4 posts tagged “grad school nonsense”
1200 + pages= one semester, one of 3 classes.
Glad to know my money is being spent well. Here's my version of grad school. Enjoy. (Context, once a month friday night/ all day Saturday class.)
Obama's press conference today. Part of the Transcript via CNN.com
Question: Mr. President-elect ...
Obama: What happened to your arm, Lynn?
Question: I cracked my shoulder running to your speech on election night.
Obama: Oh, no.
(LAUGHTER)
Question: (inaudible)
Obama: I think that was the only major incident during the -- the entire Grant Park celebration.
Question: Thank you for asking. Here's my question. I'm wondering what you're doing to get ready. Have you spoke to any living ex-presidents, what books you might be reading?
Everyone wants to know, what kind of dog are you going to buy for your girls? Have you decided on a private or public school for your daughters?
Obama: Let -- let me list those off.
In terms of speaking to former presidents, I've spoken to all of them that are living. Obviously, President Clinton -- I didn't want to get into a Nancy Reagan thing about, you know, doing any seances.
I have re-read some of Lincoln's writings, who's always an extraordinary inspiration.
And, by the way, President Carter, President Bush, Sr., as well as the current president have all been very gracious and offered to provide any help that they can in this transition process.
With respect to the dog, this is a major issue. I think it's generated more interest on our Web site than just about anything.
We have -- we have two criteria that have to be reconciled. One is that Malia is allergic, so it has to be hypoallergenic. There are a number of breeds that are hypoallergenic.
On the other hand, our preference would be to get a shelter dog, but, obviously, a lot of shelter dogs are mutts like me. So -- so whether we're going to be able to balance those two things I think is a pressing issue on the Obama household.
He called himself a mutt. :D
Magtonic: YOOOO Obama called himself a mutt in his press conference. I told you I'm a genius.
Magtonic's Best Friend: He's so gangsta.
In all seriousness, here's a far better argument as to why Obama is "so gangsta."
Originally written in January of 2008…
2007 is out, and 2008 is in, and I can honestly say I’m firmly trying to stay on the sunny side of life this year — That being said, I’ll work through my poorly chosen metaphor in reverse to set the tone for 2008.
The Ugly:
The ugly truth is that up until the very last few seconds of 2007, shit wasn’t in my favor.
December started where I left off. A surgery for pops, that although it went well and complications were inevitable, Momma Magtonic and Poppa Magtonic spent a Saturday afternoon in the ER… Seizures, there are at least 10 kinds, and they can happen to anyone for no reason at all was what my cousin told me as my man and I sat at home, post 911 call waiting for MommaTonic to give us the go ahead to meet her at the hospital. On the real, his brain basically said “what’d you do to my home?” So seizure/ PoppaTonic watch began for the rest of the month. He’s the type who can never sit still, MommaTonic Jokes that he probably has undiagnosed ADD because back in his day no one knew what it was.
I’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t easy but it wasn’t all bad. My sister came home, though loaded with her own levels of college related drama. The extended fam was supportive as hell, but it sure wasn’t a walk in the park.
The anniversary of the shit that nearly started it all passed, everyone in my house too wrapped up in worrying about Pops. And that seemed to be a good thing, though don’t get it twisted, the waiting for the coming and going of it all was almost too much for me. Wrapped up in retarded levels of anxiety it slipped by and life continued.
Playing caretaker, and watching everyone I know go through it, in one or more senses of the phrase, was rough. And jokingly, on New Year’s Eve, standing in the kitchen surrounded by some family, we laughed at how it would soon be over. I’d be blessed with the ability to take care of myself again no more work, (more on that later) that I’d be hopefully starting that grad program in a few weeks (more on that later) and that thankfully we were in the clear so far as we knew in regards to having to RSVP to any funerals.
Though we were all in it, everyone knew the toll it took on me was a bit fierce. There was a mutual agreement that I had to let go, and everyone was down to support me in getting that shit done!
