Graduate School & Graduation Nostalgia

I've been having a really hard time getting on this week. My head and my heart are between Farmington and Portland and though I'm fully committed to my work here, I just can't wait to be there, to restart my life. I feel like damaged goods; everyone treats me differently because I'm graduating. Most of the people in my classes think everything I say is brilliant and there's a nice guy in two of my classes and I've been trying to talk to him, but our conversations fall flat because he knows I'm leaving in May.

This week, two close friends both said I was "going places." I know what they meant, but it's hard not to read into their words. I hear You're going to graduate school and you're smart and you're too good for me. I hope I've never treated anyone like I was better than them, but I hate to think that people I'm intimidating or I can only be friends with people as smart as myself. The truth is, I don't find myself to be particularly smart. I know that what I say matters, but I see everything I know and learn as part of a conversation, an exchange where I can provide my perspective and learn from others'. It's incredibly difficult to destroy perceptions of yourself and I have to wonder whether it's worth the effort for four months, but it grates me daily to think that people see me as the big fish in a small pond. I didn't get here without help and I'm only human.

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I'm spending the rest of the weekend writing my senior thesis. I love and hate it. I'm never done grappling with ideas, but I'm trying to throw everything I know together into something cohesive. Most of the time it feels like I'm trying to nail Jell-o to a wall.

Becoming the People We Read About & Why History's Still Relevant

Suffering from a bout of insomnia this morning, I polished off Julia Child's My Life in France, a great little book (not nearly as lengthy as her cookbooks) that I'd been stuck on for about a week; it's amazing how I read half in the book in a fit of rest and then, sleepless, finished off 150 pages+ this morning. It seems so odd when I think about some of the other books I have going that I'm muddling through: The Emperor of All Maladies and The Worst Hard Time, the former because of its sometimes-lengthy tangents into the science and concomitant scientific-jargon of cancer and the latter for unknown reasons. Nonetheless, it's always satisfying to complete a book, especially one whose author I've been imitating for a week or so in the kitchen. The result has been some delicious concoctions and the conclusion that I'm imitating Meryl Streep playing Julia Child, not actually Julia Child. (I just can't master the finer, airy tones of her voice; I can only make myself more high-pitched.)

Oh how adorable Paul and Julia Child were, always choosing to send out Valentine's Day cards because Christmas was simply too hectic for them.

At the moment, I've got some delicious honey-cinnamon-butter-glazed squash in the oven and it looks promising! But, I couldn't help but be conscious of the fact that in my journal today I recorded all the wonderful food I've been eating for the past few days while Nathan was visiting. There's a sense that as I read more, I try to write more. This conclusion doesn't seem extraordinary, but it does have vast implications. It means that as I write more, I trove my mind for increasing details to be recalled to the page. It's giving my writing (journal-writing, at least) a broader consciousness that means I am recording experiences I wouldn't otherwise note. Having watched (okay, I muddled through) the Republican debate this weekend, I also scribbled-off a few political observations. The result: a journal that is decreasingly selfish. Writing seems to be becoming a less selfish pursuit than before as my broader, worldly observations turn into essays, commentaries on news websites, etc. Maybe I'm just being optimistic.

As a historian, I found it difficult to take Julia Child at face value. Forgive me, I'm a natural skeptic (which, according to some people make me a negativist). It was quite the conflict, to love her and interrogate her every word simultaneously. What I loved most was her self-consciousness, her belief in her own ignorance, her feelings that she was never quite good enough that co-existed with her natural optimism...how refreshing to discover someone quite like me! It was also another check mark on the list of strong women, women I love. The history of women, especially those who forge their own paths resembles and do it outside the mainstream movements. (She talks so little about the way in which she was an icon for women.) I guess, maybe that is how I imagine myself someday, that is, existing outside the mainstream of queer people and yet blazing a path for others. Oh the dreams Julia Child gives me!

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Here's a link to a great article about jobs and historians (notice: not jobs for historians) from The Chronicle: http://chronicle.com/article/Historians-Reflect-on-Forces/130262/

Given my personal squabbles with UMF's History Department and my own feelings about history, I found the article timely and poignant. It touched on feelings I hadn't really been able to verbalize: this idea that I am going into the field of Social Work, but I am a trained Humanities and Social Sciences scholar and that I will find a place for those skills within Social Work and, more importantly, within the job market.

It doesn't feel like almost a month since my last post, but it's surely evidence of how fast time flies. On the upside, the days are (slowly) getting longer and this cosmic process always pleases me. Even now, with only five additional minutes in the day, the sun seems poised to stay in the sky longer.

