well, that's all folks, it's over. Dave took me out for a lovely dinner at Plate on Tuesday night in celebration of the termination of CompLit, and I told him then, It's so anticlimactic. Not poetic, not lyrical, nothing. Maybe it just hasn't quite hit me yet; maybe it's that I'm too preoccupied with the nice weather and planning my [very] abbreviated summer. Or maybe I'm just weird.
I've felt the need to relax the past few days, after Monday's madness, the dismemberment of the thesis, and my three hour cookie break/Starbucks run 16 hours before my thesis was due. Whatever, fuck it. I was so exhausted with that damn thing that by the time 4:00 rolled around and it was time for class, I was a little *emotional.* I might have even started *crying* in class when Professor Schoenherr asked me why I looked to tired, and tried to explain Sedley's *motivational* statement that my thesis "had no point" on Sunday afternoon. Not so happy about that. Nope. Don't really want to talk to him for a while. Nope. Funny thing, his name is David. Ha.
So tonight's activity is in continuation with my "Cinema of Gambling" theme, in lieu of Class Night here at Haverford. I haven't attended a single Class Night, and I see no good reason to start now. Instead, I made a trip to Genuardi's for some fresh (mmm) baguette, middling quality sushi, and fresh strawberries (mmmm), and then headed out to TLA to rent some quality entertainment. Vacillating like nobody's business, I finally decided on "The Hustler" and "The Cooler" (last movie I watched for fun was "Rounders," as you can see, I'm on a kick). At the counter, a blonde girl walked her golden tanned self up next to me in perfectly un-wrinkled white linen pants, and a whispy-cute yellow tube top with a satin bow. Gag. Ick. Why do people have to look so *perfect* all the time. She asked for "Love Actually" and that made everything better. I mean, she may be hot, but at least she's got shitty taste in movies. As I left the store, I saw her pull out of the parking lot in a shiny lexus SUV. Hmm, and now *everything* makes sense.
I'm tired, and Paul is waiting for me by the pool table with my glass of red wine, so I'm outie.
If, on a winter's night a traveler outside the town of Malbork, leaning from a steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down into the gathering shadow...on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story there awaits its end? -italo calvino
Thursday, April 29, 2004
Friday, April 23, 2004
Thesis Mode?
The tic in my left eye is back. Mailed out my registration for the Pittsburgh glass workshop, faxed the financial aid, actually went to my tutorial sessions AND class today. I'm getting back on track, so even if I can't seem to organize large sections of my writing, at least I'm, as Dave suggested, "back in thesis mode."
This means late nights in the SciLi, curt phone conversations about summer plans with the parents, cleaning my room 'cause it's so dusty I can't concentrate, and slow stress-relieving runs. Did I mention opening night of "Thirteen going on Thirty" with Kaitlyn tonight? She's such the slacker ever since I got an email saying
let's go get pizza. i'll drive. i'll buy you a cookie.
p.s. i turned in my thesis.
Is everyone conspiring to make me procrastinate? Sedley called yesterday to say he was *going out of town for the weekend*. who does that? who leaves town the weekend before ALL of your advisees' theses are due? Whatever, man, I'm just about fed up with this damn thing, so it's not like it matters anyway. I guess I should get back to "work" now that I've re-potted the orchid, done the dishes for the first time in over a week, and vacuumed my floor.
Woo hoo thesis mode.
This means late nights in the SciLi, curt phone conversations about summer plans with the parents, cleaning my room 'cause it's so dusty I can't concentrate, and slow stress-relieving runs. Did I mention opening night of "Thirteen going on Thirty" with Kaitlyn tonight? She's such the slacker ever since I got an email saying
let's go get pizza. i'll drive. i'll buy you a cookie.
p.s. i turned in my thesis.
Is everyone conspiring to make me procrastinate? Sedley called yesterday to say he was *going out of town for the weekend*. who does that? who leaves town the weekend before ALL of your advisees' theses are due? Whatever, man, I'm just about fed up with this damn thing, so it's not like it matters anyway. I guess I should get back to "work" now that I've re-potted the orchid, done the dishes for the first time in over a week, and vacuumed my floor.
Woo hoo thesis mode.
Thursday, April 22, 2004
AAAAAAAAH
It is a beautiful fucking day outside, and I'm stuck in the Science Library. I can't think at the moment, and am in too much of the rushrushrush adrenaline mode of the past few days to accomplish anything. So instead of thinking critically, I'll synthesize.
I swear, I totally meant to go to class on Monday. After not working the entire weekend, getting gloriously sunburt at the soccer game on Sunday, and taking waaay too long to recover from the debauchery of Friday's Spanish Thesis Party, Monday morning was a kick in the ass. Schoenherr, the second reader, told me in no uncertain terms that all of the semiotic theory in my thesis was "wrong;" true, most of that wrongness is centered on my inversion and confusion of three definitions, but it's still something that HAS to be fixed. After that super-fun hour and a half long meeting, I realized that I'd missed the first part of my class at Bryn Mawr, and since I'd skipped the screening on Friday I figured what the fuck, I'll skip the discussion.
On my way back to the apartment, I checked my mail to find the mysterious Teach for America packet that everyone had already received last Thursday. In it I find that I've missed the financial aid deadline, because they didn't get me the information in time. Now thoroughly freaking out, and not being able to formulate coherent thoughts, I read incredulously through the documentation in the packet, made it to my bed and proceded to dehydrate myself thoroughly. By the time I composed myself, it was past time for English, and I hadn't packed for my trip home. Ooops. No English. Luckily, D. called in the midst of my discomposure and suggested that Starbucks might serve for a distraction before I headed out. Frappuccinos, here we come.
