June, 2006

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30
Jun 06

Chronicle of Higher Education

From time to time, I’ve enjoyed reading articles in the career section of The Chronicle of Higher Education. While I invested myself last year in trying to become a teacher, I did not read this journal. Who had the time? I certainly didn’t, even though it was something recommended to me by the man who ran the internship program for aspiring community college instructors. Ironically, as I have become frustrated with the pitfalls of teaching part-time have I become more of a reader. From time to time, and sometimes in marathon sessions, I have gone to the website and read articles. There are enough critical articles in there to affirm the anger, failure and hopelessness, and resentment I have felt during the past year. Critical pieces on financial uncertainty, job insecurity, unprofessional treatment by others, and feeling that one can’t really do anything else have spoken to me as, “Yes, this is what I have experienced.” Perversely, these pity party reads have given me hope, especially by ex-adjuncts or those who have managed to be creative in their circumstances.

I have enjoyed the columns of the pseudonymous Thomas H. Benton. His articles are sharply critical of the academic establishment, professors, and students. A few have been critical of the graduate school system. Since I have experienced a lot of the grad school pitfalls firsthand, I read those articles first hand. And then I couldn’t stop. I just kept reading and reading (and I haven’t completely exhausted them).

I like the article about research assistants. When I worked for the fictionally named Professor Joseph K, the general job description was glamorous – I held the title of assistant editor for his then University Press Journal. A more accurate description, and less prestigious, would have been secretary/administrative assistant. However, I essentially was a research assistant. I’ve discussed some of my job so far in this blog, but I’ll discuss more of it later.

There is a whole slew of articles on adjuncts. Like Benton’s articles, I haven’t completely exhausted them. I’ve been reading them one after another, but I definitely need some time to process it all.

In general, as I write my series “If You Want To Go To Grad School,” these articles are important for me since they are part of the conversation. I am hearing what other voices are saying and I am adding my voice, however risky that may be.

Today, I interviewed for a job in which I can be seen as “overqualified.” I liked the interviewer a lot. One wonderful thing of talking to non-academics is when they tell you that they love to read. Then they’ll tell you who they love to read and what they are reading at the moment. This happened for sure during the interview. Getting back to my point, she asked me at one point if I would see the work as menial. I answered no. Once upon a time, when I worked at the supermarket, I saw it as below me and looked to my college education to rescue me from it. I got my BA and then an MFA, but I’m poorer now than I was then. Struggling to barely get by, dealing with a transitory work situation, and begging hiring professors for jobs is menial. The correct term is demeaning. Honest work that provides a livelihood, however menial it may be, never demeans the worker.

I think I like to read these articles because they are like war stories from fellow soldiers. I’m not alone in what I’m dealing with. Hopefully, my stories will also resonate with a reader who’s in grad school or just recently got out. I can only hope.

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29
Jun 06

An Open Letter From Bishop Robinson

Well, I picked a hell of a time to become an Episcopalian. I’m here to stay unless told otherwise. Here is the open letter from Bishop Robinson regarding the recent General Convention, forwarded to me from the local Integrity e-mail list.

June 24, 2006

An Open Letter to my Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

From V. Gene Robinson, Bishop in the Church of God in a blessed place called New Hampshire:

Many of you have been writing to me, in the aftermath of General Convention, to ask what I am thinking, now that the Convention has called upon the Church to deny consent to the consecration of partnered people as bishops. Frankly, like all of you, my thinking is all over the map. But here is where I am, only a few days later.

First, let’s give ourselves some time to recover. In the first few moments of having the breath knocked out of us, we struggle just to breathe, unable to think about much of anything other than getting some oxygen back into our lungs. We have been dealt a blow that has knocked the wind out of us. Let’s be kind to ourselves, breathe a little, before we try to move on. Nothing has to be decided or done in the next few hours or days. Let’s catch our breath, remembering that breath is a powerful image of the Holy Spirit in the Old and New Testaments. Let’s allow ourselves to be re-infused with that Holy Spirit which has never abandoned us, no matter what the Church does or doesn’t do.

