More writing

I've been writing a column for the Independent Collegian, the University of Toledo's student paper, for several weeks now. You can access my other columns here, but there is one in particular I'd like to post. It concerns a young UT student who was killed in July. I received a letter of thanks for it this week; it meant so much that something I wrote might have given his family and friends some comfort.

On Roads Not Taken

Grad school breakdown!

This is way overdue--I'm finally posting the results:

I applied to 9 programs, all terminal Master's (I want a transition before moving to doctoral studies, rather than going through a straight-to-PhD program, for various reasons I won't bore you with here). All had strong programs overall, seemed to be more Continental in their bent (or at least Continental friendly--I enjoy Analytical stuff, but given my background, I lean less "Phi of Mind" and more "Phi of Art") and each had strengths or potential for expansion in my area(s) of philosophical interest, Aesthetics and Ethics.

The schools were:

Miami University (in Ohio)
University of Toledo
Kent State
Ohio University
West Chester University (near Philly)
Oklahoma State
Colorado State
Washington State
California State-L.A.

Most of you guys already know this, but for the uninitiated: don't pay for grad school. Typically, one receives a tuition waver, plus a teaching assistantship to cover living expenses (well, at least ostensibly--it's not like you've won the lotto, or anything). I was hoping for decent financial offers from both Washington & Cal State, because I miss living in both places (in Cal State's case, I'm right back in L.A.; in Pullman, at least I'm a few hours' drive from Seattle).

Anyhoo, I was accepted at all 9 schools, which is awesome. However, not everyone ponied up the $$$. As we all know, times are tough, and budget cuts affected nearly everyone. I did receive a couple of measly offers--one from Ohio U., and the suggestion I "might" be eligible for money in the spring at West Chester, but a substantive one came in from Oklahoma, so they took over as my front runner. Then, I received a personal phone call from the head of the department at Toledo, and everything changed. First off, he told me I was their top candidate (which is an ego stroke I haven't gotten in some time, so I had to revel a little). Also, he was so enthusiastic, collegial (philosophy types aren't always the most accessible folks) and sold the strengths of the program so hard to me, I had to sit up and take notice. A decent financial offer was extended, _and_ to put icing on the cake, the guy who will be my graduate advisor emailed to let me know that he was co-founder of a theatre company in Toledo, and that if I "wanted to do any more acting, we could make sure it fits around your seminars."

Once an actor, always an actor...let's just say that helped tip the balance, even though I was already sold. Sure, it's not L.A., but performing is performing, and keeping my artistic side exercised is always something I want to do, despite the career goals that have replaced professional acting.

So, after my study abroad in Scotland this summer, I'm Ohio bound. I never pictured myself living in Toledo for two years, but the strange and sometimes wonderful twists and turns my life has taken tell me to never dismiss anything out of hand, and to remember "beauty's where you find it."

I knew I'd find a way to work in Madonna. Viva Toledo!

Back to school blues.

Just when I think, "Oh, it's not so bad. You only have two semesters of undergrad left and things have gotten off to a pretty good start. No assholes yet..."

Then, there's Math 105. Math 105, the class I'm PISSED OFF I have to take in the first place, not only because I have math phobia (even fractions make me nervous), not only because I scored something like an 11 on the math section of the ACT and am flying blind, but mostly because it's a 100-level course, and 100-level courses mean...YOU GUESSED IT: Assholes.

My instructor is this tiny little Chinese woman who is really sweet and clearly knows her stuff. However, her accent is so thick it is very hard to understand her. There are two jerk-offs in the back of the class who have talked during lecture before, but today, were out of control. They chattered all through Dr. X's instruction, and one of them was even poking fun of her (she didn't seem to realize this or perhaps she just didn't care) while she was explaining one of the problems on the board. Now, I'll admit, she does say/do funny things from time to time (writing "deceasing" on the board instead of "decreasing" did give me a giggle), but audibly making fun of someone's language barrier is NOT cool. Anyway, these two douche bags wouldn't be quiet, so I spoke up:

"I apologize, Dr. X," I said, turning to them. "Could you guys please be quiet? I can't hear her talk."

The reply from one of them was this:

"Shut up."

