White House fail.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Today I got a very strange text message from an unknown number - its area code indicates the burbs of Milwaukee (Google tells me New Berlin), but nothing else. First, this number asked me "Why do you have two different numbers?" After my response of "Who is this?" I got back this classy line: "I want you."
I encourage you to ask 262-492-4823 something equally bizarre, and finish it up with a laughably lascivious line like his/hers.
I encourage you to ask 262-492-4823 something equally bizarre, and finish it up with a laughably lascivious line like his/hers.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I came across this lovely, well-written, deeply saddening and poignant piece at NYTimes.com today. Forwarded it to my friends who also have a parent fighting cancer, but I think its journalistic and humanistic qualities are such that one can appreciate it without a personal stake:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/10/health/10case.html?_r=1
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/10/health/10case.html?_r=1
Monday, March 09, 2009
Wtf, grad school?
I can’t help but feel underwhelmed.
I always seem to have a project of some sort going. Even when not pushed by the deadlines and distractions of school, I’ll take on a project and work at it a little bit every day, using it as my benchmark for productivity and therefore self-worth until it’s done. And most times, the result comes back with far less of an impact than I put into the project to begin with.
This winter break my ongoing task was applying for grad school. Again. I went through this just two years ago – my ongoing task during those days in Americorps consisted of studying for the GRE, undergoing the arduous process of filling out applications and requesting recommendations and meeting the deadlines, and finally, brushing up on my lost Arabic. Although I wasn’t in school, it became my homework. And then I was in school again.
This winter break I worked and re-worked my personal statements, dutifully explaining to the admissions office – and myself – why I wanted to get a master's degree in Public Policy. I want the frameworks and skills to make a difference. I want to advocate in a way that plays the system rather than fights uphill against it every blasted step of the way, ultimately failing and sending the boulder back onto my shoulders. I want to know how the system got so fucked up, so I can un-fuck it. Or try to. Or intend to.
Then I worked my fellowship application. Worked and re-worked it into my original statement, explaining to the admissions office and myself why I’m devoted to public service and why I should be funded for two years. And finally, I tacked the FLAS – Foreign Language and Area Studies fellowship – the final boss of this round in the graduate school video game. This bad boy will fund a student’s year of grad school in exchange for studying a “less-commonly studied language.” Or, as the State Department puts it, a “critical language.” Or, as it translates to in lay-speak: “languages of the axis of evil.” That sucker, a measely two-page statement of intent, took me the better part of three weeks.
And I could have worked on it longer. After sending it into cyberspace (where’s the satisfying *clunk* of the mailbox door as one mails in applications? No more - and that’s changed since just two years ago, when I applied for grad school the first time around) I sat at my computer buzzing with adrenaline, compulsively restructuring and re-wording the statements I just sent forth into the unretractable realm of teh internets. I could have phrased things better, or used a bigger, more academic word, or sucked up more, or further clarified my intentions. Rather, my intentions were becoming clearer to me every day, and if I could foresee the future I could have clarified my goals as presented to the Almighty Admissions Board, wherever it sits on its end of the internet tubes and receives my application. All that work, and no sigh of relief to greet me.
A couple weeks later, an e-mail from the department I applied to. The department was going to recommend me to receive a FLAS scholarship.
What?
Had I even been accepted to the department? Furthermore, what were my chances of being accepted by the FLAS office to receive that fellowship? That wasn’t relieving at all, just confounding! Wtf?
A week after that: I had been accepted by the department, but before I can be fully sure of being accepted, my application has to go through the Great Almighty Graduate School of the University of Minnesota (dissolution pending fall ’09). Fuck. Another false alarm – what does it mean to be accepted by one, but not the other? When do I get a chance to be excited?
On Friday, February 20, final word on that front: the Great and Powerful Graduate School sent me an e-mail informing me they had made their decision, and if I should so want to learn what the decision was, I should log in to the web site through which I posted my application, and see my “Status” there. Well fuck that they should inform me of what the decision was in that e-mail to begin with! So they accepted me. They’re kind of douchebags. Am I excited? Now I’m just annoyed.
And what of the FLAS fellowship? Or the public service scholarship I so painstakingly worked into my grad school essay? I’m annoyed that this process has been convoluted at every step, I’m annoyed that this is the second time I’ve gone through this energy-consuming process, and I’m annoyed that I haven’t gotten excited yet. Wtf, grad school?
