Letter to a slightly annoying first paper…
ear Paper 1 Draft 1:
I had such high hopes for you, I really did. But grading so many of you really deflates me. And makes me want to eat Kit Kats.
Sincerely,
That graduate student/professor person in the fetal position on the sofa.
P.S.) But you really do have great ideas. If you could only present them well, you know?
It takes a lot of ink to make sense of Sarah Palin.
nce again, Twitter (@littlebrownpen, in particular) bestowed a jewel upon me: the literary editors of Vanity Fair took Sarah Palin’s syntax and, yes, even her knowledge of the U.S. presidents, to task.
And I love every ink marking of it.
From VanityFair.com:
Palin’s Resignation: The Edited Version
If you watched Sarah Palin’s resignation speech, you know one thing: her high-priced speechwriters moved back to the Beltway long ago. Just how poorly constructed was the governor’s holiday-weekend address? We asked V.F.’s red-pencil-wielding executive literary editor,
, together with representatives from the
and
departments, to whip it into publishable shape. Here is the colorful result.
WEB EXCLUSIVE July 20, 2009
Click HERE to view the remaining pages. They’re TOTALLY worth it, I swear.
One.
My humble, little blog baby celebrates its first birthday today!
Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/prophecyblur/3383327078/
Yes, it all began back on 21st July 2008, with a brief little pog entitled Pen Without Ink, wherein I admitted that I had no idea what point this forum would serve nor how it would evolve. Nor what the F I was doing.
It’s been a year, and I’m still wondering.
Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/zoso74/3650492440/
But it’s been an interesting ride that has allowed me to connect with such a diverse body of people, whether academics, designers, politicos, pop-culture fanatics, mommies, or even the occasional Beyoncé devotee who wants to rip me a new one.
My five most commonly clicked pogs from the past year (and my reasons for why):
1. 7 Things… cr@p, I forgot what I was going to say
Reason: Apparently the world simply cannot get enough of the inaugural spawn of G.I. Jane and the balding dude from Die Hard. Though I have no idea why. Other than the fact that, with that chin, if I were Jay Leno, I’d demand a paternity test. And dutifully go on the Maury show to get the results.
2. Riders on the Storm
Reason: Umm… there are two VERY LARGE reasons smacking you in the face.
3. Lip List
Reason: People love the idea of beautiful people who willingly choose to deform themselves. Especially when Lara Flynn Boyle is one of said beautiful people. LFB’s popularity is one of the great enigmatic wonders of the world to me at this point because, seriously, has she done anything since the movie Threesome other than date Jack Nicholson and emaciate herself?
4. Abandonment Season 1: CANCELED
Reason: People love Freaks & Geeks. As they should.
5. Nicholas Hughes & natural selection
Reason: People love a good suicide legacy. Especially when that legacy involves a woman who opened up her oven and saw salvation.
Thank you so much for visiting and, amazingly, for some of you, even coming back for more over this past year. I hope you’ll continue on the ride…
Crap. I forgot to synchronize my watch.
pparently, the millionth word was added to the English language as of approximately 5:22 this morning, so says Paul JJ Payack, president and chief word analyst at the Global Language Monitor. From CNN.com:
[Payack] says, however, that the million-word estimation isn’t as important as the idea behind his project, which is to show that English has become a complex, global language. ”It’s a people’s language,” he said. Other languages, like French, Payack said, put big walls around their vocabularies. English brings others in. ”English has the tradition of swallowing new words whole,” he said. “Other languages translate.”
Oh, grrrrrrrrreat. This Payack guy sounds like the Grand Pooh-bah of the Everybody Should Speak English Guild that has such a large following here in the United States.
I don’t trust him.
And neither do these people:
Paul JJ Payack, Word Man to the Stars
“This is stuff that you just can’t count,” said Jesse Sheidlower, editor at large of the Oxford English Dictionary. “No one can count it, and to pretend that you can is totally disingenuous. It simply can’t be done.”
Part of what makes determining the number of words in a language so difficult is that there are so many root words and their variants, said Sarah Thomason, president of the Linguistic Society of America and a linguistics professor at the University of Michigan.
In the language of people who are native to Alaska, she said, there are dozens of words for snow, but many of them are linked together and wouldn’t be counted individually. Does that mean, she asked, that “slush,” “powder” and other snow words in English should be counted as one entry?
