Nutrias and Monkeys
Last night, after completing a small chunk of the work that had been oppressing me for the last several days, I drove home on fairly empty streets, pulled into the darkened parking lot in my humble corner of student housing, and, once out of my car, walked over to the depressing metal boxes underneath an acorn tree to uncage my mail for the day. In spite of the late hour, there was another person standing nearby looking at what I assumed was his mail.
"Excuse me," the person asked me. He had an accent, so I immediately assumed that he was an international student from an Asian country, perhaps China. "Do you know what kind of animal this is?" He pointed down at large rodent timidly staring at the both of us, shuffling his webbed feet around some loose acorns. The creature's eyes were translucently reflecting a hazy light from a street lamp somewhere.
"Oh," I said, briefly startled, "That is a nutria." The creature was slowly backing up into some hedges, presumably to find a switchblade or some other kind of blade to defend itself with.
"Nyootria," the man repeated, "It looks like a big rat."
"Yeah, they're rodents all right. Way back when, some guy figured that he could sell them for fur, but when nobody bought any, they were released into the wild some time in the thirties. It probably lives in the creek behind this building." The international student was looking at the creature with an intense and interested fascination. I supposed he was wondering if it was dangerous, a thought that amused me.
My personal policy with these sorts of creatures - nutria or raccoons - is to treat them like bees: keep your distance and ignore them. It is extremely unlikely that they'll harm you. Even if, like raccoons, they stand up on their hind legs and menacingly wave their arms at you in a "wax-on wax-off" Karate Kid sort of way. (My younger sister uttered the loudest, most shrill scream I've ever heard in my life when a raccoon actually did just that.) Still, I wondered if the situation was reversed and I was the international student living in China, would have a similar reaction to, say, a monkey? Probably. Although, I think my worry would be more justified; afterall, a monkey might actually have a switchblade hidden somewhere. And I am unused to brawling with monkeys.
Life explorations of a middle-aged man searching through the meanings and expectations of what could have been and what still might be.
Thursday, October 30, 2003
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Baa!
babaabba baabaaaa baaababa bbabbbbb baababaa baabaaab baabaaaa baaabaaa bbabbbbb babbabba bbabbbbb baaabbab baabbaba baabbbba baabaabb baabaabb baaaabba bbabbbbb baaabbaa baababbb baabaaaa baaababa baabaabb baabbabb bbabbbbb baaabbaa baaababb baabbbba baaabbab baaababb bbabbbbb baaabaaa baabaaaa baaabbab baababaa baababba baabaaab baabbaaa bbabbbbb baabbbba baabaaab baabbabb bbabbbbb baaabbba baaababa baababba baaababb bbabbbbb baaabaaa baabaaaa baabaaab baabbabb baabbaba baaabbab baababba baabaaab baabbaaa bbabbbbb baabbbba baabbbab baabaaaa baaababa baaababb bbabbbbb baaabaaa baababbb baaaabba bbabbbbb baabbbba baabaaab baaaabba baabaaaa baabaaab baabbaba bbabbbbb baaabaaa baabaaaa baaababa baabaabb baabbabb bbabbbbb baaabaaa baabbbba baabaaab baaababb bbabbbbb baaababb baabaaaa bbabbbbb baaabbaa baaabbbb baabbaba baabbbba baababaa bbabbbbb baaabaaa baababba baaababb baababbb bbabbbbb baaabbaa baababbb baabbaba baabbaba baaabbbb bbabaaab bbabbbbb bbabbbbb
babaabba baabaaaa baaababa bbabbbbb baababaa baabaaab baabaaaa baaabaaa bbabbbbb babbabba bbabbbbb baaabbab baabbaba baabbbba baabaabb baabaabb baaaabba bbabbbbb baaabbaa baababbb baabaaaa baaababa baabaabb baabbabb bbabbbbb baaabbaa baaababb baabbbba baaabbab baaababb bbabbbbb baaabaaa baabaaaa baaabbab baababaa baababba baabaaab baabbaaa bbabbbbb baabbbba baabaaab baabbabb bbabbbbb baaabbba baaababa baababba baaababb bbabbbbb baaabaaa baabaaaa baabaaab baabbabb baabbaba baaabbab baababba baabaaab baabbaaa bbabbbbb baabbbba baabbbab baabaaaa baaababa baaababb bbabbbbb baaabaaa baababbb baaaabba bbabbbbb baabbbba baabaaab baaaabba baabaaaa baabaaab baabbaba bbabbbbb baaabaaa baabaaaa baaababa baabaabb baabbabb bbabbbbb baaabaaa baabbbba baabaaab baaababb bbabbbbb baaababb baabaaaa bbabbbbb baaabbaa baaabbbb baabbaba baabbbba baababaa bbabbbbb baaabaaa baababba baaababb baababbb bbabbbbb baaabbaa baababbb baabbaba baabbaba baaabbbb bbabaaab bbabbbbb bbabbbbb
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
Holiday Harmonium
Yesterday, in spite of recovering from my cold, I climbed four flights of stairs to get to my office. I should have waited for the elevator, but there was an insane amount of people waiting for it, the elevator was taking forever to open up, and I had an attack of conscience based on the realization that I potentially might infect 10 other people with the health equivalent of a mugging and an atom bomb rolled into one.
