The title (and the motivation for starting this post) is mostly guilt: guilt over the fact that I said I was going to start writing more regularly and then haven't posted in 24 days or something like that.
One of my larger concerns recently has been dealing with administration at Radford (not for the first time). This time I'm dealing with departmental policies I wasn't aware of but that could make my final semester worse than it needs to be. Each semester, the English department offers about seven or eight graduate courses at the 600 level (which are the ones we're supposed to take). Of these, at least two have the course number 680, which is broadly classified as Special Topics in English. That said, they're usually extremely diverse and completely unrelated.
Due to limited course options, each semester, I've elected to take one of the 680s. The first was Shakespeare and Film, the second, this past spring, was Creative Nonfiction, and then the third, which I am currently in, is Ecocriticism. About two weeks ago, I was told that you can only have two 680s count toward your required credits for graduation.
The program I'm in requires 33 credits to graduate, and 9 credits per semester to keep my GTA position. If you do the math, that's 36 credits over four semesters. However, we're allowed to take a course that isn't really a course, in order to maintain 9 credits. This course, of course, doesn't count toward the 33 required credits. So, to clarify, I was planning on taking this essentially fake course next semester, requiring me to only take two courses in the spring.
However, with this current problem, unless I get one 680 changed in the records to something else, I will have to take three credits, in addition to taking my Comprehensive Examination at some point, and applying for jobs.
My adviser, eventually suggested that I could petition to change my current 680 to a 698 (Directed Study). However, you can only take one directed study, and I'm planning on taking one in the spring. So that wouldn't work.
I do have a plan of attack, but I have no idea about its feasibility at this point. My plan is to petition to change my Creative Nonfiction 680 to 611, Creative Writing. Both are electives within the English department. Creative Nonfiction was a much more work intensive course than 611 is according to their syllabi.
Now, in order for my petition to have a chance, I have to give reasons why the course should be changed other than my own convenience. Looking at the courses offered last spring, I was happy to discover that none of the courses fell directly into the category of British lit. That is, there are three generic course numbers for British lit that are supposed to be offered one each semester. In the spring, none was offered however, and a women's lit course, that could count as either American or British lit was offered.
However, my argument will be that, considering the fact that I was on the British literature track, and since no ostensibly British Literature courses were offered (outside of another 680), then I should not be punished for taking that particular 680, and would have taken a Brit lit course had it been offered. I can demonstrate that this semester I am taking it, and next semester I will be taking the British literature offered courses.
We'll see how it goes.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Science Fiction/Fantasy and the Environment
One of the classes I'm taking this semester is "Ecocriticism." I honestly didn't have the slightest idea of what to expect from the course other than that I would be expected to read Walden at some point (and we have). I won't lie, the first few weeks of the course were pretty unexciting for me. However, recently we began working on the role of apocalypse narratives in ecocriticism.
Unsurprisingly, I deeply enjoyed reading a speculative fiction book on the apocalypse. The example of apocalypse we used for the course was Margret Atwood's Oryx and Crake. I was pleasantly surprised by the depth and complexity of the apocalypse envisioned in the novel. This apocalypse is not brought about by a singular event, occurance, or discovery, but instead, a chain of interrelated causes, varying from proliferation of science and technology, consumerism, triviality of society, and more.
In class, our professor wanted to try to pin down the biggest causes of the apocalypse Atwood envisioned. Quite frankly, I thought it was impossible, everything was related. Obsession with sex leads to desire for health products to maintain youth. These people provide a willing market for scientific corporations to exploit. The money they bring in leads to the power to advance technology, but also breeds intense competition between corporations, leading to acts of terrorism (often bio-terrorism). Companies gain technological advancements that would allow them to cure disease, but they dare not allow the product to be perfect, because if it was, they would destroy their own market. Economy drives the engine of a vicious cycle.
Another upcoming assignment for the course was to pick any book dealing with ecocriticsm and read it independently, providing a report to the class on the new view we discovered. A search in the library using simply the term ecocriticism linked me to numerous books with mostly uninteresting titles. One caught my eye though: Ents, Elves, and Eriador: The Environmental Vision of J.R.R. Tolkien. Jackpot.
