Grad School: Update #4

Ladies and gentlemen, congratulate me. I'm going to graduate school in Florida. And I couldn't be happier.

(That pretty much sums up the entry... You could really just stop reading now... Unless you WANT to read a long rambling account of exactly what I've been doing... But really, it's more for my own need to chronicle my life than it is for you... In any case, you've been forewarned.)

(By the way, is the word "forewarned" ever really necessary? I suppose you can always substitute "warned"... Sorry. Semantics.)

While I was there, I kept having moments in which I thought, "NOW I love this place" They happened so many times that I'm really not certain when I made the decision to attend.

I left my apartment at an unholy hour on Thursday morning (just hours after my last post, if I remember correctly), met my mother in Atlanta, and ended up in Sarasota in the afternoon (after two flights each). We were exhausted as we pulled into our hotel in a rental car, but not so out of it that the décor escaped my attention. There were two identical prints of an ugly house hanging on adjacent walls; the mark of a classy establishment.



To be perfectly honest, I don't think we did much of value that first day. We drove around to try to get our bearings. We got food at a chain restaurant (where we received repeated, adamant warnings from a hostess there not to venture into the BAD part of one of the suburbs). We looked at an apartment that was HUGE, but far too out of the way to be practical. I think I showed my mother my blog to ask her opinion on the plaid (and switched it to the diagonal... still not sure how I feel about it). Then we were both so exhausted that we went to bed. Exciting.

Friday morning, I met with my "student guide", Kirstin, who was about as delightful as a person can be. We went to a Starbucks and just discussed the program at length. Everything she said made it sound like a good fit for me.

As I met the rest of the students, I got a good feeling. As though I'd known them before. In a dream. Or in another life. Something like that. Or maybe they just remind me of people I already know. In any case, they seemed like friends more than strangers. I was put at ease, which is something that rarely happens to me when meeting new people (if you'll remember, I have social anxiety).

I attended a voice class with the first year students. If the average person saw it, they'd probably think the class was full of nutters. But not me. I found it fascinating. And it was thrilling to me to experience what it's like to be in a classroom of students who are so committed to their exercises, no matter how ridiculous they may look.

That's one thing that I think I missed out on in undergrad. There were always a couple of people who complained or put forth half-effort when they didn't understand the reasons for things. I always went for it, no matter how stupid I felt. And more than once, I felt alone in that. It's not like that in grad school. Or, at least, not at this one. No one holds back. They all go for it.

I went to lunch with a few students as well as another prospective student who is on the waiting list. They answered every question we had, and with every response I found myself falling a little more deeply in love.

At one point, I asked a third year if there was anything she wished she had known that might've prepared her better for the grad school experience. She replied that trying to explain it would be like trying to explain what pregnancy was like to a woman who had never been pregnant; you can describe it all you like, but she won't really understand it unless she experiences it. The other students then joined in with the analogy, saying that each year of school is like a trimester in pregnancy. You suffer through the morning sickness, and the swollen feet, and the back pain... but in the end, you have so much more than you started with.

I then attended an acting class with the second year students. They were doing Shakespeare scenes, so I was of course geeking out in the corner throughout the duration. And when they weren't acting, I loved how well-spoken they all seemed to be. They're clearly intelligent people on top of being gifted actors.

I wanted to get up and prove that I was one of them. Or that I could be. Eventually.

Strangely, I recognized one of the second year students from the first time I did grad school auditions two years ago. And another of the students recognized me. And I realized that, as this school called me back two years ago, I would've been in their class. There's something sort of funny in that.

I'm glad I wasn't in their class. I needed the last couple of years in order to figure myself out.

In the afternoon, I met with the top banana of the program. I told him I was excited about his school, and that I was about 95% certain that I would choose it (the truth is, I had already decided at that point, but I wanted to tell my parents before I told him). He replied with, "We want you to come here. What can we do to convince you to accept?"

I can't tell you how extraordinary it feels to be wanted by a program that you want.

That night, my mother and I attended a somewhat controversial production of a verse play that the second year students were performing. Several people walked out (many of them during a scene with sexual content). To be honest, I found it exciting that people walked out. They weren't indifferent. I think that's proof that the actors did their jobs. For the record, my mother and I both enjoyed the production.

I started telling the students after the show that I had made my decision and would be there in the fall. They seemed stoked. I think they like me. I know it sounds silly, but I honestly didn't see that coming... I guess it never occurred to me that I might make friends there. I had only thought about going to learn. And I sort of thought I'd have to dilute myself in order for everyone else to be able to handle me. But I'm not concerned about that anymore. It seems as though they'll take me as I am. What a lovely surprise!