Let’s remember what DID happen at the General Convention. Faithful gay and lesbian Episcopalians showed up and witnessed to the power of Almighty God working in and through their lives. You would have been SO PROUD of Integrity, Claiming the Blessing, the Episcopal Women’s Caucus, The Witness, and countless other groups speaking on our behalf. Susan Russell, Michael Hopkins, Carol Cole Flanagan, Elizabeth Kaeton, Bonnie Perry and others too numerous to mention put their hearts, souls and every waking moment into representing ALL of us so very well and so faithfully. We owe them such a great debt. Faithful gay and lesbian Episcopalians were EVERYWHERE, witnessing to God’s saving grace in their lives – being so joyful and filled with God’s Spirit, there was no denying God’s love in their lives.

We gathered at Trinity Church to celebrate the eucharist as the people of God. Not only were the nave and balconies filled, but the basement and sacristy as well, with gay and straight alike proclaiming God’s love for ALL of God’s children. It was a glimpse of heaven, and of the Church as it ought to be. Let’s not forget that we have been given a foretaste of the heavenly banquet where the marginalized are given an honored seat at the table.

The Episcopal Church declared its opposition to any constitutional amendment – federal or state – which would short circuit gay and lesbian couples seeking the civil right of having their relationships legally acknowledged.

On Sunday, we elected a Presiding Bishop who is committed to the full inclusion of gay and lesbian people into the life and work and leadership of this Church. The Spirit was palpable, once again in Trinity Church, as the election balloting unfolded before our very eyes, pushing forward to the election of the first woman as Primate and Presiding Bishop. If indeed, as I have often said, this fight is really about the end of patriarchy, then that patriarchy was dealt an awesome blow in +Katharine’s election. When the primates next meet, it will be a new day, and at the table will be a representative of the world’s majority – women – incarnate in our primate. Thanks be to God for that! You go, girl!

To our joy, the House of Deputies refused to give in to threats from within and without our Church, and decisively rejected the call to withhold consent from partnered people elected to the Episcopate. We thought that was the end of it. But alas, it was not.

+Frank Griswold – who, let us remember, has been a sometimes reluctant, but ever faithful champion for us, and who has paid a great price for presiding at my consecration – brought back the “moratorium” resolution in a heavy-handed and inappropriate way (in my humble opinion). He seemed absolutely intent on getting this resolution through as a way of getting us all to the Lambeth table.

I don’t know whether or not our Presiding Bishop-elect was coerced or merely persuaded to join in this appeal, but it is clear to me that her support for such an action provided the push needed to convince the Deputies to adopt a resolution more prohibitive than the one they had rejected the day before. Gay and lesbian deputies, many in tears, not to mention our straight allies, rose to the microphones to pledge their support of our new primate as she goes off to represent us in unfriendly places, to “give her what she needs” to continue the conversation. The scene of gay and lesbian deputies, willing to fall on their own swords for the presumed good of the Church, voting for this resolution against their own self-interest was an act of self-sacrifice that I won’t soon forget.

Keeping us in conversation with the Anglican Communion was the goal – for which the price was declaring gay and lesbian people unfit material for the episcopate. Only time will tell whether or not even that was accomplished. Within minutes – yes, MINUTES – the conservatives both within our Church and in Africa declared our sacrificial action woefully inadequate. It felt like a kick in the teeth to the ones who had gotten down on their knees to submit to the will of the whole, even though the price of doing so was excruciating. Such a quick, obviously premeditated and patently cruel reaction from the Right can be seen only as the violent and unchristian act it was.

So what now?

It is too soon to strategize, too soon to know what it all means. But here are a few things I DO know:

The Spirit IS working in the Church. We cannot claim that the Spirit is working in the Church only when we get our way. We must continue to believe that that Spirit is working even when the Church takes an action which hurts us, when it seems to take us in the wrong direction. We are in this struggle for the long haul, and so is the Spirit. We cannot fathom at the moment how this turn of events serves justice. But God will not be mocked, and God will be our salvation. Let’s not forget that.

We are STILL loved beyond our wildest imagining. That was true the day before Convention; it is still true. This vote does not change that. Just because the Church lost its courage, just because the Church was willing to sacrifice US for access to a conversation with Anglicans around the world (which they hardly seem ready to engage in themselves), it does NOT mean that God has changed. If you listen carefully, God is STILL saying to God’s lgbt children, “You are my beloved. In you I am well pleased.” This vote may say a lot about the Episcopal Church, but it says NOTHING about you and me as gay and lesbian children of God. Blessed Martin Luther King once said, “Pontius Pilate’s sin was not that he didn’t KNOW what was right, but
that he lacked the courage to STAND UP for right.” Pray for the Church.

