"I would first like to thank you for the opportunity to apply for the teaching assistantship..."
-Opening of my letter
Gulp. The letter is written, proofread, and re-printed on nice paper. It's done. It's turned in. It's out of my hands. Now comes the fun part where I wait to hear the results and wonder what the committee will think while they're reading my letter. Will it be "impressive" or "dumb-ass"? I hope for the first and fear the second.
I just keep thinking that I did the best I could and I remind myself that there are probably ten people apply for the two available T.A.s so if I don't get one, it doesn't mean I'm a moron. It just means the selection was competitive. Yeah. Right. Uh huh...
"I would describe panopticism as the condition where people alter their own behaviors based on the idea that they may be being watched by an invisible authority. Surveillance cameras are a perfect example of it but even the organization of a classroom that allows the teacher to see every student is related to it. I don't see that as mere social pressure as in the pressure to dress a certain way or pressure to be married by a certain age. I just wanted to point out that the reading doesn't quite match the vague idea of social pressure."
-Guy in my group
Katherine uses problem-based learning in her classes, which is basically where she gives us a "problem" presented as a series of questions, then says "okay, get into your groups and go answer them." That is, of course, a highly simplified explanation. This go around, the group is giving me headaches.
We have person A who's new to the group. She's crazy. She's the kind of person who can talk, and talk, and talk and at the end of it, leave me thinking "what the hell did she just say?" Honestly, half the stuff that she says is impressively incoherent. I don't know how she pulls it off, but she does.
Then we have person B who's stubborn and sporadically dense. He's the one that doesn't think Foucault applies to social pressures. Gimme a break. I've seen him used in that exact context. Wanna know where? Brit. Lit. 2, which I took with, you guessed it, Katherine. She's the one who applied Foucault to Victorian culture.
Bloody hell, people.
I’ve been a monstrous slacker on Netflix reviews lately, so here I hope to rectify the situation with a three-for-one deal.
Justin: You always knew what was inside of me.
TV Review: Carnivale. I’ve had people recommend this one to me for a while, so I moved it up in my queue and now I’m mostly through Season One. Wow, it’s really good stuff. The mysticism/eeriness is expertly played and they stretch out the mysteries, solve enough to give some closure, and introduce new ones to figure out in an accomplished pacing. Excellent characters all ‘round, and Nick Stahl is especially wonderful. The neat part is how none of the characters is completely likable, and yet they’re all very lovable – not in any kind of cutesy way, but in a make you care about them despite yourself way. Go watch this one. Now.
Aeryn Sun: She gives me a woody. [no one says anything] Woody. It's a human saying. I've heard you say it often. When you don't trust someone or they make you nervous, they give you...
John Crichton: Willies. She gives you the willies.
TV Review: Farscape. A friend introduced this to me when it was originally playing on Sci-Fi (she taped the episodes for me ‘cause I didn’t have cable) and now I’m going through it in order. It’s totally as fun as I remember it. Fun Sci-Fi that doesn’t have replicators, and in which money is actually an issue. Hoorah! Of course, Ben Browder (John Crichton) is pretty much worth it just for him. Add to that the novelty of the human being the alien, and you’ve got a show that’s definitely worth some time.
Movie Review: Japanese Story. Um. Yeah. One of those movies that would have benefited by a strict edit. As much as I like Toni Collete, this one made me relieved when it was finally over. High point: seeing the Australian country side. Low point: most of the plot was excruciatingly slow and ultimately boring.
“So, about that getting married idea…”
-Keith
Spring break was fairly eventful. I got mad at one of the owners at the bar, had some time to sleep in and be a bum, and I got engaged. Keith and I have talked about getting married for a while, mostly trying to figure when would be a good time and a little bit of me saying, “No, I don’t want to just live with you.” I’ve had it in my mind for a long time that we’d end up tying the proverbial knot, but it’s always been a “someday” kind of idea. Now it’s a “end of September” idea. I’ve mostly adjusted, but it’s still a strange thought. Before the year is over, I’ll be a Mrs.
Here’s the plan: Toward the end of June, after Keith graduates, he’ll move in with me. At the end of September/beginning of October, we’ll go to the courthouse, sign the papers, then go to my folks’ house for a BBQ. No ceremony, no wedding dress, just a party. While that’s all figured out, things that aren’t include whether I’m going to do the hyphenation thing with my name, where Keith’s damn iguana is going to go, and who’s getting invited to the party. It’s okay, though, there’s still time.