We went out to a bar, and several of them got out on the dance floor with me. And then I felt... Man. It felt like home. It felt incredible. Like it was meant to be. On top of every other wonderful things about this school, it comes with people who will dance like fools in bars. Perfect. :)

On Saturday, I called the top banana to tell him that I was for sure coming in the fall. He was driving, and was so thrilled that he accidentally drove in the wrong direction.

My mother and I found some apartments that will work nicely for me (although there's a part of me that wants to just buy... I mean, I'm committed to Sarasota for three years anyway... And the market is terrible right now, which I think would work in my favor).

We went and saw two different productions put on by the repertory company (aka professional actors interlaced with third year students) that were both excellent. They served to increase my confidence in my decision and joy at the result.

It still hasn't hit me. I'm sure it won't until I'm actually down there attending class. But I'm so amped that it can't be put into words. I don't know if I've ever been more excited about anything. Ever. This might take the cake.


May you find somewhere that you fit.

~A~


P.S. Surprisingly, one of the students at my new grad school has already tracked down my blog. *waves to Ghafir*

P.P.S. Dude, am I really that easy to track down? Maybe I should take a cue from my friend at Big Time Fancy and use a pseudonym online... But then I'd have to switch the title of my blog. Drat. Oh well.

Fistful of Bunny Concerts

70. My favorite word is “bunny”. I like to say it in quick repetition… bunnybunnybunnybunnybunnybunnybunnybunny… Runners-up (or is it runner-ups?) include ekphrastic (the only word I know that begins with ek-), lackadaisical, cathemeral, tangentially, allele, schadenfreude, and lovely.

71. The best concert I’ve ever attended was OK Go before they were pop culture icons. They rapped, they performed a number from “Les Miserables”, and they did a choreographed dance to a recording of their song “C-C-C-Cinnamon Lips” (which at the time was my favorite song of theirs). It was sensational. The Bangles, Cake, and Tony Danza were also all tremendous. (Don’t laugh at Tony Danza. The man played the trumpet, the ukulele, and the piano. He also tap-danced and rapped. It was astonishingly good.)

72. If I started a band, I’d want to call it “The Whippersnappers”, “The Heartstrings”, or “The Fake Ideas”. I’d like to call our first album “Fistful of Half-Eaten Roses”. Actually, I might just call the band “Half-Eaten Roses”. It would work out especially well if it were all females, as it would abbreviate to H.E.R. I've thought about this more than I should, considering that I don't plan to ever start a band. Except for on Guitar Hero (I've already used Half-Eaten Roses and The Whippersnappers on that, actually).

Tatiana, the Dyslectic Introvert

64. My mother wanted to name me “Liesl” or “Tatiana”. My father vetoed both names. He wanted to name me “Angela”, and since it had familial significance on both sides of the family, he was able to convince my mother that it was a good idea. (Strangely, Tatiana had familial significance on my dad’s side, and that’s exactly why he didn’t want to use it. He thought one Tatiana in a family was enough.)

I wonder if I'd be the same person with a different name. Would people have treated me the same throughout my life? Would I have reacted in the same ways? I honestly believe that our names help mold us as people (and I'm very glad I didn't get stuck with a horrid name, like Brooklyn or Heavenlee or something). I wonder what this blog would’ve been called if I had a different name… Off the top of my head, probably “Liesly Amused” or “Tatianalytical”. (What? I might’ve had a different name, but I’m sure I’d have the same corny sense of humor and love of wordplay. My grandfather instilled them in me from a very young age, and I’m sure he would’ve done so regardless of my name.) If I had been named Tatiana, I probably would've tried to institute the nickname "Tia" somewhere along the line (instead, I spent a period of time in fourth grade trying to get the nickname "Angie" to catch on, and dotted the "i" with a heart. Luckily, I grew out of that phase. And I've also had many people in my life call me Aiea, but that's a story for another day.)

65. Is it possible to be simultaneously introverted and exhibitionistic? Because if so, I think I am. It does seem rather counterintuitive (and also counterproductive). One of my readers (thanks Andrew!) sent me an article several weeks back about being an introvert (after I wrote my entry titled Angela Rigby), and I've been wondering since reading it if these two personality traits can coexist. (I’ll have to extrapolate on this when I’m back to regular posts. Remind me.)

66. In medical terminology, if someone has a condition ending in “–xia”, then when you use the word as an adjective, you replace “-xia” with “-ctic”. Therefore, someone with anorexia is anorectic (NOT anorexic), and someone with dyslexia is dyslectic (NOT dyslexic). One of those things you learn when your parents are in the medical field… Go out into the world and show off your new knowledge.