Thomason called the million-word count a “sexy idea” that is “all hype and no substance.”
Payack said he doesn’t consider his to be the definitive count, just an interesting estimation based on set criteria he has helped develop.
Linguists and lexicographers run into further complications when trying to count words that are spelled one way but can have several meanings, said Allan Metcalf, an English professor at MacMurray College in Illinois, and an officer at the American Dialect Society.
“The word bear, b-e-a-r — is that two words or one, for example? You have a noun that’s a wild creature and then you have b-e-a-r, [which means] to bear left or to bear right, and there’s many other things,” he said. “So you really can’t be exact about a millionth word.”
Payack said he doesn’t consider his to be the definitive count, just an interesting estimation based on set criteria he has helped develop.
And there we have it. Even the self-described “Word Man” doesn’t know what purpose this alleged millionth word serves… other than the fact that it’s “interesting” to him and his elusive, who-knows-if-I’m-anywhere-close-to-being-right criteria.
Nice work.
Bad Writing, the Movie
oly crap, guess what!
Image from MorrisHill Pictures MySpace page
My hero/gay boyfriend David Sedaris will be strutting his literary stuff in an upcoming documentary focused on the Crappy Writing Plague (not unlike the Bubonic Plague, but with slightly fewer reported instances of internal bleeding).
Bad Writing, by filmmaker and documentarian (redundant?) Vernon Lott, includes a range of interviews and anecdotes by Sedaris, George Saunders, Claire Davis, and others.
“I’ve written so many bad, bad things,” Sedaris admits. “And I think if I’d really looked at it and studied it, I never would’ve continued. But it seemed important to write something bad and then move on.”
Unfortunately, the film does not yet have a release date. It does, however, have a trailer:
For additional information:
Morris Hill Pictures, MySpace page
*Initial “H” found HERE
Top 5 reasons why the semester needed to be over (and now, thankfully, is)
ast night marked the official end of the semester: final papers graded, catatonic state (barely) avoided, semester grades submitted, congratulatory bag of Reese’s Pieces consumed, alarm clock deactivated… I could have even slept in ⎯that is, if the Insomnia Plane didn’t have the annoying habit of touching down just as I was adapting to the rhythmic rumbles. But still. The point is that I could have slept in.
Yes, the semester’s end marks a very positive move for me.
Top 5 reasons why the semester needed to be over (and now, thankfully, is):
1. Turns out that one of my students is a raging misogynist. Or at least likes to pretend he is when composing a graded, argumentative essay in response to Susan Sontag’s text, “Woman’s Beauty.” Fortunately, I did not discover this interesting/disturbing tidbit until the day after our last class meeting. I’m guessing I would have found it rather difficult to listen to his in-class commentary without seeing the phrase “abuse of feminine power” constantly flashing like a running film in front of my eyes. It’s a good thing the semester’s over.
2. A few weeks ago, I had to report two of my students to the Dean for plagiarism. One student immediately confessed to having copied/pasted an entire paragraph from an online book review. Best case of a bad-case scenario for a non-confrontational coward such as myself. The second student, however, insisted, for over an hour, that he had done nothing wrong. Let’s call him Jimmy. Jimmy is a Chinese ESL student and a first-year student at the university. Now, according to Jimmy, apparently, in China, the internet poses as a virtual free-for-all, where “borrowing” someone else’s words (or whole sentences, or whole paragraphs) amounts to the distribution of a veritable MVP Award: you reward the ingenious word-play of the creator by (sloppily) integrating word-for-word examples into your own essay! What an honor! Oh, and the kicker is that, the actual creator? you know, the one you’re paying homage to by stealing borrowing his/her stuff? Yeah, s/he remains completely anonymous and receives no credit whatsoever! Because, let’s face it: that would be embarrassing, all that complimentary behavior and free publicity… it can just get to be way too much. Yes, it’s much easier to let Jimmy pass your words off as his own. Oh, and by the way, it’s not thievery, silly! Because, see, Jimmy shares the ideas of the actual wordsmith. So he’s not stealing the ideas. Not at all. He’s sharing them. And rewarding the person who came up with the best method of relaying those ideas. Altruism at its finest, really. Jimmy’s such a do-gooder. Yes, it’s a d@mn good thing the semester’s over.