I was fucking flabbergasted.

"That's really offensive," I replied. "Could you just respect the instructor, since she's the one teaching this stuff?"

"Why don't you just shut up?" he said again, never fully turning his face toward me, but glowering from the side.

Dr. X turned around and just sort of stared at them.

"I can't believe this, Dr. X," I said to her. "These guys are behaving like they're in junior high," I commented.

"Well, maybe I am," Asshole 1 replied. GREAT response. Very creative. By this point, he had all my attention. Asshole 2 was probably just grinning like an idiot.

"Apparently, you should be," I said, and turned around. I was shaking all through the rest of class.

Dr. X tried to smooth things over, saying something about not talking while she's talking, but if I was her, I would have kicked their asses out of class--not only for for disrespecting me (the instructor), but for being TOTALLY out of line with a fellow student, as well.

Dr. X loves for students to read the problems she provides on her handouts, and although I had planned to say nothing else during the remainder of class time, she stood there and waited so long for someone to offer to read one of the examples, I finally started reading it. Of course, these guys started talking AGAIN while I was speaking, and one of them even went to the trouble to knock his book off his desk, which made a loud clap on the floor. Wow, I haven't encountered this much direct hostility at school since those horrible Lord of the Flies years better known as high school.

I am an ASSHOLE MAGNET. I don't know why this is, but I can go anywhere where two or more are gathered, and almost always, the bully of the group (read: insecure jerk, male or female) will target me. I have no idea why.

Someone at work--to whom I was relaying this story--said, "Well, you're just an outspoken woman, and he couldn't handle that." Perhaps so, but this goes beyond some sort of sexist thing. This is a human decency thing. I called someone out on their rude behavior and instead of being embarrassed and ceasing the behavior, the response was to say "shut up"? This sort of stuff shouldn't happen in college. But then again, neither should audible conversations during movies, obscenities yelled from a car at someone walking down the sidewalk, or a million other rude, inexcusable behaviors I encounter daily--which confirms my belief that decorum is dead, common decency is in the shit can and we're all headed to Hades in a hand cart.

So, let's all gather 'round, punch each other in the face while singing Kumbaya and then "Shut up," 'cause I guess everything else is just a waste of time.

Wilfred Owen and the Horrors of War...a brief reflection.

Tonight, I had to read the poem below for my lit crit class, and it nearly broke my heart. This is one of several I've encountered by Wilfred Owen, a soldier who died at age 25 one week before WWI ended. His work offered wise-beyond-his-years, stunningly frank insight into all he saw and experienced.

Every young man or woman who is considering enlisting in the military should not only educate themselves on the shell game that is our current "conflict" (now five years and counting, as we were clearly reminded yesterday) but should read Owen's poetry if they need further convincing.

Disabled
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.

About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim-
In the old times, before he threw away his knees.
Now he will never feel again how slim
Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands.
All of them touch him like some queer disease.

There was an artist silly for his face,
For it was younger than his youth, last year.
Now, he is old; his back will never brace;
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,
And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.

One time he liked a blood-smear down his leg,
After the matches, carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,
He thought he'd better join. - He wonders why.
Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts,
That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts
He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;
Smiling they wrote his lie: aged nineteen years.

Germans he scarcely thought of; all their guilt,
And Austria's, did not move him. And no fears
Of Fear came yet. He drought of jewelled hills
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.
And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.

Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then enquired about his soul.

Now, he will spend a few sick years in institutes,
And do what things the rules consider wise,
And take whatever pity they may dole.
Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
How cold and late it is! Why don't they come
And put him into bed? Why don't they come?

On da radio...Monday night 1/7!

I'm working my way back into DJing for WRFL-FM, the student-run radio station for the University of Kentucky, which served as a major creative outlet for me, many years ago. Tomorrow I'll be (re)training and riding shotgun with my long-time pal Percy Trout from 8:30-10 pm EST.

Out-of-towners can listen online at: WRFL, and for those in town--well, you should know it, but if you don't--it's 88.1 on the dial.

Percy's hilarious, and we always have a good time. Tune in!

I'M DOOOOOONE!