We are in this for the long haul. OF COURSE there are going to be bumps along the road, perhaps a few places where the road has washed out completely. The journey toward justice is neither a straight line nor easy. Just ask our brothers and sisters who are people of color, and still experiencing the pain of racism. Just ask our sisters who still pay the price of sexism and misogyny, both inside and outside the Church. We follow a savior who dealt with plenty of setbacks and disappointments – not to mention being “done in” by his friends. We are in good company here. But we won’t last for the long haul without Jesus! Let’s keep saying our prayers and listening to the One who knows and shares our burden.

We’ll be watching. Now that the Anglican Communion and the majority of Convention have gotten what they asked for, let’s see if anything changes. Will the rest of the Communion finally be willing to engage in the listening process promised for the last 30 years? Will anything be done in the domestic dioceses of this Church to move us along, or will this only be seen as a “blessed” respite from this debate? Will the Network dioceses and parishes give up their blatant drive to split this church apart and join us in our efforts to be reconciled, or will they only cry “not enough” and demand more? We’ll be watching – and we’ll want the “middle” to give us an accounting of what this Convention vote got them. And we’ll be asking, “Was it worth declaring us less than children of God, marked as Christ’s own forever?”

We are not defeated, for God is still with us. Let’s remember that at its best, the Church has pushed the “pause” button, not the “stop” or “reverse” buttons. If we continue to make our witness, and if those for whom this sacrifice was made continue to threaten and make one-sided demands, the Episcopal Church will see its mistake and find its prophetic voice again. Maybe it will even repent of the harm done to us in this faithless and fearful act. Time will tell. In the meantime, we are not defeated, nor will we be paralyzed by this sad and woeful action. Dwelling on what happened and why will not serve us or the Church well. We need to turn away from yesterday and focus on tomorrow.

We know how all this is going to end. It is not arrogant to say that we believe we know how all this is going to turn out. It will end with the full inclusion of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered people in the life and ministry and leadership of the Church. It will take a long time. Some or all of us may not live to see it. But happen it will! In a strange way, I think the conservatives know it too. All we’re arguing about now is timing. It will be enough for each of us to play her/his own part. Each of us can provide a pair of shoulders for someone else to stand on, just as surely as we stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before us. This is a never-ending march toward justice for ALL, and NO ONE is going to be left behind. In the end, the reign of God will come. And oh what a privilege it is for each of us to play a small part.

We are worthy of God’s love – NOT because of anything we have done, but because God has MADE us worthy to stand before God through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. As I said at Convention, the Gay Agenda is JESUS! If we keep that ever before us, in the end all will be well.

I love, respect, appreciate and honor each of you more than you could ever know. Please keep me in your prayers, as you will be in mine. And to God be the glory!

+Gene

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28
Jun 06

If You Want To Go To Graduate School (Part 17)

September 14, 2001
Adam Hyde was quick to complain to the Department Chair, Karen Muir, about Professor Joseph K. Around 9am, I met Joe in his study and he showed me the e-mail the chair forwarded to him. Adam wrote a long, rambling, and at times incoherent letter complaining about the injustices he suffered from Joe, especially being asked to leave. Among the issues he listed, Adam claimed that Joe was insensitive to his disability (weak writing hand) and that he felt alienated by Joe’s left wing political views. He mentioned Professor Beltran, but could not spell his name correctly. After we read the e-mail, Joe was on the phone with the department chair. I would have to meet with her to tell her my side of the story.

After an hour of hanging out at Joe’s house, I walked to the university and went up to the top floor of the Humanities Building to meet with the chair. Dr. Muir was a dry, dowager type who could have been a character in an Edith Wharton story. Her light yellow hair was cut in a pageboy and she wore large, round glasses. She often wore two tone cardigans (à la Chanel) and baggy trousers to match. After she let me into her office, I sat down to tell her my side of the story. I told her about the e-mails and the hostility. She listened, but she also told me Joe’s actions concerning Adam were unprofessional – he could not ask someone to leave his class. I would later learn more about this issue when I taught as a TA. She then asked me if I wanted Adam kicked out of the program.