Break began with a bang! and slowly tapered-off. Well, sort of...
I worked a lot during my first week off, while fighting a cold. After Christmas, the store is always quiet so I've had more free time to read: Julia Child's Ma Vie en France and Siddhartha Mukherjee's The Emperor of Maladies. I haven't made one visit to the USM library, deciding instead to use our town's public library; I had a card after all and I figured I should use it before its funding gets taken away or someone calls it an entitlement program.

Mel came to visit for a few days and we had a great time. Nathan comes this Friday for the weekend and I'm excited. He's one of the few people I think I could wander the city with for hours and just look at things. We both have eyes for the minutiae of life, only he sees art and I see words (and sometimes photography).

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I've finally made up my mind about graduate school: I'm going to defer for one year. (Well...if the program director calls me back tomorrow and approves the deferral **crosses fingers**.) In that time, I really hope to find a (teaching) job and then maybe slide into a Master's program.

The job-hunting process is a bit maddening and overwhelming and I tend to stress eat my way out of things...so here's to running a lot!

On the Inside Looking In

I write to you having finished all my papers. I had no finals and I have no research projects, grants, or extended work rolling over into the break and I feel so free! I even started a book this afternoon (after a nap, of course). It's the season of reading all the things I want and nothing I don't and I'm very pleased. My best wishes to all those still working on their papers and finals.

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The title of this blog indicates a certain presumptuous way of thinking. Anyone who knows me, knows I am open-minded and have deep affection and appreciation for other cultures and ways of life. But I tend to think about things from an American perspective and I often look at things, asking how they will affect the Americas, mainly the U.S. I guess you could say I'm exceptionalist, though not expansionist in my political sentiments. I do believe the U.S. is part of a divine plan (and not in an evangelical way either) in the sense that I believe in God and I think He has put us on earth and in this land with purpose.

I often find it necessary to question my worldview and way of thinking and part of that involves interrogating the culture to which I belong and subscribe. In other words, I try to take the outsiders perspective and look inward. Last week, as I was finishing up with classes, Gustavo brought in two Chinese professors who are visiting and staying at UMF. Their thoughts on American politics and foreign policy was refreshingly enlightening. They critiqued the current Republican-nomination race, characterizing it as showy and hinting at its circus-like feel; admitted that the President is of less concern than the Secretary of State (Henry Kissinger is still held in high regard there); and said that the Chinese government is not an oppositional force that the U.S. should see as a rivalry, but a partner seeking cooperation from the U.S. I personally favor cooperation, but opinions matter less than the meaning of this story. We need to reflect. We need to think of ourselves in a different light. We need to look inward and discover a truer sense of national identity before proceeding outward.

Bottom-Up Reform, Higher Education Reform & Grey's Anatomy

I want to thank all of the faculty and staff at UMF who have been supportive of me as I've been publishing my "Crisis in Higher Education" series with The Farmington Flyer. I believe everything I am saying and I truly wish it didn't have to be said because the more I know, the more disenfranchised I feel from the institution I have studied at and worked for, for the past four years. I especially want to thank the person (who must remain anonymous so as not to jeopardize their employment) who informed me this week that my articles have become the discussion of the infamous President's Council. If you're not aware of what the PC is, it's okay. I didn't know it even existed until a month ago. Ostensibly, I've only been able to gain a little knowledge of it -none of it from the administration, of course -but what I know troubles me.

Here's what I've heard: the PC is a group composed of the upper administration of UMF and the Director of Athletics. Not a single faculty member sits on this council. The PC is responsible for, among other things, creating schedules. The Director of Athletics sits on the council to make sure that there are as few conflicts as possible between athletic practices and classes. In addition, the PC decides issues of tenure, hiring, and firing (for all those people they don't give tenure to). It's quintessentially tyrannical and disgusting. **Disclosure: if any member of the administration reads this and would like to elaborate on the President's Council's duties or refute my claims, please do!**

But I'm happy to be telling you about all this. Why? First, it is a gesture toward transparency, the ultimate check and balance. Second, it is just another way in which I tell the story of the student. Here, I am standing up for the rights of students and faculty who are being subverted. Maybe it's not much, maybe it's nothing at all, but it is an attempt at the very least to work from the bottom to call for institutional reform. It's the reason I applied to a Master's program in Social Work. It's why I will tell my 'coming-out' story for an art (queer-art-politics) project this weekend. I don't have time to set up a tent and Occupy something and defend the proverbial 'little man.' But I am a visual/written artist and I can tell a story and hope, hopelessly hope that someone listens.

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Some other food for thought: where did Grey's Anatomy go? I know it's become this kind of primetime soap opera, but it was so delectable! They just killed Teddy's husband and now I want the second part! Also, anyone unfamiliar with Mumford & Sons or Fela Kuti should get familiar.