(*Just for the record, I do not for one second believe that China’s rigorously controlled internet actually functions in this manner. I do, however, believe that my student is highly misled. But I did get through to him. Two hours and several — well cited – examples later.)
3. One day, mid-semester, one of my very gracious students raised his hand and gladly offered me the following commentary regarding a poem I had assigned: “I think it’s completely pointless.” A touching moment for any educator. In his defense, though, the poem was heavily layered… and written by Arthur Rimbaud, who’s sort of (in)famously obscure… but still. The many layers proves that there are many points. Not a lack of points. Surely not point-less. So… so there! Ugh. Thankfully, he won’t have to read Rimbaud anymore. The semester’s over.
4. I share an office with about 10 other graduate students, but I’m fortunate (and sufficiently “senior”) to maintain a desk that’s sort of tucked away behind a partition, adjacent to the desk of another graduate student. Let’s call her Betsy. Betsy and I rarely pop up in the office at the same time. This is a good thing. This is a very good thing, because when Betsy does pop up in the office, she emits a quick, barely-there “hello,” which becomes upstaged by the emergence of red smoke, devil horns, a pitchfork, and a smug-@ss mouth from which a ferocious litany of questions spews in my very specific direction. What Betsy lets loose is the equivalent of a verbal ambush of the doctoral variety: the intent is to severely batter and permanently scar my ego. And preferably my intelligence as well, which then manifests itself via a split-infinitive, like the one above. F*ck. Anyway, the verbal ambush generally goes a little something like this:
BETSY, SEEMINGLY POPPING OUT OF NOWHERE (“nowhere” being the eternal flames of Hell fire): Well, hell⎯How is your work? You’re defending soon, right? (cue sick, twisted devil smile) You have finished your dissertation, no? NO?! Well, how far are you? When will you be done? You’ve been here a long time… What do your advisors say? Are you in touch with them? Are they helping you? Are you working on your dissertation this summer? Do you have funding? When do you plan on graduating? …
ME (taking advantage of Betsy pausing to stick her pitchfork further up her @ss): I don’t know, Betsy, but how nice of you to be so concerned. OH, NO! Wow, would you look at the time… I’m supposed to be somewhere…
ONE OF MY STUDENTS (with an impeccably ill-timed entrance): Hi, Professor, I’m here for my scheduled meeting with you.
ME (to myself): F*****************************CK…!
BETSY PROCEEDS TO BLOW RED SMOKE FROM HER FLARING NOSTRILS WHILE GIGGLING DIABOLICALLY AND STABBING ME IN THE CEREBELLUM WITH HER PITCHFORK BEFORE DISAPPEARING.
So, yeah. Jury’s out on whether or not I will retain my desk/office for the next academic year. It’s quite possible that my department will eject me since I am now teaching for a different department. I may become office-less. Very sad. Anyone have any leftover cardboard boxes I could use…? Oh well. At least I don’t have to think about that right now. The semester’s over.
5. In case Betsy or anyone else cares: I *am* working on my dissertation this summer. FULL-TIME, in fact. I figured I might as well take advantage of the Federal Student Loan program while I still can and, at the same time, FINALLY finish this thing that’s been almost a decade in the making. I deserve it. Right? Right. So, not to steal the thunder of Miss Cleo or Latoya Jackson or anything, but… I have a distinct feeling that the pogs of my not-so-distant future will include frequent (or at least semi-frequent) references to my life as a full-time dissertator. Which will probably involve a crushing need to vent frustrations, to seek humor in the not-so-humorousness (?) of the situation, to run ideas by anyone who cares to read, etc. etc.. Oh yeah, and I’ll probably just rip on myself a lot, too. But it’ll be good. I’ll be productive. I NEED TO BE PRODUCTIVE. I NEED TO WRITE MY DISSERTATION AND FINISH THIS D@MN DEGREE.
Thank goodness the semester’s over. Thank goodness it’s (academic) summer.
This list was prompted by the lovely Anna of abdpbt and her series of Listless Mondays. Check out her lists HERE.
(*Initial L found HERE)
Letter to an Over-grown, Over-protected, Scared, Spoiled Baby:
nd by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. And you are so obsessed by your coming necessity to be independent, to face the great huge man-eating world, that you are paralyzed: your whole body and spirit revolts against having to commit yourself to a particular roll, to a particular life which Might Not bring out the Best you have in you. Living takes a very different set of responses and attitudes from this academic hedony . . . and you have to be able to make a real creative life for Yourself, before you can expect anyone Else to provide one ready-made for you. You big baby.
