School has not yet started (and in fact is a week away), but I have somehow already managed to commit a faux pas of potentially massive proportions.
To rewind: I had dinner tonight at a cute Korean restaurant with two people in my cohort, two fourth-year students, and an MA candidate. The conversation turned to politics in academic departments/the professors in our program, and in the course of the ensuing discussion, my advisor's name was brought up. Now this man, Professor E, is one of my academic idols. Not only was my personal statement basically an ode to his work, but my specific research interests are completely influenced by his scholarship. In other words, I need to get on his good side and camp out/build a three-story house there, because I will undoubtedly take all of his classes and fully intend on asking him to be my dissertation advisor.
The problem: according to W, one of the fourth-years who is also working with him, Professor E is a "diva" who needs to be massaged (his words, not mine!) more than the other faculty members. To get on his good side, one should constantly bring up topics he's interested in (and let him go on and on about them), and above all, always be respectful/show proper awe of his genius. Key words there: "respectful" and "proper awe."
Now anyone who knows me will know that I have a problem writing emails to professors. For some reason, I don't censor my words whatsoever and the resulting missives look like chummy (read: wildly inappropriate) correspondences that I would send to my closest friends. From admitting that I was cutting a professor's class because I had pulled an all-nighter to write his paper (which, to my defense, I attached in the email) to laying out my relationship drama in another TMI moment, I have basically written an unfortunate number of hilarious, but far from respectful, emails. (For some reason, this never came back to bite me during college, but I suspect that the small liberal arts college environment meant that all of my professors were incredibly friendly/down-to-earth, and oftentimes treated the students like colleagues).
Anyways, halfway through the conversation at dinner, I had a sudden, horrifying realization: I had sent Professor E an email about two days ago regarding a meeting that we were supposed to have during the first week of classes. While I didn't remember exactly what I had said, I knew that it was written in classic "me" fashion, and when I came home and checked the actual text, my worst fears were confirmed. Not only did I apologize for the "somewhat lateness" of the email, but I had blamed this tardiness on "summer senility" and then signed the correspondence with "hope your summer went swimmingly."
Somehow, I don't think that is going to be taken as a sign of respect/proper awe of genius, and as someone who is probably not used to student email-writing styles like mine, I'm not sure how Professor E will take it. In any case, I am terrified that he thinks that I'm disrespectful or else am blowing him off with attitude, and has formed some kind of horrible impression of what type of person/student I am. Oh why did I let our hour-long conversation about trashy reality shows (during the admitted students dinner) lull me into a false sense of security? New end-of-the-summer resolution: learn to write proper, respectful emails ASAP!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
on sex, awkwardness, and things that are simultaneously funny and personally mortifying
While I've never been one to be shy of the college, and now "real world," hookup culture (and at one point this summer was casually seeing three people at the same time...oh the life of a young city dweller!), there has been a certain, supposedly common experience that managed to elude me: the booty call. Yes, that wonderfully brazen, often drunken, propositioning of an individual that you are not interested in knowing beyond the biblical sense of the word.
Well, that tender innocence of mine (hah!) is tragically no more. Last night, around 2 in the morning, I was awakened by a text. To be more specific: a booty call text (or should it just be called a booty text?) from a guy that I dated earlier in the summer but was no longer really seeing (it was one of those unfortunate end of the college year hookups that bleeds into the first parts of summer. Plus we had made it exclusive, which was just stupid given the context, but that's another story).
Anyways, after trying to determine if I should allow my slight sense of horror (I mean, really, he couldn't call? He had to freaking text?!) to outweigh my total amusement over what was happening, I decided to just let myself be charmed by the absurdity of the situation (I mean, my first booty call! What a milestone!) and let him come over.
Of course, this whole business was made all the more special by the fact that he didn't leave afterward, but instead, came with me the next morning to the farmer's market/lunch outing that I had set up with one of the girls in my program, C. Now normally this wouldn't necessarily be awkward or embarrassing, except that I had helped C move into her apartment the previous night (she's in the same complex as me) and hung out with her until midnight, when we went back to our rooms to "sleep." Though I was clearly alone when she last saw me (and when I told her that I was tired and going to bed), I somehow had a guy in my apartment by the time she came back in the morning (and given his rather disheveled look and the fact that I hadn't mentioned him when we initially made plans, I doubt that she thought he had just dropped by for the trip). In other words, I am totally making the most awesome and professional first impression on my cohort-mate/person I'm spending the next six years with.