Mel is back on Tuesday and even though we can't see each other for at least a week, I'm cracking a huge bottle of wine for her in celebration.

Coma-post (haha!)

Do you ever have one of those books that you can't put down? I started Zachary Mexico's China Underground on Wednesday and breezed through the first hundred pages and read the last 200 last night, finishing just after midnight. It wasn't one of those so-called profound books and I won't be talking about how it changed my life, but it was addicting. Mexico has this conversational, sing-songy way of writing that just flows from chapter to chapter. It's a travelogue and he's never in one place for very long (I suspect some critic would cite the book as lacking "depth."), but his insights and criticisms are spot on. He's not overly-idealistic about China, but he's not ethnocentric either.

But alas, this is not a blog of book reviews. It has led me to contemplate what kind of reader I am or want to become. When I leave college, I don't want to stop reading. Indeed, I want to devour more than ever because I won't have the demands of school hounding me. But what kind of reader am I? Well, most of the time I think of myself as not having read enough. I don't know enough history; I haven't read enough the classics; I'm over-read in a certain area or time period, etc. I'm not blameless, but I suspect that college has made me one of those over-neurotic types that never thinks he's good enough and thus prone to panic and self-doubt on a regular basis. Or was that my Catholic upbringing? Let's just hope I'm not famous enough at my death to warrant a publication of my journals...the analysis, psycho and otherwise, would keep people occupied for centuries.

The last two weeks have been hard. The holidays always make me more pensive. Myles and I decided to just be friends, which is as complex as it sounds. One of my biggest supporters in my college career recently rebuked me in a controversy that seems to be ever-unfolding. All of it has culminated in a decision I believe is best for me: I am NOT going to apply to the University of Iowa. Over the past few days I've gone from telling myself I'm not ready for a doctoral program to I hate what universities have become and are becoming and I don't want to be in that environment. If I am accepted to USM for Social Work, I will go, but right now I am planning for other alternatives for next year. The mystery of it all frustrates and scares me. And that's where I am right now.

I'm about to go make some delicious (pray!) pizzas and enjoy some time with friends. It's a small task and pizza isn't that hard to make, but I need to find my success and satisfaction in the little things in life.

A little Thanksgiving LitCrit

I'm currently waiting for the crabmeat-stuffed haddock (or is it the other way around) to come out of the oven and the lobster risotto smells delicious on the stove! We're just having a small family dinner this year so I've spent most of the day reading waiting for the Criminal Minds marathon at 4. I can't stand the Westminister Dog Show or the Macy's parade and ABC and NBC have come up with these new, modern cartoons that AREN'T Charlie Brown or Frosty the Snowman, so I've got a half hour until serial killing and Matthew Gray Gubler's hair come on.

I read the NYT and Slate today and I thought I might visit asmainegoes.com, a forum for all things political in Maine. Admittedly, I'm not up on my Maine politics, but I like to see what most of these ordinary hard-working men and women think about their state and this is what I found: http://www.asmainegoes.com/content/occupy-aroostook. Okay, so you might be as annoyed as I am about another Occupy protest, especially one that seems more about counteracting the Tea Party or espousing the liberal agenda Obama won't take on and not about ending bank bailouts. (I like some other parts of the platform too, but let's not get into the nitty-gritty.)

First paragraph: "Prof. Alice Bolstridge is the organizer. She is a poet who taught Literary Theory, Creative Writing and American Lit at the Oklahoma State University. Literary theorist are academics who write and often speak in Litcritalian, an obscure dialect of English using familiar verbs drained of familiar meanings and neologisms meaning nothing at all. Litcriticians know almost nothing yet believe they have a unique understanding of everything."

Literary theory is frustrating. Agreed. Yes, many theorists write in this cryptic language that seems to rely upon its obscurity to both make meaning and display the intelligence of the author. Me: I appreciate lucidity and erudite insights. Indeed, I've spent many a post criticizing theory and theorists for the way in which they often obscure what they are actually talking about or seem more intent on displaying their own prowess the way a peacock flaunts its feathers. But this attack is ad hominem outrageous! What does Professor Bolstridge's background as a theorist (not to mention her success as a scholar of American Literature and Creative Writing) have to do with Occupy Aroostook? Professor Bolstridge has been remarkably clear in demands and even intimates her aspirations from the implementation of said demands, as you can read in the AMG post. The author writes a self-defeating argument. Okay, you disagree with her. Okay, maybe you don't need to take Occupy seriously (especially the one at Harvard). But why do you need to open with a personal attack in order to start a discourse of disagreement?