While I may have not liked Adam, I did not feel I could advocate kicking him out of the program. While I may have suffered some duress, I don’t think it was enough to completely justify me saying to expel him. I thought of the possibility of someone wanting to kick me out of the school, especially if I felt the accusation was unfair. I would want the administration to hear my side of the story and to show charity in dealing with me. I don’t think anyone’s right to study should be based on if others like him or her. If someone wants to study and they’re qualified, then they should by all means pursue it. At the time, I really did not know if Adam had what it took to be in grad school. I only had Joe’s word for it that he wasn’t a good writer and got in through politicking. Dr. Muir, during our conversation, mentioned that Professor Beltran believed people could be cured of mental illness through writing. I wrote about an insane narrator trying to become sane; Adam was the real thing. I could have easily countered that he belonged in a mental hospital, but didn’t. However, I decided to treat Adam the way I wanted and told Dr. Muir my decision. I confirmed it later in an e-mail, and she replied that she thought that was wise.

A year later, things would go bad between Joe and me. He gave me the silent treatment and acted openly disdainful towards me. I’m sure he would have loved to kick me out of the program at that point. All I had to do was something extremely egregious, especially towards him, and I would have been out. I hadn’t envisioned this when I had the talk with Dr. Muir, but I was glad I did not ask for Adam to be expelled.

Later in the evening, I went out. Gillian invited me to a party at a bar near the community college in downtown, so I took Hartwig along with me. Before that, we went to a rooftop party, which was packed, of a 1920′s hotel in Uptown. Soon, a FedEx plane descended to land at the airport. It was one of the first planes seen in the city since Tuesday. Life was returning to some semblance of normality. While people were scarce on Wednesday, they were everywhere on Friday. Everyone was out to party harder than usual, but no one certainly forgot what happened. Hartwig and I watched the planes fly across the sky and then hopped to a few bars before meeting Gillian and her friends. They seemed to like Hartwig, who then entertained them with his stories about his roommate, a supposedly straight man who gave hints of desiring him. Like most life of the party people, Hartwig had a few stories he would use over and over. It just was not apparent to me yet.

Since I quit the job at the supermarket, I had let my hair grow out for 14 months. I would chop it off the next day.

To be continued…

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24
Jun 06

Here’s To Going Medieval

Well, I guess that makes me a Shepherd.

There are all kinds of personality sites on the Internet. You can find out which Desperate Housewife you are, do cheap versions of the Myers-Briggs personality tests, find out which Battlestar Galactica character you are (for some reason, I tested as Lee Adama, though I suspect I’m more of a Gaius Baltar), and then on Critbritlit‘s blog, I found out about the Kingdomality website, which gives you your medieval occupation. Critbritlit mentioned it’s a silly site, and that is very true. For the hell of it, I did the Kingdomality test and here’s what it said:

our distinct personality, The Shepherd is to tend to your human flock. You understand the needs of those for whom you are responsible. Shepherds are vigilant and reliable. You realize your obligation and commitment to the well being of those entrusted to your care. Shepherds are very dependable. You engender a feeling of comfort and stability to those within your charge. On the positive side, Shepherds can be empathic, caring, understanding, practical and realistic. On the negative side, you may be manipulative, close-minded and sentimentally rigid. Interestingly, your preference is just as applicable in today’s corporate kingdoms.
————————–

If any of you get out of line, I’ll whack you with my staff. ;-)

I took the Desperate Houswives test and my counterpart is Bree. I’m not sure about that, but I love her character on the show. I also broke down and took the evil test:

You Are 32% Evil

A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well.
In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.
How Evil Are You?
Are Episcopalians allowed to be evil? I’m sure someone out there’s got a laundry list of evil Episcopalians.

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23
Jun 06

If You Want To Go To Graduate School (Part 16)

September 13, 2001
Adam Hyde was a sixty-ish, bald, pudgy man who always had something sharply critical to say about anything. He definitely was not liked by a lot of students (and some faculty, such as Joe). He was angry about one thing or another, talked about values, and often espoused arch-conservative positions. As far as I knew, he was a loner and possibly schizophrenic or borderline. He definitely was not wealthy, which would have qualified him as eccentric.