In the end, though, the way that I figure it is that at least I've gotten a funny story out of my first booty call (which was, of course, undoubtedly made all the more booty by the fact that it wasn't even a call, but rather, a text). Who knows, maybe someday I'll stop being able to joke about the ridiculous/embarrassing moments that constitute my life (or maybe I'll develop enough tact or fear of social disapproval that I won't regale these stories quite so publicly). But for now, I'm damned glad that I don't (and don't have to) give a shit about what others think of me or my choices. It feels good to be able to just laugh at myself and look forward to whatever other ridiculousity that may/will be coming my way.
Well, that tender innocence of mine (hah!) is tragically no more. Last night, around 2 in the morning, I was awakened by a text. To be more specific: a booty call text (or should it just be called a booty text?) from a guy that I dated earlier in the summer but was no longer really seeing (it was one of those unfortunate end of the college year hookups that bleeds into the first parts of summer. Plus we had made it exclusive, which was just stupid given the context, but that's another story).
Anyways, after trying to determine if I should allow my slight sense of horror (I mean, really, he couldn't call? He had to freaking text?!) to outweigh my total amusement over what was happening, I decided to just let myself be charmed by the absurdity of the situation (I mean, my first booty call! What a milestone!) and let him come over.
Of course, this whole business was made all the more special by the fact that he didn't leave afterward, but instead, came with me the next morning to the farmer's market/lunch outing that I had set up with one of the girls in my program, C. Now normally this wouldn't necessarily be awkward or embarrassing, except that I had helped C move into her apartment the previous night (she's in the same complex as me) and hung out with her until midnight, when we went back to our rooms to "sleep." Though I was clearly alone when she last saw me (and when I told her that I was tired and going to bed), I somehow had a guy in my apartment by the time she came back in the morning (and given his rather disheveled look and the fact that I hadn't mentioned him when we initially made plans, I doubt that she thought he had just dropped by for the trip). In other words, I am totally making the most awesome and professional first impression on my cohort-mate/person I'm spending the next six years with.
In the end, though, the way that I figure it is that at least I've gotten a funny story out of my first booty call (which was, of course, undoubtedly made all the more booty by the fact that it wasn't even a call, but rather, a text). Who knows, maybe someday I'll stop being able to joke about the ridiculous/embarrassing moments that constitute my life (or maybe I'll develop enough tact or fear of social disapproval that I won't regale these stories quite so publicly). But for now, I'm damned glad that I don't (and don't have to) give a shit about what others think of me or my choices. It feels good to be able to just laugh at myself and look forward to whatever other ridiculousity that may/will be coming my way.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
books, mates, and pests
The great thing about having friends with excellent reading tastes is that you inevitably get introduced to new works of literature (or, in my case, hover above their bookshelves and surreptitiously steal their favorites when they're not looking). Most recently, having crashed with my friend R twice in the past four days (once for a potluck, once for a charming -albeit ultimately boring- silent film in the park near her house), I have had the extreme pleasure of reading Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth and Rabih Alameddine's The Hakawati. I would recommend both without hesitation--Unaccustomed Earth is, as Lahiri's writing always is, understated but powerfully moving, while The Hakawati had me laughing out loud with its wry, witty humor. (Also: did I just do one of those vague, adjective-driven book reviews that really tells you nothing about the book? Yes. Gross. Please forgive me now.)
Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?), my classes start on September 3, so I will have less time for engrossing novels, and instead, will probably be suffering my way through Shakespeare or some other incomprehensible and yet canonical work whilst still trying my damnedest to keep up with my theory. The Anthropology professors still haven't emailed me back about the syllabus or the audit, but I'm going to wait a few more days before sending another friendly request (at least for the audit).
Classes starting also means my cohort is starting to slowly trickle into the city. One of the girls in the program (who happens to live in my building) is coming on Friday, while another two that I know are moving in within the week. It's exciting and nervewracking to have them come--I worry about getting along with them (I mean, it's a damned long program and there's so few of us!), but I'm also excited to make new friends. Which is also complicated because hell, I went to school right outside of the city for four years, and guess what, I already have amazing friends in the city that I plan on spending my time with. It's a tricky balancing act, and I'm not sure how it's going to work out...but dammit, I will work it out, I will be a social butterfly (HA), I will be a maker of new friends and a keeper of old ones as well. Go team!
Anyways, on the home front: the mice have managed to eat the peanut butter clean from two of my traps while still remaining alive (and not even setting them off at all!). They are clearly taunting me. I re-baited my traps (alas, more delicious peanut butter lost to the cause!) and am waiting to avenge myself for this latest humiliation. THIS MEANS WAR!
Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?), my classes start on September 3, so I will have less time for engrossing novels, and instead, will probably be suffering my way through Shakespeare or some other incomprehensible and yet canonical work whilst still trying my damnedest to keep up with my theory. The Anthropology professors still haven't emailed me back about the syllabus or the audit, but I'm going to wait a few more days before sending another friendly request (at least for the audit).
Classes starting also means my cohort is starting to slowly trickle into the city. One of the girls in the program (who happens to live in my building) is coming on Friday, while another two that I know are moving in within the week. It's exciting and nervewracking to have them come--I worry about getting along with them (I mean, it's a damned long program and there's so few of us!), but I'm also excited to make new friends. Which is also complicated because hell, I went to school right outside of the city for four years, and guess what, I already have amazing friends in the city that I plan on spending my time with. It's a tricky balancing act, and I'm not sure how it's going to work out...but dammit, I will work it out, I will be a social butterfly (HA), I will be a maker of new friends and a keeper of old ones as well. Go team!
Anyways, on the home front: the mice have managed to eat the peanut butter clean from two of my traps while still remaining alive (and not even setting them off at all!). They are clearly taunting me. I re-baited my traps (alas, more delicious peanut butter lost to the cause!) and am waiting to avenge myself for this latest humiliation. THIS MEANS WAR!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
oh fail
Came home last night to find a big fat mouse slinking across my stove top.
This in addition to the two massive cockroaches I've killed and the one that scurried to safety underneath my bookshelf.
Today (aka Day 1 of Operation Extermination): dispersed Raid roach killer tablet things (I'm assuming there's boric acid in there) and mousetraps. Was slightly bitter about having to bait the traps with JIF extra-crunchy peanut butter. What a waste of my favorite snack.
This in addition to the two massive cockroaches I've killed and the one that scurried to safety underneath my bookshelf.
Today (aka Day 1 of Operation Extermination): dispersed Raid roach killer tablet things (I'm assuming there's boric acid in there) and mousetraps. Was slightly bitter about having to bait the traps with JIF extra-crunchy peanut butter. What a waste of my favorite snack.
Monday, August 11, 2008
one month later
And hopefully this time I'll stick around. I've been busy with life in general: going out to bars and clubs and dance parties (and throwing a few myself), attending amazing performances (such as one last week exploring the relationships between food, personal identity, and power/politics), and getting myself into (and out of, thankfully!) some sticky situations with relationships (lesson of the summer: extreme attractiveness does not surmount personal issues/craziness. Really. It's not a fair tradeoff at all, and one should not be tempted by one's lust/poor decision making abilities/inability to draw boundaries slash say no to justify such a tradeoff. It's bad news, kids).
After a weeklong visit from my friend T and the accompanying flurry of events and meet-ups with other friends in the area, I'm now happy to say that I am settled in my apartment and ready to return to my hermit-y (and academically productive!) ways. On the list: get through my readings for one of my classes (and write summaries for each of the readings, yes I've decided to be ridiculously anal like that) and continue making time for my "just for fun/personal interests" books. I'm currently working my way through The Erotic Margin: Sexuality and Spatiality in Alteritist Discourse, which explores the ways in which space is transformed (socially produced and reproduced) into place through particular discourses, or more specifically, the ways in which the "East" or "Orient" is constructed through discourses of gender and sexuality. I'm only on the second chapter, but I find the book incredibly interesting and relatively not dense (all things considering) and would definitely recommend it to anyone with the time and/or interest.
In other news, I've been pretty productive (in an unproductive way) today, and so far, I've managed to:
1) Request to be added to the mailing lists of the postcolonial lit and gender/sexuality reading groups of my program
2) Ask for the syllabus of this amaaazing graduate anthropology course that explores agency, temporality, and sovereignty in relation to travel and migration (and which I can't audit because I have another class at the same time, TEARS)
3) Request an audit in another course which is supposed to be a critical examination of contemporary theories in cultural and social anthropology
4) Make a (required) appointment with my department chair during the first two weeks of classes (which start in early September, EEK!)
...
Ok, so maybe all of those things took about 30 minutes to accomplish (minus the researching of graduate anthropology courses, aka me poring over course descriptions and drooling like an extremely dorky kid in an extremely dorky candy store). And possibly came after about 3-4 hours of watching Olympics highlights/reruns online (what can I say, I like gymnastics and diving!)
