+Clinton+slick-willy-wonker.jpg" width="258" /></span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Whether Wiig
wanted to or not, she </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">had</i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> to leave
because her recent success has given her the best chance to achieve some
personal goal.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">If one of her goals had
been to have stayed on SNL forever, it wouldn’t have been possible.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Old cast mates would have left, new ones
would have arrived and it </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">wouldn't</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> have been the same SNL she had come to love.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I still
haven’t signed anything for Mizzou (not that I’ve been asked) nor have I told
my boss that I’m leaving, which has allowed me to harbor the possibility of
staying in St. Louis if only as the faintest of options. I know I won’t, but I often think about if I
would and what I’m giving up here for an uncertain future there. But like most things in life, this can be
equated to <i>Saturday Night Live</i>. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As much as I love my life and the people in
it right now, it won’t stay the same forever.
That’s the simple and sometimes sad axiom of life. People get married, they leave town to take
dream jobs, they leave town to take not dream jobs, lives unabatedly change and
as much as I might want to trap these moments inside of some diabolical
snowglobe, I can’t. The word spins madly
on and we all must be willing and prepared, if not excited, to change with it. All I can do is relentlessly pursue my dreams
and hope that somewhere along the way there’s a place where things aren’t in
such inevitable flux and that maybe I can get there some day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Leave it to the lady
who routinely vomits while dancing on camera to give me some perspective—or at
least provide me with an analogy to continually restate my perspective…</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-2962262859934440382012-05-18T11:36:00.002-07:002012-05-18T11:47:44.035-07:00Money, Money, Boo, Bah!<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This week I found
out that I did not receive the fellowship that would have paid me $10,000 over
two years for attending Mizzou. I guess
you never know what you don’t got, until you realize that you don’t actually
got it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That means I
have a whopping $6,000 waiting for me next year and a job search to do this
summer. I’m far from rolling in it now—one of the reasons I can justify going to grad school—but my
earnings next year are going to make Present Me look like Scrooge McDuck to
Future Me. And Future Me hates that guy,
I’m assuming.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgye5J-8CFHc0ZWmSYz_NpaBtgzqg_vvY15HUvybMYWbO66Xirp14pEXv28WL3Iydp1L0gLLASASEjdCS3yQB3uNbn25mZKtzx1P-pfwa906MVwTpIjKJnrjlgbVSo6sp-BLabozIg39p_2/s1600/908000-paperone_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgye5J-8CFHc0ZWmSYz_NpaBtgzqg_vvY15HUvybMYWbO66Xirp14pEXv28WL3Iydp1L0gLLASASEjdCS3yQB3uNbn25mZKtzx1P-pfwa906MVwTpIjKJnrjlgbVSo6sp-BLabozIg39p_2/s320/908000-paperone_large.jpg" width="265" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You just got it all figured out McDuck, don't you now? I just can't wait until the fall of the Euro crashes you to your smug, webbed, spatted feet!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It’s one
thing to romantically declare that you’re following your dreams, money be
damned; and it’s another to look at your bank account from a functional sense
and start devising crazy schemes to buy groceries. With a steady income currently coming in, I’m
mostly filing these thoughts into the “I’ll figure something out” drawer; but I
know now that even if I get a job, when I get a job, in Columbia there are
still some niceties that I enjoy now that I won’t be able to enjoy then.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Now, I live with five other people, drive my
grandma’s old ’97 Ford Contour, and eat ValueTime brand foods so what those
niceties are that I’ll have to forgo later, I can’t
actually imagine, but I guess I’ll find out. I'm just saying this whole, following-your-</span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">inherently-</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">deep-seeded passions-to-quench your-burning-desires-so-you-can-sleep-at-night-and feel-good-about-yourself thing had better pay off, with money. Lots of it.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-69484782086080954012012-05-10T10:55:00.000-07:002012-05-13T15:57:03.439-07:00Wet Hot American Summer of Things To Do<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I
finally chose a college in my senior year of high school I entered a period of
ultimate relaxation that has not been seen since. Aside from failing all of my classes or
getting arrested, my plans for the fall were essentially set regardless of what
happened in the months prior. I was, I believe the expression is, playing with house
money. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1JwTNfXTrYOVMJZn62xkgprd64BsFDlC3lyOnQRoGvP0WezHnYgHCI_qJCmhV5psxWYrXJJfiM90sHd-wj4dbYoj_El6r-rCbq7s72eUfohsCEndyJk4-FNp9zAEHDRn84qyvE-NBj8B/s1600/price_is_right.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1JwTNfXTrYOVMJZn62xkgprd64BsFDlC3lyOnQRoGvP0WezHnYgHCI_qJCmhV5psxWYrXJJfiM90sHd-wj4dbYoj_El6r-rCbq7s72eUfohsCEndyJk4-FNp9zAEHDRn84qyvE-NBj8B/s320/price_is_right.jpg" width="309" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The most fun you can have without actually spaying or neutering your pet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Reason
would dictate that based on this past experience I use the upcoming summer to cut
class to watch The Price Is Right, prank my evil work supervisor, and
concentrate on the summer swimming championships. I was real rebel back then. But alas, even these teenage hijinks might be
out of my grasp. Unlike college, which
graciously equipped me with a dorm room—complete with asshole roommate—fancy
meal plan, student worker position, and a built-in community of wide-eyed,
geeky teens through the forced comradery of freshman orientation, grad school
requires its students to be a scoche more independent. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">That brings me to;</span></div>
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<b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">Shit I
got to do before going to grad school</span></u></b></div>
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<b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">1.)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> <u>
</u></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u>Find
Housing</u> – Check <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">This
one was actually pretty easy to address.