Literal Absolute Jesus

55. Probably my biggest grammatical pet peeve is when people modify absolute terms. A woman cannot be “very pregnant” or “a little pregnant”. Either she is or she isn’t. Nothing is “very unique”. Being unique means being “one-of-a-kind”. If something is one-of-a-kind, it can’t be described as being MORE one-of-a-kind than anything else that’s one-of-a-kind. They’re ALL unique. Or they aren’t. The word “very” cannot possibly apply. Other absolute terms include prime, parallel, equal, perfect, complete, infinite, and chief. (Do NOT argue with me on this. This is no more defensible than saying things like "most fastest".)

56. I like to keep some “literal” playlists on my iPod. It all started with my “Laundry” playlist that I made while I was living abroad, when we washed all our clothes in the sink, shower, and bidet (that’s where my roommate washed her socks… She also used it to shave her legs. We never used it for its intended purpose). It includes “Soap Disco”, “Underneath Your Clothes”, and “Dirty Little Secret”. I also have an En Route playlist (“Every Day Is a Winding Road”, “I Feel the Earth Move”, “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?” etc.) and a “Working” playlist (“5 O’clock World”, “Whistle While You Work”, “She Works Hard for the Money”, etc.). And I recently made myself a “Post” playlist, as I have to walk to the post office in order to get mail that is larger than letter-sized (“Letterbomb”, “Please Mr. Postman”, “Letters to Noelle”, etc.)

57. I went in to South Bend for a day trip yesterday to see a delightful production of “The Importance of Being Earnest” that several of my friends worked on. And when I needed a ride back to catch a train, I called my favorite South Bend cab service, The Jesus Cab. There is a man named Scott who, instead of having a cab company, has a cab MISSION. He’s amazing. His van has a giant picture of Jesus on the side. Inside, there’s a television that he keeps on, usually tuned to someone discussing sports. There’s a novelty license plate from California on the dash that says “Jesus”, and there are small knickknacks all around that make it clear that this isn’t an ordinary cab ride. A couple years ago I rode in his cab the night after Jim Caviezel had ridden with him and called him a “modern day John the Baptist”. I had a lovely conversation with Scott, who claimed to remember me after not seeing me for two years. He told me all about his life, and how he’d been interviewed for some scholastic magazine. In the article, they wrote that Scott provides cab service while “living the light of Christ,” which he was extremely proud of. Then he gave me a Jesus Cab t-shirt. He started selling them out of the back of his taxi-van, but he likes me so much that he gave me mine for free. He makes them at home with his own t-shirt press. Anyway, if you’re ever in South Bend, Indiana (for a Notre Dame football game or to visit the College Football Hall of Fame or something) and need a cab, call Scott at (574) 621-0693.

(NOTE: Even in person it's hard to make out the words over Jesus' head. It says "FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD, THAT HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON, THAT WHOSOEVER BELIEVETH ON [sic] HIM SHOULD NOT PERISH, BUT HAVE EVERLASTING LIFE!" And next to Jesus, it says "JOHN 3:16".

Change, Cheating, & Chimbos

28. I don’t think coins are real money. In my mind, change is like vouchers for real money. Only paper money is truly valid. When I get coins back after buying something, I often put all of it in the tip jar (which the employees seem to appreciate) or the penny tray. Now, though, I have a gumball machine in my apartment. So if I happen to have a pocket full of change at the end of my day (as I often do), I can chew gum while surfing the internet. And I then save the change to get an Amazon gift certificate from a CoinStar machine (they don't charge you a fee if you do that). So I suppose change isn't all bad.

29. When I was younger, I thought that studying was cheating. If you didn’t learn all of the material in class, then something was wrong with you. I didn’t start studying on a regular basis until my second semester of college, in which I had to study in order to keep up in my Italian class. I think I still only got a B-, but it was good enough to get into the study abroad program I was applying for (which was all I really cared about anyway).

30. I really like blended words, such as “chimbo” (cheerleading bimbo), “blackcent” (black accent, meaning that thing that Justin Timberlake has), and “Crazians” (crazy Asians, like the people I used to work for at the random Asian store in my mall back home. Not to be confused with the cranberry-raisin blends, “Craisins”, which are delicious).