But, he was off-center. He often directed his rage at certain professors. In one poetry class, he called the professor an Amazon. He reported the doings of Tatiyana to the English Department chair. In the fiction workshop we were both in, Joe was his favorite target. Adam felt that Joe’s political views, especially during the discussion following 9/11, was radically left-wing. He felt marginalized by it. He was also angered by a presentation that Andrew and I did for the class the first week. Andrew presented a clever idea of collaborating, while I showed my hybrid text and image work. Soon, I would become on object of Adam’s wrath.

We developed a correspondence – I created an e-mail list for the class and he e-mailed me. I sent a link to my personal website and he made some odd comments on one of my stories. Joe had us pair off and collaborate by e-mail on a fiction writing exercise. Adam was paired off with Dr. Jules. He could not get in touch with Dr. Jules because I made a mistake in transcribing his mail address. He meanly pointed out to me that it was my mistake. I got a few other pecking e-mails during the week, but then there was one too many. He was past being mildly rude, and then made a nasty remark saying, “Since you are so full of yourself, I feel I can say this…” My handling of the e-mail list and the work that was presented in class were both attacked in the e-mail.

I overreacted. I felt I was being stalked by Adam. I told Joe about it two hours before class time. He thought I was taking it too personally, but he drove me to his house and gave me a valium. It really did not ease my anxiety, but I come to class high and dizzy. Some of the stairwells in the building had buffers installed to soundproof them with the subway station construction. I spun around and kicked one of the buffers. I continued to dance as I walked through the hallway to the classroom. Gillian observed my behavior was a cross between my fictional diva and The Sound of Music. Though I was giddy, I was still angry at Adam for the offensive e-mails. I drew a picture of him with an axe through his head. I just hoped he would go away.

Joe led a discussion of 9/11 and everyone’s response. We all had our say. I think Adam may have said something very right wing. I don’t remember. When it was my turn, Joe said that I shared with him an interesting idea the day before. I told him I thought it was possible the government set this up or knew about it and let it happen (because it was beginning to play into their approval ratings). He then shot me down, saying that idea was easily attacked. There never was an explanation for that remark. Perhaps, I was too high to ask for one. However, I think this was another incident that would lead to the decline of our relationship, professionally and academically.

After the class was over, Joe confronted Adam about the stalking issue. Adam denied it, but it was what Joe needed to ask him to leave. After a brief discussion, Adam felt no choice, and I went to Joe’s house afterward. Morgan greeted me with a hug, saying she was sorry for me dealing with Adam. Andrew came along for the after-class visit, and Joe disclosed to us the story of how Adam got invovled in the program. Joe and Tatiyana did not want Adam in the program – Adam was a nightmare for Tatiyana to deal with in one of her workshops. Joe sided with Tatiyana in her recommendation. Joe said that Adam worked with Jonathan Beltran and this was one of the students Jonathan would want in the program. Joe accepted some of Jonathan’s sponsored students so Jonathan would accept his. Adam was definitely a political pawn in the admission game. Joe resassured Andrew and me that he, Tatiyana, and Jonathan were unanimous in accepting our applications. I only have Joe’s word for it, but it would be reasurring to know this later when I fell out with him.

Joe put me up for the night in Morgan’s room. I slept soundly with another dose of valium.

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16
Jun 06

If You Want To Go To Graduate School (Part 15)

I’m not going to present this in a diary format. The date on this and yesterday’s post simply place it in context of September 11.

September 12, 2001
The next day, after the national freak-out, we were expected to return to life as normal although the nation’s borders were still closed. I never paid much attention to airplane noise in the sky – it was as quotidian as the compound engine hum of cars on the freeway. Sometimes I was annoyed when the planes would soar over where I was and drown out a conversation or a moment with noise, but I missed them when the sky was completely silent. Nothing flew that week, not even the Cessnas. My family’s home is near a small airport Cessnas launch from and there was always at least one per day that would fly over the house. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the summer heat was still around, perfect for going to the beach. The beach was the furthest thing from my mind.

I don’t remember going to Teaching Composition that day. It was normally held on Mondays and Wednesdays, but I don’t remember going to class. I do remember, while wandering around on campus, I met up with Joe without any plans to do so. Joe told me about his computer having some problems, so I went with him to his home. It was a basic issue with Word and I did what I could. I don’t think I was successful. Joe, nonetheless, was grateful, and he treated me to dinner at an Uptown Italian restaurant.