However, last Friday, March 6th, I got news that did cause me to jump up and down a little bit before going back to work. Al-hamduli Paul Simon, I was chosen to receive a Critical Language Scholarship through the State Department. In sha’ Creedence Clearwater Revival, this means I have the opportunity to learn Arabic this summer…in an Arabic-speaking country. Now, this looses countless worries about things I have no control over, but in this brief wake of acceptance, I’ll revel in the excitement I skipped over following my last blast of academic “good” news.
I can’t help but feel underwhelmed.
I always seem to have a project of some sort going. Even when not pushed by the deadlines and distractions of school, I’ll take on a project and work at it a little bit every day, using it as my benchmark for productivity and therefore self-worth until it’s done. And most times, the result comes back with far less of an impact than I put into the project to begin with.
This winter break my ongoing task was applying for grad school. Again. I went through this just two years ago – my ongoing task during those days in Americorps consisted of studying for the GRE, undergoing the arduous process of filling out applications and requesting recommendations and meeting the deadlines, and finally, brushing up on my lost Arabic. Although I wasn’t in school, it became my homework. And then I was in school again.
This winter break I worked and re-worked my personal statements, dutifully explaining to the admissions office – and myself – why I wanted to get a master's degree in Public Policy. I want the frameworks and skills to make a difference. I want to advocate in a way that plays the system rather than fights uphill against it every blasted step of the way, ultimately failing and sending the boulder back onto my shoulders. I want to know how the system got so fucked up, so I can un-fuck it. Or try to. Or intend to.
Then I worked my fellowship application. Worked and re-worked it into my original statement, explaining to the admissions office and myself why I’m devoted to public service and why I should be funded for two years. And finally, I tacked the FLAS – Foreign Language and Area Studies fellowship – the final boss of this round in the graduate school video game. This bad boy will fund a student’s year of grad school in exchange for studying a “less-commonly studied language.” Or, as the State Department puts it, a “critical language.” Or, as it translates to in lay-speak: “languages of the axis of evil.” That sucker, a measely two-page statement of intent, took me the better part of three weeks.
And I could have worked on it longer. After sending it into cyberspace (where’s the satisfying *clunk* of the mailbox door as one mails in applications? No more - and that’s changed since just two years ago, when I applied for grad school the first time around) I sat at my computer buzzing with adrenaline, compulsively restructuring and re-wording the statements I just sent forth into the unretractable realm of teh internets. I could have phrased things better, or used a bigger, more academic word, or sucked up more, or further clarified my intentions. Rather, my intentions were becoming clearer to me every day, and if I could foresee the future I could have clarified my goals as presented to the Almighty Admissions Board, wherever it sits on its end of the internet tubes and receives my application. All that work, and no sigh of relief to greet me.
A couple weeks later, an e-mail from the department I applied to. The department was going to recommend me to receive a FLAS scholarship.
What?
Had I even been accepted to the department? Furthermore, what were my chances of being accepted by the FLAS office to receive that fellowship? That wasn’t relieving at all, just confounding! Wtf?
A week after that: I had been accepted by the department, but before I can be fully sure of being accepted, my application has to go through the Great Almighty Graduate School of the University of Minnesota (dissolution pending fall ’09). Fuck. Another false alarm – what does it mean to be accepted by one, but not the other? When do I get a chance to be excited?
On Friday, February 20, final word on that front: the Great and Powerful Graduate School sent me an e-mail informing me they had made their decision, and if I should so want to learn what the decision was, I should log in to the web site through which I posted my application, and see my “Status” there. Well fuck that they should inform me of what the decision was in that e-mail to begin with! So they accepted me. They’re kind of douchebags. Am I excited? Now I’m just annoyed.
And what of the FLAS fellowship? Or the public service scholarship I so painstakingly worked into my grad school essay? I’m annoyed that this process has been convoluted at every step, I’m annoyed that this is the second time I’ve gone through this energy-consuming process, and I’m annoyed that I haven’t gotten excited yet. Wtf, grad school?
However, last Friday, March 6th, I got news that did cause me to jump up and down a little bit before going back to work. Al-hamduli Paul Simon, I was chosen to receive a Critical Language Scholarship through the State Department. In sha’ Creedence Clearwater Revival, this means I have the opportunity to learn Arabic this summer…in an Arabic-speaking country. Now, this looses countless worries about things I have no control over, but in this brief wake of acceptance, I’ll revel in the excitement I skipped over following my last blast of academic “good” news.
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