Taking the stairs is normally nothing worth noting, but in this case it was different. A handsome middle-aged woman was sitting in a chair on the third floor stairwell playing Jingle Bells on an accordion. Another man, with a slouched hat and a beard, sat opposite her, listening and making notes in a book. I did what most people would have done when confronted with an unusual scene involving an accordion: I pretended not to see it and walked silently by. I know that in some cities, this sort of thing would not be too unusual, but for me, it was definitely out of the ordinary.
Yesterday, in spite of recovering from my cold, I climbed four flights of stairs to get to my office. I should have waited for the elevator, but there was an insane amount of people waiting for it, the elevator was taking forever to open up, and I had an attack of conscience based on the realization that I potentially might infect 10 other people with the health equivalent of a mugging and an atom bomb rolled into one.
Taking the stairs is normally nothing worth noting, but in this case it was different. A handsome middle-aged woman was sitting in a chair on the third floor stairwell playing Jingle Bells on an accordion. Another man, with a slouched hat and a beard, sat opposite her, listening and making notes in a book. I did what most people would have done when confronted with an unusual scene involving an accordion: I pretended not to see it and walked silently by. I know that in some cities, this sort of thing would not be too unusual, but for me, it was definitely out of the ordinary.
Monday, October 27, 2003
Doughnuts of Comfort
The cold I had mentioned in the previous blog blew up into a full fledged affair that wiped me out for most of the weekend, so despite a monkey-barrel full of good intentions, I accomplished almost nothing except bed rest. And, unfortunately, I'm still not completely well. All of which made for a somewhat amusing fire inspection this morning. Since I live in off-campus housing at a public university, and since that university receives government money, the tenants are subject to routine inspections to ensure that the smoke detectors will detect smoke and that some college student - emulating a grizzly bear - hasn't demolished government issue carpeting or ignored mold silently breeding in the sink.
This cold, with it's ironic fevers, comes at time when I thought I was getting healthier, or at least not doing as much damage as usual with a burger laden diet and practically no exercise. I've even joined a health club - not to lose weight, but to feel better physically. The tragedy of getting older is realizing that you are no exception to health maintenance, that your body is just as prone to limitations as someone else, and that too many doughnuts of comfort - bathed in the buttery goodness of a sweet, sweet glaze - will easily transform themselves into an elephant sized arterial clog that mockingly laughs at you as you feel the first sledge hammer pound of an early heart attack.
The cold I had mentioned in the previous blog blew up into a full fledged affair that wiped me out for most of the weekend, so despite a monkey-barrel full of good intentions, I accomplished almost nothing except bed rest. And, unfortunately, I'm still not completely well. All of which made for a somewhat amusing fire inspection this morning. Since I live in off-campus housing at a public university, and since that university receives government money, the tenants are subject to routine inspections to ensure that the smoke detectors will detect smoke and that some college student - emulating a grizzly bear - hasn't demolished government issue carpeting or ignored mold silently breeding in the sink.
This cold, with it's ironic fevers, comes at time when I thought I was getting healthier, or at least not doing as much damage as usual with a burger laden diet and practically no exercise. I've even joined a health club - not to lose weight, but to feel better physically. The tragedy of getting older is realizing that you are no exception to health maintenance, that your body is just as prone to limitations as someone else, and that too many doughnuts of comfort - bathed in the buttery goodness of a sweet, sweet glaze - will easily transform themselves into an elephant sized arterial clog that mockingly laughs at you as you feel the first sledge hammer pound of an early heart attack.
Friday, October 24, 2003
HTML Bumpers
One of the things that has been nagging at me for the last several days has been the general design of my site. When I initially created it, I took a little knowledge of HTML, an old blogger template, and combined it with the spirit of tinkering. I didn't really change the blog template so much as shifted it a certain way and tacked on a bunch of links. Afterwards, if I discovered something I liked, I tacked it on in pretty much the same way that I have tacked everything else on. So, even in spite of all the work that I have been griping about for the last several weeks, I'm thinking about pushing my web skills a little further and doing something a bit different. The holy grail of doing something different would be finding a host for some images, but that eventuality is at the end of a long line of school work and bills that keep getting in the way.
On a personal front, while fighting off a cold I've recently required - which was probably exacerbated by the fact that I was up until 2:00 a.m. grading essays for ENG104 - I'm finding that I'm coping with a general malaise that is brought on by something much deeper than the usual schoolwork. Unfortunately, although I have my theories, I'm not one hundred percent sure what the matter is. Consequently, I blew about five bucks in a Simpsons pinball machine at the student union. So long as I don't make it habit, I think it could be a good way to decompress now and again.