While mostly ignored recently, my interest and fascination for fantasy and science fiction had begun resurfacing as a legitimate area of inquiry for my studies when I began Oryx and Crake. Finding a book on the environmental vision of Tolkien solidified the occasional wandering thoughts I'd been having about the genre. In particular, I began thinking of how much science fiction and fantasy (a little more so the latter than the former) depicts nature as a friendly, benign force that we must appreciate and embrace. Additionally, kids movies and stories seem to often be rich in environmental propaganda (if you'll forgive the term).
Think Fern Gully and Peter Pan. In both, man and technology are to a greater or lesser degree, evil, and must be defeated. In The Chronicles of Narnia, the preservation of the natural world is tantamount, with God/Jesus taking the shape of a lion and bestowing sentient life on animals as well as tree and water spirits (not to mention interesting in the blend of Christianity and paganism).
In Final Fantasy VII, you fight to save the world, first from the economic and technological powers that would seek to suck the world dry of all its value, and then from an alien/psychotic who seeks to destroy the world. At the end, the power of Holy is not enough to stop the destruction of the earth by itself, but the Lifestream, an embodiment of the natural world (as glowing green tendrils, in case the connection wasn't clear enough) intervenes, helping Holy to stop the apocalypse and simultaneously overrunning the largest city with green plant-growth.
I'm finding the possibilities for this subject that I was grudging to engage in very exciting (and a little overwhelming). For the end of the semester, I have to write a sizable research paper on some topic within the field. Before I was worried about what I could possibly write that wouldn't bore me to tears. Now I'm worried that I will struggle to define a topic that I can write only ten to fifteen pages on.
Unsurprisingly, I deeply enjoyed reading a speculative fiction book on the apocalypse. The example of apocalypse we used for the course was Margret Atwood's Oryx and Crake. I was pleasantly surprised by the depth and complexity of the apocalypse envisioned in the novel. This apocalypse is not brought about by a singular event, occurance, or discovery, but instead, a chain of interrelated causes, varying from proliferation of science and technology, consumerism, triviality of society, and more.
In class, our professor wanted to try to pin down the biggest causes of the apocalypse Atwood envisioned. Quite frankly, I thought it was impossible, everything was related. Obsession with sex leads to desire for health products to maintain youth. These people provide a willing market for scientific corporations to exploit. The money they bring in leads to the power to advance technology, but also breeds intense competition between corporations, leading to acts of terrorism (often bio-terrorism). Companies gain technological advancements that would allow them to cure disease, but they dare not allow the product to be perfect, because if it was, they would destroy their own market. Economy drives the engine of a vicious cycle.
Another upcoming assignment for the course was to pick any book dealing with ecocriticsm and read it independently, providing a report to the class on the new view we discovered. A search in the library using simply the term ecocriticism linked me to numerous books with mostly uninteresting titles. One caught my eye though: Ents, Elves, and Eriador: The Environmental Vision of J.R.R. Tolkien. Jackpot.
While mostly ignored recently, my interest and fascination for fantasy and science fiction had begun resurfacing as a legitimate area of inquiry for my studies when I began Oryx and Crake. Finding a book on the environmental vision of Tolkien solidified the occasional wandering thoughts I'd been having about the genre. In particular, I began thinking of how much science fiction and fantasy (a little more so the latter than the former) depicts nature as a friendly, benign force that we must appreciate and embrace. Additionally, kids movies and stories seem to often be rich in environmental propaganda (if you'll forgive the term).
Think Fern Gully and Peter Pan. In both, man and technology are to a greater or lesser degree, evil, and must be defeated. In The Chronicles of Narnia, the preservation of the natural world is tantamount, with God/Jesus taking the shape of a lion and bestowing sentient life on animals as well as tree and water spirits (not to mention interesting in the blend of Christianity and paganism).
In Final Fantasy VII, you fight to save the world, first from the economic and technological powers that would seek to suck the world dry of all its value, and then from an alien/psychotic who seeks to destroy the world. At the end, the power of Holy is not enough to stop the destruction of the earth by itself, but the Lifestream, an embodiment of the natural world (as glowing green tendrils, in case the connection wasn't clear enough) intervenes, helping Holy to stop the apocalypse and simultaneously overrunning the largest city with green plant-growth.
