Something Funny about Saturday Night Live

I’m probably one of the few remaining people who actually try to watch Saturday Night Live, 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 SNL, 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.

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 She’s a Rainbow.  It was very touching, but as when anyone leaves SNL I found myself wondering, why?

Marry me?  

Despite its ups and downs Saturday Night Live 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 departures of such sketch icons as Penelope, the Target Lady, the third sister on the Lawrence Welke Show.  Clearly, good times were had so why leave? 

Because of the SNL 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. 

Tim Meadows was an average cast member who debuted on Saturday Night Live 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 SNL and he wasn’t going to leave.  But then everyone else did.

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 Dazed and Confused.  As steadfast as he remained, the SNL 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 The Lady’s Man 2: Ladying in DC, Slick Willy Returns.

How has this movie not been made yet?

Whether Wiig wanted to or not, she had to leave because her recent success has given her the best chance to achieve some personal goal.  If one of her goals had been to have stayed on SNL forever, it wouldn’t have been possible.  Old cast mates would have left, new ones would have arrived and it wouldn't have been the same SNL she had come to love.

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 Saturday Night Live.  

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.

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…

Money, Money, Boo, Bah!

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. 

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.

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!

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.

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-inherently-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.

Wet Hot American Summer of Things To Do

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.

The most fun you can have without actually spaying or neutering your pet.

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.  

That brings me to;

Shit I got to do before going to grad school

1.)    Find Housing – Check

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—God as my witness, I shall never live with an asshole again! 

2.)    Get a Job – Not Check

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. 

3.)    Quit my Job – Not Check, clearly

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. 

4.)    Move to Columbia – Not check

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?

Worst roommate ever.

5.)    Find my Grad School Family – Not Check L

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.

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. 

So (far so good) for the Afterglow

Want to get something off your shoulders, Magnus?

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 Keeping the Faith);  

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. 

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. 

The true take away from this flick: the jewish guy gets the girl.

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 always usually 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. 

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.  

The Looming Loomy Thing that Looms

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.

Go directly to jail.  Do not pass 'Go'.  Do not collect $200.

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 right program, and then that turned into a fear of a future that held an MA in English and nothing else. 

What a scared, little prick I am. 

But my decision has come down to a higher motivation.

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.  Jerkwad.  However, this past week, in his muddy Kentucky accent, he gave me this ear-worm that has stuck with me;

“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.”

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. 

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.

In my first blog posts I wrote, “Applying to grad school requires a certain break from sanity.  It has to.”  That still rings true, but I 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 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. 

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.  

The Tiny Ship Was Tossed

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”.

We all found this funny because; one, we had only ever seen Gilligan’s Island on Nick at Night—emphasis on the ‘night’—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. 

"Wind sprints, crunchy granola, can't lose" - Coach Maz

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. 

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.

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.

It sucks.

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. 

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.

The tale of a fateful trip?  Check.

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.”

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?

Seriously, right?  Or wrong?  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SOMEONE TELL ME! 

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.   

Greetings from Columbia

I’ve been really procrastinating with writing this blog post.  And it’s not because I’ve run out of barely-to-non relevant pop culture references—please note the photo inclusion of Cody from Step By Step—but rather, because where writing about something has always offered me clarity and perspective in the past, I just keep writing draft after re-edited draft of this post as my mind continues to sway back and forth.  That and I’m still mentally exhausted from the trip.  So I’ll skip the usual emotiony testimonial and rhetorical questions and just give up the facts.  Here’s my Hind-Sight Itinerary for my visit to Mizzou two weeks ago.

Relevant?  Yeah, buddy!

Thursday:

6:00 PM:  Arrive in Columbia, MO.  Meet with Alex—my grad student liaison for my visit—and his friends in the Creative Writing MA and PhD programs for a writing workshop at Penera.  Get a hot chocolate and a blueberry muffin.

7:30 PM:  Arrive at the home of Naomi, a PhD student and your appointed host for the night.  Chat with her about the program, even though she was never in the MA program (she received her MFA at Arkansas before beginning her PhD at Mizzou), and meet her husband, Derek, and their three-year-old daughter, Liberty.  Liberty will be giving up her room for you tonight where her creepy dolls will stare at you because, you know, you’re sleeping in a three-yr-old girl’s bed.