-Sylvia Plath, in a letter to herself dated June/July 1953. (The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. NY: Anchor Books, 2000, pp. 545-546)
But I can’t help but feel that, were she gazing back at me now (me, huddled under a blanket fingering the cool, slick, escape-promising remote), she’d probably write me a very similar letter.
(*Initial A found HERE)
Writer’s Block.
oday, I opened the mailbox and a little postcard came fluttering out. I bent over to pick it up and caught sight of the large bold letters creepily staring back at me:
STRUGGLING TO COMPLETE YOUR DISSERTATION?
My Pavlovian response to this question was, of course, to scream out “DUH!” and then immediately turn around to see if anyone caught me talking to a postcard/myself. Coast was clear. I proceeded inside my apartment, stripped myself of wool coat, overly stuffed teacher bag, and scuffed Danskos, and then I plopped on my couch and read the fine print of the creepy postcard that somehow predicted my internal disserterror:
Need practical, concrete & specific tips and techniques, along with creative, outside-the-box solutions that will help you finish your dissertation and maintain your sanity and self-esteem in graduate school?
The heavy use of coordinating conjunctions and odd choice of a random ampersand notwithstanding (why a bajillion “and”s but only one ampersand?! WTF?), I still felt as though Big Academic Brother had been peeking through my windows and decided that now was the perfect time to mock me via the US postal service.
So I immediately closed my drapes.
And then I turned the postcard over. And that’s when I discovered that there is apparently something called a “Dissertation Toolkit” that has been available to me this whole time, without my knowledge, thanks to the altruistic and not-at-all-capitalistic motives of Gina Hiatt, PhD. On the back of the postcard, Doc Gina lays out 10 bullet points that describe the “tools” she will generously make available to struggling dissertators (after having proceeded through website-led goose chase). Two “tools” with which I take issue, and which I reproduce verbatim here:
* How Academia Messes with your Mind (and what to do about it)
* Self Assessment: “Do You Deserve a Ph.D.?” Find out if you have Ph.D. Impostor Syndrome!
Gina Hiatt, Ph.D. (Clinical psychologist and gatekeeper of the tools)
OK, first of all, tool #1. If I have reached dissertator status, clearly I am already planted rather deeply in the academic soil. Therefore, I probably have already been “messed with” rather extensively, and I’ve probably played several rounds of trial-and-error with potentially (in)effective actions and reactions (or, more probably, I’ve chosen avoidance as my non-solution of choice). That being said, if I haven’t already been academically jaded, and if I did happen upon your questionable little “toolkit” only to find that I have been even more of a naïve moron than I had previously thought, well… I’d probably want to launch my Oxford French Unabridged (very blunt object) dictionary at my adviser’s very disheveled, Balzac-obsessed head. (notice I said that I’d “want to launch” the dictionary, not that I would launch the dictionary. I am as non-violent and non-confrontational as they come. See above comment re: avoidance.) Why would I want to read all about how my chosen career path is “messing with” me before I’ve even been legitimately accepted into that career path?! If I’m being messed with, I know it. So shut up, Doctor Gina.
Oh, and while you’re at it, you might want to expand your “toolkit” to contain a guide that explains proper capitalization for document titles. Seriously.
Next, tool #2: the “Ph.D. Impostor Syndrome”?!? Do I “deserve” my Ph.D.?!? My initial, very academic, doctoral response to this “tool” is an intensely guttural F*CK YOU. (what were you saying about people messing with me?) But, beyond the expletive, I guess I’d just like to state that, seriously, if ANYONE proves masochistic enough to put themselves through years and years of self-doubt, constant scrutiny and judgment from those who will decide your fate at the eventual defense, fatally dwindling self-confidence, loss of nights and weekends that do not involve reading/grading/writing/planning, living off of pizza and caffeine, massive guilt complex if we choose to read any non-dissertation-related material (“pleasure” reading? what’s that?), draining of all self-worth and self-esteem and self-assurance and SELF, development of multiple personalities that alternate between student/teacher/child/adult/inadequate/in control/powerless/powerful, etc.etc…. TRUST ME: THAT PERSON DESERVES IT. And if ANYONE, let alone some pseudo-doctor equipped with a so-called dissertation tool belt, tries to tell a dissertator that s/he doesn’t deserve the Ph.D. for which s/he has sacrificed all of the above? Well, once again: F*CK YOU.