Here’s the sad part. When I told my parents the news, their reaction was to be a bit surprised, but supportive. When he told his parents the news, their reaction was to ask how I’d be able to stand him. That’s no joke. Their questions were along the lines of, “but how will she put up with you going out with your friends all the time? How will she like you sleeping in so late?” Come on, I’ve known him for almost nine years, I’ve dated him for the past three and a half of those, and if his habits drove me nuts, I’d have been gone long ago. I’m hoping they’ll come around, or at least stop giving him grief about it. Here’s hoping.
In the meantime, I’ve been having marriage chats with my mom about things like handling money, adjusting to living with another person, etc. Also, I called my brother the other night and ended up waking him up to tell him the news. He was a bit asleep at the time, so he had to call me back the next day and say, “About that. Congratulations.”
The most strange part is that I’m somehow very reluctant to tell the people I know. I’m not exactly sure why, except that it seems too personal, like telling people I’m going to the gynecologist or something. Nothing wrong with it, but they don’t need to know. Ah well, I’ll get around to it.
"Speaking of death, Tim has cancer."
-Peg, September 1999
This morning as I lay in bed, telling myself it was time to get up, my phone rang. My friend Tim is going to be in town (from Virginia) unexpectedly - one of his friends he met while being treated for cancer has passed away and he's coming back for the funeral. I haven't talked to him since before he moved out east, almost a year. He's still doing okay, for the most part, which is good, but this'll be a tough trip for him in more ways than one. Fortunately, though his schedule is tight and filled with gobs of people to see, we'll get a chance to have lunch Wed. It'll be good to catch up.
Also this morning, I came to the office, logged on to the computer, and found out that all of my files since I've started as Katherine's assistant last June - were gone. Absolutely, completely disappeared. That includes the anthology, contact lists, institute documents, the whole she-bang. I called the IT guys and tried not to panic. They said, "Yeah, we started something new where all non-network files are deleted every time you log off." Super.
The SCWP log-on has no way to save to the network, so how the hell was I supposed to save to the network? Grr. Anyhow, they came in, pulled the hard-drive out and did what they do, then brought it back. About half the files I lost I can retrieve. Most of the others Katherine has too, so she can send them. It's just the pain-in-the-assery of finding out which I can open, which are corrupt, which Katherine has, and which I have to do-over from scratch. *Sigh*
I'm so glad to be back from spring break.
I asked for beads for Christmas, so my parents got me the square sodalite beads. Added to those are some aventurine beads, and two kinds of silver spacer.
I'm on it. Since I've been away from campus, I've got almost exactly a week without getting online. It's been nice. I'll be back next week, however, and back in the swing of things. Until then, I'm going to take some time to enjoy my un-connectedness.
"Hello?"
-Me
On Monday night, Keith called before he came over. About ten minutes later, he called again: "Yeah, I don't think I'll make it."
"Why?"
"I'm being pulled over by the cops."
"Why?"
"I have no idea."
A bit later, when he arrived at my house, I found out that a few blocks from his house, he noticed he was being followed by a large SUV, so he circled the block a few times. Then they flashed him to pull over. Apparently, someone called his car in and so an officer followed him. They asked why he was driving "erratically." He told them that he saw a strange car following him and the last thing he wanted to do was lead it to his girlfriend's house. They checked his lisence and registration, then let him go.
The best part is that this is the second time in the past three years that he's been pulled over just because. The first time was during a trip he and I went on with two of our friends. The cop said some bogus thing about how he thought he clocked us speeding, but wasn't positive it was us. Keith got taken back to the squad car, the Dianna did. Both were questioned, everyone had to show IDs, and we were there for a good twenty minutes. When I told the story to my brother's godmother and her husband (both cops) their instant reply was, "profiling." Kinda entertaining, but he does look a little rough and the big rings in his ears don't help.
Of course, the same thing used to happen to my dad who used to have very thick facial hair. In fact, once my parents were stopped on vacation both on the way there and the way home. They had their luggage searched and everything. Profiling is funny that way.
"Yes! An Arnell chapter, I'm happy. Oh, and don't worry about the middle part. I'm sure you'll figure it out."