I'm finding the possibilities for this subject that I was grudging to engage in very exciting (and a little overwhelming). For the end of the semester, I have to write a sizable research paper on some topic within the field. Before I was worried about what I could possibly write that wouldn't bore me to tears. Now I'm worried that I will struggle to define a topic that I can write only ten to fifteen pages on.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Malachi
This morning, we finally had to put Mally to sleep. He started having seizures on Friday night and hadn't been able to walk basically at all for a few days before that. On Saturday night, I drove up to Charlottesville to pick up Anna and head home. When we got home and saw him lying there, it was pretty heartbreaking. His breathing was erratic and when he had his eyes open, he had little control over them, but they looked frightened. I felt awful for him, and worried that maybe we selfishly put this off for too long. But that's a real hard call to make, and I'll never be sure.
We stayed up for a few hours, just hanging out with him and petting him a bit. The next morning, we carried him out to the car and I sat in the back seat with his head on my lap on the way to the vet. I carried him in and they weighed him. He was 45 pounds. When he had been healthy he'd been around 60. Then we carried him in to one of the rooms and set him on the table. They took him back in the back to insert his catheter, and then brought him back and gave us some time with him. Once we were ready, the vet came in with three syringes. She explained that the first was saline to flush the catheter. The second was a relaxing agent to calm him and basically put him to sleep. The last syringe was to stop his heart. She explained that it was valium based and would be completely painless, knocking him out and overloading his system, shutting down his heart.
We gave our OK and she gave the three injections. It seemed so fast. I had my hand on his chest and could feel his heartbeat fade away. She then left us there, telling us we could leave when ready and they would take care of him after we left the room. Seeing him on that table was surreal. The whole situation was surreal, and so contradictory. On one hand, I didn't want Mally to be in pain anymore. It was past time. On the other, I still didn't want to say goodbye.
The vet is associated with a cremation service, so we will get his ashes in a week or two. I'm not sure what to do with them. Mom suggested spreading them around the lake near our old house, but I feel a little selfishly against that. I would like to keep at least some of his ashes with me wherever life takes me, at least for the next few years. Admittedly though, it's still fresh, so I want to keep something to hold on to.
I think you can never get over your childhood pets, and honestly, your childhood dog in particular. Not that you should. Mally will always have a special place in my heart, and I will miss him.
Rest in peace Malachi, I will always miss you and love you. May angels guide you home.
-TES
We stayed up for a few hours, just hanging out with him and petting him a bit. The next morning, we carried him out to the car and I sat in the back seat with his head on my lap on the way to the vet. I carried him in and they weighed him. He was 45 pounds. When he had been healthy he'd been around 60. Then we carried him in to one of the rooms and set him on the table. They took him back in the back to insert his catheter, and then brought him back and gave us some time with him. Once we were ready, the vet came in with three syringes. She explained that the first was saline to flush the catheter. The second was a relaxing agent to calm him and basically put him to sleep. The last syringe was to stop his heart. She explained that it was valium based and would be completely painless, knocking him out and overloading his system, shutting down his heart.
We gave our OK and she gave the three injections. It seemed so fast. I had my hand on his chest and could feel his heartbeat fade away. She then left us there, telling us we could leave when ready and they would take care of him after we left the room. Seeing him on that table was surreal. The whole situation was surreal, and so contradictory. On one hand, I didn't want Mally to be in pain anymore. It was past time. On the other, I still didn't want to say goodbye.
The vet is associated with a cremation service, so we will get his ashes in a week or two. I'm not sure what to do with them. Mom suggested spreading them around the lake near our old house, but I feel a little selfishly against that. I would like to keep at least some of his ashes with me wherever life takes me, at least for the next few years. Admittedly though, it's still fresh, so I want to keep something to hold on to.
I think you can never get over your childhood pets, and honestly, your childhood dog in particular. Not that you should. Mally will always have a special place in my heart, and I will miss him.
Rest in peace Malachi, I will always miss you and love you. May angels guide you home.
-TES
Sunday, September 26, 2010
My Dad
I've found myself thinking a lot about my dad recently (in the past year or so). In my Creative Non-Fiction class, I wrote a piece about him that, last I read it, I really liked, though I would like to add some things to it and work on it some more. Just a couple weeks ago I was struck with the need/desire to write a little poem focusing on my dad (which I will post a draft of below). And just the other night, I found myself thinking back to the summer of 2007, and how I wish I had done some things differently.