One of the things that has been nagging at me for the last several days has been the general design of my site. When I initially created it, I took a little knowledge of HTML, an old blogger template, and combined it with the spirit of tinkering. I didn't really change the blog template so much as shifted it a certain way and tacked on a bunch of links. Afterwards, if I discovered something I liked, I tacked it on in pretty much the same way that I have tacked everything else on. So, even in spite of all the work that I have been griping about for the last several weeks, I'm thinking about pushing my web skills a little further and doing something a bit different. The holy grail of doing something different would be finding a host for some images, but that eventuality is at the end of a long line of school work and bills that keep getting in the way.
On a personal front, while fighting off a cold I've recently required - which was probably exacerbated by the fact that I was up until 2:00 a.m. grading essays for ENG104 - I'm finding that I'm coping with a general malaise that is brought on by something much deeper than the usual schoolwork. Unfortunately, although I have my theories, I'm not one hundred percent sure what the matter is. Consequently, I blew about five bucks in a Simpsons pinball machine at the student union. So long as I don't make it habit, I think it could be a good way to decompress now and again.
Thursday, October 23, 2003
Electric Caveman
Despite my occasional forays into the world of computer technology, I essentially remain bereft of the true graces that sing enchantingly electronic melodies from the elysian fields of circuitry. Briefly, I've recently discovered that my home computer is infected with a virus (link goes to a description at Symantec), and I'm still not sure how to remove it safely without messing up all of my other files. Of course, it is a fair question to ask what sort of impact that this has one me. The inevitable answer is - not much. Although I have used a computer for one reason or another almost every day (like most students), the computers I consistently use are firmly parked in a dank cellar-like computer lab. My skin has become luminescent by being constantly bathed in the soft blue glow of an electric screen. My own home computer has been laughably obsolete for awhile. And the computer previous to that was truly antique; the tech-support for it was an actual Neanderthal and the monitor was carved from stone, which isn't metaphor. Seriously. One of the computer's input devices was a large wooden club. All of the computers I have ever owned have been acquired second-hand.
Yet, there may be hope. Since another one of my hobbies besides blogging has been accumulating an obscene amount of college loan debt, I have discovered that there is a way to combine my talent for expanding debt and my desire to buy a computer (laptop). Apparently, the financial aid office will approve a one time extension for me to buy one. Once I finish shopping around for the best price, getting official price quotes, and filling out the paperwork, I should be well into final exam week, which - of course - will not be of much use for fall term. Life is full of ridiculous ironies. But maybe, just maybe, I'll have one for winter. And this time, I keep my virus software updated.
Despite my occasional forays into the world of computer technology, I essentially remain bereft of the true graces that sing enchantingly electronic melodies from the elysian fields of circuitry. Briefly, I've recently discovered that my home computer is infected with a virus (link goes to a description at Symantec), and I'm still not sure how to remove it safely without messing up all of my other files. Of course, it is a fair question to ask what sort of impact that this has one me. The inevitable answer is - not much. Although I have used a computer for one reason or another almost every day (like most students), the computers I consistently use are firmly parked in a dank cellar-like computer lab. My skin has become luminescent by being constantly bathed in the soft blue glow of an electric screen. My own home computer has been laughably obsolete for awhile. And the computer previous to that was truly antique; the tech-support for it was an actual Neanderthal and the monitor was carved from stone, which isn't metaphor. Seriously. One of the computer's input devices was a large wooden club. All of the computers I have ever owned have been acquired second-hand.
Yet, there may be hope. Since another one of my hobbies besides blogging has been accumulating an obscene amount of college loan debt, I have discovered that there is a way to combine my talent for expanding debt and my desire to buy a computer (laptop). Apparently, the financial aid office will approve a one time extension for me to buy one. Once I finish shopping around for the best price, getting official price quotes, and filling out the paperwork, I should be well into final exam week, which - of course - will not be of much use for fall term. Life is full of ridiculous ironies. But maybe, just maybe, I'll have one for winter. And this time, I keep my virus software updated.
Wednesday, October 22, 2003
Vietnam Generation
Today, I finished reading Tim O'Brien's book, The Things They Carried, and not just the short story by the same name that is frequently anthologized. I finished the last story in an overhot, muggy, solarium attached to the student union cafeteria; even though the food was somewhat bland, which I suppose is typical of most cafeterias, I was engrossed in the story.
I am not one of those people fascinated by the machismo of war, or the amped up conceptions of manliness that frequently go with it. When I worked at a printed circuit board factory, a coworker encouraged me to sign up with the National Guard saying it was "just like camp, only you get to blow up stuff." He told me how he and fellow soldiers blew a large crater into one of our national forests by using a little too much C4 to clear out a dead and fallen over log. I forget what the purpose of clearing out the logs were, but I wonder if he still thinks the National Guard is like camp because, almost assuredly, he is currently on duty in Iraq.