A good friend from my AmeriCorps days is currently finishing her
masters at Mizzou and needs another roommate in the fall. Yahtzee!
Nevermind that it’s actually more
rent than than I’m paying to live in St. Louis (not by much), it’s worth it to
avoid the hassle of apartment hunting and to get to live with an incredible
friend—<i>God as my witness, I shall never live with an asshole again!</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">2.)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u>Get
a Job</u> – Not Check <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">In
my second year in the program I’ll be teaching a full load of freshman
composition courses and getting paid $13,000/ academic year, but during my
first year I’ll be working a half load in the student writing center where I’ll
get paid $6,000/ academic year, which means I need another job. I’m still eligible for a $5,000/ academic
year fellowship—a fellowship for just being awesome—but in the not-so-oft
chance that I’m not quite awesome enough, I’d better start scouring those want
ads. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">3.)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> <u>
</u></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u>Quit my Job</u> – Not Check, clearly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">At
some point, maybe in October, my current job will probably start wondering why
I haven’t been to work since August—I have a lot of sick days built up. But when to drop the Q-Bomb? Do it too soon and I risk them replacing me
before I’d like to leave (I’d like to keep working/ getting paid right until I leave
for Mizzou in mid August). And though I think my chair would be pretty understanding
of my situation, he’s also a bottom-line type of guy who could probably see the
merit of hiring and training someone in the summer as opposed to right before
classes begin. On the other hand I don’t
want to do them dirty two weeks prior-style either.
I really can’t afford to burn any bridges. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">4.)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u>Move to Columbia</u> – Not check<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">When
I arrive at my new place there won’t be a sweet bed/ desk/ dresser/ bookshelf/
dinner table combo waiting for me like there was in my freshman dorm room,
along with an asshole roommate—I really hated that dickweed. Though I moved to St. Louis with but two
suitcases in tow, I’ve since accumulated a great deal of crap, crap which I now
have figure out a way to get to Columbia.