And, newsflash: we ALL feel like impostors. We’ve felt like impostors and like we’ve been “playing school” from day one. A much more appropriate “tool” would be one that explains why we ARE deserving and why we are NOT frauds. Where’s THAT tool, huh?
Which brings me back to: F*CK YOU.
P.S.) Curiosity got the better of me and led me to Doc Gina’s website: www.TheDissertationToolkit.com. My first attempt, I got an error. Which then led me to believe my computer got a virus. And then I got scared. But then I tried again (see above re: masochism), and it connected. There are several PDFs (free access, go figure). I will spend time checking out the “Ph.D. Impostor” PDF and let you know what I find. I looked at it briefly, and it appears as though there is some type of suspiciously crafted Impostor Test. If I fail, sh*t will hit the proverbial fan. In any case, Doc Gina has also created the Academic Ladder Writing Club to foster a community among dissertators and relay methods to motivate and enhance dissertation writing. Does her altruism know no bounds? The Writing Club and all of Doc Gina’s dissertating tools are available to all… for either $70, $230, or $610, depending on your commitment. And if you’re deserving.
P.S.S.) If, by some chance, one of you readers has joined the Academic Ladder Writing Club, I would LOVE to hear your insights and how it’s helping you. Please comment or e-mail me!
Monday Monday (cue The Mamas & The Papas).
think we can all agree that Mondays, as a general rule, SUCK. 
Mondays are proof that the weekend is no more, proof that another freakishly long week has mindlessly begun to putz along, proof that I need serious caffeine and/or Peanut M&Ms to get through the first half of the day (let alone the second)… Yep, Mondays kind of blow. And it seems like “every other day (every other day), every other day of the week is fine, but whenever Monday comes (but whenever Monday comes), you can find me cryin’ all of the time.” And that’s not so nice, Monday. Not so nice at all.
But this Monday (as in, today) was very different. Granted, I still scarfed down a bag of M&Ms at approximately 2:15 pm, but I’d venture that I would have managed OK had I not. And that’s saying a lot. Please trust me.
So… here’s why The Mamas & The Papas proved irrelevant aujourd’hui:
1. We found out that my baby niece gets to say “later, dudes!” to the hospital staff tomorrow, where she will snuggle herself into a heavily padded car seat and head home to meet her doggy sibling and greet her new sleeping and playing quarters! Her twin baby brother has to stay in the hospital just a little while longer, but we’re all sure he’ll be hittin’ his own car seat really soon. I mean, duh, he has a dog to meet.
2. Speaking of baby nephew’s awesomeness… the inaugural whizz occurred today. And by “the inaugural whizz,” I mean that I had my first victim-of-an-out-of-control-peepisode during a diaper changing. It. Was. Awesome! Like a renegade missile attack, yet streamlined directly across my wool sweatered chest. That is, before he whizzed on his own head. Still trying to figure that one out. Impressive. I’m also still trying to figure out why I’m so thrilled to have been peed on by my nephew… Rather than any freaky-deaky urophilia tendencies, I prefer to assume that I merely feel as though he has “marked his territory” and, therefore, he thinks I’m a keeper. Not that I equate him with a dog peeing on a fire hydrant, but… whatever. I’m just a proud aunt who’s ecstatic when a “first” anything occurs, OK? 
3. I have a handful of ESL students in my writing course this semester, which I love, but which also proves an interesting dynamic within the class… and after class, during my office hours. Today, one of my adorable ESL students (let’s call him Ed), came to my office hours to discuss his comprehension of an assigned article (for which they must then write an analytical summary). Ed is a wide-eyed first-year student, somewhat soft-spoken and completely anxious to learn… he’s basically a dream student. And, as a longtime student of a foreign language myself, I can completely empathize with the difficulties he’s facing, his curiosities, etc. etc.. Anyway… it was a pleasure to meet with him and to discuss the text and the course in general. And then, toward the end of our discussion, he looked me in the eye and said, “You are a much better writing teacher than my last one.” And, OK, I realize that this is probably completely selfish/childish/lame/whatever of me, but… I wanted to freakin’ HUG the boy when he said that! I mean, I of course played it off professionally (and somewhat evasively) and simply asked him what course he had taken last semester, how he felt the course improved his writing, etc. etc…. of course I did not ask about the professor he had… but, meanwhile, a lavish party was unfolding in my mind. And this was the first “compliment” I’ve really received about my teaching in a writing course, so… I relished it.
