Hey, Hey and Away we Go

Well, that was a long day.  Thursdays, it turns out, are going to be doozies for a while.

I begin with Directing (the class I TA).  After an hour and a half, I have approximately an hour to myself.  An hour, by the by, turns out to be just enough time that it makes you feel like you should be doing something, but not long enough to truly accomplish anything.  In other words, just long enough to make you anxious without the substance to do anything about this anxiety.  Today, my netbook proved angry at me for failing to turn it on more than once this summer.  It is a small bit of technology with a small brain and, for a cheap computer, rather advanced in years, so I can’t say that I blame it for wanting more attention; it figures that it would be today of all days that the darn thing decided to act up.

After this time, I whisk my way down to my own class (Theory).  Today was particularly

yup. My job.

exciting because it was the first class of my semester that I am actually taking.  This also meant that I got to meet the new crop of first years.

We had a veritable deluge of first years this year.  There are a lot of new faces, new voices, and new people about the department.  Since the department is very small, this means a lot of new things to get used to.  What it also means is that class sizes are larger.  This year, our classes cap out at seventeen.  Last year, my largest class had ten.  These seemingly similar numbers are in actuality vastly different in the context of discussion-based courses (especially those held in small seminar rooms).  It feels different; rather than a round-table, we feel like a motley hoard.  I’m going to be interested to see what this hoard shapes up to in terms of actual class discussion.

Unfortunately, my experience with larger classes is that the strong voices remain strong and the weak fade into the background.  Those who are aggressive fight, those who are more inclined to sit back and let thing wash over them have the security to do so.  This makes the conversation imbalanced and, often, repetitive.  I look forward to seeing how the professors (whom I have the utmost respect for) solve this particular teaching dilemma and help to retain order within the seminar room.

One of the most exciting things about meeting the first years is understanding the new classroom dynamic.  Who is going to speak with a loud voice?  What will be the timbre of that voice?  What opinions do these people have, how hard are they willing to fight, and how are they going to bring their vast array of different knowledges/experiences to the table?

One of my favorite parts about academia is the argument.  One of my colleagues made the apt observation just the other day that “it’s always a fight with you”.  Preparing for class, for me, is donning armor and honing my blade.  Having a roomful of new opponents is the most tantalizing thing I could be presented with.  I was hard pressed not to lick my lips with a knowing grin as we went around introducing ourselves; lots of new and different specialties.  Plenty of fodder.  Let the bloodbath begin.

I rounded out my day at rehearsal.  We’re really getting into the thick of things now and

I also nearly finished the sock I was working on while at rehearsal today!

we’re at that point where most folks are mostly off book.  I myself am off book (though, again, I do need to call “LINE!” particularly when I get caught up in something).  This is a weird place to be.  While the words are in your head, you haven’t quite gotten them in your body yet.  You reach and strive for them and, though some layering comes naturally, often the most intense moments are still evasive.  For me, today, tackling 3.2 proved extremely frustrating.  This is the first scene in which Rosalind speaks with Orlando at any length, and she does so under the guise of Ganymede.  It’s almost specifically in prose (a challenge in itself) and I spend the scene giving speeches which mostly consist of lists.  As if that weren’t enough, capturing some sense of genuine emotion is a roller coaster.  The scene begins, for me, giddy in love and playing around with Celia and Touchstone about Orlando’s bad poetry.  After being ribbed good and hard, I have a few moments with Celia before I have to don the guise of Ganymede and play real, serious, and convincing.

The rhetoric bounces wildly, the mood changes drastically, and I’m still trying to remember all the gosh darn lists that Rosalind uses.

Suffice to say I didn’t quite hit the emotion that we need to drive this scene tonight.  But I have hope.  My scene partners, luckily, are fantastic.  With some more work, I have confidence that we can get there.

…and now, officially, to tackle my real job: reading.  I think I was sorely mistaken when I held the belief that second year would be easier than first year.

Ah, well, back into the fray.

To Liberty, not to Banishment!

Aside

Today is an historic day my friends.

A day, as they say, that will live in infamy.  A day for the books.  A day to be celebrated.  A day of wonder and joy.