Handed in the last of my assignments at 10 am today. Ran some errands, then bought myself a bottle of cheap champagne.

It is 4:35 pm, and I am drunk.

Normally, I'm not a self-congratulatory kind of person, but I've accomplished quite a lot in the last four months. More than I ever thought I could.

Yay for me!

To Walk the Night.

This semester, one of our readings in my World Lit class was Virgil's The Aeneid. The character of Dido really got under my skin, so for a final assignment, I chose to continue her narrative a bit:

Dido in her eternal walk of night
Finds no respite in that, her hollow death
Given on the pyre of her marriage bed.

In that moment, an act so just and pure
The sword, a treasured gift of Dardan love
Deeply plunged, to fly on wings of Isis
But leaving no emotion behind her
Her wound bleeds bright in the Underworld.

Sychaeus again by her side, steadfast
Should give some succor to her ravaged soul
Instead, the memory of Aeneas' tears
Blends into one with her eternal flow.

Not that anyone will even want to post this elsewhere, but if you do, please at least link back to me. Thanks.

My head is folding in on itself.

Soon, I will suck myself up and just become a vacuum.

I argue for a philosophical position that as far as I can tell, no one else ever has (or at least has never proven). I have only a rudimentary understanding of metaphysics, so I turn in circles and circles until my paper is totally restructured, and then I start again. And again.

It is due tomorrow.

I had a glass of wine to relax, but it only muddies my thoughts. I feel I am trying to decipher some sort of a Zen koan--only instead of sitting in Zazen meditating, I feel my ass grow wider and more numb on my folding chair as I type type type away my circular musings and half-baked concepts.

Dear god, why didn't I choose to pursue a literature degree?


moar funny pictures

This morning...

...my Dad left me a voice mail in the style of Karl Childers, to congratulate me on getting into the Honors Program at EKU.

Made my day.

Edgar Cayce

So, in a desperate move to absorb the information I didn't feel I was retaining for my tests last night, I decided to employ the method that legendary medical intuitive/clairvoyant Edgar Cayce used--he'd just put a book under his pillow at night, and was apparently able to quote it verbatim, the next day.

Didn't work, E.C. C'mon, don't steer me wrong, now.



-----

Brain on overload...must slow it down.

Some gems from school...

Sign on EKU ladies' bathroom wall: "Please turn water off completety!!!"

Um, yeah! Good to see you go want us to go one step beyond mere conservation--turning off the water not only completely, but "completety!"

Overheard loud (is there any other kind?) cell conversation from bottle-blonde-orange-tan-early-twenty-something:

...So, I guess we're back together...I mean, he missed two of our anniversaries...first with training, and then with Iraq...

Not that I'm a proponent of the war at all, but, you'd think she might cut the guy a little slack? It's not like he passed on their "anniversary" to go strip clubbing with his buddies, or something.

Overhead convo between two students, hanging out and smoking between classes:

"So, when I got out of jail, and I was only in for a week..."

Um, (shudder)...hey, wait...aren't you in my Ethics class?

Today, during said Ethics class, I glance over at what I'd call a "Buffy"; I'm sure today's generation has a different name for them...sorority types, again with the blonde hair/fake tan...and see that she's kicked off her flip-flops, pulled her bare feet into the seat, has lifted her blouse and is idly playing with her belly-button ring. I feel like I'm watching someone publicly masturbate. Later, she begins furiously copying notes (that apparently, she's already taken--it's the same bubbly handwriting) and I actually see her make a heart over one of her "i"s. It was all I could do to keep from exploding with laughter; a truly mind-blowing moment. Later, she stared at me with derision when I did audibly laugh (snorted, even--couldn't help it) at the instructor's attempt to delineate between what was meant by the blanket statement "abortion is wrong." He said, "Does that mean pushing a pregnant person down the stairs, or having a procedure done?" Who knows what Buffy was thinking about me--she went back to bearing down on her notetaking with the iron grip of a cheerleader known amongst the football team for her intense and quickly executed hand jobs.

Also in the twice mentioned Ethics class is a really bright, cute young guy who sits beside me. I was kind of surprised to find out early on he was ROTC, because he doesn't seem militaristic or posture-y at all. He occasionally adds what I would consider moderate to liberal comments to class discussion. We chat occasionally, and today he was more talkative than usual.