After that, I was on the road. There's something very meditative about long car trips, even if they do numb your rear. Not really feeling like listening to outside thoughts, I turned off the radio and rolled the window down all the way to get some fresh air, literally and figuratively. For about 3 hours, I listened to nothing but the sound of wind rushing in at 65 mph (70 on the Delaware Turnpike). I needed that time to be by myself and think about the decisions that I have to make in the next week. Who am I kidding? The next three days. All was relatively well until I hit the MD-DE state line and checked my voicemail.
TFA called twice, CHC called twice, and so did my confused parents, whom I had not informed of my plans. I finally got my lesson plan that I was to "teach" [in quotation marks, because i'm not going to convince myself that the kids in Spanish 3 learned a hell of a lot from my 55 minutes of grammatical hell: the past perfect subjunctive tense in "if" clauses. WTF, man. WTF?]. My ex-Spanish teacher kept me on the phone for a half an hour with teacher gossip and the new curriculum, despite my protests of "I have to keep driving" and "I'm really tired." So much for honesty.
Circa 8:00 pm my dry, itchy, salty eyes started to glaze over, and I conveniently spent 10 of the $15 I needed to cross the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel on dinner. Oops. Then, at 9:00 I couldn't find a 1. working 2. open 3. non-sketchy ATM. Ended up negotiating with some skeptical indian guys running a Citgo right before the bridge, and got my 10 clams at last, just in time to get me home before 11:00. Fuckin' a, my interview STARTED at 8:00 the next morning.
Running on empty, as far as sleep goes, I show up at Cape Henry in my suit, ready to be professsional. I met with next year's Upper School Director, followed by the following people, in one-on-one 45 minute segments:
1. Upper School Guidance Counselor (the bane of my existence Junior year; how quaint that she hasn't changed at all, and remains thoroughly condescending)
2. 10th Grade Spanish 3
3. Another Spanish teacher
4. Head of Facilities and Maintenance
5. Current Head of Upper School
6. Head of School
7. Upper School Dean, Upper School Activities Director
8. Athletic Director
9. Head of Foreign Language Department
10. Next Year's Upper School Director
11. New-Faculty Coordinator/5th Grade Math Teacher
12. Student Panel
Are you kidding? By the time 3:30 rolled around, I was about interviewed out. I had a 25 minute break for lunch, and apart from that it was all questions, all the time. It's a hell of a good thing that Mrs. Ulmer was there to de-brief me for a while afterwards; there is something absolutely invaluable in someone you can trust to speak to you with honesty and candor, not to mention someone who really 'knows' you.
I drove home with a burning afternoon sun coming through the window of the poor, overworked van, listening to some fucking Clear Channel country station As American As Apple Pie. Does anyone else find that a little offensive, when the next set consisted of three songs about the United States Armed Forces? Needless to say, the "American Soldier" was portrayed rather heroically. I know it's a military town, I know Bush controlls Clear Channel, but what the fuck ever happened to the voice of dissent? How did it get crushed out of Hampton Roads?
I brought my own music for the long drive north on Wednesday morning, knowing that it would be a long one. I got through the first tunnel fine, and as I came back up over the ocean, drove right smack into a fog bank. The glowing reflection of the rising sun over the water dimmed to a faint yellow, and the entire world disapeared. I couldn't see where I was going, hardly knew which way to turn, and could only find the tunnel because of the flashing lights at its mouth. How appropriately metaphoric. I've never been in a fog that thick; all I could make out was maybe 1/4 mile in front of me, 2.5 streetlights. In spite of all the obscurity and uncertainty, I wasn't scared. I know the bridge, I've driven it before, so the fog was almost calming. I listened to Ella Fitzgerald croon away for a while, sailed by Fisherman's Island without even seeing the dunes around me, laughed at the "Scenic Overlook" sign that I could barely make out in the soup-eyness, and just drove on. By the time I reached Maryland it was refreshingly cool outside, and I'd switched back to country music to keep me awake and alert. Arrived at Haverford in record time, with an hour to spare, during which I finished my English reading at last.
Rushed off to glass in Philly, during which my teacher told me to "quit your day job and become a glassblower" which perversely made my day. He also convinced me to look seriously into summer classes, which I think I'm going to do, because I'm addicted =). Did absolutely no work on the Thesis all Wednesday, and am trying to rectify said catastrophe, along with 2. the financial aid mix-up and 3. DECIDING MY JOB FOR NEXT YEAR in the next 12 hours. Ha.
I've heard a lot of things from a lot of people, and the funny thing is that when I finally decide to tune them out listen to the clamor in my own messed up head, I find myself saying a lot of the same things. But I guess you've got to come to a decision yourself. As the sage LeVar Burton of Reading Rainbow says: "Don't take my word for it..."
The decision is still pending, as is the Thesis, but at least I'm not in quite as much of a fog now. I'm starting to think clearly, and if nothing else, am able to methodically quantify the work that must be done before Tuesday. One day at at time, Thea; don't worry so much if you can't see the rest of the bridge right now, but you've GOT to get yourself to the other end of it somehow.
I swear, I totally meant to go to class on Monday. After not working the entire weekend, getting gloriously sunburt at the soccer game on Sunday, and taking waaay too long to recover from the debauchery of Friday's Spanish Thesis Party, Monday morning was a kick in the ass. Schoenherr, the second reader, told me in no uncertain terms that all of the semiotic theory in my thesis was "wrong;" true, most of that wrongness is centered on my inversion and confusion of three definitions, but it's still something that HAS to be fixed. After that super-fun hour and a half long meeting, I realized that I'd missed the first part of my class at Bryn Mawr, and since I'd skipped the screening on Friday I figured what the fuck, I'll skip the discussion.