Today, I turn in the last two finals of my first semester.  Turn in.  Done.  Can’t look at them anymore, won’t look at them anymore, goodbye, see you next year, adios, hate to see you leave but love to watch you go.

I can’t say it hasn’t been a bumpy ride.  This semester has had its trials, its tribulations, its joys, its sorrows, its mysteriously unexplainable illnesses which the doctors are still scratching their heads over…

But I did it.  And I’m still standing (though barely due to aforementioned mysterious illness).  As of this afternoon, I will be free to enjoy a few weeks of working on other projects and reading things that I want to read before I dive back into the fray in January.

For now, let’s have a look at the things that I’ve done this semester.  A re-cap, if you will; a sentimental journey into the past three and a half months.

I have seen seven plays (not bad, but not great… will do better next semester).

I have read four leisure books (before you start casting aspersions, remember that this is reading I did when I wasn’t in class, sleeping, reading for class, researching, or writing papers.  Considering these books average about seven hundred pages a pop, I think that’s pretty darn good).

At the peak of my book hoarding, I had forty-seven simultaneously checked out library books.  Every semester, I mean to do a count of total books checked out but this isn’t as easy to manage as you may think.  I have a revolving door for library books and sometimes only keep a book for a single day before returning it… I really have to develop a more sophisticated tracking system.

I can’t even begin to approximate the number of pages I have read.  Again, every semester I mean to develop a system to figure this out (either to scare or impress myself, I’m not certain which).  I’m open to suggestions about either of these systems in hopes that next semester I can have an actual counter… and maybe a progress bar or something.

I have produced eighty-two pages of turn-in-able scholarly writing (if you think about that as a breakdown of pages per day I’m averaging 1.17 pages per semester day; not counting the blog or leisure writing.  That’s pretty darn impressive, if you ask me!).

I have conducted my first bit of research based in interviews with real live people.

I have produced my first bit of turn-in-able scholarly research based solely in archive work.

I have narrowly avoided being eaten by velociraptors.

I have landed my first gig writing something to be published (book review, forthcoming, not a huge thing but it’s definitely a start!)

I have, on the whole, survived, more or less intact.  This, again, is a gigantic feat.  For many days, my mantra was “don’t worry, you’re a first year, you’re only expected to survive.  Keep plugging.  Don’t fret.  Just keep going.”  Hey, look, with the strategic application of that mantra, I did survive!

So now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go turn in my last papers for the semester.  Then I’m going to go read something involving zombies and having no scholarly value whatsoever.  Then I’m going to watch a movie that has nothing to do with my research or area of expertise.

Winter break, she is here at last.

Toy Story

I have a lot of things on my desk.

Oh of course I have the usual stacks of books, papers, sundry office supplies, pictures, etc. but in addition I have accumulated quite a few cute little desk decorations from one

Liberty Duck, Shakescat, Gargoyle, Cthulhu, and a few other friends in between

place or another.  There’s Shakescat (a gift from an old roommate), Baby Hatching Gargoyle (a gift from my grandmother when I opened my theatre company and she realized that our logo was almost exactly like this sculpture), chibi chtulhu (I made him.  He’s adorable.  Who doesn’t want an elder god on their desk?), statue of liberty duck (gift from my nearest and dearest), and, of course, a few requisite littlest pet shop sets.

Okay, fine, I admit to it.  I, as an adult, have purchased toys that I, as a child, would never have played with.  When we were kids, the littlest pet shop playsets were TINY (and probably all manner of choking hazards).  They also weren’t all that cute.  Have you seen them recently?  Now, they have big giant eyes.  Also, as far as I can tell, a sense of humor.  For instance: on my desk right now are a pirate parrot, a carrier pigeon in a mailroom, a cute little cow, and an owl in a library who wears glasses.

Now, I love my owl.  She’s adorable.  But she has this problem.  She doesn’t like to stay in her library.  She flies the coop at least three times a week, sometimes while I’m sitting at the desk.  I don’t really know what her end goal is other than SWEET SWEET FREEDOM

FREEEDDDOOOOMMMMM!!!

(…which I assume would be acquired if she ever got any further than the patch of desk just below her library… unfortunately, I’m pretty good at preventing owl escapes so she’s never seen the outside world).