The thing that sticks out most in my mind is the last time I saw him. Anna, Kirsten, and I visited him at Georgetown Hospital. It was the day before I was leaving for Leadership Academy in Bethany, WV. Carl greeted us as we came to the floor he was on and was clearly agitated. I know he talked to us, but I can't remember anything of what he said. Then we went in to Dad's room. He looked bad and he was complaining about the doctors and how everyone working there were a bunch of idiots. I didn't say much. I told him I loved him, and hugged him on his bed, then I left the room. I don't think I was in there for more than a few minutes.
I don't know why that was. Looking back, I can see he was clearly scared. He knew what was happening and I feel like I didn't do enough to assure him that I loved him, that I forgave him for all his faults, that I was still proud of all the things he had taught me, and that he would always be my Dad. I wish I could have apologized for being intimidated by his problems, for avoiding him, for not spending enough time with him when no one else would.
Looking back, I feel like I dismissed the seriousness of the visit. I knew very well that he would probably never walk out of that hospital, but yet, I didn't spend much time with him when I was given one last chance to. And I don't know why.
He died the next morning, probably while I was in the air from D.C. to Pittsburgh. I got a call from Carl while I was on the bus from Pittsburgh to Bethany. It wasn't a shock, but it still wasn't pleasant. I felt so alone in that week.
The thing that sticks out most in my mind is the last time I saw him. Anna, Kirsten, and I visited him at Georgetown Hospital. It was the day before I was leaving for Leadership Academy in Bethany, WV. Carl greeted us as we came to the floor he was on and was clearly agitated. I know he talked to us, but I can't remember anything of what he said. Then we went in to Dad's room. He looked bad and he was complaining about the doctors and how everyone working there were a bunch of idiots. I didn't say much. I told him I loved him, and hugged him on his bed, then I left the room. I don't think I was in there for more than a few minutes.
I don't know why that was. Looking back, I can see he was clearly scared. He knew what was happening and I feel like I didn't do enough to assure him that I loved him, that I forgave him for all his faults, that I was still proud of all the things he had taught me, and that he would always be my Dad. I wish I could have apologized for being intimidated by his problems, for avoiding him, for not spending enough time with him when no one else would.
Looking back, I feel like I dismissed the seriousness of the visit. I knew very well that he would probably never walk out of that hospital, but yet, I didn't spend much time with him when I was given one last chance to. And I don't know why.
He died the next morning, probably while I was in the air from D.C. to Pittsburgh. I got a call from Carl while I was on the bus from Pittsburgh to Bethany. It wasn't a shock, but it still wasn't pleasant. I felt so alone in that week.
A Father Son Sport
My father taught me the game
before I wore real pants.
A drainspout was home
backyard corners bases
and every hit a full lap.
My father whispered at my door
inning by inning updates.
I heard his tears
as he described a child like me
Robbing a city's dream.
My father called for clearance
before visiting the house
The basement my remains of home,
one of many rooms
With a glove long outgrown.
My father suddenly called often
to my home away from home.
As he always had
he awaited the heat
ending school and beginning.
My father died that summer
when LOVE was reintroduced.
Why did I rekindle an old flame
and never bring him
to one last game?
before I wore real pants.
A drainspout was home
backyard corners bases
and every hit a full lap.
My father whispered at my door
inning by inning updates.
I heard his tears
as he described a child like me
Robbing a city's dream.
My father called for clearance
before visiting the house
The basement my remains of home,
one of many rooms
With a glove long outgrown.
My father suddenly called often
to my home away from home.
As he always had
he awaited the heat
ending school and beginning.
My father died that summer
when LOVE was reintroduced.
Why did I rekindle an old flame
and never bring him
to one last game?
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Motivation
So, it's been a little over a year since I've posted in here. A lot has happened but I haven't seem to have had the desire or the time to write about it here. And maybe it's just because I would prefer to do this than my copious amounts of homework, but I've (obviously) decided to write something new.
Courtesy of Anna, I recently found this video.
It is a truly amazing and inspiring story. It's a slice of the American dream; someone decides they're not happy with something in their life so they do something about it and are rewarded with positive results.