I’m thinking a U-Haul. Uh, so
does anyone want to drive a U-Haul to Columbia, MO for me? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNovYp58gnEjMxcCJUmxjf3btxzxDjVynl7XDEyjuRaqO76i-rPKNxZbvSaI51FlB1q7m4HB4gMyUJzBQEWywyRSA_UKBD3oImbnKlrmc02JfgIE6QTMqenCVTndBT_9VQwTPzWXzDiTx/s1600/jersey-shore-situation-430rk082410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNovYp58gnEjMxcCJUmxjf3btxzxDjVynl7XDEyjuRaqO76i-rPKNxZbvSaI51FlB1q7m4HB4gMyUJzBQEWywyRSA_UKBD3oImbnKlrmc02JfgIE6QTMqenCVTndBT_9VQwTPzWXzDiTx/s320/jersey-shore-situation-430rk082410.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Worst roommate ever.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">5.)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u>Find my Grad School Family</u> – Not Check </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings;">L</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now
begins the sappy “I’m really going to miss my St. Louis friends and the
community that I’ve nestled into here, and I can only hope that I find
something even quazi-close to it at Mizzou” section. And now concludes this section. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">It is
clear I have some serious shit to do before August, but I’m not too worried
about it right now. It’s only May, and
honestly, these things really sound like issues for Future me. Present me is too busy watching The Price Is
Right and coming up with pranks for my co-workers anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-35576319626983084802012-04-25T15:57:00.002-07:002012-04-26T12:33:13.135-07:00So (far so good) for the Afterglow<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHu0MYflGPCy0a1vSu_fJJFPPiWD2TXUp3do9U1Kxpq9XaKKRPi0qBCHhj25Ena5a35s3gIkWhiIwMoytn857e_z-8twxJXzcgPhGZFw0tqMCltf54rqfh0fCiTszFNRvrtZ2u1BsvyLtZ/s1600/phil2ndstone_lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHu0MYflGPCy0a1vSu_fJJFPPiWD2TXUp3do9U1Kxpq9XaKKRPi0qBCHhj25Ena5a35s3gIkWhiIwMoytn857e_z-8twxJXzcgPhGZFw0tqMCltf54rqfh0fCiTszFNRvrtZ2u1BsvyLtZ/s320/phil2ndstone_lg.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Want to get something off your shoulders, Magnus?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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That’s me. That’s how
I felt. The guy, with the thing, and it's heavy, and he can't drop it. Yeah, that was me, a pretty good representation of it, but now that I’ve made my decision--much better.
Honestly, I think I would feel the same way had I decided to stay in St.
Louis, assuming that I could have owned that choice as vehemently. A wise man (Milos Foreman) once said this (while
playing a priest in Edward Norton’s 2000 romcom <i>Keeping the Faith</i>); </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">The truth is you can never tell yourself there
is only one thing you could be. If you are a priest or if you marry a woman
it's the same challenge. You cannot make a real commitment unless you accept
that it's a choice that you keep making again and again and again.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Granted Foreman was trying to advise a confused Father
Norton on jonsing for Jenna Elfman (remember when she was a thing? Crazy, right?), but the
point remains; perception is all about choice.
Making this choice has energized me and galvanized my grad school
path. Going to grad school is not the
only thing that I could do, but it’s what I want to do, it’s what I’ve chosen to
do and because of that, it’s that much more important to me. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJk00TnJBC4tyw29tyOA6M84xxJnjACmn_8DmTRQ_a383bqF3g66EEeL0BVtsoBIba2sYEMWz0wfiACPekZdy8x74_DHV-V_7S4Umekf_PIQZLVlWVRRK46eBcGUlBHRgtTauy5SXt7XEa/s1600/norfman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJk00TnJBC4tyw29tyOA6M84xxJnjACmn_8DmTRQ_a383bqF3g66EEeL0BVtsoBIba2sYEMWz0wfiACPekZdy8x74_DHV-V_7S4Umekf_PIQZLVlWVRRK46eBcGUlBHRgtTauy5SXt7XEa/s320/norfman.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The true take away from this flick: the jewish guy gets the girl.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
There are lot of specifics that I need to tackle before
getting to Columbia, perhaps the biggest of which is figuring out how to
survive on $6,000 my first year, but hey, that’s really future Jeremy’s
problem. He’ll work it out. He <strike>always</strike> <strike>usually</strike> occasionally does. Right now I have a peace of mind that I haven’t
had since those glorious three weeks between submitting my applications and
receiving the first piece of grad school news—ironically Mizzou both crumbled and re-initiated that feeling. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The good news for you, the reader, is that I shall be continuing
this blog as a chronicle of grad school preparation, which will eventually flow