I never really understood what her trouble was.  After all, she lives in a LIBRARY.  Why would she EVER want to leave?

…I’m getting to the place in the semester where I’m beginning to see her point.

I turned in my first PhD level paper the other week (in Chicago style, a first for me, and with pretty pretty diagrams!).  The sense of accomplishment I should have felt at plonking that stack on the professor’s desk was, unfortunately, dwarfed by the knowledge that this was only one down…. There were still two lurking on my own desk waiting for their share of my rapidly dwindling attention.

So here I am.  Stuck in this library.  Looking yearningly to the world that I know awaits

my first PhD level paper!

outside.  I leave on Thursday for a two-week vacation and, by that time, all of my coursework for my first semester of the PhD will be completed.  By that time, I will have shrugged the weight of these papers from my back.  By that time, I will be able to sleep soundly knowing that the pages are tucked in to good hands and awaiting critical commentary.  By that time, I will be done done done.

And it will be time to take off my glasses, and leap bodily out of the library.  Alright, owl, maybe you have a point.  There’s a time for reading, and there’s a time for liberating, and right now I smell that beauteous odor of freedom wafting through the open door.  A few more days… just a few more days.

Pre-School Jitters

Ah September.  A month of new beginnings, crisp wind, autumn colors, the glorious goodbye to being woken by the sounds of screaming camp children outside my window.

September?  SEPTEMBER!?  Uh…. Right…. School’s starting soon.  Like… next week soon.  Like… Wednesday soon which isn’t even a whole week away.  I have pre-homework to do.  I have to make sure I’m mentally prepared.  I have to go school supply shopping!

I’ve been to campus several times at this juncture, both for business and to walk around (and yes, after Tuesday’s kerfluffle I do finally have ID and Parking Pass in hand).  I have ordered my books (thank you, Amazon!).  I have begun to read the articles for my first class.  I have started to put together correspondence between my MA program and my PhD program to ensure that I receive cross-credit for language exams.  Overall, I’m on the right track.

There was, I must admit, a feeling of vertigo when I first glanced at my booklist.  There have been moments of panic which have extended into long afternoons of panic which have required the liberal application of wine to quell.  There have been the inevitable “am I really doing this?” bouts of squeamishness which were pleasant surprises despite their nauseous undertones.

Through all of this, I have come to one very important conclusion: this is going to be a great deal of work.

Oh yes, I was prepared for the concept of work, but the actuality is hitting me fast and hard upside the head much to the chagrin of my clenched and sore jaw muscles.  My long days of leisure are at an end.  This became abundantly clear today when I settled in with the first in my stack of reading and was only able to manage a third of it before my eyes started going numb.

Flash back to Wednesday and a meeting with the Chair of my department.  We went over pleasantries and exchanged your regular sort of questions and answers, as well as registration bookkeeping and the like.  It was then that he cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and set to business.  He reached for a first stack of papers, “Here is the syllabus for my class.  Please have the readings done before you arrive on Friday.”  I nodded.  The syllabus wasn’t horrible, a few pages double-spaced, your standard research paper and oral presentation, it was a little more reading intensive than I was used to but this is the big leagues after all.  “Here,” He said, reaching for a second stack of papers, “Is the current Graduate Handbook for the department.”  It was slightly weightier, but what would you expect from a book made of policies and red tape?  “Here,” He said, reaching for yet another stack, “Is a set of informal guidelines which I have put together for the writing of research papers at the graduate level.”  I nodded with a smirk.  I would surely give this…

paperwork... on my desk. And other things on my desk.

rather weighty document (eighteen pages double-sided single-spaced) a glance through, but I’ve read style guides before.  I’ve also been writing graduate-level papers for two years now.  I wasn’t going to worry about this.  “And here,” He said, reaching for the final stack, “Is your comps list.”  This was the breaking point.  Twenty-four pages, double-sided, single-spaced, with a quid pro quo at the end denoting that we are expected to keep up on contemporary theatre and since no single list can possibly hope to accommodate all new works satisfactorily we should simply know everything.

Induce panic. Oh god oh go we’re all gonna die.  Break out the chocolate.  Someone come rub my tummy and play with my hair.