So 3 minutes to New Years there’s a knock at the door, a kid my sister has invited into our home every New Years for the past few. She told me to lie and tell him she wasn’t home b/c she was exhausted —weren’t we all? So I did, feeling as heavy as I have the entire year, it all sort of converging upon me at once. He passed me a bottle of Jack Daniel’s to give her and parted wishing us all a Happy New Year. I walked back upstairs and she had a second thought. She ran after him phoning him to come back that she had “just gotten home.” With just seconds to spare he flew through the door right at the countdown, hopping off the bus he’d been on by screaming, “STOP THE BUS! HAPPY NEW YEAR” and running to our place. She went into the New Year with a clear conscious, and I with a goal to be happy.
The Bad:
The bad began on January 2nd. A phone call from my grad program where I’m told that they never got my letters of recommendation. WTF? Two months after the deadline, one month till school starts and You’re telling me now? And then I remember I’m talking about a public University in California, what a priviledged life I lead attending one of those private east coast liberal art schools, where the financial aid office knows me by my first name! Scoff!
I should have known. I’m told to have the letters emailed in, then through secret messenger a week later am told that didn’t work. That I need that shit OVERnighted and a friend in the know will hook it up. Back and forth, back and forth loads and loads of crap. Financial aid. Ah yes bearaucracy. My favorite! And so with a week into the school year, I can say I was admitted just a day or two before classes began, no time to register just beg profs to let me in their classes, and with the fortune of receiving a grant. It’s settled but it was unecessarily chaotic.
The Good:
The good is so good. The good is better than good. The good is hella/mad good. Not that the news is all that exciting, it’s just better than it’s been.
I had been creating space between the difficult work place I’d been in, and difficult work related situations by backing off, getting paid a nominal fee to do work from home twice a month, and through mutual agreement was let go. So I am jobless but in a much better space mentally and emotionally. It’s not terrible, to be broke as shit right now, I mean broke as shit… just temporarily that is, but my dream of doing the whole Victorian home in the Sco thing is on hold even longer (though I joke it wont happen till I retire anyway).
And the year set off right. After the New Years and Rec letter debacles, I managed to enjoy the shit out of myself for the first time in months. Early January marked one year since my sister’s best friend passed, though her first memorial had been beautiful and full of laughter, the second had a more symbolic purpose —closure to those most in need of it.
Letting shit go. Native American singers and drummers were to be present, and my sis was to sing a song in her honor, first time with the Native singers ever. I however wouldn’t make it on time as I was too busy at the airport waiting for the arrival of one of my college best friends, one half of my dynamic concert promoting duo, someone who knows me like no other. And so we whisked him back to the memorial and with in seconds we were doing a round dance around the gym. He looking at me like “it’s so good to see you, but this woman is pulling me and I have no idea what beat we’re on.”
Though shit had changed in the two years since we’d seen each other we were still the same. Still functioning the way we did in school. For a week he immersed himself in my life. The one that created me, the one that, as of late had aged me. And it worked in such a way that I finally felt refreshed. On his last night, though his trip was by no means free of obligatory drama —Or in the words of my best friend of almost 20 years, “Girls just hating on other girls”— I felt some strange feeling of regeneration. Went to a club, well no. A lounge in atypical SF style— relaxed environment where I could wear my sneakers (whoot whoot) full of Asian cats donning sideways tilted sf caps (surprise surprise) and the average height there had to be 5’ 7’’. A show homey of 20 years was somehow connected to, his DJ crew. So I danced. For the first time in over a year I danced my ass off, ran into friends from yesterday that I totally missed but had no idea I did. And even when college friend left to meet up with another homegirl from college (who chose not to meet up with us for whatever reason) I kept on going. Stayed out till 3:30. Loved every second of it. Truthfully loved most of the time he was here, when he left, and reality set back in, that moms dad and I were back to being a solo trio, that school wasn’t set in stone and that I had no income.
I finally felt like I was back. Maybe not strong, but on an upswing for the first time since it all began. For that, I can truly say I was thankful.