into the blog, Just Dumb Enough… to go to Grad School. <o:p></o:p></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-87124751137449142402012-04-12T09:19:00.000-07:002012-04-12T09:19:31.040-07:00The Looming Loomy Thing that Looms<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In a lot of things, I find that my strategy is akin to a football Hail Mary—just put it out there and see what happens. I use it in football, sure, other games of sport, games of board, with women, pretty much with anything that I can rebound from I’d rather risk it all for the chance of everything rather than find contentment in mediocrity. But there’s a sizable difference between losing Park Place to your mom when gambling it all in Monopoly and moving in with your mom when mortgaging your future on a career in writing. In either event thinking about a hotel might be the best option.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtIeQQ3UXp-PpicGU9CHEV3mqHVJDnlglXzzHh2NeTS83SftsM6Z5Smx8LBj7zd1wUraVvywQ5fvyMM-qhIVNtNFBcMLq8x4uL69aVz7vBAajokU20Li4vHMJe4bujK1wDYovgTJzuIUH/s1600/monopoly_man_out_of_luck.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtIeQQ3UXp-PpicGU9CHEV3mqHVJDnlglXzzHh2NeTS83SftsM6Z5Smx8LBj7zd1wUraVvywQ5fvyMM-qhIVNtNFBcMLq8x4uL69aVz7vBAajokU20Li4vHMJe4bujK1wDYovgTJzuIUH/s320/monopoly_man_out_of_luck.gif" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Go directly to jail. Do not pass 'Go'. Do not collect $200.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkIJnCIS_egEOj2IUsNw63ZbVHTEFr1xQ2bVNLb5txOfGT0w428mvFTKX74Uv-vPKpoDFVFiF2OpEZjya6sqw_v1bZvch6rN1so7tHAZtKm_7K1tCQNyVyREZXBLRe4pTjURFgslTDd3-/s1600/at+home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkIJnCIS_egEOj2IUsNw63ZbVHTEFr1xQ2bVNLb5txOfGT0w428mvFTKX74Uv-vPKpoDFVFiF2OpEZjya6sqw_v1bZvch6rN1so7tHAZtKm_7K1tCQNyVyREZXBLRe4pTjURFgslTDd3-/s1600/at+home.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This week I went back and read my past year’s worth of blog posts, and aside from noticing an increased laxness in spelling and penchant for rambling—sorry—I saw that my fear was well documented. Originally, it was fear of not getting accepted into grad school and being forced to abandon a dream. But then upon acceptance it morphed into fear of the consequences of not getting into the <i>right</i> program, and then that turned into a fear of a future that held an MA in English and nothing else. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>What a scared, little prick I am</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But my decision has come down to a higher motivation. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Over the past few weeks I’ve been steadily harassing the director of Mizzou’s creative writing program, essentially imploring him to tell me what I should do, hoping that he’d process my life story and command that I do either A or B. He’s been great, very patient, but ultimately little help because he’s always thrown the decision back to me. <i>Jerkwad</i>. However, this past week, in his muddy Kentucky accent, he gave me this ear-worm that has stuck with me; <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“You have to decide what’s greater; your excitement to be in the program and the promise it offers, or your fear of the consequences it brings.” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At the beginning of my blog I had such excitement, such romantic and naive hope of simply getting into a program. And despite setbacks and concerns I pressed onward with steadfast bravery or stupidity, I’m not sure which, because more than just getting in I was excited about the prospect of doing something that I loved. And amidst all of my fears and worrying, I had lost track of that excitement. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With that in mind, I’d like to take this time to announce that I’ll be taking my talents to South Beach, the south beach of the Missouri River and accept Mizzou’s offer into its Masters in English, with a concentration in creative writing, program. I just sent out the e-mail. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In my first blog posts I wrote, <i>“</i><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #222222; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Applying to grad school requires a certain break from sanity</span>. It has to.” </i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">That still rings true, but I</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #222222; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">think I’ve found that it requires that same break from sanity to believe you can make a future with an MA in English with a Creative Writing concentration. When </span>throwing a Hail Mary, you can’t be afraid of tossing an interception, or a dropped pass, or anything bad that might happen because as unlikely as it might be, you've got to be focused on throwing a touchdown. And that’s a great feeling. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wow, way too many sports clichés in this one. Don’t worry, I’m a grad student now. I won't have time to think of any references from here on. </span><o:p></o:p></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2895296997013219917.post-49034795596046430532012-04-03T14:01:00.002-07:002012-04-03T15:11:23.699-07:00The Tiny Ship Was Tossed<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I was on the Track & Field team in middle school I had a coach who liked to patrol the regimented rows of our pre-practice stretches, walking up and down the lanes of his “athletes”, issuing words of encouragement. One of his favorite quips was; “think about this, men, while you’re out here sweating, bettering yourselves, your buddies are just sitting on the couch, eating Doritos, and watching Gilligan’s Island”. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We all found this funny because; one, we had only ever seen Gilligan’s Island on Nick at Night—emphasis on the ‘<i>night’</i>—and two, every one of us absolutely wished that we were sitting on couches, eating Doritos, and watching some kind of magical version of Gilligan’s Island that aired at 4:00 PM in 1999. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr6xiGERBGEe-2pXaUJfVo9UwAesY7mbcpNM-EAAD-yRN6aFiJ-Ec2Thvj2hHJ84snEafGgVPCtEIFZxeAe8EQZsjt3RHnKNG8IKe5sj6DhlvsQ9W6Ro66sr3vBIAjzdmUtOwfB8o5Miv8/s1600/COACH.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr6xiGERBGEe-2pXaUJfVo9UwAesY7mbcpNM-EAAD-yRN6aFiJ-Ec2Thvj2hHJ84snEafGgVPCtEIFZxeAe8EQZsjt3RHnKNG8IKe5sj6DhlvsQ9W6Ro66sr3vBIAjzdmUtOwfB8o5Miv8/s320/COACH.bmp" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Wind sprints, crunchy granola, can't lose" - Coach Maz</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That’s pretty much how I’ve been feeling about this grad school decision process, like I’d rather take the fun, easy choice, but knowing that the harder, more challenging course might ultimately be more rewarding. The real confusion; however, is figuring out which is the track practical choice and which is the route of the S.S. Minnow. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One huge factor in this whole shenanigan-fest that I should mention, which I think most people who read this blog already know, is that I have a pre-existing medical condition. When I was 19-years-old I was diagnosed with Crohnes Disease, a chronic ailment which causes my intestines to hemorrhage if not properly mediated. If properly medicated it makes my tummy sound like it has trapped a small grumbly bear at times. I actually wrote an essay about it that I submitted with my most recent applications so I won’t get into now (ask me for a copy of the piece if you’re interested). The point-nugget to take away here is that my condition is not a big deal as long as it’s properly medicated, which isn’t a big deal as long as I have good health benefits.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mizzou will offer me such benefits, but after I graduate… I’m just floating out there without health insurance or with ridiculously high monthly subsidies until and if I find a job with good benefits, hopefully in my field. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It sucks. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Until the Affordable Care Act figures out a way to beat that genius “Broccoli Defense”, I’m kind of screwed. Leaving a steady job where I could take other masters classes and move my way up the college hierarchy for a humanities degree that offers little more than a hope and a dream is more than frightening to me—it’s dangerous. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This combined with the friends and lifestyle that I’ve culled out in St. Louis makes rejecting grad school and staying put the easy Gilligan choice, right? No risk, no stressing out about the future, just comfort and familiarity. And in turn that would make enrolling into a difficult grad school that may be keeping true to my original lofty aspirations, refusing to give up the hope ship and take the easy way out, the difficult track practice choice, right? Not so fast, Professor.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXAvD-fyKbdEpGx3TzaKsTJjOsPLKBUHLPVo9ntPQm-6bOHq0fy069eqgtRuza_0K8EF3gL2egEe2wqINHJoqiqpDrqlWBVuB-vWcMyTDSHIg1KVm9mLiFQyCp4a4VzPZqjMd_5iCAr_n/s1600/gi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXAvD-fyKbdEpGx3TzaKsTJjOsPLKBUHLPVo9ntPQm-6bOHq0fy069eqgtRuza_0K8EF3gL2egEe2wqINHJoqiqpDrqlWBVuB-vWcMyTDSHIg1KVm9mLiFQyCp4a4VzPZqjMd_5iCAr_n/s320/gi.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The tale of a fateful trip? Check.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I would love nothing more than to write, read, and teach for the next two years within a community that supports and strengthens my efforts. Being “the best” at something has never been a need for me, but being among the best, being just as good as anybody at something, has been my constant aspiration. It would be nice to be there again. If nothing more, getting my creative writing masters would be an romantically enjoyable quest, which would be awfully writer-y, but then again, so is dying diseased at a young age so there's that. It would be amazingly easy for me to immediately call Mizzou’s director and tell him that he had me at “we’ll give you the money.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But then what comes afterwards? I’d either have to try to pursue a PhD (another 5 years in who-knows-where) or go off into an unknown, uninsured abyss and I can’t stand it. I been there before. So ditching my dreams for a more practical career/ life choice may be difficult, but more ultimately rewarding than two great years in Columbia, right? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Seriously, right? Or wrong? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SOMEONE TELL ME! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have less than two weeks to give Mizzou my decision and I have no idea. The more I think about it, the more I have no idea or too many ideas, and the more that makes me think about it. I’ve been sucked into a decision whirlpool that’s spiraling me down to nowhere. I only hope that when I finally land, I’m shipwrecked on Gilligan’s Island, or on the mainland, or on the couch, or somewhere. I don’t know. </span><o:p></o:p></div></div>reappeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09170358404992842651noreply@blogger.com0