4. Oh, so remember back when I rambled about Revolutionary Road, and I mentioned a dude who played a supporting role, and I was completely blown away by him? “Him” is Michael Shannon, and he was nothing short of extraordinary. I immediately did the IMDB thing to find out what other films he’s been in (which I then promptly added to my Netflix queue), and to read his bio, find out if he’s married or destined for me, etc. etc.. Anyway, as it turns out: my future husband was nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his role in RR! So that’s pretty awesome. Awesome for him, of course, but also awesome for me because the news of the Oscar nod oddly legitimizes my film/acting reviews and, in my mind, brings me one step closer to getting into red carpet premieres and schmoozing with the likes of Ebert & Roeper. Speaking of: god, poor Ebert and his non-existent voice, huh? I mean, he’s kicking cancer’s A, which is phenomenal, but… I can’t help but want to hug the little guy whenever I see him and his wrapped throat.
5. I weighed myself at my sister’s for the first time since early last fall (I don’t own a scale and generally tend to ignore their existence). After passing out, I promptly high-tailed it to the gym. I made it four times last week, and even though I got home late tonight and wanted to watch The Bachelor at 8pm (priorities), I still busted a move to the gym to get in 45 mins of cardio and 25 mins of weights tonight. And then I watched that psycho-”do what I tell you to do”-dominatrix Lauren get the axe. Nice work, Bachelor.
6. Speaking of reality TV… Olivia on The City is a slightly less diabolical Blair Waldorf.
7. The freakin’ Paper Source 2009 Wall Art calendar is finally on freakin’ sale!!!! I’ve been waiting for weeks! Once January 1st hit, I figured, “Awesome, Paper Source will hack the hell out of the calendar prices.” But no. They tried some “buy one, get one half off” bullshiz, which is ludicrous because, come on, who wants two of the same calendar?! Anyway, I kept revisiting their site (and their shops) to see if, perchance, they had come to their senses and knocked some bucks off of their calendar prices. But no. Until… now. Way to hold out, Paper Source. You almost got me. But now… your calendar is ALL. FREAKIN’. MINE.
Another Monday, another List in homage to Anna at:
In which I kind of ramble and blame it on insomnia
ave any of you seen Revolutionary Road yet? I saw it last night and, I must say, it was absolutely everything I had anticipated it would be –the rather excruciating level of sadness that was evoked (which I sickly thrive on), but particularly the brilliance of Kate Winslet, who can pretty much do no wrong in my eyes. Watching this film, watching her character’s downward spiral (don’t worry, I’m not giving anything away), I couldn’t help but see Sylvia Plath… over and over… and over. Which then made me think of the 2003 movie Sylvia, which was disappointingly painful, primarily due to Gwyneth’s flimsy portrayal of Plath. I kept wanting to knock her off her bicycle, and was pretty sure I could, right through the screen. It infuriated me. Why couldn’t Kate Winslet have played Sylvia? Probably because the script was less than stellar, too. But still… Kate would have been a brilliant Sylvia.
Anyway…
Michael Shannon rules.
Revolutionary Road was certainly not without its faults, but I could easily overlook those flaws when considering the insanely beautiful acting (two words: Michael freakin’ Shannon. I’m a believer.) and the unique emphasis on the links between communication, emotion, and the limits of sanity. I still have some issues with Leonardo Dicaprio, though. I’m not even sure I can articulate what those issues are, because I do generally think he does really great work and has chosen impressively interesting and complex roles. But… I don’t know… sometimes he still just makes me cringe. And he finally is starting to look his age, which was reassuring (I was worried Kate would outperform him — she’s a presence to be reckoned with, and sometimes Leo’s baby face proves a bit difficult to be taken seriously.). Close up, Leo looked every wrinkle of his thirty odd years. But still, from a distance, he maintained the posture, build, and swagger of a tween, and I couldn’t help but constantly see the foul-mouthed, boy genius Rimbaud.