-Jenny
Last month I slacked and didn’t turn in an Oracle submission to the writers group. This month, I can’t – because twice in row is just bad. Yesterday I managed to sit down for a while in front of my computer and now I’ve got almost three pages, which isn’t too bad for a start. The story is growing more difficult, now that I’m getting close to the climax. I’ve always had a fuzzy idea of how it’d work, but now I have to work out the details – like who’s going to get killed in the fight. So far, I’ve killed two women and a male fetus, so in fairness’ sake, I’m going to have to knock off one of the guys, but who?
Devyn (Kelda’s step-father) is an obvious choice, so he can’t be it.
Dorian (weasely kid) would be out of the way if he died, so I’ve got to keep him. Convenient deaths are annoying.
Sedge (hero) is kind of obvious.
Arnell (mercenary) would make sense, but too many people like him, besides, if he ends up pulling a martyr, that’d be against everything I’m trying to do with his character.
Attun (mentally unwell youth) is so immediately in peril, that there’s little way he could survive.
I can’t figure out who I can kill off without people seeing it coming. Damn it. Of course, there is the Joss solution – decide who’s death will make the audience most angry, then kill that person. In which case, Arnell is doomed. *Sigh*
Of course, the even more immediate problem is what’s going to happen in this chapter. As I told Jenny, I know how it begins, and roughly how it ends, but I’m really unsure about the pages in between. I guess there’s nothing for it, but to sit down and write it out.
Writer’s block is just another way of saying “lazy.”
"Applicants should submit a statement of interest and qualification to the Program Coordinator by April 10. They also should request two recommendations from graduate faculty members using the attached form."
Step One: Get recommendations. Check
Step Two: Write letter. Not check.
I will come right out and admit it first thing – I’m a little freaked out. I’m scared that I won’t get the TA and scared that I will, and I don’t know which one would be worse. Getting it would be a step in the right direction toward becoming a full-fledged professor one day. Getting it would also mean a big new time commitment and the possibility that I’ll make an ass of myself trying to teach when I can’t handle it. Not getting it takes the pressure off. It also means no tuition waiver and no step in the right direction – along with the implication that my qualifications aren’t sufficient.
Katherine and David have both finished their recommendations for me. All I need to do is write a letter, a short one, and submit it. I’m having a case of intimidation based writer’s block. I don’t know what to put in my letter. Should it be longish? Shortish? How much does it really count, anyway? The selection committee is made up of English faculty, which means they pretty much already know me. Katherine’s more or less running our campus composition program, which means her say has a lot of weight. So, if she thinks I can/should be a TA, that means extra points toward getting it.
I’m trying to figure out why I’m so anxious and I think it comes down to: if I get it, I’m afraid I’ll figure it was too easy – no one else applied, the faculty already know me. Then, if I don’t get it – they didn’t think I could do it? Ugh. All right, I’ve got to write my letter. All I’ve got to do is write it and turn it in. Then it’s out of my hands, right? Then I can stop worrying about it. Just as soon as I spend ten minutes writing the letter, I can relax. Right?
"So, it turns out __ isn't as bad as we thought he was. Maybe."
A few weeks ago I said that my friend had sat down with the department head and talked about a guy in the grad program who makes off-color, sexist, and anti-religous comments. Finally, they've confronted him and he basically said, "Yes, I did/said those things, I didn't realize it was a problem. I'll behave now." He signed a form saying he'd mind his manners, understanding that a further infraction would mean being removed from the program.
My friend isn't convinced that he was innocent of the fact that he was being offensive, and I have to agree wit her. However, he's admitted to the claims against him and is now obligated to cut it the hell out. This bodes well, I think.
"I'm glad it's over."
-Jan (one of the owners)
St. Patrick's day is a day famous for wearing green garb, pinching people who aren’t, and getting drunk. I work at an English/Irish pub. We have Guinness on tap.
St. Patrick’s day is a day famous for being hell for waitresses. Last year, I vowed that if there was ever any way I could avoid another St. Pat’s, I would. I made some bucks, but it wasn’t worth it. Unfortunately, there was no way to get out of it this year. Fortunately, the place was not as packed as last – hallelujah for small favors, eh? Also on the bright side, I managed to keep from slipping into a foul mood – apparently doing so on Friday night was enough (not foul mood, murderous). I maintained my cool, and was even slightly chipper, for most of the ten hours (no break) I was at the bar.