No Groove 4 Noder Daym

10. I have a green bra that I bought in Italy that is lucky for Notre Dame’s football team. Since 2004, it seems that every time I remember to wear it, Notre Dame wins. Seriously, my bra has a far better track record of predicting ND wins than any professional sports commentator. I get phone calls and text messages from people on every game day telling me to hunt it down and put it on (I went to Saint Mary's College, across the street from ND, so all my college friends are ND fans). There have only been a handful times when the magic of the bra did not work. One was the ND vs. USC game in 2005 (which Notre Dame arguably should have won… Technically, the clock ran out and they were ahead, but due to some questionable refereeing, they lost). Three other times have been bowl games, and I think they don’t count since it’s the post season. Besides, Notre Dame hasn’t won a bowl game since, like, 1996 or something. Anyway, I couldn’t find my green bra for most of this season, which is why Notre Dame has sucked. (Sorry, ND fans. My bad.) But I did wear it for the Navy game this weekend, which Notre Dame lost in double overtime. I guess they’re so tragically terrible this year that even the bra can’t help them. Either that, or the bra doesn’t work for overtime. And technically, I think I put it on after the game had already started, so that may have altered its potency.

11. Bad spelling/grammar is a deal-breaker for me. If a guy can’t tell the difference between “piece” and “peace”, or "your" and "you're", I’ll say goodbye. Obviously, we’re on two completely different planes, and we will never be happy together. Or, at least, I will never be happy with him. And he will probably never be happy because I’ll correct him every ten seconds.

12. If I had a theme song for my life, I think it would have to be “Groove Is in the Heart”, by Dee-Lite. I have groove in my heart. And in every other part of my body. Actually, now that I think about the lyrics, it might not be a good theme for me, because I would most certainly “dance for another”… I must rethink this. I’ll let you know if I come up with something.

Oral & Technological Elevation Elation

7. Anytime I’m alone in an elevator, I’m either singing or dancing. And then when the doors open I act as though I’ve just been standing there, bored.

8. I hate it when people use incorrect grammar and spelling in instant messaging, text messages, and e-mails. It is NOT okay. Technology is not an excuse for stupidity. Stop text messaging like a pre-teen girl.

9. I have a raging oral fixation. Don’t read anything kinky into that. I’ve heard that many people with ADHD have oral fixations. I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m certainly afflicted. I sucked my thumb when I was a kid. To this day I bite my nails. I’m constantly snacking on something or chewing gum… and I occasionally chew on inedible things… Styrofoam cups, for example. Or drinking straws. Or the caps from water bottles.

Poetical Parentheticals

My mother often will comment to me that she enjoys reading e-mails I’ve sent her because “you write just like you talk!” I don't understand... Doesn’t everyone? Why would you write any other way?

I agree with her. I like to think that I write in a fashion that is similar to the way I speak. Run-on sentences and fragments. Beginning sentences with conjunctions. An appalling amount of long, winding parentheticals (I don’t think that’s even a noun, but someone I know uses it all the time, so I’m stealing it… and I just realized that I put in a parenthetical right after mentioning my use of parentheticals. That was unintentional, and I’m slightly embarrassed that I’ve accidentally proven my own point. But since it so beautifully illustrates what I’ve said, I’m leaving it in. Wow, I didn’t mean to start that sentence with a conjunction. Smooth move, Angela. At least there is now evidence that I know myself). Other than omitting my disturbing usages of “like”, “um”, and “uh”, this is pretty much the standard way I communicate.


I probably shouldn’t admit this, but to make certain that everything I’ve written is something I would say, I recite each of my blog entries out loud once through before posting them. I remove anything that’s too fluffy or unnatural, because I don’t want to be that sort of writer. I want to be, for lack of a better word, real. (If you’ve met me, and you try hard enough, I bet you can hear my voice right now…. Helloooooooooo!)

I’m not one for long passages of purple prose. I’m not going to grab a thesaurus while typing (or rely too heavily upon the thesaurus I have internally). I’m not going to carefully compose something that is linguistically artful. I’m just going to write. And I’ll write whatever thoughts come into my head, whether they follow or not. Just like I’m doing now. Which is why I’m writing about writing instead of actually writing something of interest to others. Because that’s what I’m thinking. (Luckily, I’m a decent typist. Otherwise, this would be a far more complicated and arduous task. My fingers can’t quite keep up with my thoughts, but they do alright.) I still choose my words, because if I said everything that popped into my head, I’d surely be committed against my will. I have no desire to be institutionalized. I imagine that it would be far less interesting than the movie Girl, Interrupted made it out to be. So I only let the debatably crazy thoughts leak out (until I’m being arraigned for something, in which case I will find a way to use insanity as a defense. I wonder if that would work with parking tickets...).

