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…
Tags: creative non-fiction, graduate school, If You Want To Go To Grad School