On my way back to the apartment, I checked my mail to find the mysterious Teach for America packet that everyone had already received last Thursday. In it I find that I've missed the financial aid deadline, because they didn't get me the information in time. Now thoroughly freaking out, and not being able to formulate coherent thoughts, I read incredulously through the documentation in the packet, made it to my bed and proceded to dehydrate myself thoroughly. By the time I composed myself, it was past time for English, and I hadn't packed for my trip home. Ooops. No English. Luckily, D. called in the midst of my discomposure and suggested that Starbucks might serve for a distraction before I headed out. Frappuccinos, here we come.
After that, I was on the road. There's something very meditative about long car trips, even if they do numb your rear. Not really feeling like listening to outside thoughts, I turned off the radio and rolled the window down all the way to get some fresh air, literally and figuratively. For about 3 hours, I listened to nothing but the sound of wind rushing in at 65 mph (70 on the Delaware Turnpike). I needed that time to be by myself and think about the decisions that I have to make in the next week. Who am I kidding? The next three days. All was relatively well until I hit the MD-DE state line and checked my voicemail.
TFA called twice, CHC called twice, and so did my confused parents, whom I had not informed of my plans. I finally got my lesson plan that I was to "teach" [in quotation marks, because i'm not going to convince myself that the kids in Spanish 3 learned a hell of a lot from my 55 minutes of grammatical hell: the past perfect subjunctive tense in "if" clauses. WTF, man. WTF?]. My ex-Spanish teacher kept me on the phone for a half an hour with teacher gossip and the new curriculum, despite my protests of "I have to keep driving" and "I'm really tired." So much for honesty.
Circa 8:00 pm my dry, itchy, salty eyes started to glaze over, and I conveniently spent 10 of the $15 I needed to cross the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel on dinner. Oops. Then, at 9:00 I couldn't find a 1. working 2. open 3. non-sketchy ATM. Ended up negotiating with some skeptical indian guys running a Citgo right before the bridge, and got my 10 clams at last, just in time to get me home before 11:00. Fuckin' a, my interview STARTED at 8:00 the next morning.
Running on empty, as far as sleep goes, I show up at Cape Henry in my suit, ready to be professsional. I met with next year's Upper School Director, followed by the following people, in one-on-one 45 minute segments:
1. Upper School Guidance Counselor (the bane of my existence Junior year; how quaint that she hasn't changed at all, and remains thoroughly condescending)
2. 10th Grade Spanish 3
3. Another Spanish teacher
4. Head of Facilities and Maintenance
5. Current Head of Upper School
6. Head of School
7. Upper School Dean, Upper School Activities Director
8. Athletic Director
9. Head of Foreign Language Department
10. Next Year's Upper School Director
11. New-Faculty Coordinator/5th Grade Math Teacher
12. Student Panel
Are you kidding? By the time 3:30 rolled around, I was about interviewed out. I had a 25 minute break for lunch, and apart from that it was all questions, all the time. It's a hell of a good thing that Mrs. Ulmer was there to de-brief me for a while afterwards; there is something absolutely invaluable in someone you can trust to speak to you with honesty and candor, not to mention someone who really 'knows' you.
I drove home with a burning afternoon sun coming through the window of the poor, overworked van, listening to some fucking Clear Channel country station As American As Apple Pie. Does anyone else find that a little offensive, when the next set consisted of three songs about the United States Armed Forces? Needless to say, the "American Soldier" was portrayed rather heroically. I know it's a military town, I know Bush controlls Clear Channel, but what the fuck ever happened to the voice of dissent? How did it get crushed out of Hampton Roads?
I brought my own music for the long drive north on Wednesday morning, knowing that it would be a long one. I got through the first tunnel fine, and as I came back up over the ocean, drove right smack into a fog bank. The glowing reflection of the rising sun over the water dimmed to a faint yellow, and the entire world disapeared. I couldn't see where I was going, hardly knew which way to turn, and could only find the tunnel because of the flashing lights at its mouth. How appropriately metaphoric. I've never been in a fog that thick; all I could make out was maybe 1/4 mile in front of me, 2.5 streetlights. In spite of all the obscurity and uncertainty, I wasn't scared. I know the bridge, I've driven it before, so the fog was almost calming. I listened to Ella Fitzgerald croon away for a while, sailed by Fisherman's Island without even seeing the dunes around me, laughed at the "Scenic Overlook" sign that I could barely make out in the soup-eyness, and just drove on. By the time I reached Maryland it was refreshingly cool outside, and I'd switched back to country music to keep me awake and alert. Arrived at Haverford in record time, with an hour to spare, during which I finished my English reading at last.
Rushed off to glass in Philly, during which my teacher told me to "quit your day job and become a glassblower" which perversely made my day. He also convinced me to look seriously into summer classes, which I think I'm going to do, because I'm addicted =). Did absolutely no work on the Thesis all Wednesday, and am trying to rectify said catastrophe, along with 2. the financial aid mix-up and 3. DECIDING MY JOB FOR NEXT YEAR in the next 12 hours. Ha.
I've heard a lot of things from a lot of people, and the funny thing is that when I finally decide to tune them out listen to the clamor in my own messed up head, I find myself saying a lot of the same things. But I guess you've got to come to a decision yourself. As the sage LeVar Burton of Reading Rainbow says: "Don't take my word for it..."
The decision is still pending, as is the Thesis, but at least I'm not in quite as much of a fog now. I'm starting to think clearly, and if nothing else, am able to methodically quantify the work that must be done before Tuesday. One day at at time, Thea; don't worry so much if you can't see the rest of the bridge right now, but you've GOT to get yourself to the other end of it somehow.