Seeing Ben's story made me reflect on my own health. He still weighs about 60 pounds more than I do, but he's certainly in a hell of a lot better shape than I am. I mean, for god's sake, he's run a marathon. I lose my breath climbing a few flights of stairs.
I don't want to take anything from Ben's achievement, it is amazing, but part of me thinks it is a lot easier to lose a lot of weight (once you start) than it is to lose just the 10-20 pounds you are overweight. By that I mean that, once he started, Ben could chart his achievements rather quickly. He could see his progress spelled out for him. It's easier to stay motivated when you see that you're getting somewhere.
But in the end, not having numerical support and motivation is just an excuse. The fact of the matter is that I always put off working out. I'm busy, I have too much on my plate as it is. I have workouts designed specifically for people who have busy days, and yet I still make excuses to not do a half hour workout, or a twenty minute one, or now a ten minute one. Obviously I'm bullshitting myself if I'm saying I don't have time for a ten or twenty minute workout every day. I'm writing this aren't I?
But there's still that feeling of frustration at not getting anywhere. I've been trying for several years (off and on) to lose about ten pounds. And I've never broken back under 180. It reminds me of my Junior year in college when I had the exact opposite problem.
That summer, Matt convinced me to start working out with him (and Jim had been talking me into it from 500 miles away). I worked a physically demanding job and worked out at the gym fairly regularly over the summer, trying to bulk up from my scrawny 160 pounds. When I moved into my dorm as an RA at Tech, after a summer of protein shakes and fast food, I was still at 160.
That year, I went to the gym at least four times a week, if not five, and did workouts designed for football players (albeit, with much less weight, I was still 160 pounds after all and fairly stick-like). From August to April, doing only weight training, very little cardio, eating 5-8 meals a day plus several protein shakes, I had gained a whopping five pounds. I struggled the entire year to break over 170. I would flirt with it, getting to 168 or so after chugging a water bottle.
The following summer, I worked at a restaurant, ate one meal a day on average, and didn't work out at all. I ballooned (sort of I suppose) to over 180, and have been stuck there since. For a while, it was hard for me to figure out what I wanted from workouts. After working so hard to ADD weight, I was suddenly trying to do the opposite.
Matt was helpful: "Run." I tried. For about a week I would go to the track and run for twenty minutes a day. But then I had to take a day or two off for whatever reason. I went back and ran a couple more times, but I never got into that rhythm. When I was going to the gym regularly, I felt anxious if I didn't work out. But that dependence on working out requires establishing a habit first, and that's been my biggest self-defeating problem. I try this, that, or the other, and for about a week I'm religious to the practice. Eventually though, the soreness convinces me to take (just a day or two) off. And next thing I know, I haven't worked out in weeks.
This is all things I know, but, as a writer, I'm hoping that by really thinking about it, analyzing my bullshit excuses and putting it down on paper (or in type), that I can better see through my own self-delusions. I'll see if it works and if I establish a pattern.
In the mean time, all the best to you and yours, especially if you read through all my bitching.
-TES
Courtesy of Anna, I recently found this video.
It is a truly amazing and inspiring story. It's a slice of the American dream; someone decides they're not happy with something in their life so they do something about it and are rewarded with positive results.
Seeing Ben's story made me reflect on my own health. He still weighs about 60 pounds more than I do, but he's certainly in a hell of a lot better shape than I am. I mean, for god's sake, he's run a marathon. I lose my breath climbing a few flights of stairs.
I don't want to take anything from Ben's achievement, it is amazing, but part of me thinks it is a lot easier to lose a lot of weight (once you start) than it is to lose just the 10-20 pounds you are overweight. By that I mean that, once he started, Ben could chart his achievements rather quickly. He could see his progress spelled out for him. It's easier to stay motivated when you see that you're getting somewhere.
But in the end, not having numerical support and motivation is just an excuse. The fact of the matter is that I always put off working out. I'm busy, I have too much on my plate as it is. I have workouts designed specifically for people who have busy days, and yet I still make excuses to not do a half hour workout, or a twenty minute one, or now a ten minute one. Obviously I'm bullshitting myself if I'm saying I don't have time for a ten or twenty minute workout every day. I'm writing this aren't I?
But there's still that feeling of frustration at not getting anywhere. I've been trying for several years (off and on) to lose about ten pounds. And I've never broken back under 180. It reminds me of my Junior year in college when I had the exact opposite problem.