I like to think that, despite my breaking the occasional rule of language, I'm relatively articulate. I think I get most things across exactly as I intend to. Although I do, from time to time, have to translate my thoughts into a language that can better be understood by people who aren't me. It’s not that I’m dumbing down my writing to make it more accessible (which I certainly did on occasion in my previous online journal… I had a couple of regular readers who became confused and alienated when I chose words in excess of seven letters… and I loved having fans so much that I catered to them a little in order to bait them into returning). I will only translate myself if the things I wish to say don't seem to be understood the way I wish them to be.

I'm not going to try to impress you. Why should I? It's not like you're going to read this if you have to google half the things I type. I hate reading ostentatious or patronizing writing (if you don't know what those words mean, then you really should invest in a good dictionary... trust me, you need it), which is why I refuse to compose it. I will not read text if it seems that the writer is out to prove something about their abilities or how “deep” they are. Tell me a story (or four). Take me on a journey full of ideas. Make me think. But don’t choke me with words; I won’t put up with it.

For the record, I am quite capable of writing at a more scholarly level than I do. I am, after all, rather cerebral (or, as I generally prefer to paraphrase that, “I think too much.” It makes me sound like less of an egomaniacal jackhole). Maybe someday I will. Just to prove a point. I’m not even sure whom I’d be proving it to (myself, I suppose). I’ll write something so condescendingly profound and pretentiously b****y that you’ll deign it to be good writing, if only because that’s the kind of writing you have been taught is good. I’ll throw in tons of unnaturally large words so that you’ll be confused as to what it’s even about, and you will be forced to say it’s great rather than admit that you had no clue what on Earth I was talking about. We’ll see. Someday. Hopefully I’m stimulating and eloquent enough that it won’t be a problem in the meantime. And if it is a problem, I have a couple of other blogs I can recommend that might better suit your liking (the very sorts of things that I, personally, will never enjoy).

I learned something while writing that last paragraph… I am apparently hesitant to swear in my blog. I took out two instances of using language that my mother would not approve of, and I used asterisks on a third (I actually considered going back and paraphrasing that last one… replacing b****y with “haughty” or “pompous” perhaps, but I decided to keep my self-imposed suppression to a minimum. Besides, that one seemed necessary). I don’t know what I’m afraid of. I guess that people will read it, realize I know how to use curse words, and condemn me to some netherworld in which people are made to suffer until they can respect language. I try not to swear very much. I only began swearing about a year and a half ago. I always felt the power behind those words when I used them sparingly. Throwing one out in conversation made people shut up and pay attention. Now, I spit them out a little too freely. I usually ask for forgiveness about that. It just seems like the right thing to do. I apologize at work a great deal, as I use the phrase “what the hell?!” quite a bit while talking to my computer about why it is choosing to so rudely disobey me.

(I wish I knew how to type an interrobang on the keyboard. An interrobang is a piece of punctuation that looks like a question mark and an exclamation point rolled into one. It takes the place of “?!?!?!” rather nicely. The alternative seems confused and rather juvenile.)

You know what, I’m done. I would normally allow this to evolve into a blog entry about something (anything) else, but I just don’t feel like I should. I think I’ve said what I needed to say (although, trust me, I have about three directions I could take this entry from here… and it’s a little hard for me to not dive into any of them). And for those of you who are psychoanalyzing me right now (I know there’s at least one of you who is), yes, there’s a reason that this is on my mind. And yes, like always, I’m judging myself, over-thinking things, and wondering if I should just delete this whole blog altogether. But that might just be because I’m listening to “Feathers and Doom” by The Cardigans right now and it makes me want to curl up into a ball and be reborn as something more beautiful than myself.

And yes, if you’re curious, I did just read this aloud and cut a whole slew of things that didn’t quite sound like me; they sounded like me trying to be a writer.

May you never try to be someone you’re not, in writing or in life.

Much love,

~A~

P.S. I hope you paid attention to rule #7 (and if you don't understand why I pointed that out, go back and read my first entry, "An Introduction to My Mind")
P.P.S. I chose the title because of a scene in Twelfth Night. A disguised Viola has written a speech for Olivia on behalf of the Duke Orsino. She begs to be allowed to read it, saying, "I would be loath to cast away my speech, for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to con it." Later, she states, "Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical." I felt that those statements somehow applied to this entry and wanted to find a way to stick them in. And besides that, I find "poetical" to be a very fun word.
P.P.P.S. If I had not already named this blog ~angelaboration~, I think that "Poetical Parentheticals" would suit it rather nicely.