I want to preface this with the admission that I have been known to attract (and be attracted to) the odd younger man or two (GPG knows this), but I don't necessarily seek it out. During our conversation today, I said, "So, what, are you 20, 21?"--the age of my last serious boyfriend--and he smiled and said, "No, 18."

Jesus Christ.

Yep, here's one old lady, signing out.

Reflections, three weeks in.

I've been an official "returning adult" student for several weeks now, and as is my nature, I've made a lot of observations.

My primary assertion is that it's very fulfilling, in many ways. I got a taste of this when I picked up a few classes in early 2006, in Los Angeles--to get my feet wet again--to decide where my academic focus should lie. I was teetering between philosophy and anthropology; philosophy won (and not just because my instructor was cute). I found philosophy really plugged me in to where my mind and my search was taking me. I'd grown tired of the platitudes bandied about by the L.A. pseudo-enlightened; stuff that boiled down to trash. You know what? Maybe things aren't happening for a cosmic reason. I've followed my inner guides a million times, only to later find myself in the wake of yet another catastophe. It was seeming to me that such easy epithets were the fodder of people either blessed with dumb luck or from those not wanting to take responsibility for anything around them. And that's not to say I don't still feel or am no longer an irrational. I can still be trippy-dippy, find synchonicity in things...but while it's true I have an artist's heart, I have an analytical mind, always desiring to reach the truth of any query, endeavor or situation (all too often to the detriment of my aformentioned artist's heart).

I'm taking five philosophy classes this semester, yes, five. All of which compete for my mind space, but more often than not, link together in interesting ways. Some branches, such as metaphysics, tangle me in infinite loops of deconstruction, only to periodically become clear again. Today I see myself as a nominalist, tomorrow a realist. And that's just scratching the surface. I find great beauty in Plato's Allegory of the Cave (one of the first things I fell in love with in Intro), and my artist's heart also loves the realm of perfect Forms. It's a way of realizing my old religious leanings without having to subscribe to the whole Southern Baptist "God" concept. Bertrand Russell's ambition to revise metaphysics through Neutral Monism--while arguably unsuccessful--is nonetheless inspiring.

So much falling around me, like snow; I pick it up and hold it in my hand, it absorbs and becomes a part of me.

It is as if the hard drive of my mind is being defragmented and is preparing for reboot.

----

There are some negatives, however. First of all, despite the stellar instruction I'm receiving at both institutions, I'm doing it in an town that limits me. Not just an "oh, there's nothing interesting to do on a Saturday night" sort of limitation--I can find worthwhile art and entertainment in Lexington if I look hard enough--but more of a "wow, all of this is so overwhelming I'd love to have a conversation with someone who will appreciate it" kind of feeling (not discounting my folks and my bro; they're great with these sorts of exchanges, but you know...I mean "in-the-moment" peers). Even more, I feel stifled by the feeling of being landlocked. Sometimes I just want to take my thoughts to the edge of the water and let them tumble along with the surf. Get that "oceanic feeling" Freud talked about, a term someone recently introduced me to when I was describing how I felt a sense of connectedness to everything when I was alone with my thoughts in nature. A marriage of analytic mind and emotional heart; that's all I've ever craved, anyway.