That summer, Matt convinced me to start working out with him (and Jim had been talking me into it from 500 miles away). I worked a physically demanding job and worked out at the gym fairly regularly over the summer, trying to bulk up from my scrawny 160 pounds. When I moved into my dorm as an RA at Tech, after a summer of protein shakes and fast food, I was still at 160.
That year, I went to the gym at least four times a week, if not five, and did workouts designed for football players (albeit, with much less weight, I was still 160 pounds after all and fairly stick-like). From August to April, doing only weight training, very little cardio, eating 5-8 meals a day plus several protein shakes, I had gained a whopping five pounds. I struggled the entire year to break over 170. I would flirt with it, getting to 168 or so after chugging a water bottle.
The following summer, I worked at a restaurant, ate one meal a day on average, and didn't work out at all. I ballooned (sort of I suppose) to over 180, and have been stuck there since. For a while, it was hard for me to figure out what I wanted from workouts. After working so hard to ADD weight, I was suddenly trying to do the opposite.
Matt was helpful: "Run." I tried. For about a week I would go to the track and run for twenty minutes a day. But then I had to take a day or two off for whatever reason. I went back and ran a couple more times, but I never got into that rhythm. When I was going to the gym regularly, I felt anxious if I didn't work out. But that dependence on working out requires establishing a habit first, and that's been my biggest self-defeating problem. I try this, that, or the other, and for about a week I'm religious to the practice. Eventually though, the soreness convinces me to take (just a day or two) off. And next thing I know, I haven't worked out in weeks.
This is all things I know, but, as a writer, I'm hoping that by really thinking about it, analyzing my bullshit excuses and putting it down on paper (or in type), that I can better see through my own self-delusions. I'll see if it works and if I establish a pattern.
In the mean time, all the best to you and yours, especially if you read through all my bitching.
-TES
Friday, September 11, 2009
Mr. Teacher-man
I'm coming to the close of my second week of teaching a Freshman class and taking three Graduate level classes. First off, the amount of reading is absolutely insane. I feel guilty doing anything else, because I'm worried I won't get done in time. I know I need to be planning out my semester, when I should be working on papers, working ahead on my two big papers if I can... but I keep getting overwhelmed by the more pressing readings I need to do.
As far as teaching goes, I'm becoming much more comfortable doing no more than a week at a time. Plan the week, do it, then plan the next. I still feel like I have no idea what I'm teaching, but at least I feel like I'm hiding that better. I still don't know my students' names, and that really bothers me. I don't think I will be very successful unless I know each kid by name. There's only 20, and one of the three whose name I know has only shown up once.
Two of my classes are the kick-in-the-ass, required classes. As such, they kind of suck. I have to read a book a week almost for the one, and for the other I have to read about 100 pages of theory a week... See Foucault... In both of these classes, almost my entire grade is based on one massive paper. For the theory class, my paper has to have something like 20 sources and I have to submit it either to an academic conference or a scholarly journal, and be in the neighborhood of 20 pages.
Thankfully, my third class is a little less intense. I have to read a lot each week, as well as watch a movie, but I think it's interesting at least. It's a Shakespeare and Film class. I'm one of two students, so my entire grade and the entire class experience is us sitting around talking about the movie for three hours. This is my most rewarding and relaxing class. In fact, I'm probably going to write my big paper for my other class on the work I have to do in this class.
The class I'm teaching has its first real assignment due today. I got a few nervous emails yesterday and this morning about the assignment. This should be interesting.
As far as personal life goes, Grad school is kind of overwhelming it at the moment. I'm sure I'll find a balance (I can feel it coming already), but it might take another week or two. As for now, I'm looking forward to tailgating tomorrow and then watching football while pretending to read the book I have due on Monday.
All the best to you and yours,
-TES
As far as teaching goes, I'm becoming much more comfortable doing no more than a week at a time. Plan the week, do it, then plan the next. I still feel like I have no idea what I'm teaching, but at least I feel like I'm hiding that better. I still don't know my students' names, and that really bothers me. I don't think I will be very successful unless I know each kid by name. There's only 20, and one of the three whose name I know has only shown up once.