Thursday, April 15, 2004
Palpitations
...wow. I just found my copy of Ficciones. which had fallen off my bookshelf and behind my desk. There would have been some *serious* repercussions if I'd lost all 5 Borges stories that I'm writing about for my thesis with NOTES all at once.
It's been raining so damn much around here that I was so confused when I woke up this morning to blinding sunlight. I really thought that it was my 4.5 hours of sleep which was making my eyes hurt, not the emergence of the sun for the first time in about 5 days. There was a moment on Tuesday night I believe, after a storm, when I walked out of the apartment at night, had my hair swirled around by the wind, and looked up to see airbrushed clouds whisked away from a deep, sparkly starry night. It was so cinematic that I took a double-take. That's good shit.
The tesis de castellano is almost done, awaiting a bibliografia final and the last round of grammar corrections from Graciela. I've also decided that I'm treating myself to a springform pan in which Dulce de leche Cheesecakes will be made as gifts of appreciation. Mmmm, cheesecake.
In the meantime, I'm freaking tired and am considering napping instead of going for a run. Glassblowing r-o-c-k-s, and yay for *real* artists as teachers. Chris Lydon is going to be famous in the glass world someday. SoHo pizza also r-o-c-k-s; had a hedonistic moment standing in front of the annealers eating a slice of fresh spinach and ricotta. Mmmm, pizza.
Can't think, can't type, can't do any more work. Sleep.
It's been raining so damn much around here that I was so confused when I woke up this morning to blinding sunlight. I really thought that it was my 4.5 hours of sleep which was making my eyes hurt, not the emergence of the sun for the first time in about 5 days. There was a moment on Tuesday night I believe, after a storm, when I walked out of the apartment at night, had my hair swirled around by the wind, and looked up to see airbrushed clouds whisked away from a deep, sparkly starry night. It was so cinematic that I took a double-take. That's good shit.
The tesis de castellano is almost done, awaiting a bibliografia final and the last round of grammar corrections from Graciela. I've also decided that I'm treating myself to a springform pan in which Dulce de leche Cheesecakes will be made as gifts of appreciation. Mmmm, cheesecake.
In the meantime, I'm freaking tired and am considering napping instead of going for a run. Glassblowing r-o-c-k-s, and yay for *real* artists as teachers. Chris Lydon is going to be famous in the glass world someday. SoHo pizza also r-o-c-k-s; had a hedonistic moment standing in front of the annealers eating a slice of fresh spinach and ricotta. Mmmm, pizza.
Can't think, can't type, can't do any more work. Sleep.
Monday, April 12, 2004
Bienvenida a....
As the eloquent Rachael Wagner said this afternoon via voicemail: "Can I get a 'hell yeah?'"
Hell yeah. I was beginning to think that maybe I just sucked at life lately, with my odd allergic reactions to stress, humbling meetings with advisors, and a general blah-ness in the job search.
This weekend, I spent three days straight in the INSC working fervishly on my Spanish thesis, rearranging the whole thing and re-writing a good deal of it as well. i got back up to the length requirement, and somehow managed to say something coherent. Nobody's exactly sure how that happened, but hey--it did. I was happy with it, and it turns out that (por fin!) my advisor was too. Clearly it's not done, but I've got three days to make my final corrections and get it bound/polished.
Yesterday, in a preemptory celebration of the thesis, Kaitlyn and I tried to go shopping. Suburban Square was closed. Bummer, and raining too. King of Prussia Mall, the paragon of capitalist consumerism, was also shut down for Easter Sunday. What the fuck? Is nothing sacred any more? We thought that malls could be counted on as bastions of tension-releasing shopping, but we were clearly mistaken.
Our choice of pop-culture was then the movie "Honey" ($5.50 at Blockbusters, those fuckers), which turned out to be a hilariously riotous success. Pretty decent dance scenes, with moments of pure movie making genius, including the phrase "I've/she/he's got flow" used 20+ times in the script. Ha. Ha. Ha. We watched all the DVD special features including a "Dance Like Honey" instructional video. Ha. Whew.
The rest of Sunday was problematically non-productive, with much musing on my future plans, and several phone calls. Mom decided that since she hadn't talked to me in over a month, she'd call at 7:30, right when I'm trying to get out to the gym, and ask me "So, Thea, what's your thesis about?" Are you kidding? You've got to be kidding. Well, mom, it's about some books. How about we leave it at that for now. "Oh, then you must be feeling pretty relaxed, right? I mean, your stress level is coming down?" Right, mom. Right. Sometimes I forget how much she really doesn't understand what life is like here at school, especially now.
Stayed up way too late trying to figure out the meaning of "career" and the relevance (or not) that it has to my life, so a rainy cold Monday morning came way too early. Plus, all I could think about was when I'd be able to check the mail. I got out of bed later than I wanted to, allowing myself an extra half-hour of sleepytime on account of the happy email from Graciela, then had to high-tail it to Bryn Mawr for an eternally long film class. I skipped out earlier than usual to grab a snack at Starbucks, and a much needed latte to perk me up for English class. Braved the rain on my way to the campus center, and ran into an ex-Customs Group member on the way.
Rob asked if he could with me go check the mail, looking worried that I'd kill him if the news was bad. He then proceeded to tell me that a bunch of Haverford people had already found out..."and it wasn't good news." Gee, thanks for the upper. Thoroughly wedged inside of box 1315, along with a package slip, was a large thick envelope with "TeachForAmerica" on the outside. I vaguely hear a "You got it" from behind me as I tear open the package with shaking hands. All I see are Miami restaurant menus and I drop the envelope on the ground, along with my thesis jump up and down a few times and give Rob a hug. Wow.