Once there, Joe, his girlfriend Morgan, and I all had the eggplant parmigiana. Joe and Morgan were vegetarians, but I was not. Every time I dined with Joe, I avoided ordering dishes with meat. I didn’t mind eating vegetarian. During the early part of my limbo year, I went on a vegetarian diet and lost some weight. I stopped after a while, eating meat on my own or whenever my mother made dinner, but I thought it would offend Joe to eat meat around him. However, this fed into Joe’s impression of me that I was a vegetarian and it would later shock him when I made it clear that I wasn’t. But that would happen a few months later.

Earlier, when I rode with Joe to his house, we talked about the events of the days before. I was seriously shocked that this stuff would happen, especially on American soil. I was also frightened that this could be what the Bush administration would need to define themselves. An ineffectual oil baron’s campaign successfully rigged the election so he could come President, but he seemed lazy and indifferent to the responsibilities of the Oval Office the first few months of office. Everything he said was idiotic, such as when the Santana High shootings occurred earlier in the year. Once the World Trade Center imploded from the impact, Bush would say the things that American needed to hear. And his approval ratings rapidly rose. I told Joe I couldn’t help thinking the government set this up. I wish I had never said this to him.

Joe said this incident really hasn’t shocked him, that he’s been writing about these issues for a long time. He had long had an interest in Terrorism as a subject for writing; he had even devoted one of his University Press Journal’s issues to the theme. The issue of low-tech insurrection was in the zeitgeist – he wrote a pieces earlier in the year about Anthrax and other simple mechanical weapons. The terrorists aboard the four airplanes only used box-cutters and little else.

After the meal, Joe, Morgan, and I rode through one of the empty streets of Uptown. On most Wednesday nights, many people would cross the streets to go to a bar or restaurant, but most people chose to stay home this evening. Joe commented that a time like this would be a good time to smoke a joint – especially with people being in a reflective mood. Joe then drove out to the suburbs to drop me off, but I didn’t smoke a joint at all. Instead, I accessed a nasty e-mail from one of my classmates.

To be continued…

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16
Jun 06

Calling All Channels: Warhol Exhibit at SDMA

San Diego will have a local exhibit on the late, great Andy Warhol at the San Diego Museum of Art: Andy Warhol’s Dream America: Screenprints from the Collection of the Jordan Schnitzer Family Foundation.The exhibit will run from June 17-September 10, 2006.

Andy Warhol is one of the definitive Pop Artists of the mid to late 20th century, with his subjects ranging from banal (Campbell Soup cans) to the glamorous (Marilyn Monroe). While his means of creating art was mechanical (Polaroids, silkscreens, mass production), Warhol’s work was definitely iconic. A signature of Warhol’s work is bright, contrasting colors, though at times, he has chosen to deviate from this.

I’m looking forward to this. It’s a must see.

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15
Jun 06

If You Want To Go To Graduate School (Part 14)

I’m skipping ahead a bit to part of my first year in graduate school, which took place during the September 11th year.

Tuesday, September 11, 2001
I started my day and went to the University like any other day. I spent much time at the University and I went there to do some computer work for a workshop submission. I had a G3 tower at home, but the new G4′s were somewhat more powerful and there were laser printers at the faculty technology center. Since I worked for Joe, he wrote a letter to the center to give me access. I often abused my priveleges, and this morning was no exception.

I used the scanners and Photoshop to get my images at the right resolution, plunked them into a Microsoft Word file, and formatted the text around them. The G4′s RAM certainly could handle it. My beige G3 at home was a bit slower, and it would take me forever to do them. Plus, there were all the other people at my mother’s house to deal with – my brother, my mother, and sometimes her friends. There was also the temptation of the television – something I had to escape in order to get things done. Once I had the TV turned on, anything I hoped to get done was over.

Since I did not watch TV that morning or listened to the radio, I had no idea what had happened. I heard no mention of it on the bus on the way to the University. A television was set up on a table in the faculty technology center, but I paid no attention to it. Somehow, it didn’t strike me as strange that a TV was on in that room. After logging in, I sat down at a computer and began working. As I sought to get the right fit of an image on a page, I heard comments about a terrorist strike on the US and that these terrorists would not be coddled. I soon inferred that the strike occured in New York City. Even with the news broadcasting, everyone in the lab worked on their projects, even while they were listening. It was not until there was an announcement from Governor Gray Davis that everyone stopped. He announced that all California state institutions would be closed immediately.