My pet negative is the ridiculous amount of clucks that clog up my classes, mostly at EKU. EKU has surprised me in a lot of ways; as mentioned above, the great instruction, small class sizes, friendlier bureaucracy, etc. But with an eastern Kentucky undergrad university that has always had the rep of being a "party school," it's inevitable that you're going to have a fair share of people who are attending only to get away from home. The worst offenders are in my English Lit class (I chose it as an elective, as I've considered Literature in the past also as a major). My god, these people are the biggest bunch of lackluster doofuses. The instructor, while a sweet lady, is lacking a bit in her oratory skills, but NONE of these idiots will offer anything to the discussion, unless their mouths are forcibly opened by her, anyway. Myself and another girl (ironically, also from Rockcastle County) are the only ones who contribute on a regular basis. One guy today (who is always late, sits there taking no notes and never cracks a book; looks like a reject from Blind Melon) actually said, "I don't know," when asked some simple question about our reading from The Iliad. If you don't fucking know, then fucking stay at home and sleep off your hangover. Stop taking up my valuable oxygen. Also today, the instructor had everyone read a line aloud from the text, and while I don't think this is the most productive way of communicating the material, I was appalled to hear the halting, mispronounced tripe that came out of people's mouths. It's true I can be a snob when it comes to reading and writing, because I'm quite good at both. But Jesus H. Christ! You people are in college--the word "poised" is not to be pronounced "poison!" I'm gonna have a heart attack here, so I'd better stop. No wait. One more: we had to write a simile about ourselves, and while mine wasn't showstopping, it was something like: "She was thorough and efficient, going about her business like an insect pollinating the flowers," it was at least, serviceable. I glance over at one of my "teammates'" (yes, we're broken down into teams, blecch) similes, and his was:

"I am as fun as a ball."

Enough said.

----

In sum:

School=good for Alexandra

Stupid people=bad for Alexandra

*Sigh* Some things just never change.

The Year in Review.

So.

It's been a year since I left Los Angeles. Last August 29th, I tearfully gave away the last of the things I couldn't fit into my storage space or my rented vehicle (my low-rent vulturous neighbors were more than delighted to pick through it all), and myself and my three feline children hit the road. We drove straight through the desert, the mountains, the trees--never stopping except for pee breaks and food-on-the-run--until we stumbled, exhausted, into an equally low-rent hotel each night. When we arrived four days later on the doorstep of my parents' home (a respite I truly appreciate and often return to during my darkest life transitions), I think the four of us passed out and slept for a whole day.

I departed from Los Angeles a disenchanted, unhappy person. As I've outlined in detail in my previous blogs, I hadn't reached the place I wanted to be as an artist; I was broke and living in a shitty neighborhood where I didn't feel safe; my relationship of several years had reached its climax--and despite our attempts to make it work, it quite simply, didn't anymore. It was time to hit that big reset button, yet again.

Kentucky is by no means my favorite place to live, despite growing up here. It is very dear to me, a wonderful place to come back and visit; I find it beautiful and bucolic in many ways, but I've never been able to shake that it just doesn't feel like home to me. However, my folks are here, it's fairly affordable, and it seemed the most logical place to take a respite and plan for the future. Initially, I had plans to work on a cruise ship in Hawaii, but after reading horror narrative after horror narrative, combined with the cruise line's apathy in returning my calls, I elected not to dedicate five months of my life to indentured servitude. Instead, I chose to hang my hat here for a bit, to give myself time to really take a look at what was the most progressive, yet most satisfying "next step."

In the year that I've been here, I've worked several "permanent" jobs which proved to be nothing of the sort, and many, many temp assignments. Truly, I never wanted to find any employment that would keep me here too long; my intention has always been to go someplace else. No matter how comfortable Lexington and its environs are, my gypsy heart has longed for a new, or return to a "new again" place where I feel there is more opportunity (and saltwater--I hate being landlocked). And, despite my return to Kentucky serving as an escape from a relationship tornado, I managed to find yet another opportunity to get my heart broken. What can I say? When I care, I care deeply and with hope that it will be returned. There's another life lesson in there for me somewhere, I suppose; I'm still working that one out.

This year has been tough--hell, things have been tough for me since 2005--but I feel I'm finally turning a corner. I'm back in school; two schools, actually: University of Kentucky and Eastern Kentucky University, as a philosophy major. Heady, lofty stuff, but I've always set the bar high, which is why I've probably experienced my share of disappointment. I'm having an amazing time thus far, and only see it getting better. I'm a junior (currently taking 18 hours--again, those lofty goals), and I anticipate being done in a year and a half. So, I'm thinking early 2009, I'm on my way to grad school, back on the west side of the nation--or maybe even Europe. We'll see what opportunities present themselves to me.

Oh yeah, and I'm applying for a grant to develop a one-woman show, incorporating much about my full-circle journey home. It'll be swell, I promise. So, wish me luck, friends. Changer oui!