Had to call the parents, Mandi, Rachael, and Dave before it actually sunk in. R. also told me not to mention anything to my roommate for fear she'd be pissed off, but that seemed like a stupid idea. I mean, she's one of my closest friends here, and I'm not going to sneak around and hide things. I don't exactly know what all of this means with regards to my courtship by CHC, the alma mater, but I think I'm ethically bound to let the dean know what's up before they ship me down for an interview.
So, Miami. First of all, I'm excited as all hell to be living there, although frankly the rest of it scares the shit out of me. I've heard from another Prof. involved with TFA recruiting who says that 40-50% of the people that he sends there (over the past 10 years) have had "negative" experiences or something like that. Klu seemed surprised that I'd opt for that over a cushy private school position, but I'm not sure that the nascent coke-addicts in the Cape Henry Upper School would be the motivated, engaged students that I'd love teaching. I honestly don't know if I'm capable, but they seem to think that I am, so that counts for something, right? I've also heard great things about the teacher support network that TFA tries to construct with the corps, and I'd like to think that they'd be able to help me out if things really got hairy.
There's a part of me that wants to tell them "Hey, you know I'm a little white girl from suburbia, right?" but I'm not sure how that would be productive. I know that the next two years would be challenging, depressing at times, and exhausting, but I'd like to think that it's the kind of challenge that I'm up for at this point in my life. There's also something to be said for living in a new city, a truly bi-lingual community and (hopefully@!) getting back to Cuba in some way. I miss the beach, I miss the water, and am ready to start a life of my own, instead of moving back in with my parents.
I'm not mailing in my acceptance right this minute, but I'm psyched. Somebody wants me, and thinks I'm an asset to their program, and that feels good. It's been a long time since I've felt like that. Now, off to tutorial, I've got to be an "authority figure" or something.
Hell yeah. I was beginning to think that maybe I just sucked at life lately, with my odd allergic reactions to stress, humbling meetings with advisors, and a general blah-ness in the job search.
This weekend, I spent three days straight in the INSC working fervishly on my Spanish thesis, rearranging the whole thing and re-writing a good deal of it as well. i got back up to the length requirement, and somehow managed to say something coherent. Nobody's exactly sure how that happened, but hey--it did. I was happy with it, and it turns out that (por fin!) my advisor was too. Clearly it's not done, but I've got three days to make my final corrections and get it bound/polished.
Yesterday, in a preemptory celebration of the thesis, Kaitlyn and I tried to go shopping. Suburban Square was closed. Bummer, and raining too. King of Prussia Mall, the paragon of capitalist consumerism, was also shut down for Easter Sunday. What the fuck? Is nothing sacred any more? We thought that malls could be counted on as bastions of tension-releasing shopping, but we were clearly mistaken.
Our choice of pop-culture was then the movie "Honey" ($5.50 at Blockbusters, those fuckers), which turned out to be a hilariously riotous success. Pretty decent dance scenes, with moments of pure movie making genius, including the phrase "I've/she/he's got flow" used 20+ times in the script. Ha. Ha. Ha. We watched all the DVD special features including a "Dance Like Honey" instructional video. Ha. Whew.
The rest of Sunday was problematically non-productive, with much musing on my future plans, and several phone calls. Mom decided that since she hadn't talked to me in over a month, she'd call at 7:30, right when I'm trying to get out to the gym, and ask me "So, Thea, what's your thesis about?" Are you kidding? You've got to be kidding. Well, mom, it's about some books. How about we leave it at that for now. "Oh, then you must be feeling pretty relaxed, right? I mean, your stress level is coming down?" Right, mom. Right. Sometimes I forget how much she really doesn't understand what life is like here at school, especially now.
Stayed up way too late trying to figure out the meaning of "career" and the relevance (or not) that it has to my life, so a rainy cold Monday morning came way too early. Plus, all I could think about was when I'd be able to check the mail. I got out of bed later than I wanted to, allowing myself an extra half-hour of sleepytime on account of the happy email from Graciela, then had to high-tail it to Bryn Mawr for an eternally long film class. I skipped out earlier than usual to grab a snack at Starbucks, and a much needed latte to perk me up for English class. Braved the rain on my way to the campus center, and ran into an ex-Customs Group member on the way.
Rob asked if he could with me go check the mail, looking worried that I'd kill him if the news was bad. He then proceeded to tell me that a bunch of Haverford people had already found out..."and it wasn't good news." Gee, thanks for the upper. Thoroughly wedged inside of box 1315, along with a package slip, was a large thick envelope with "TeachForAmerica" on the outside. I vaguely hear a "You got it" from behind me as I tear open the package with shaking hands. All I see are Miami restaurant menus and I drop the envelope on the ground, along with my thesis jump up and down a few times and give Rob a hug. Wow.
Had to call the parents, Mandi, Rachael, and Dave before it actually sunk in. R. also told me not to mention anything to my roommate for fear she'd be pissed off, but that seemed like a stupid idea. I mean, she's one of my closest friends here, and I'm not going to sneak around and hide things. I don't exactly know what all of this means with regards to my courtship by CHC, the alma mater, but I think I'm ethically bound to let the dean know what's up before they ship me down for an interview.
So, Miami. First of all, I'm excited as all hell to be living there, although frankly the rest of it scares the shit out of me. I've heard from another Prof. involved with TFA recruiting who says that 40-50% of the people that he sends there (over the past 10 years) have had "negative" experiences or something like that. Klu seemed surprised that I'd opt for that over a cushy private school position, but I'm not sure that the nascent coke-addicts in the Cape Henry Upper School would be the motivated, engaged students that I'd love teaching. I honestly don't know if I'm capable, but they seem to think that I am, so that counts for something, right? I've also heard great things about the teacher support network that TFA tries to construct with the corps, and I'd like to think that they'd be able to help me out if things really got hairy.