Alright, no more procrastination from me. Off to the summary writing and reading!
After a weeklong visit from my friend T and the accompanying flurry of events and meet-ups with other friends in the area, I'm now happy to say that I am settled in my apartment and ready to return to my hermit-y (and academically productive!) ways. On the list: get through my readings for one of my classes (and write summaries for each of the readings, yes I've decided to be ridiculously anal like that) and continue making time for my "just for fun/personal interests" books. I'm currently working my way through The Erotic Margin: Sexuality and Spatiality in Alteritist Discourse, which explores the ways in which space is transformed (socially produced and reproduced) into place through particular discourses, or more specifically, the ways in which the "East" or "Orient" is constructed through discourses of gender and sexuality. I'm only on the second chapter, but I find the book incredibly interesting and relatively not dense (all things considering) and would definitely recommend it to anyone with the time and/or interest.
In other news, I've been pretty productive (in an unproductive way) today, and so far, I've managed to:
1) Request to be added to the mailing lists of the postcolonial lit and gender/sexuality reading groups of my program
2) Ask for the syllabus of this amaaazing graduate anthropology course that explores agency, temporality, and sovereignty in relation to travel and migration (and which I can't audit because I have another class at the same time, TEARS)
3) Request an audit in another course which is supposed to be a critical examination of contemporary theories in cultural and social anthropology
4) Make a (required) appointment with my department chair during the first two weeks of classes (which start in early September, EEK!)
...
Ok, so maybe all of those things took about 30 minutes to accomplish (minus the researching of graduate anthropology courses, aka me poring over course descriptions and drooling like an extremely dorky kid in an extremely dorky candy store). And possibly came after about 3-4 hours of watching Olympics highlights/reruns online (what can I say, I like gymnastics and diving!)
Alright, no more procrastination from me. Off to the summary writing and reading!
Friday, July 11, 2008
back again
And most importantly...with internet! I'm not going to lie, the time I spent without it was hellish (I know, can you hear the privilege oozing out of me right now?), and I am definitely glad to be clicking away obsessively wasting my time again. I spent a lot of my time re-reading of old books and theory, which was admittedly quite pleasant, but then things quickly devolved to the point where I started wiping my floors by hand and alphabetizing my bookshelves. Yes. Really.
On the upside, I got quite a bit of time to think, re-watch old seasons of the L Word (such an amazing and trashy show!), and almostkindofsortof get vague itchings to write poetry. Alas, such scratchy moments never materialized into anything solid, but you know, it's good to get those vibes again and I have much hope that things will turn out alright for my poetic inspirations.
As my writing of this entry also indicates, I have not yet been killed, traumatized, or even mildly mugged. Harassment has only come in the form of catcalls, which lets not kid ourselves, any woman between the ages of 15-35 should expect in a city. Knock on wood that the trend continues (minus the catcalls, of course).
I've also ventured into the city a few times, mainly to go to bars with friends, most notably to attend a dance party featuring Brazilian and French pop from the 60s, 70s, and 80s, and then to watch the Smoking Popes perform an amazing show (which unfortunately was ended by an extremely creepy and drunk old man constantly sidling up to me and trying to talk/touch me despite at one point being physically removed from me by his much more socially appropriate friend). Tonight involved some really moving musical narratives featuring a puppet group for social justice (shadow puppets = so fucking beautiful, just need to get that out there), and then a stint at one of the few bars in the city that still allows smoking indoors.
Tomorrow's plans are lunch in Chinatown and an ice cream festival during the day, while night will find me twirling away at the last queer dance party of a particular host before they head to the Bay area. Life is good. And I have faith that it will get better.
On the upside, I got quite a bit of time to think, re-watch old seasons of the L Word (such an amazing and trashy show!), and almostkindofsortof get vague itchings to write poetry. Alas, such scratchy moments never materialized into anything solid, but you know, it's good to get those vibes again and I have much hope that things will turn out alright for my poetic inspirations.
As my writing of this entry also indicates, I have not yet been killed, traumatized, or even mildly mugged. Harassment has only come in the form of catcalls, which lets not kid ourselves, any woman between the ages of 15-35 should expect in a city. Knock on wood that the trend continues (minus the catcalls, of course).