The fascination for me comes from two places: first, the (unwilling) extreme experience of pain and terror, and the various ways that are developed to cope with that, and second, the connection of the Vietnam War and my parent's generation. The War has significantly shaped them, but in ways - while I can feel - I don't really understand.
Today, I finished reading Tim O'Brien's book, The Things They Carried, and not just the short story by the same name that is frequently anthologized. I finished the last story in an overhot, muggy, solarium attached to the student union cafeteria; even though the food was somewhat bland, which I suppose is typical of most cafeterias, I was engrossed in the story.
I am not one of those people fascinated by the machismo of war, or the amped up conceptions of manliness that frequently go with it. When I worked at a printed circuit board factory, a coworker encouraged me to sign up with the National Guard saying it was "just like camp, only you get to blow up stuff." He told me how he and fellow soldiers blew a large crater into one of our national forests by using a little too much C4 to clear out a dead and fallen over log. I forget what the purpose of clearing out the logs were, but I wonder if he still thinks the National Guard is like camp because, almost assuredly, he is currently on duty in Iraq.
The fascination for me comes from two places: first, the (unwilling) extreme experience of pain and terror, and the various ways that are developed to cope with that, and second, the connection of the Vietnam War and my parent's generation. The War has significantly shaped them, but in ways - while I can feel - I don't really understand.
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
Stolen Soda
For my grad. studies class, I will begin writing the required abstract, and so doing, begin the process of writing my first seminar paper. Never having written one, the prospect of this new task - combined with grading papers while trying to sort out just what the other grad. students and professors are talking about in classes - looms before me omniously.
The looming is not unlike the looming of a unbalanced soda machine slowing falling towards you in your effort to procure a a stolen beverage. While I assure you that I would never try to satisfy my thirst in such a dangerous manner, the squashing metaphor by a half ton machine seems rather apt when compared to the process of writing my first grad. paper.
I still feel on top of things for the most part - after all, I have managed to keep myself fed and clothed and whatnot, but I find that my free time is vanishing in increasingly larger increments. There is an adjustment between grad. and undergrad. work. While I could usually slide through a ten week undergrad course by missing a few classes here and there, and by blowing off the occasional homework, here sliding is definitely not an option. I've also had to continually confront the question (usually in the morning): is this the right path for me? While I'm fairly certain the answer is still yes, the realization that this is the true beginning of future job has been sobering. I had hoped that all of my sobering realizations would have already happened by now.
For my grad. studies class, I will begin writing the required abstract, and so doing, begin the process of writing my first seminar paper. Never having written one, the prospect of this new task - combined with grading papers while trying to sort out just what the other grad. students and professors are talking about in classes - looms before me omniously.
The looming is not unlike the looming of a unbalanced soda machine slowing falling towards you in your effort to procure a a stolen beverage. While I assure you that I would never try to satisfy my thirst in such a dangerous manner, the squashing metaphor by a half ton machine seems rather apt when compared to the process of writing my first grad. paper.
I still feel on top of things for the most part - after all, I have managed to keep myself fed and clothed and whatnot, but I find that my free time is vanishing in increasingly larger increments. There is an adjustment between grad. and undergrad. work. While I could usually slide through a ten week undergrad course by missing a few classes here and there, and by blowing off the occasional homework, here sliding is definitely not an option. I've also had to continually confront the question (usually in the morning): is this the right path for me? While I'm fairly certain the answer is still yes, the realization that this is the true beginning of future job has been sobering. I had hoped that all of my sobering realizations would have already happened by now.
Monday, October 20, 2003
Afflicted River
Over the weekend, I saw the movie Mystic River. I have to agree with all of the critics that Sean Penn did a real good job acting the role of a lost lower class father trying to cope with the murder of his daughter. On the other hand, after hearing Tim Robbins discuss the film on television, I was expecting an extended meditation on what it means to be male (different from the kind that society usually demands), and how to cope with that. At many points, aside from a rather brutal scene of violence (not the murder), this a police drama. I feel Affliction, with Nick Nolte, is a rather good film that explores the issue of violence and what it means to be male rather well. It is based on a book by Russell Banks that I haven't read yet. So, I'm focusing purely on content here. While the technical movie magic that Affliction employed may not be the same quality as Mystic River, I felt the story was pretty good.