There's a part of me that wants to tell them "Hey, you know I'm a little white girl from suburbia, right?" but I'm not sure how that would be productive. I know that the next two years would be challenging, depressing at times, and exhausting, but I'd like to think that it's the kind of challenge that I'm up for at this point in my life. There's also something to be said for living in a new city, a truly bi-lingual community and (hopefully@!) getting back to Cuba in some way. I miss the beach, I miss the water, and am ready to start a life of my own, instead of moving back in with my parents.
I'm not mailing in my acceptance right this minute, but I'm psyched. Somebody wants me, and thinks I'm an asset to their program, and that feels good. It's been a long time since I've felt like that. Now, off to tutorial, I've got to be an "authority figure" or something.
Friday, April 09, 2004
--foreign correspondent Williamson, reporting from the INSC--
nothing in mailbox, save warning from Ms. Keenan that one "can't win 'most stressed' in high school AND college."
have developed strange tic in left eye. i kid you (pl.) not, double-majoring can be hazardous to your health.
have developed strange tic in left eye. i kid you (pl.) not, double-majoring can be hazardous to your health.
So what if I'm avoiding the mail?
TFA letters were postmarked yesterday, and by my expert calculations it shouldn't take more than 2 days for it to get from New York to Philly. Scary shit, and I'm really trying hard to imagine my rejection letter, and not dream of palm trees and salsa, and grown-up clothing.
Watched another stellar movie this morning in film class, "Fury" by Fritz Lang. Quality shit.
She: "I'm hard to get rid of"
He: "I know, you're like my right arm...only I need you more."
Then we talked about phallic symbolism in "The Little Mermaid" for 20 minutes, and went home. How much fucking better does that get? Freud, cinema, and early departures? That's what I thought.
As mentioned before, I knew that if I came back to campus I'd go straight to the mailbox and be 1. disappointed that there was something in my mailbox, or 2. dissappointed that there wasn't something in my mailbox. Instead, SHOPPING! Fresh fruit at the supermarket, plus sushi for lunch, then I indulged my desire to scope out the spring fashions at Suburban Square (oh, and Suburban in every sense of the word) which was super duper fun. The only thing I hate about that place is that everyone gets dressed up to go shopping. And here I stroll in from class, not having showered and wearing jeans and a t-shirt, [gasp, horrors] no makeup! Scandal. I think that I actually might have gotten sneered at in Ann Taylor. Whatever, dude.
Feeling quite proud of myself for resisting the oh-so-cute skirts and summery dresses (people, it's still *cold* here), and only indulging in 2 half-priced tank tops from Gap, I returned to my ghetto-van with an air of triumph and a cup of white chocolate mousse from TCBY. That shit is soooooo good. THEN, topping off my culinary lunch, I break out the sushi when I get home.
Now this is Farmers' Market pretentious sushi, and I've been less than impressed with Mainline sushi products as of late, so I was a little irked to shell out 6 bucks for 8 tiny rolls. Oh, woe be unto me me to ever doubt "Genji Express" again. This is how sushi takeout should be done: a soy sauce cup provided, decent non-splinter chopsticks, not-toot-tangy ginger, and fresh, tasty tender fish. It was so good that I wanted to clean my palate with the ginger in between fish flavors (salmon, whiting, and tuna) so that I could savor each one in their separate glory: salmon straight up or with a hint of soy; whiting with shaved green onions (plain!); and tuna with a touch of wasabi, or plain soy. Sigh. And the seaweed wrap was still pliant, that's how recently they'd made that shit. I [heart].
Plus, and this is a real winner, Kaitlyn Luther, roommate extraordinaire, scoured the kitchen and master plumber David Henry temporarily fixed our eternally dripping bathroom sink. Wow. Now, if my room were only clean that would make one hell of a functional apartment.
Had a very productive and revelatory evening in the INSC last night working on the tesis until the library closed at 1:00 am, let's hope today's efforts go well too.
But I've still got to check my mail...
Watched another stellar movie this morning in film class, "Fury" by Fritz Lang. Quality shit.
She: "I'm hard to get rid of"
He: "I know, you're like my right arm...only I need you more."
Then we talked about phallic symbolism in "The Little Mermaid" for 20 minutes, and went home. How much fucking better does that get? Freud, cinema, and early departures? That's what I thought.
As mentioned before, I knew that if I came back to campus I'd go straight to the mailbox and be 1. disappointed that there was something in my mailbox, or 2. dissappointed that there wasn't something in my mailbox. Instead, SHOPPING! Fresh fruit at the supermarket, plus sushi for lunch, then I indulged my desire to scope out the spring fashions at Suburban Square (oh, and Suburban in every sense of the word) which was super duper fun. The only thing I hate about that place is that everyone gets dressed up to go shopping. And here I stroll in from class, not having showered and wearing jeans and a t-shirt, [gasp, horrors] no makeup! Scandal. I think that I actually might have gotten sneered at in Ann Taylor. Whatever, dude.
Feeling quite proud of myself for resisting the oh-so-cute skirts and summery dresses (people, it's still *cold* here), and only indulging in 2 half-priced tank tops from Gap, I returned to my ghetto-van with an air of triumph and a cup of white chocolate mousse from TCBY. That shit is soooooo good. THEN, topping off my culinary lunch, I break out the sushi when I get home.
