I was thinking this morning, while driving to work, of a particularly embarrassing moment for me from my youth. We all have many such moments, I'm certain. This particular one was sports-related.
Anyway, I was wondering if seeing a psychologist would help lessen the impact of that embarrassment, that humiliation that still stings decades later. Isn't that what they do? Then again, I considered that my own coping mechanism, my writing, has probably saved me so much money on psycho-analysis. So in that sense, IT IS PAYING FOR ITSELF, HA HA HA. Papa tax-man would probably not appreciate my deducting Rhodia notebooks and fountain pen ink as "medical expenses" on my 1040 this coming year, though.
Finding different work is always such a gigantic pain in the neck. Sustaining one's self is the primary drain on that sustenance. We truly are locked in a never-ending cycle of self-preservation when we are the "working class."
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Friday, June 05, 2009
Sloth Dynamics.
This morning I stopped off at my favorite breakfast fast-food joint for a bite since we were out of powerbars (not a good substitute, I know, but I went for it anyway). I ordered my food and the young man behind the counter went about placing the order and preparing parts of it within his sphere of influence. He asked me how my day was, and I said "Well, I'm awake and nearly to work, so I suppose successful so far." He smiled.
I looked down next to the counter sat a small, leather or leatherette bound book of similar size and shape to a bible, but with the Marine Corps logo stamped on it in gold. The lad came back with my food, and I asked, "Did you join up?"
"Yes sir," he said, "October."
"Congratulations," I said.
He must have known I was never in any branch of the service. I'm not tall enough, not steely enough. I don't have "the look" in me. My military contracting barely counts for anything except that I know what it is like to frustrate the Generals of the 9th Army, and how tough it can be to talk sense to a Navy man.
Two days ago the plans for the next few years of my life unfolded in front of me.
Let me explain a bit, since I've been so "not open" in my chronicles of seeking further education. Since I was nearing the end of my time at my current school in Florida, I decided, in the Fall, to busy myself with a head-start on my future education plans. I'm a fairly dedicated student, and am focused on achieving and learning each subject I set out to become educated in, and I have been successful in this particular leg of my education in doing that. Most people would probably say I'm being modest in assessing things thusly - I've had a number of academic distinctions, have served as an officer in an academic honors organization, and have maintained a perfect GPA for the past 3 part-time years of school.
Regardless, my targets for further education in my chosen field (big surprise, English) were some of our nations best schools. I applied to Cornell, Columbia, Oberlin, Brown, and Yale. Yale was certainly my main target, and it was not because of my distaste for the other schools... certainly Oberlin, Brown, and Columbia all had HIGHLY regarded English programs, perhaps more highly regarded in many circles than Yale's (especially Columbia's), but Yale had writers I wanted to learn from, and an enticing environment to study in. The fact that it was one of the "three" (Harvard and Princeton being the other two, neither of which is accepting transfer students this year for various reasons, Princeton because they never do, and Harvard because they find themselves without the space) did not dissuade me in any way.
I was fairly hopeful about my chances, having received a number of good recommendations from people I respect, and crafting my essays in a very specific manner. In the end, I was called in for an interview. In the program I applied to, only about 1 in 5 people were called in for an interview - the rest were essentially rejected. So, I flew up to New Haven to interview, and it went well, I thought. Of course, you know where this is going from my "I thought" comment. They eventually said no. About 1 in 3 of the interviewees were accepted and I was not one of them.
Meanwhile, throughout this process, I received rejections from Cornell, Oberlin, Brown, and acceptances to the local schools I applied to (University of Tampa, University of Central Florida) and some other schools I thought looked interesting (The New School in New York, and their Riggio Writing Fellowship), but most interestingly was a rather quick and enthusiastic acceptance to Columbia.
Granted, some people argue that the program I got into is fundamentally different than the one people get into as Freshmen, but I'm after educational quality, not status. Though I may be the product of prep schools, I'm clearly not "that" anymore. I am and will remain a property owner. I've got more to worry about than I did at 19, though I so infrequently am relieved of that worry anymore. It fuels me to some degree, I suppose. Regardless, I'm heading to New York. We shall all clasp hands in glory by and by.