Over the weekend, I saw the movie Mystic River. I have to agree with all of the critics that Sean Penn did a real good job acting the role of a lost lower class father trying to cope with the murder of his daughter. On the other hand, after hearing Tim Robbins discuss the film on television, I was expecting an extended meditation on what it means to be male (different from the kind that society usually demands), and how to cope with that. At many points, aside from a rather brutal scene of violence (not the murder), this a police drama. I feel Affliction, with Nick Nolte, is a rather good film that explores the issue of violence and what it means to be male rather well. It is based on a book by Russell Banks that I haven't read yet. So, I'm focusing purely on content here. While the technical movie magic that Affliction employed may not be the same quality as Mystic River, I felt the story was pretty good.
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
Downpours
The winter rain has arrived and proceeded to soak everything with its usual aplomb. While walking to class this morning, I was wondering how the local population of squirrels keeps from drowning in their burrows, or at least from going (ahem) nuts. The other TA for the class says that she was almost run over while cycling to school, and I think that it has a lot to do with the fact that this has been the first real rain of the season. It has also surprised me a little to see everyone with umbrellas. Living through the winters here for so long has made see umbrellas as something approaching a gesture of futility.
My main project continues to be grading the quizzes; I'm still trying to figure how to be consistent and give an appropriate grade. Of course being just the TA, there is an added pressure of trying to figure out the grade the Professor would give, not just the grade I would, and figuring out how to align the two. But of course, there are the articles to read for the seminar, so I off to entomb myself in either my shared office or the library, where I will slowly moulder in the sickly light of the florouscent bulbs burning above my head. To sum up in one word, Ack!
The winter rain has arrived and proceeded to soak everything with its usual aplomb. While walking to class this morning, I was wondering how the local population of squirrels keeps from drowning in their burrows, or at least from going (ahem) nuts. The other TA for the class says that she was almost run over while cycling to school, and I think that it has a lot to do with the fact that this has been the first real rain of the season. It has also surprised me a little to see everyone with umbrellas. Living through the winters here for so long has made see umbrellas as something approaching a gesture of futility.
My main project continues to be grading the quizzes; I'm still trying to figure how to be consistent and give an appropriate grade. Of course being just the TA, there is an added pressure of trying to figure out the grade the Professor would give, not just the grade I would, and figuring out how to align the two. But of course, there are the articles to read for the seminar, so I off to entomb myself in either my shared office or the library, where I will slowly moulder in the sickly light of the florouscent bulbs burning above my head. To sum up in one word, Ack!
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
Lifting Fog
Now that I've had a full two and a half weeks here at grad. school, things, although still a little incomprehensible at times, are beginning to fall into place. My personal life continues to be an unrepentant disaster, but my professional life seems to be starting. I can now navigate my way confidently through all of the tasks that seem to be required of me so far, and I have been talking with some of the other grad. students who feel a little like I do. Now that the basic fog of "how do I fit in this place," has begun to lift, I now have to focus seriously on my studies. My grades, while good in an average sort of way, have to be brought up; and to successfully do that, I have to begin both of my seminar papers very soon. The problem is, of course, that I have to write about something that I still don't quite understand, but at least I have a good idea of where I should start.
Now that I've had a full two and a half weeks here at grad. school, things, although still a little incomprehensible at times, are beginning to fall into place. My personal life continues to be an unrepentant disaster, but my professional life seems to be starting. I can now navigate my way confidently through all of the tasks that seem to be required of me so far, and I have been talking with some of the other grad. students who feel a little like I do. Now that the basic fog of "how do I fit in this place," has begun to lift, I now have to focus seriously on my studies. My grades, while good in an average sort of way, have to be brought up; and to successfully do that, I have to begin both of my seminar papers very soon. The problem is, of course, that I have to write about something that I still don't quite understand, but at least I have a good idea of where I should start.
Friday, October 10, 2003
Life in the Slow Lane
Today was the first day that the class for which I am the TA had a quiz. It was interesting insofar as I got to see the reactions of the students taking the quiz, to listen to their pleas for more time, and - after the quiz was over - to downplay the overworry expressed those students who should have no reason to worry. Of course, I've seen this all before when I myself had taken quizzes in my undergraduate classes, but this was different for two reasons. The first is the mere fact that it has been some time since I have been in one hundred level class, so the reactions were a little different from those I remember as a senior. The second reason is, since I'm a TA, my perspective has shifted slightly from student to someone who will one day (inshallah) be an instructor. This prospective role is highlighted by the mere fact that I will be grading about a third of these quizzes, so the students who sighed heavily when they were forced to relinquish their papers will have me as their quiz evaluator.
Yet, with the exception of this one hundred level class, the analogy that seems to characterize my efforts here at grad. school is this: I am the old man in the hat driving the late-model buick in the slow lane of the freeway. It seems everyone else is passing me on the right and giving me the proverbial finger, while I'm crankily asking myself if I have stopped despite the seeming forward movement. My weekend is up in the air because of the necessity to study, but I think I'm going to schedule enough time off to see a movie. I believe I might see Mystic River because it sounds like it could be really interesting. I would have seen "Kill Bill," but David Denby of the New Yorker has said that "'Kill Bill' is what’s formally known as decadence and commonly known as crap." Ouch. Let's just say if I ever make a movie, I hope that Mr. Denby doesn't see it.