Now this is Farmers' Market pretentious sushi, and I've been less than impressed with Mainline sushi products as of late, so I was a little irked to shell out 6 bucks for 8 tiny rolls. Oh, woe be unto me me to ever doubt "Genji Express" again. This is how sushi takeout should be done: a soy sauce cup provided, decent non-splinter chopsticks, not-toot-tangy ginger, and fresh, tasty tender fish. It was so good that I wanted to clean my palate with the ginger in between fish flavors (salmon, whiting, and tuna) so that I could savor each one in their separate glory: salmon straight up or with a hint of soy; whiting with shaved green onions (plain!); and tuna with a touch of wasabi, or plain soy. Sigh. And the seaweed wrap was still pliant, that's how recently they'd made that shit. I [heart].
Plus, and this is a real winner, Kaitlyn Luther, roommate extraordinaire, scoured the kitchen and master plumber David Henry temporarily fixed our eternally dripping bathroom sink. Wow. Now, if my room were only clean that would make one hell of a functional apartment.
Had a very productive and revelatory evening in the INSC last night working on the tesis until the library closed at 1:00 am, let's hope today's efforts go well too.
But I've still got to check my mail...
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
"These 10 days are going to be the longest 10 days of your life"
Said Rachael the wise, when I was in the midst of thesis hell yesterday. I skipped SeniorSem, dragged my tired ass to the drycleaner's, and then came home to address the chaos known as La Tesis. I sat on my couch, facing the window at 5:45 as the sun was just beginning to set, resigned to at least reading over the rough draft that I'd handed in over a week ago, and somewhere around page 12 I fell dead asleep. Kaitlyn, looking very worried that I'd been napping from 12-6:30, woke me up circa sunset, with a dubious "did you mean to fall asleep?" Yes, yes I did. Three hours later, after the sun was fully set (8:36), I regained consciousness.
Feeling pretty bummed about my unpolished, unfinished, and thoroughly incomplete CompLit draft that I handed in, instead of jumping headlong into cutting down the Spanish, I made my prerequisite phone calls to padre (yes, i'm still alive, yes, I've got medicine now) and the boy (yes, i'm still alive, no, i haven't done any work) before performing a full on amputation on the Tesis. It was ugly, it was painful, and I lost about 9 pages in the process. That's 1/3 of what I've written this YEAR. Yikes. Um, shit?
The only thing that sustained me through the process, other than a ganache-covered strawberry, was reminding myself of the extraordinarily brilliant Flash of the Obvious that I'd had with regards to the CompLit monstrosity last week. It dawned on me, right in the middle of class, while we were debating about endnotes vs. footnotes, and the proper documentation for translations [inner monologue: why the FUCK do I care, it's just our damn thesis?] that we're in training for writing those same sorts of journal articles that we've been reading for 4 years.
What's that,Thea? You just realized that you're supposed to have learned something in the past 8 semesters? That in graduating with a BA in two humanities majors you should (reasonably) be expected to write a paper that looks professional? Sigh. It takes me a long time to catch on to these things, ya know? The idea that my finished product should be formally and functionally a solid work did quite a good job in getting my ass motivated to tighten up my habitually loose ends regarding paper writing. I have this tendency to leave things like (Borges, ??) in drafts instead of ("Menard," 56). And I can't even fully communicate the chagrin that I feel with regards to my grammar the past semester in Spanish. Graciela must want to kill me, seriously.
So while I may have lost a great deal of work, I'd rather lose it now and replace it with something that's actually academically respectable, instead of borderline fluff. Goal = 30 pages by Saturday night. You can do it!
[3 down, 8 to go]
Feeling pretty bummed about my unpolished, unfinished, and thoroughly incomplete CompLit draft that I handed in, instead of jumping headlong into cutting down the Spanish, I made my prerequisite phone calls to padre (yes, i'm still alive, yes, I've got medicine now) and the boy (yes, i'm still alive, no, i haven't done any work) before performing a full on amputation on the Tesis. It was ugly, it was painful, and I lost about 9 pages in the process. That's 1/3 of what I've written this YEAR. Yikes. Um, shit?
The only thing that sustained me through the process, other than a ganache-covered strawberry, was reminding myself of the extraordinarily brilliant Flash of the Obvious that I'd had with regards to the CompLit monstrosity last week. It dawned on me, right in the middle of class, while we were debating about endnotes vs. footnotes, and the proper documentation for translations [inner monologue: why the FUCK do I care, it's just our damn thesis?] that we're in training for writing those same sorts of journal articles that we've been reading for 4 years.
What's that,Thea? You just realized that you're supposed to have learned something in the past 8 semesters? That in graduating with a BA in two humanities majors you should (reasonably) be expected to write a paper that looks professional? Sigh. It takes me a long time to catch on to these things, ya know? The idea that my finished product should be formally and functionally a solid work did quite a good job in getting my ass motivated to tighten up my habitually loose ends regarding paper writing. I have this tendency to leave things like (Borges, ??) in drafts instead of ("Menard," 56). And I can't even fully communicate the chagrin that I feel with regards to my grammar the past semester in Spanish. Graciela must want to kill me, seriously.
So while I may have lost a great deal of work, I'd rather lose it now and replace it with something that's actually academically respectable, instead of borderline fluff. Goal = 30 pages by Saturday night. You can do it!