I've also ventured into the city a few times, mainly to go to bars with friends, most notably to attend a dance party featuring Brazilian and French pop from the 60s, 70s, and 80s, and then to watch the Smoking Popes perform an amazing show (which unfortunately was ended by an extremely creepy and drunk old man constantly sidling up to me and trying to talk/touch me despite at one point being physically removed from me by his much more socially appropriate friend). Tonight involved some really moving musical narratives featuring a puppet group for social justice (shadow puppets = so fucking beautiful, just need to get that out there), and then a stint at one of the few bars in the city that still allows smoking indoors.
Tomorrow's plans are lunch in Chinatown and an ice cream festival during the day, while night will find me twirling away at the last queer dance party of a particular host before they head to the Bay area. Life is good. And I have faith that it will get better.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
mystery solved!
It turns out that the random emailer found my information on my program's website and only made a lucky guess that I was also into postcolonial literature. I've been corresponding back and forth with him over the past week and a half, and I have to say, it's quite interesting to exchange ideas with someone whose background and current context are so different from my own. I recently turned 22 years old (my birthday was on the 24th!) and have jumped straight from undergrad to a Ph.D. program. My e-pal is probably in his 40s (this guess based on the pictures he sent), married with two children (ages 12 and 14), and has an MPhil in International Relations and is working on an MA in English.
In other news, I move back to my apartment on Saturday and will officially be living alone for the first time in my life. I'm pretty nervous about it, though apparently not as nervous as some of my friends are for me. I've heard from quite a few of them that they've had conversations amongst themselves about how badly my first year alone can potentially go. Chief concerns include:
1) My horrible habit of smiling at or enduring conversation from random strangers (I can't help it! I'm from the Midwest, dammit!)
2) What can only be kindly termed as my sheer ridiculousness/impracticality/lack of life skills (as one good friend put it, "I have these visions of the lights going off in your apartment and you not knowing what to do about it." Me: "So true. Touche. Touche.")
3) The way I become a crazy hermit when I'm left to my own devices (namely: I burrow into my room and basically fall off the face of the planet. All the while, my mind wanders into strange crevices of the universe and folds in on itself, usually in ways that do not enhance my already degraded social skills)
4) Me + alcohol (I don't really drink anymore, so when I do, I tend to get smashed, and I'm not using that word lightly) + no one to walk me home + my horrible sense of surroundings (not only do I have no concept of directions, but I'm also ridiculously unobservant. I don't notice when people I'm looking for are literally two feet away from me, which doesn't bode well for walking the streets of a major city at night)
On the upside, though, I have two months before the program starts to feel everything out and hopefully become more of a seasoned individual (seasoned at...life? Apartment-dwelling? Not being a sheltered child? Hmm...the possibilities are endless!). On the downside, I won't have internet service until July 7, so I will be unable to post until then.
Lets all cross our fingers that I don't go wacky from the lack of internet (I compulsively check my email at least 15+ times a day) or else have some other kind of horrible disaster befall me. Positive thoughts, people! Positive thoughts!
In other news, I move back to my apartment on Saturday and will officially be living alone for the first time in my life. I'm pretty nervous about it, though apparently not as nervous as some of my friends are for me. I've heard from quite a few of them that they've had conversations amongst themselves about how badly my first year alone can potentially go. Chief concerns include:
1) My horrible habit of smiling at or enduring conversation from random strangers (I can't help it! I'm from the Midwest, dammit!)
2) What can only be kindly termed as my sheer ridiculousness/impracticality/lack of life skills (as one good friend put it, "I have these visions of the lights going off in your apartment and you not knowing what to do about it." Me: "So true. Touche. Touche.")
3) The way I become a crazy hermit when I'm left to my own devices (namely: I burrow into my room and basically fall off the face of the planet. All the while, my mind wanders into strange crevices of the universe and folds in on itself, usually in ways that do not enhance my already degraded social skills)
4) Me + alcohol (I don't really drink anymore, so when I do, I tend to get smashed, and I'm not using that word lightly) + no one to walk me home + my horrible sense of surroundings (not only do I have no concept of directions, but I'm also ridiculously unobservant. I don't notice when people I'm looking for are literally two feet away from me, which doesn't bode well for walking the streets of a major city at night)
On the upside, though, I have two months before the program starts to feel everything out and hopefully become more of a seasoned individual (seasoned at...life? Apartment-dwelling? Not being a sheltered child? Hmm...the possibilities are endless!). On the downside, I won't have internet service until July 7, so I will be unable to post until then.
Lets all cross our fingers that I don't go wacky from the lack of internet (I compulsively check my email at least 15+ times a day) or else have some other kind of horrible disaster befall me. Positive thoughts, people! Positive thoughts!
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