Today was the first day that the class for which I am the TA had a quiz. It was interesting insofar as I got to see the reactions of the students taking the quiz, to listen to their pleas for more time, and - after the quiz was over - to downplay the overworry expressed those students who should have no reason to worry. Of course, I've seen this all before when I myself had taken quizzes in my undergraduate classes, but this was different for two reasons. The first is the mere fact that it has been some time since I have been in one hundred level class, so the reactions were a little different from those I remember as a senior. The second reason is, since I'm a TA, my perspective has shifted slightly from student to someone who will one day (inshallah) be an instructor. This prospective role is highlighted by the mere fact that I will be grading about a third of these quizzes, so the students who sighed heavily when they were forced to relinquish their papers will have me as their quiz evaluator.
Yet, with the exception of this one hundred level class, the analogy that seems to characterize my efforts here at grad. school is this: I am the old man in the hat driving the late-model buick in the slow lane of the freeway. It seems everyone else is passing me on the right and giving me the proverbial finger, while I'm crankily asking myself if I have stopped despite the seeming forward movement. My weekend is up in the air because of the necessity to study, but I think I'm going to schedule enough time off to see a movie. I believe I might see Mystic River because it sounds like it could be really interesting. I would have seen "Kill Bill," but David Denby of the New Yorker has said that "'Kill Bill' is what’s formally known as decadence and commonly known as crap." Ouch. Let's just say if I ever make a movie, I hope that Mr. Denby doesn't see it.
Thursday, October 09, 2003
The Sac of Suds
I've overcome the whole issue about defining the word rhetoric by side-stepping the issue altogether. My new assignment is to give a ten minute presentation and 5 page paper on Literary History. Of course, this puts me right back at square one, but I think that I'm slowly getting a handle on the type of academic rigor that is required to do well. The professor has reassured me that the students who seem talkative and confident have some experience with graduate work before, so by extension, I should not feel so out of the loop or intimidated. Still, I can't help but feel a little nervous and a bit behind everyone else. More study on my part is needed, and as a consequence, my life is about to get more regimented.
Let there be no misunderstanding, the adjustment to grad. school has been, for me, inordinately difficult. And, dovetailing rather nicely with this difficult adjustment, my personal affairs have stumbled beyond my control into anarchy. Since it is fall, and I live in the northwest, there has been plenty of rain to complement my mood. Yet, the key to not letting it overwhelm me has been my trying to keep a sense of humor. I'll not explain how or why, but a particular scene from the movie My Cousin Vinny has helped me maintain some balance. I've found I can relieve some pressure by maintaining perspective. Thus life continues. Tonight, I immerse myself back into study, and tomorrow I buy some small things for my office.
I've overcome the whole issue about defining the word rhetoric by side-stepping the issue altogether. My new assignment is to give a ten minute presentation and 5 page paper on Literary History. Of course, this puts me right back at square one, but I think that I'm slowly getting a handle on the type of academic rigor that is required to do well. The professor has reassured me that the students who seem talkative and confident have some experience with graduate work before, so by extension, I should not feel so out of the loop or intimidated. Still, I can't help but feel a little nervous and a bit behind everyone else. More study on my part is needed, and as a consequence, my life is about to get more regimented.
Let there be no misunderstanding, the adjustment to grad. school has been, for me, inordinately difficult. And, dovetailing rather nicely with this difficult adjustment, my personal affairs have stumbled beyond my control into anarchy. Since it is fall, and I live in the northwest, there has been plenty of rain to complement my mood. Yet, the key to not letting it overwhelm me has been my trying to keep a sense of humor. I'll not explain how or why, but a particular scene from the movie My Cousin Vinny has helped me maintain some balance. I've found I can relieve some pressure by maintaining perspective. Thus life continues. Tonight, I immerse myself back into study, and tomorrow I buy some small things for my office.
Monday, October 06, 2003
Rhetoric
Lately, I've had such a hard time figuring out what to write and how to write it that I'm now (of course) paralyzed with writers block. I haven't posted to the cellar here for some time, at least not as often as I had originally hoped, and I haven't made much progress on the assignment that has been blighting all of my thoughts and free time lately.
What is the assignment you may ask? Define the term rhetoric (5 pages) and give a ten minute presentation on the term to your fellow students. The problem stems from the fact that I'm not sure exactly what the specifications are for academic writing, meaning should I ramble on in my introduction about something that is only tangentially related to the topic at hand, and I'm not as excited about the topic as I should be. If I were more interested in reading articles that have all of the pleasant, end-of-meal satisfaction as a box of sawdust, then I'd be laughing because the paper would have alreay been completed. So, while I have finally tranferred all of my belongings to my new place of residence as of this last weekend, I can't exactly relax and spend a few minutes wacthing television because of my looming assignment. Your guess is as good as mine concerning what will happen tomorrow in class.