Two of my classes are the kick-in-the-ass, required classes. As such, they kind of suck. I have to read a book a week almost for the one, and for the other I have to read about 100 pages of theory a week... See Foucault... In both of these classes, almost my entire grade is based on one massive paper. For the theory class, my paper has to have something like 20 sources and I have to submit it either to an academic conference or a scholarly journal, and be in the neighborhood of 20 pages.
Thankfully, my third class is a little less intense. I have to read a lot each week, as well as watch a movie, but I think it's interesting at least. It's a Shakespeare and Film class. I'm one of two students, so my entire grade and the entire class experience is us sitting around talking about the movie for three hours. This is my most rewarding and relaxing class. In fact, I'm probably going to write my big paper for my other class on the work I have to do in this class.
The class I'm teaching has its first real assignment due today. I got a few nervous emails yesterday and this morning about the assignment. This should be interesting.
As far as personal life goes, Grad school is kind of overwhelming it at the moment. I'm sure I'll find a balance (I can feel it coming already), but it might take another week or two. As for now, I'm looking forward to tailgating tomorrow and then watching football while pretending to read the book I have due on Monday.
All the best to you and yours,
-TES
Monday, August 31, 2009
Bloody Hell, We're in Canada!
So, this past weekend we did Insane Roadtrip 2009, take 2. Around 10:30pm on Friday, Dylan, Katie, Cory, Kirsten and I left Blacksburg bound for Milwaukee via Chicago. Dylan drove through West Virginia and Kentucky, pointing out to me (the only conscious one at the time) places he knew, where he lived, and so on. About 20 miles into Indiana, I took over and drove for a couple hours until we were a bit North of Indianapolis and had to stop for gas. I bought gas and then got to pass out in the back for a couple hours as dawn broke and Katie drove us into Chicago.
We parked downtown after a brief journey through the rougher South-side of Chicago thanks to some faulty direction by yours truly. Little sidenote, the garage we parked in happens to be the one used in the opening scene of Dark Knight. Just so you know... moving on. After we parked we walked down towards Lake Michigan and through Millennium Park. From there we went wandering for some Pizza. There's a chain of places called Giordano's, and Kirst and Cory wanted to check that place out since it bears the same name as a family friend. We made our way toward the closest one that showed up on my GPS to learn that it was no longer in that location.
So we made our way back to a different pizza place we had passed that looked pretty good: Pizzano's. We got a sausage, green pepper and buttercrust pizza. It was pretty fantastic. There wasn't as much sauce as there was on the pizza from D'agostino's, which I actually liked: It allowed me to taste the really good sausage and the crust, which was delicious.
After lunch, we made our way out of the city (which was remarkably less painful than last time), and headed for Milwaukee, WI. I napped a bit more on the way up. We proceeded to get slightly lost in first a rich neighborhood, then a very poor one. Eventually we made our way toward the stadium and stopped at a Best Western a few blocks away. We got an executive suite for $140, which was pretty sweet (no pun intended). We relaxed for a while and then walked over to the game.
It was kind of weird at first to be going to a baseball game indoors. However, the atmosphere was incredible. It was just very fun and family friendly. The food was good and relatively cheap ($4.50 for a sausage of any sort you could desire). The game was a lot of fun, there were plenty of little things to keep fans involved. All in all I had a great time, and it was undoubtedly my favorite ballpark of the few I've been to.
After the game, we made our way back to the hotel and promptly zonked out. It added a bit to our trip cost (about $30 a person), but it definitely helped with our sanity and general health. We could have gotten a hotel for much cheaper outside the city, but the convenience was invaluable, and the room was nice.
The next morning we checked out around 9:30 and jumped back in the truck and headed back to Chicago. Sadly, we were unable to take the time to go by the custard place that we had planned to visit. That's my only real regret from this trip. As crazy as it sounds though, I think I'd be willing to go back to Milwaukee. The city seemed really nice from the little I saw of it, and I really enjoyed the Brewers game.
We got off the highway right on to West Addison and parked about a mile and a half from the park. We took a shuttle that was included in our $6 parking that took us right to Wrigley. We took our touristy pictures and went shopping for hats for everyone.
Foolishly, when we parked, we left our sweaters and jackets because it was sunny and we were warm. When we got to our seats, we were decidedly chilly. We were up high, and in the shade. Game-time temperature was 58 degrees. I had never been so cold in August.