All this, despite the fact that I got stiffed on tips more during that one night than in the past two months combined. One guy in particular bought around $100 of drinks for himself and his friends. I got five dollars out of him, only because he accidentally handed me a $5 bill when he paid for one of the rounds. At one point, he said “Did you give me change for that last round?” Yes, I had. I almost added, “and you put it all in your wallet without so much as a dollar for me.” I don’t like to be rude, besides, sometimes they leave money on the table when they leave. He didn’t, but you never know for sure. Then, there was the group who bought beers at the bar because they were too impatient to wait for me to get to them – when the damn place is packed, don’t assume you’re being ignored, assume I’ll be right over just as soon as I finish putting in three tables’ worth of drink orders – then they ordered four dinners from me and walked on the check (obviously, no tip). There’s more, but you get the idea.
In the end, I made more money on Thursday than I did on St. Pat’s. At least there’s a whole entire year to go before I have to do it again.
This one's made of metallic seed beads and mottled black/green glass. I don't make too many necklaces in this style, mainly because most beads don't dangle right. These, however, are the right shape and just heavy enough to make it work. One of my favorite simple necklaces.
“Grr.”
-Me
For some reason the campus internet connection is moving molasses slow today, much to my frustration. Ah well, Katherine just called and I have a project now.
Katherine’s heading the committee that’s looking for David’s replacement. I’ll be helping to screen applicants – only minimally – by checking that their application materials are complete. Of course, anything I see will be in the strictest confidence, but it’s kind of neat to think that I’ll be in the loop on this, even in such a minor way.
So, my project is to get together a box, some file folders, and a check-out form to store the materials and keep track of who’s got them. Oh boy, it’s exciting.
"The hit American movie “300” has angered Iranians who say the Greeks-vs-Persians action flick insults their ancient culture and provokes animosity against Iran."
-MSN Article: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17599641/
I find it humorous that people are getting so offended. For one, the comic the movie is based on was written in 1998, well before the 9-11 attacks - so, pre-hostilities. The movie follows the comic very closely, so it’s not like the film makers were sneaking subversive stuff in there just to make digs at the Iranians.
Besides, aren’t we missing the point that, though inspired by history, it’s well-known that the comic is by no means historical. It’s a fantasy, plain and simple. It’s bloody melodrama, people!
This one’s interesting too: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17599099/?GT1=9145
So, they threaten a teacher with dismissal because he does community theater and shows his bum. Okay, so? It’s not in any way directly related to his school, or his job as a teacher. Yes, he shows some skin, but The Full Monty is not porn. Get over it, people. This guy has my full support. If he loses his job, it will be a sad day for democracy.
A few months ago I read The Queen of Babble by Meg Cabot. A few years ago I read Bridget Jones's Diary and its sequel. Now I'm watching episodes of Sex and the City. My God, it hurts.
But wait, you say, if it hurts, why read/watch them? Okay, I'll grant you that there's enough funny stuff thrown in to entertain me. My beef, however, is the neurotic women who are obsessed with love and looking for "the right man." How dumbass is that? "I need to find the right man" is a horribly anti-feminist idea. Yes, we, as humans are obsessed with romance (i.e. sex) but come on. The cherry on the sundae, though, is that we have these freaking-out, neurotic, obsessive women who actually find Mr. Right. How? They somehow stumble onto him, do everything in their power to make themselves look like an ass in front of him, and he loves them anyway, for no discernible reason. What the hell?
In an episode of Season One Sex and the City we have our heroine obsessing that Mr. Big is trying to hide her. She's the girlfriend he won't admit to, she thinks. So, she ends up drunk and decides it'd be a good idea to show up at his apartment in the middle of the night. Mr. Big answers the door in a robe and messy hair, she's obviously woken him. Then she accuses him of being ashamed of her, spills vodka on the floor and what does he do? He starts kissing her. Something is wrong here. Very wrong.
Movie Review: 300. Very, very cool. Of course, it's totally historically inaccurate on many, many levels, so take it all with a grain of salt. Besides, the movie isn't really about the battle of Termopylae, it's about heroes and spectacle. Both of which abound. Frank Miller's brilliant touches of monologue, visual style, and grit come out beautifully and the movie just oozes bad-assery. After months of anticipation, I'm pleased to say that it was totally worth it.