Lately, I've had such a hard time figuring out what to write and how to write it that I'm now (of course) paralyzed with writers block. I haven't posted to the cellar here for some time, at least not as often as I had originally hoped, and I haven't made much progress on the assignment that has been blighting all of my thoughts and free time lately.
What is the assignment you may ask? Define the term rhetoric (5 pages) and give a ten minute presentation on the term to your fellow students. The problem stems from the fact that I'm not sure exactly what the specifications are for academic writing, meaning should I ramble on in my introduction about something that is only tangentially related to the topic at hand, and I'm not as excited about the topic as I should be. If I were more interested in reading articles that have all of the pleasant, end-of-meal satisfaction as a box of sawdust, then I'd be laughing because the paper would have alreay been completed. So, while I have finally tranferred all of my belongings to my new place of residence as of this last weekend, I can't exactly relax and spend a few minutes wacthing television because of my looming assignment. Your guess is as good as mine concerning what will happen tomorrow in class.
Thursday, October 02, 2003
Kidneys
Today has been about as productive as I can make it, although I do intend to study my brains out this evening. I'm telling everyone that if this was a reality television show, I would have been voted off the island by about 3:00 p.m. today. The positive things I've accomplished have been that I've finally found out where the computer lab for the GTF's are, the discovering of which was not unlike finding secret elephant burial grounds. I also signed up for medical insurance through the union; so, I can be really sick now without worrying about dying outright from what health professionals usually term "lack of care." Cultivating a continuing taste for the surreal, I had the following conversation with the union rep. She mentioned that I needed to sign the "transplant form" that covered 24 months of something. I hadn't heard what she said so I asked what the form was about:
She: "This just means that you can't get a transplant for two years, if it is pre-existing condition."
Me: "So, if I need a kidney - then, I'm out of luck."
She: "Yes, if the reason you needed one was pre-existing. But, if you needed one a week from now."
Me: "Like if I were stabbed in the small of the back or something, and the blade punctured a kidney, then. . ."
She: "Then you could get a kidney no problem."
In retrospect, I shouldn't have been so creepy, but the above conversation actually helped me figure out that they were denying transplants outright in every circumstance. I guess it's my lower class upbringing that inspires me to say stuff like this and not think about how it might sound until later.
On a final note, some of the computers here at the University do not have 3.5 disk drives anymore. Nor do they have a server (at least I don't think they do) where students can save their work to access later. So what the hell am I supposed to do? The answer apparently is I should buy a jump drive, aka a flash drive or thumb drive(?), that I carry around with me in order to save my work on that. Of course, they sell them at the bookstore for small fee. Although I'm not afraid of new technology, I hate to be forced to buy stuff like this when I'm not really prepared for it.
Today has been about as productive as I can make it, although I do intend to study my brains out this evening. I'm telling everyone that if this was a reality television show, I would have been voted off the island by about 3:00 p.m. today. The positive things I've accomplished have been that I've finally found out where the computer lab for the GTF's are, the discovering of which was not unlike finding secret elephant burial grounds. I also signed up for medical insurance through the union; so, I can be really sick now without worrying about dying outright from what health professionals usually term "lack of care." Cultivating a continuing taste for the surreal, I had the following conversation with the union rep. She mentioned that I needed to sign the "transplant form" that covered 24 months of something. I hadn't heard what she said so I asked what the form was about:
She: "This just means that you can't get a transplant for two years, if it is pre-existing condition."
Me: "So, if I need a kidney - then, I'm out of luck."
She: "Yes, if the reason you needed one was pre-existing. But, if you needed one a week from now."
Me: "Like if I were stabbed in the small of the back or something, and the blade punctured a kidney, then. . ."
She: "Then you could get a kidney no problem."
In retrospect, I shouldn't have been so creepy, but the above conversation actually helped me figure out that they were denying transplants outright in every circumstance. I guess it's my lower class upbringing that inspires me to say stuff like this and not think about how it might sound until later.
On a final note, some of the computers here at the University do not have 3.5 disk drives anymore. Nor do they have a server (at least I don't think they do) where students can save their work to access later. So what the hell am I supposed to do? The answer apparently is I should buy a jump drive, aka a flash drive or thumb drive(?), that I carry around with me in order to save my work on that. Of course, they sell them at the bookstore for small fee. Although I'm not afraid of new technology, I hate to be forced to buy stuff like this when I'm not really prepared for it.