8:34 PM:  Meet up with your buddies Aaron, Christine, and Christine’s rugby team (not your real buddies, but they’re pretty cool too) who go to school at Mizzou at a local bar and watch some college basketball games.

10:30 PM:  Meet up with current grad students and others accepted into the MA and PhD programs at a local English department drinking hole and chat and drink free beer.  Don’t drink too much because, you know, the dolls, will be watching.

11:52 PM:  Get back to Naomi’s and trip over everything in the living room before you make it into your tiny bed.

Friday:

7:47 AM:  Wake up and watch Yo-Gaba-Gaba with Liberty

8:12 AM:  Eat breakfast with Naomi’s family.  Feel pretty weird about that.

9:13 AM:  Be late to the opening round table discussion for visiting students and park in the wrong garage.  Learn about the nuts n’ bolts of the program and feel excited about your prospects.

10:17 AM:  Run back to your car and move it to the right garage before you get a ticket.

10:30 AM:  Meet with the director of the English MA program and discover that you’d be guaranteed to publish while in the 2-yr MA program, but that being in said program does not guarantee acceptance into the 5-yr PhD program.

11:12 AM:  Meet with the department’s pedagogy professor and end up talking about AmeriCorps.

11:35 AM:  Meet with the Victorian Lit professor because both creative non fiction professors actually resigned for better jobs shortly after you were accepted(you already knew this).  Discuss your surprisingly sincere interest in Victorian lit (thank you Wishbone) and her surprising expertise in travel writing.

The pooch got me through high school english

12:00 PM:  Have lunch with two PhD students at a nice restaurant.  Debate whether it’s appropriate to order steak during a free lunch—decide yes, yes it is.  Deflect questions about who you read and where else you’ve been accepted (you’ve only been waitlisted at Oregon State and Minnesota).  Listen as they tell you an MA in creative writing is as good as an MFA in it if you’re pursuing your PhD in it—they both got MFA’s before getting their PhD’s—and a PhD is the next best thing to a selling book to find a professorship in an overly saturated field.

2:00 PM:  Sit in on a TA’s class.  Marvel at how attentive some students are while how asleep other students are.  Realize what a good teacher this guy is and picture yourself up there, but maybe wearing a vest.

3:00 PM:  Listen to a presentation from a PhD student (MFA recipient) on the evolution of the feminine memoir.  Be pretty intimidated and pretty interested.

4:16 PM:  Follow Alex to a bar after the presentation and before dinner where you meet the presenter, who is a little drunk.  Chat with her a little about your aspirations and smile dumbly when she asks you why you aren’t getting an MFA.

5:00 PM:  Eat dinner at an Italian restaurant with all of the grad students and visiting students.  Watch as the entire restraint, and the entire campus, sharply falls into a state of shocked depression when Mizzou gets knocked out in the first round.

6:30 PM:  Finally excuse yourself for some alone time and stroll around the campus among sad Tiger fans.  Take a rest and enjoy the a beautiful campus

7:21 PM:  Meet up with your buddy Aaron again and bring your stuff over to his apartment for the night.  Do not return to the tiny bed.

9:17 PM:  Get picked up by Alex for the party for all the visiting students where the idea is to have you drink and relax and then drink some more.

10:39 PM:  Talk to a PhD student who received her MFA from Oregon State and have her tell you to go there, or to any other MFA program, if you get in.  Say ‘thanks’ when she promises to e-mail her old advisor about you.

11:16 PM:  Dip a chip in the nacho cheese and eat it.

11:17 PM:  Talk to a current MA student about his plans to teach at a private high school and write on the side with his degree and think that doesn’t sound too bad.

Saturday:

12:38 AM:  Get dropped off at Aaron’s and fall asleep on the floor because, damn, you’re tired.

8:37 AM:  Wake up when you hear Aaron making coffee and slop yourself together for the drive home—it’s St. Patrick’s Day.

9:14 AM:  Get on the road.

11:05 AM:  Step onto the highway as your car lies smoking and stationary in the middle lane.

11:06 AM:  Thank God when a tow truck stops and offers to drive you home for whatever cash you can throw at him.  Thanks again Ron, wherever you are.

You're the tops, Ron, the tops

So as you can tell from my schedule (you should be pronouncing that in the British fashion, SHE-su-al) it was an exhausting visit with much to process, and that’s what I’m continuing to do.  Process.

More to follow soon.