The center’s administrator got everyone to leave at that moment. I took the elevator up to where the English Department was. I don’t know why I did this. Perhaps I hoped to see one of my new grad school friends to talk about what’s going on. I saw that some professors had not been notified and they were still carrying on, teaching their classes or sitting in their offices. I couldn’t find anyone, so I went to the campus bus station to go home,

There were many people waiting to take the bus. The buses arriving to or leaving campus were rarely full, but they were packed this day. I saw Malcom, the administrative assistant for the English Department, and chatted with him. I told him I knew this day would go down in infamy, like Pearl Harbor. I’m sure many other people were thinking the same thing. We waited for a crowded bus, boarded one, and left the campus.

My friend Liza Radley, whose birthday I would later learn was September 11, was aboard. She really hadn’t made an impression on me yet. What I remember of her was different from the Liza I would later come to know, the outgoing, intense, and gregarious girl with many friends. She was still new to the city and quiet. But we shared a bus trip together on that day, when the everyone in this city and even the rest of the nation was sudddenly confused.

Malcolm and Liza would get off in one of the first stops away from campus, while I took the bus to uptown. I just had to eat. I found a Greek diner on 5th Avenue and set my tote down. I ate a gyros plate while the restaurant’s TV relayed more details of the news. Now I had a better idea of what happened. The World Trade Center had imploded because two airplanes crashed into the towers. Another plane crashed into the Pentagon, and another crashed in a remote field in Pennsylvania, though the intended target was speculated to be the White House. The nation’s borders were closed off, and no plane would cross the sky, coming or going, for the next few days. I found it disquieting that “Attack on America” had a logo, whipped up in a few hours. After lunch, I went to a cafe and had some coffee, where I heard more of the same news. I then took the bus back to my suburban neighborhood.

My mother was home along with Yoko. Yoko’s family, her ex-husband and her daughter, were also visiting. I think we may have sat down for a late afternoon meal, but I don’t remember for sure. I do remember every channel on the TV was broadcasting updated news of the attacks on the World Trade Center. My mother had planned a birthday party for my niece that day, but cancelled it a few days before and rescheduled it. My niece shared a birhday with Liza Radley.

I could not not take the news for long all day, so I went into my room and logged onto the Internet. I alternated between working on my personal website, going on websites, and e-mailing friends to make sure they were okay and replying to e-mails asking about me.

When I was in the sixth grade, I saw a documentary about Nostradamus entitled The Man Who Saw Tomorrow. The great Orson Welles was definitely memorable as the narrator. It was not a ground breaking accomplishment such as his War of the Worlds broadcast or Citizen Kane, but his presence was appropriate. Most of the film covered Nostradamus’s prophecies during his lifetime and what he wrote about the future. Historical events were brought side by side with his prophecies, so it seemed plausible that he predicted the rise of Adolph Hitler, the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and Ayatollah Khomeini’s revolution in Iran. Then the documentary discussed the near future. Here, dramatized footage of a man in a blue turban walked around a military computer command center of an unidentified Middle-Eastern nation and ordered a missile to be launched at New York City. It had yet to happen, but terrorists from Arab nations were beginning to gain prominence in the media.

I went on the Nostradamus newsgroup and the board was filled with posts about September 11. Many simply discussed what was going on, while others wondered if this was the prophecy come true.

Whether the prophecy was true or not wasn’t important. However, I knew my life wouldn’t be the same afterwards. No one’s life would be, though waving flags would prove to be a wonderful distraction for a while.

technology — No Comments
14
Jun 06

Being Computerless is a Pain in the Arse!

My keyboard malfunctioned on Sunday night. I only had partial functionality – a few characters would not show up after tapping the keys. I typed “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dogs,” only to get “he quick rown fox jumped over he lazy dos.” This sentence is always a good test for a keyboard as it uses every letter in the alphabet. There were also a few characters, such as 5 and -, that also wouldn’t register. Since I had a few things to do on Monday morning, such as write a resume and deal with e-mail, I used the keyboard viewer function on my iBook and pointed and clicked at the characters I could not type. I managed to get these things done despite being slowed down. I could not, however, blog. That’s a lot of writing to be using something like that.