[3 down, 8 to go]
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
a brief respite
I never figured myself for being one to echo commercial jingles, but thank god for antihistamines. Aaaaaah, Allegra!. Now that I can actually concentrate on my work, instead of taking oatmeal baths and fuh-reaking out about what needs to be done by Thursday, things are getting accomplished. Popped a couple of allergy pills this morning, got some (more) sleep, and am plodding through the CompLit rough that's due at 4:00. I'm pretty happy with my revisions, and hope my advisors are on the same page. Ha, get it? Page. Thesis. Yeah.
tfa letters are mailed in two days. i wish my dad would STOP reminding me. =). i wish i could have dreams involving letters containing the words "Miami" and "Congratulations" but instead i sleep soundly with visions of missing planes, getting turned into a robot, and being chased underwater by sharks. no, Ms. Nurse Practitioner, i'm clearly not stressed; whatever on earth could be wrong with me?
enough with the self-indulgent posting, it's about time i get done with this draft!
tfa letters are mailed in two days. i wish my dad would STOP reminding me. =). i wish i could have dreams involving letters containing the words "Miami" and "Congratulations" but instead i sleep soundly with visions of missing planes, getting turned into a robot, and being chased underwater by sharks. no, Ms. Nurse Practitioner, i'm clearly not stressed; whatever on earth could be wrong with me?
enough with the self-indulgent posting, it's about time i get done with this draft!
Friday, April 02, 2004
Grrrrr.
And today started out so well? 6 people showed up for my class at the 'mawr ordinarily composed of 30. 3 of those present were Haverford seniors, thoroughly debunking our professor's rationalization that everyone was "stressed" about "theses." My ass. I'm writing two, and I still managed to drag my ass out of bed for a screening of M. I don't understand how girls at that school seem to think that they don't have to do silly things like "go to class" and stuff. Hi, sense of entitlement?
Then, I come home drenched because I left the damn house without an umbrella or other appropriate rain-deterring clothing. Stupid. Then, raining on my metaphorical parade (as if the less than figurative rain weren't enough), it seems as though some people got their panties in a twist over my critical response to one dhenry's posting. There was a point when someone quoted me quoting dave, prefaced with "I think Thea is misinterpreting what was said here..." I'd like to have a moment for the situational irony in my life generated by Brooks Ambrose. Thank you, Brooks, for letting me know that I misinterpreted my boyfriend's statment. He (said bf) admitted that he was less than clear, and that my qualms might have been applicable. He also cleared up that he didn't mean exactly what he said, so that just puts a delicious context on what happens next.
Things escalate, as they normally do on those blasted boards, and some freshman takes it upon himself to prove me wrong as a sort of crusade, antagonizing me with borderline insults. [Scoff]. Whatever. I ranted for a long time to EB both online and on the phone, which while cathartic, really does nothing to curb the stupidity on display on the Go boards. Oops, thanks to that distraction it's now time to head up campus for the dreaded thesis meeting.
Graciela, while trying to not crush my ego completely, told me in no uncertain terms that if I really want to have an effective thesis, I have to re-write about a third of it. Shit. TWO WEEKS, people, TWO WEEKS. That's not even taking into account the rough for CompLit that's due on Tuesday. Feeling just about as morose as the weather, I trudged North to the haven of warmth underneath a down comforter in Lunt, slept for a few hours and tried to forget about that thesis for a while. While effective, my nap deadened my right arm, 'cause I crashed for 2 hours straight without budging. Why am I so damn tired?
Words of confidence from dhenry, a quick workout, and a *fantastic* dinner of willow chicken dried out my dank spirits a tad. Finding out that Microsoft Word doesn't function on my computer quickly dampened them again. [Rolls eyes in exasperation]. Whatever, thank GOD I had the laptop here so that I could get some serious work done tonight, or else I just might have gone insane. I'm so ready for this day to be over in the next 10 minutes that it's not even funny. Let's hope this is not a portent of things to come this weekend; I can't deal with that right now.
Then, I come home drenched because I left the damn house without an umbrella or other appropriate rain-deterring clothing. Stupid. Then, raining on my metaphorical parade (as if the less than figurative rain weren't enough), it seems as though some people got their panties in a twist over my critical response to one dhenry's posting. There was a point when someone quoted me quoting dave, prefaced with "I think Thea is misinterpreting what was said here..." I'd like to have a moment for the situational irony in my life generated by Brooks Ambrose. Thank you, Brooks, for letting me know that I misinterpreted my boyfriend's statment. He (said bf) admitted that he was less than clear, and that my qualms might have been applicable. He also cleared up that he didn't mean exactly what he said, so that just puts a delicious context on what happens next.
Things escalate, as they normally do on those blasted boards, and some freshman takes it upon himself to prove me wrong as a sort of crusade, antagonizing me with borderline insults. [Scoff]. Whatever. I ranted for a long time to EB both online and on the phone, which while cathartic, really does nothing to curb the stupidity on display on the Go boards. Oops, thanks to that distraction it's now time to head up campus for the dreaded thesis meeting.
Graciela, while trying to not crush my ego completely, told me in no uncertain terms that if I really want to have an effective thesis, I have to re-write about a third of it. Shit. TWO WEEKS, people, TWO WEEKS. That's not even taking into account the rough for CompLit that's due on Tuesday. Feeling just about as morose as the weather, I trudged North to the haven of warmth underneath a down comforter in Lunt, slept for a few hours and tried to forget about that thesis for a while. While effective, my nap deadened my right arm, 'cause I crashed for 2 hours straight without budging. Why am I so damn tired?
Words of confidence from dhenry, a quick workout, and a *fantastic* dinner of willow chicken dried out my dank spirits a tad. Finding out that Microsoft Word doesn't function on my computer quickly dampened them again. [Rolls eyes in exasperation]. Whatever, thank GOD I had the laptop here so that I could get some serious work done tonight, or else I just might have gone insane. I'm so ready for this day to be over in the next 10 minutes that it's not even funny. Let's hope this is not a portent of things to come this weekend; I can't deal with that right now.
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