Regardless though, I think we all had a pretty good time (though Kirsten and Katie had to buy sweatshirts to do so, and I think Dylan might have been on the verge of hypothermia). The Italian beef sandwiches were quite good. This time I also got a Chicago-dog, which included nacho cheese and hot peppers on a very large hot-dog on a poppy-seed bun. Delicious.
After the game, we decided to walk back to the cars and get a to-go pizza from Dags on the way. Thus, we walked about a mile with a quite heavy pizza before eating it in the bed of Dylan's truck. I love Chicago pizza, but I think I gained ten pounds this weekend.
After that it was a long drive home, which didn't end until 6:30 am on Monday. Just a bit painful on my first day of classes. But, that said, I had a great time, and I think everyone else did as well. Sorry that this was a bit superficial, but I didn't want to write a novel... yet... about this.
All the best to you and yours,
-TES
We parked downtown after a brief journey through the rougher South-side of Chicago thanks to some faulty direction by yours truly. Little sidenote, the garage we parked in happens to be the one used in the opening scene of Dark Knight. Just so you know... moving on. After we parked we walked down towards Lake Michigan and through Millennium Park. From there we went wandering for some Pizza. There's a chain of places called Giordano's, and Kirst and Cory wanted to check that place out since it bears the same name as a family friend. We made our way toward the closest one that showed up on my GPS to learn that it was no longer in that location.
So we made our way back to a different pizza place we had passed that looked pretty good: Pizzano's. We got a sausage, green pepper and buttercrust pizza. It was pretty fantastic. There wasn't as much sauce as there was on the pizza from D'agostino's, which I actually liked: It allowed me to taste the really good sausage and the crust, which was delicious.
After lunch, we made our way out of the city (which was remarkably less painful than last time), and headed for Milwaukee, WI. I napped a bit more on the way up. We proceeded to get slightly lost in first a rich neighborhood, then a very poor one. Eventually we made our way toward the stadium and stopped at a Best Western a few blocks away. We got an executive suite for $140, which was pretty sweet (no pun intended). We relaxed for a while and then walked over to the game.
It was kind of weird at first to be going to a baseball game indoors. However, the atmosphere was incredible. It was just very fun and family friendly. The food was good and relatively cheap ($4.50 for a sausage of any sort you could desire). The game was a lot of fun, there were plenty of little things to keep fans involved. All in all I had a great time, and it was undoubtedly my favorite ballpark of the few I've been to.
After the game, we made our way back to the hotel and promptly zonked out. It added a bit to our trip cost (about $30 a person), but it definitely helped with our sanity and general health. We could have gotten a hotel for much cheaper outside the city, but the convenience was invaluable, and the room was nice.
The next morning we checked out around 9:30 and jumped back in the truck and headed back to Chicago. Sadly, we were unable to take the time to go by the custard place that we had planned to visit. That's my only real regret from this trip. As crazy as it sounds though, I think I'd be willing to go back to Milwaukee. The city seemed really nice from the little I saw of it, and I really enjoyed the Brewers game.
We got off the highway right on to West Addison and parked about a mile and a half from the park. We took a shuttle that was included in our $6 parking that took us right to Wrigley. We took our touristy pictures and went shopping for hats for everyone.
Foolishly, when we parked, we left our sweaters and jackets because it was sunny and we were warm. When we got to our seats, we were decidedly chilly. We were up high, and in the shade. Game-time temperature was 58 degrees. I had never been so cold in August.
Regardless though, I think we all had a pretty good time (though Kirsten and Katie had to buy sweatshirts to do so, and I think Dylan might have been on the verge of hypothermia). The Italian beef sandwiches were quite good. This time I also got a Chicago-dog, which included nacho cheese and hot peppers on a very large hot-dog on a poppy-seed bun. Delicious.
After the game, we decided to walk back to the cars and get a to-go pizza from Dags on the way. Thus, we walked about a mile with a quite heavy pizza before eating it in the bed of Dylan's truck. I love Chicago pizza, but I think I gained ten pounds this weekend.
After that it was a long drive home, which didn't end until 6:30 am on Monday. Just a bit painful on my first day of classes. But, that said, I had a great time, and I think everyone else did as well. Sorry that this was a bit superficial, but I didn't want to write a novel... yet... about this.
All the best to you and yours,
-TES
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