I took my laptop to the Fascist Valley Apple Store. Gotta love that place. It’s very Clockwork Orange with its minimal white interior, its mod staff, and colorful posters thrown in for effect. The only thing missing is a milk bar. At least I know I won’t get attacked by a trendy hoodlum humming, “Singing in the Rain.”

If I didn’t have an extended warranty for my computer, I would have felt like I was assaulted by the bill every time my laptop had a problem. Getting the laptop in for repairs was no problem. However, I had to wait half a day to do this. When I arrived to the Apple Store and tried to get a next hour appointment using their Concierge (courtesy of a display PowerBook), I could not get one. I had to schedule one for later and I decided to come back later in the evening.

I returned the Apple Store at 7:30 pm. I showed one of their “geniuses” (Apple speak for in-store technical support) and he arranged for a repair to be made, telling me it could take a few days. I changed my computer’s password, intending to revert to the old one once I got it back. I signed the repair order and reluctantly surrendered my computer. I wasn’t happy that I would be without a computer for a few day and I moped while driving away from mall. I tried to tell myself that that at least I didn’t have to pay for this out of pocket and that I’d get a new keyboard out of this.

My grumpiness that evening turned out to be for nothing. Early the next morning, an anonymous Apple Store staffer called me and told me the computer was ready to pick up. And the repair was wonderfully done. The keyboard was clean, new, a bit whiter than the rest of the computer. Now, there’s that problem with the password.

writing — No Comments
9
Jun 06

If You Want To Go To Graduate School (Part 13)

I’m at the cafe across the street from where I live, having something to drink and taking advantage of the WIFI. I’m also listening to a streaming broacast of Leonard Cohen being interviewed on Fresh Air for inspiration. It’s been two days since I’ve posted, giving the blog a breather, but now I don’t feel like writing. But, here I am, and I’m going to post.

At the close of Joe’s two classes, Madness in Literature and the fiction workshop, there was a need to party. Somehow, I got on the MFA’s e-mail list and I went to someone’s graduation party at their home by the beach. It was a mellow party, with wine and cheese and some other good food. After it ended, everyone went go across town to an uptown dive bar. I don’t remember much of the party except that it was the first time outside of Joe’s classes I got to carry myself as a pseudo grad student. At this point, I was accepted into the program, but I was not officially one. It would also be the first of many parties in my MFA career.

Joe threw a party for his girlfriend Morgan, who just completed her BA in English. Most of Joe’s parties hardly had any food, unless someone else brought it. This was definitely true here, as Morgan’s parents supplied most of the food. Joe, however, did provide wine. I was happy for Morgan and got to chat with her a bit. I met her relatives. I also met one of Joe’s colleagues, Professor D.H. Ogden, a short, coarse-looking man who parted his hair to one side and wore tweed. I remember talking to him briefly, but it was easy to get it in my mind what kind of teacher he was. I easily pegged him as a stuffy, literary conservative. I would find that this view was utterly wrong as I went through my graduate career. I think Ogden’s one of the most misunderstood professors in the English Department at the university. More on that later.

I attended the graduation ceremony for the English Department at the university. I had gone through the ceremony the year before, and though I had satisfied the requirements for the BA and I would officially graduate, I did not walk again. I sat in the audience and watched Tomas and some of the other MFA’s I know walk across the stage to get the fake diplomas. I got to hear the top MFA give her speech – it would be the last time I would hear it. The custom was done away with by the time I would graduate with my MFA.

In the evening after the graduation ceremony, I went to Tomas’s graduation party, held at his home. I met his wife, the elegant Columbian woman, and his teenage children. Tomas’s wife went through a great deal of trouble to prepare the food and it was wonderful. There was an Afro-Cuban band playing, with a small dance floor set up in the living room. At one point, I danced to the drumming, though I’m not the greatest dancer. Joe loves to be hip to this kind of stuff, but he didn’t dance. He shook my hand for going out there and doing it.

Dr. Jules and his wife were at Tomas’s party. At one point, he apologized to me about being hard on me in the workshop. I replied I thought he was being hostile, but apology accepted. Given that, I still did not trust him. An apology does not always restore confidence. He would later use the constant attack and apologize strategy with another writer I knew in the program, though she took it much better. However, she really didn’t put much stock in his apology.

The summer was beginning and I would not get a break from Joe at all. The journal needed attention, after all.

To be continued…

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