It wasn’t too late to back out, right?  I wouldn’t be a total failure if I only kinda went for my PhD and gave it my best shot but fell flat on my face doing so?

Actually, yea I would be.  You see, I’m a homo sapien.  I have opposable thumbs.  I’m renowned throughout the animal kingdom for my intellect and ability to overcome obstacles in the face of enormous adversity.  I can’t let a measly little twenty-four-page list of books overcome me.  And if I get that far, I might as well just write the dissertation for fun.  You know.  Just to see if I can do it.  A lark on a Sunday afternoon.

And besides, my business cards are going to look WAY sexier when I can put those letters after my name.  Like… for reals.

A note: despite this flippancy, my reverence for the Academy extends deeply into the heart and soul of my book-nerdish self.  I assure you that my reasons for wishing to acquire this degree extend beyond sexy business cards and a title in front of my name.  But really, what’s life without a certain degree of affability?  If I can’t laugh about this… I may start crying.  And if I start crying, I won’t stop until five to seven years has passed.

Well… my life as I know it has ended.

Goodbye, cruel world.  I’ll see you when I’m done flaggelating with my textbooks.

The Start of a New Adventure

Today I visited Tufts for the first time as a real student and was officially matriculated into my program.

…in other words, I attended my Graduate Orientation.

Graduate Orientation is a whole different species from its undergraduate cousin.  Certainly you have the same trappings; the same high-powered individuals from the university standing up to give welcome speeches, the same awkward sitting in the auditorium wondering how everyone else there seems to know someone already, the same hall full of tables peddling pamphlets and various school swag (TUFTS SILLY PUTTY!), but there’s a certain level of grown-up-ness to the Graduate version.  A definite amount of “well, you know the drill, we’re sure you’ll figure the rest out”.  And for that, I am vastly appreciative.  I didn’t want a campus tour, I didn’t want a lecture about how to manage my time well or deal with being away from home, I just wanted my ID and school swag and someone to point me the way to the bookstore and parking services.

The campus is somewhat idyllic; green fields and old brick buildings nestled into the

HELLOPHANT!!!

crevices of a bustling city.  That’s how I like things really; a place to go see trees while simultaneously have the option to order Thai food at ten PM if I wanted (not at all hours maybe, this isn’t New York, after all).  I went and said hi to the elephant (which, you may recall, is the Tufts mascot and one of my favorite animals).  I scoped the library and a couple prime sitting locations upon which to read.

Overall, things were going pretty smoothly.

I was feeling pretty good about the situation when I exited orientation and poked my nose around for the aforepromised table where IDs were to be picked up.  I had been responsible and everything, sending in my ID picture beforehand so that all I had to do today was grab it.  After this, I had to run to the parking office and acquire my permit for the year (I needed my ID to do so).  Last stop was the bookstore where I would grab my textbooks and maybe a token item of Tufts merchandise to prove that I’m a real graduate student. 

I should have known things were going too smoothly.

When two passes over the resource fair proved that the ID table was nowhere in sight, I asked the all-too-eager-to-help student standing by where I might find it.  “Oh.”  She said, eyes downcast, “Well, in theory you should be able to pick them up here…. But the company which delivers the plastic that the IDs are printed on didn’t come through so we have nothing to print them on until tomorrow.  They’re hopefully going to be arriving then at 9AM when we will print as many as possible and with any luck you should be able to get them after that.”

Really pretty spot on campus.... may become a prime reading location in good weather

“Uh… okay.”  I replied, blinking a few times, “You do realize that this provides a problem for those of us who need parking passes?” I failed to mention the fact that all of the Graduate Students were commuter students since Graduate Housing didn’t exist and, thereby, all of us would have a problem…

“Yeaaa… uhm… well the good news is that you can pick both up in the same building!”

Okay, so strike parking pass and ID off of my list.  Perhaps I could at least deal with the bookstore…

I arrived at the cutest university bookstore I’ve ever been to with a surprisingly small amount of people considering it was orientation week.  I managed to make my way down to the actual book section past the merchandising without spotting something I wanted yet (I have standards about my hoodies, darnit).  They require personal book shoppers to assist you during busy season, which seemed fine to me since it meant someone else had to locate and carry all of my books for me.  I handed my assistant my class list and his eyes went wide for a minute.  “Yea, you’ll need a basket.”  He said.