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
The Storm Again
Even after attending my second class as a teaching assistant (T.A.), I'm still not sure what being a T.A. is going to entail. I suspect once I've had a chance to talk in depth with the instructor, rather than just chat for the few minutes before and after class, I'll be helping out with the minor computer related tasks and offering the usual tips and tricks one needs when geeking out on the web. By absolutely no means am I some kind of techie or web wizard (some of the incoming freshman already know more about that sort of thing than I ever will). Still, I think that I have more tech. and geek savvy than the other teaching assistant and instructor put together. (When I first met with the instructor in her fourth floor office to check-in with her the week before class, she showed me the syllabus and indicated that she was experiencing some trouble removing the hyperlink from her Microsoft word document. She told me, "I'll put a copy [of the syllabus] in your mailbox after I fix this email address so it's not blue. I'm hoping the photocopier will make it black again." Super simple stuff. I kept my mouth shut at the time figuring that silence was golden and that I needed to hear more about my job than explain the mysteries of hyperlinks.)
As for the graduate courses, I must admit to feeling more than my share of trepidation about the amount of work required and the intellectual capacity that I will need to have to immerse myself fully and successfully as a grad. student. I spent this whole afternoon reading an academic article about the history of rhetoric, something I need to do in order to write a paper about it for next week. I have to say the article was about as clear as mud. (If I had to summarize it in a few words, the article was essentially saying: Yep, rhetoric sure causes a heap o' fuss. Even way back a'fore anyone can re-collect, some folks has liked it, and some don't. No use trying to stop all this feudin' and a fussin', so best-of-luck to the poor fool who has to pick a side. Which, by the way, that fool is you!)
The stress of still not being completely moved dovetailed rather nicely with the stress of school and has made me (look out: understatement ahead!) a little frazzled. I don't have a phone; I haven't changed my address yet; and I've not even told some of my long time friends exactly where the hell I am. (Metaphorically speaking, I guess I don't know where the hell I am either.) This Friday, I'll be back in my old town packing the smaller things I left behind and tying up the financial loose ends. Those older and wiser than myself have suggested that I tell myself that everything will work out, and, they say, I should keep telling myself that. Advice I interpret as: Fake it 'till you make it. I don't know if I buy this argument, but right now, it's the only real advice about my situation I've got.
Even after attending my second class as a teaching assistant (T.A.), I'm still not sure what being a T.A. is going to entail. I suspect once I've had a chance to talk in depth with the instructor, rather than just chat for the few minutes before and after class, I'll be helping out with the minor computer related tasks and offering the usual tips and tricks one needs when geeking out on the web. By absolutely no means am I some kind of techie or web wizard (some of the incoming freshman already know more about that sort of thing than I ever will). Still, I think that I have more tech. and geek savvy than the other teaching assistant and instructor put together. (When I first met with the instructor in her fourth floor office to check-in with her the week before class, she showed me the syllabus and indicated that she was experiencing some trouble removing the hyperlink from her Microsoft word document. She told me, "I'll put a copy [of the syllabus] in your mailbox after I fix this email address so it's not blue. I'm hoping the photocopier will make it black again." Super simple stuff. I kept my mouth shut at the time figuring that silence was golden and that I needed to hear more about my job than explain the mysteries of hyperlinks.)
As for the graduate courses, I must admit to feeling more than my share of trepidation about the amount of work required and the intellectual capacity that I will need to have to immerse myself fully and successfully as a grad. student. I spent this whole afternoon reading an academic article about the history of rhetoric, something I need to do in order to write a paper about it for next week. I have to say the article was about as clear as mud. (If I had to summarize it in a few words, the article was essentially saying: Yep, rhetoric sure causes a heap o' fuss. Even way back a'fore anyone can re-collect, some folks has liked it, and some don't. No use trying to stop all this feudin' and a fussin', so best-of-luck to the poor fool who has to pick a side. Which, by the way, that fool is you!)
The stress of still not being completely moved dovetailed rather nicely with the stress of school and has made me (look out: understatement ahead!) a little frazzled. I don't have a phone; I haven't changed my address yet; and I've not even told some of my long time friends exactly where the hell I am. (Metaphorically speaking, I guess I don't know where the hell I am either.) This Friday, I'll be back in my old town packing the smaller things I left behind and tying up the financial loose ends. Those older and wiser than myself have suggested that I tell myself that everything will work out, and, they say, I should keep telling myself that. Advice I interpret as: Fake it 'till you make it. I don't know if I buy this argument, but right now, it's the only real advice about my situation I've got.
The Storm
I have now been to all of the classes that I'm going to have this term. I knew I was griping before about the amount of work that I was going to have to do with packing and moving and all, but I guess I didn't realize just how busy I would be with the minutiae attendant with school and school preparation. I'd talk more now, but I have to be at class in fifteen minutes, and I need to hurry.
I have now been to all of the classes that I'm going to have this term. I knew I was griping before about the amount of work that I was going to have to do with packing and moving and all, but I guess I didn't realize just how busy I would be with the minutiae attendant with school and school preparation. I'd talk more now, but I have to be at class in fifteen minutes, and I need to hurry.
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