"It's simply beyond words. It's incalculable."

I am coming off a hellish few weeks in which I experienced the multiple joys of paper grading , mid-term grading, and having a professor evaluate one of my sections. I had a whole spiel about how teaching the classics makes me feel a bit like Michael Scott at times, but I fear my Google-savvy freshmen.


"I am an adult. I don’t have to think…or…do anything!"


This blog has suffered greatly for two reasons. One: I spent the summer mentally convalescing in Chicago, which was great for me, but not so great for blogging. I had a ball reading Hawthorne and going to the farmers' market, but that kind of fun doesn't always translate . Two: Since coming back to New York, time that isn't spent reading for exams, prepping for teaching, and teaching is spent actively avoiding anything that involves rigorous thought. Yes, this blog is dinky, and shouldn't require much. But that's how far gone I am. This post took three weeks to write. Previous posts were starting to veer off into that scary place where grad students go which is rife with words like "epistemology" and "othering." Yeah. Gross.

Anyway, visitors offer good excuses to play hooky and be out and about so here goes.

The parents were in town a couple of weeks ago, which is always fun especially when it includes dinner at Lupa and Pastis.

I love my parents but I love them more when they feed me.

At Pastis we ended up getting into this long involved conversation with two sisters about politics because my mom was wearing this:

Apparently these shirts are designed to smoke out Republicans even in French restaurants in the meatpacking district. The details of the conversation are hazy but we did hit several points including the Iraq War, Israel-Palestine, Ayn Rand, abortion, and the decision of one of the sisters' daughter's to become a sex therapist. It ended with them wanting to have dinner with us the next time they're in Chicago. Who says there's no hope for bi-partisan civility?

BFF Mimor* was in town this weekend, and I got to see Harlem up close and personal for the first time.



Fun trip, Indian food, shopping, and one valuable lesson learned: there is no such thing as an unmonitored subway platform.

TBC...

*I kinda hate myself for trotting out the oh-so-mature BFF, but it's late and the 2 of you that have been bugging me about my lack of posting should be grateful I can find the mouse. So, suck on it, and good night.

An Epitaph

I'm in the process of trying to wrap up the semester which constitutes hurling the remnants of my energy and enthusiasm into one final paper which will, hopefully, while not be great, not suck hard.

This will of course THE final paper. As of tomorrow, I am officially in that interstitial part of grad school between trainee and professional. When I return in the fall, I will be facing teaching undergrads classics and medieval literature, and preparing for exams, both designed to test my mettle as Ph.D. material.

In a way this is the part that I dread. Instead of merely being responsible for your own education, you're suddenly on the other side of the desk, opening up the week's lectures for 20-odd freshman. And when you're sitting in front of 3 professors being grilled on 9 months worth of reading at least 1/3 is impossible to get through, there's no hiding those chasms and fissures in your knowledge.

At the same time, after three years of course work, I think it's time. I'm ready to feel as though I'm working towards something rather than writing disconnected term papers that may or may not contain the embryos of my dissertation.

I've also purposely arranged things to give myself the rarest of rarities; space and time to think. Ideally I wouldn't be going back to my parent's house where I will to some degree be at the mercy of my family. But solitude is, literally, a luxury I can't afford. So Chicago it is where there is a deck were I can read, sip, coffee and recharge, a lake, a dearth of nightlife, and a lot of books. Despite the daunting length of my exam lists (and I'm tempted to post them to illustrate in detail exactly how crazy one must be to become an academic) I am excited to do something I haven't done since I was a teenager; spend the summer reading. Ah the decadent life of a grad student.

Of course you will hear from me when I awaken to the downside of being trapped in Hyde Park.

Progress Report

Completed:

1 full term paper

2 mini conference papers

2/3 of my exam lists


To do:

2 full term papers

The topics section of my exam lists

storing and cleaning in preparation for my subletters


Acquired:

1 spanking new pair of Chuck Taylors as reward for finishing first paper

Chest pains due to stress-related case of heartburn

Grad school is trying to kill me.

Happy Spring

Ah Spring, when a young woman's thoughts turn to sandals, the Enlightenment and the slave trade, and the impending exodus to Chicago.

If my last post left some of you in doubt as to my happiness with living in New York, never fear. This last month has been packed with fun little escapades. In an attempt to mix business with pleasure, my Moby-Dick class took in "Moby-Dick Rehearsed" the night it closed. We finished out the night, appropriately, at a bar on Water Street, the site of a tour I took last fall of Melville's New York. The play was jarring at first. It resisted the kind absorption that I usually look for in plays, but in way that was the point.

I went to see Patrick Wolf out in Greenpoint at Studio B which was on odd experience. Patrick Wolf is the kind of artist who's music makes one think he is more popular than he is. In my opinion he should be. But the venue was on the small side and the opening band was a three girl pseudo punk band that was so bad I was embarrassed for them. It was one of those moments where you understand certain prejudices about female bands and hate yourself for it. Patrick Wolf more than made up for it. Who knew the viola could be so sexy? He also had a violin and bass accompaniment that were astonishingly good. My unplayed violin has spent the last two weeks mocking me.

That was pretty much the end of my fun until mid-May. This week I will be putting the names of my professors into a hat to decide who's going to get the late paper this time around. And, yes, rather than nail biting my way through another summer here, I'm going to Chicago for two months. My lack of shame at going home to let my parents nurse me through the process of preparing me for exams should embarrass me. But I'm beyond any kind pretense towards absolute independence at this point.

Writing at Bobst

Why don't people shower during finals?

Edited to add: People, put on your fucking shoes! This isn't your mom's house.