So, the film set my mind reeling. In both positive and negative ways. The film was not the only reason for my insomnia last night, but it didn’t ease the pain. Especially the fact that Vinnie from my much beloved Doogie Howser, M.D., played a colleague of Leo’s, which only resuscitated my love for all things Doogie and my old-school yearning to be the keyboard that his fingers so intimately graced on a nightly basis.
OK, I’m totally exaggerating my Doogie fascination, but for real, how am I supposed to take Leo seriously when Vinnie Delpino’s boozing it up at the other side of the table? I half expected Wanda to come strutting up as a slutty waitress or something.
Anyway, I was up all night. Literally, not a wink of sleep. So, to pass my time, I decided to filter through job listings for potential full-time teaching positions next year (next academic year, that is, starting August or September 2009. In case you don’t know, when you’re an academic, you define time by semesters and breaks and academic years. December 31st may technically be New Year’s Eve, but for us academics, the new year generally begins in September and ends in May.).
So, those of you who have been reading me for a while know that this year has marked my first time teaching a (primarily freshmen first-year-student) Writing Seminar at my university (I’d spent the last seven years teaching various levels of undergraduate French language/composition/literature). It’s been an adjustment, to say the least… but a lovely, inspiring adjustment that has proven challenging in the best of ways. 
I’ve really loved it. So, I applied for a renewal of my Writing Fellowship (what’s allowing/paying me to teach the seminar) for next year since my French Teaching Fellowship expired as of last May. Why did it expire as of last May, you ask? Oh, because I’m having a bit of a rough time completing my dissertation, have I not mentioned that? Yeah. You could say I’m a little behind. But, as long as I can find funding, I’m OK (and by “OK,” I mean “receiving some type of income to support me while I struggle through the Big D”). And, from the outset, the Writing Program People (you down with WPP? - yeah, you know me!) made it sound kind of like a no-brainer: as long as you weren’t a total delinquent instructor with evaluations that related you to Bernie Madoff or something, all indicators pointed to a pretty seamless transition from first-year Graduate Writing Fellow to second-year Graduate Writing Fellow.
It seemed like a no-brainer, that is, until the WP Director sent all applicants an e-mail stating that the “selection process” would take longer than expected due to a variety of criteria that the selection committee was considering. Umm… sh*t? So now I’m scared cr@pless that I’ll have zero income secured for next year and I’m going to have to sell everything I own — which, granted, isn’t that much, but still, it’s MINE — and go live on the streets or on the beach or in the basement of the Harvard Library or something (notice I didn’t say “live with a family member — that’s just too scary). So… that’s why I started applying for jobs in my insomniac state last night/this morning. I applied to four, all of which were full-time faculty positions (mostly non-tenure track, which is OK by me) for English Writing/Literature instructors. This is interesting to me for a variety of reasons… not the least of which is: umm, I’m getting my Ph.D. in French Literature. But… I’ve always done the comparative thing… and this year has taught me that teaching French in English translation can be very satisfying as well (except poetry… too much lost in translation for the majority of verse I’ve come across). So… anyway.
A pair of insanely cute Robeez baby booties
The disastrous state of my financial affairs (no thanks to my stupid-head health insurance company mentioned in my previous pog) sort of begs me to say “screw you 2009/2010 Writing Fellowship,” and then miraculously receive some fabulous income doing some fabulous teaching of some fabulous subject with fabulous colleagues at a fabulous university (preferably on the sea or in the mountains, but I’m not picky), and life would be fabulous and I could finally get a doggy and pay off bills and actually be able to afford to get car washes and buy meat and buy my new baby niece and nephew Robeez and stuff. Wouldn’t that be fun?
It would be fun. But only if someone actually thinks that one year of experience teaching Writing/Reading/Composition/Literature in English qualifies me for a faculty position. But I can teach French, too! I’m a double threat, people! COME ON, SMALL LIBERAL ARTS COLLEGES!!!!! WORK WITH ME HERE!!!!!!!!!!
Ugh.
Anyway. Wish me luck that I have some type of income next year, please.
Though I suppose living on a beach somewhere couldn’t be all bad. I mean, hey, if you’re gonna be an impoverished, homeless, pseudo-intellectual, at least be a tan impoverished, homeless, pseudo-intellectual, right?
(***Academia-related images borrowed from the always entertaining PhDcomics.com***)