Our trip to the keys was impressive. We camped, we drove, we kayaked, ate fantastic pizza at the No Name Pub, visited Hemingway's house and his aloof descendants of his cats, saw a former Navy ship that was headed to the bottom about 6 miles offshore to become a reef soon (it has now been scuttled, coincidentally, the USS General Dwight Vandenburg, I believe was its name). There are so many more details and pictures, but I'll let those be elsewhere for the time being.
I didn't post in May. I did, though, graduate from a school in May. There's also a story behind that.
Yes, I am writing. I'm working on the book again. Shh, that's a secret.
I looked down next to the counter sat a small, leather or leatherette bound book of similar size and shape to a bible, but with the Marine Corps logo stamped on it in gold. The lad came back with my food, and I asked, "Did you join up?"
"Yes sir," he said, "October."
"Congratulations," I said.
He must have known I was never in any branch of the service. I'm not tall enough, not steely enough. I don't have "the look" in me. My military contracting barely counts for anything except that I know what it is like to frustrate the Generals of the 9th Army, and how tough it can be to talk sense to a Navy man.
Two days ago the plans for the next few years of my life unfolded in front of me.
Let me explain a bit, since I've been so "not open" in my chronicles of seeking further education. Since I was nearing the end of my time at my current school in Florida, I decided, in the Fall, to busy myself with a head-start on my future education plans. I'm a fairly dedicated student, and am focused on achieving and learning each subject I set out to become educated in, and I have been successful in this particular leg of my education in doing that. Most people would probably say I'm being modest in assessing things thusly - I've had a number of academic distinctions, have served as an officer in an academic honors organization, and have maintained a perfect GPA for the past 3 part-time years of school.
Regardless, my targets for further education in my chosen field (big surprise, English) were some of our nations best schools. I applied to Cornell, Columbia, Oberlin, Brown, and Yale. Yale was certainly my main target, and it was not because of my distaste for the other schools... certainly Oberlin, Brown, and Columbia all had HIGHLY regarded English programs, perhaps more highly regarded in many circles than Yale's (especially Columbia's), but Yale had writers I wanted to learn from, and an enticing environment to study in. The fact that it was one of the "three" (Harvard and Princeton being the other two, neither of which is accepting transfer students this year for various reasons, Princeton because they never do, and Harvard because they find themselves without the space) did not dissuade me in any way.
I was fairly hopeful about my chances, having received a number of good recommendations from people I respect, and crafting my essays in a very specific manner. In the end, I was called in for an interview. In the program I applied to, only about 1 in 5 people were called in for an interview - the rest were essentially rejected. So, I flew up to New Haven to interview, and it went well, I thought. Of course, you know where this is going from my "I thought" comment. They eventually said no. About 1 in 3 of the interviewees were accepted and I was not one of them.
Meanwhile, throughout this process, I received rejections from Cornell, Oberlin, Brown, and acceptances to the local schools I applied to (University of Tampa, University of Central Florida) and some other schools I thought looked interesting (The New School in New York, and their Riggio Writing Fellowship), but most interestingly was a rather quick and enthusiastic acceptance to Columbia.
Granted, some people argue that the program I got into is fundamentally different than the one people get into as Freshmen, but I'm after educational quality, not status. Though I may be the product of prep schools, I'm clearly not "that" anymore. I am and will remain a property owner. I've got more to worry about than I did at 19, though I so infrequently am relieved of that worry anymore. It fuels me to some degree, I suppose. Regardless, I'm heading to New York. We shall all clasp hands in glory by and by.
Our trip to the keys was impressive. We camped, we drove, we kayaked, ate fantastic pizza at the No Name Pub, visited Hemingway's house and his aloof descendants of his cats, saw a former Navy ship that was headed to the bottom about 6 miles offshore to become a reef soon (it has now been scuttled, coincidentally, the USS General Dwight Vandenburg, I believe was its name). There are so many more details and pictures, but I'll let those be elsewhere for the time being.
I didn't post in May. I did, though, graduate from a school in May. There's also a story behind that.
Yes, I am writing. I'm working on the book again. Shh, that's a secret.
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