I smiled, “I’m a PhD student.  I’ll need a cart.”

He took me over to the shelf where my department should have had all of its classes.  He picked out four books for one class and, lo and behold, my second two classes weren’t there.  “Maybe there are no books for them.”  He suggested.

I looked dubious.  “Uh… right… maybe we’re just going to read plays off the internet all semester.”  I don’t think he thought it was as funny as I did.

Apparently, my other two professors have yet to turn in their book lists.  Class starts next week.  One of those professors is the chair of my program.

Book fail.

I paid for the books they did have for me (only four!?  For Intro to Grad Lit Studies!?  SCORE!) and returned to my car.  I had to return to campus the next day anyway for a talk with aforementioned chair, so I could check back in on sundries (like my ID and parking pass… sigh) then.

The way the visitor garage works is that it costs one token to remove your car at the end of

hi, Boston! (Also, look at the sky today!)

the day.  Tokens cost five dollars and may be purchased at machines on floor 3, 5, and 7 of the garage.  I parked on floor 3 so that I wouldn’t forget to purchase a token on my way out.

As I approached the machine, moderate load of books in hand, I realized that its out of order light was on.  I sighed and proceeded up the stairs to level five, deciding that I had eaten a lemon bar at the refreshments table during orientation and thereby hadn’t earned the right to be lazy today.  Level five was also broken.  I grumbled and marched myself up to level seven which, thankfully, was not broken.

ID, parking pass, textbooks, and even visitor parking fail.  Beautiful.

On my way home, I realized I should have known this would have occurred.  I have chosen life as an academic.  The only rainbows and butterflies in that life are made of red tape and migraines.

Despite my whinging, I am very happy with the new digs.  I can’t wait for school to start and I can’t wait to finally see my darned ID.

yep. He's holding "butt paste". It was a present!

Also, for something completely different, this is Ben.  Ben is a friend of mine who hates Christmas.  Ben has probably forgotten that I have this picture of him from last Christmas.  Ben has publicly denoted that my blog is much more interesting when he is mentioned.  Ben should probably be careful what he asks for next time.  

>By all these lovely tokens, September days are here…

>

I love autumn.  Every last bit of it.  The leaves change color, the smell of woodsmoke, apple cider and pumpkin is thick in the air, I get to go office supply shopping (don’t judge, I love office supply shopping), boots and adorable denim jackets are seasonal attire once more, and the spirit for my favorite holiday ensues.  The first whiffs of fall make me tingle with anticipation and here in New Jersey the season began to peek its nose around the corner this very week.
Maybe it’s because my life centers so much around school, but the autumn is always a time of new things to me.  September is exciting because I get new notebooks, new classes, new textbooks, new research, new schedule, new back-to-school clothes, new projects… what a whirlwind of change.  This year is looking particularly scary and wonderful due to several factors.  So today, rather than my traditional blogy narrative, I’d like to take a moment to write an autumn-themed list of various and sundry things that have been and will be whirling into (and out of) my life in the past/next few weeks on the harvest wind.
*I’m down to one job!  Briefly, albeit, before work at the theatre starts up again.  My last day at the archive was yesterday.  The life of an archivist is one that I had never thought to live and, I can say with some certainty, it’s much tougher than anyone would have imagined.  Digging, piling, compiling, categorizing, counting, labeling, all the while being paranoid of mouse droppings and assorted pests which may or may not be skittering out of assembled boxes at any given time.  I walked out of the archive every day feeling like I needed to be decontaminated rather than cleaned.  Coated in dust, sneezing, eyes watering, I also felt satisfied.  It was an Indiana-Jones style hunt through paths unblazed by second-generation human knowledge.  That was as exciting as it sounds.  The feeling that around any corner could be waiting a surprise find to change the face of knowledge, the idea that I was doing something worthwhile, and the notion that (while on a small scale) I was becoming an expert in a previously undiscovered area of  comprehension made this perhaps the most fulfilling job I have ever worked.  I would not hesitate to do it again.  That and the pay was good.
*PhD application process begins (seriously) now.  I don’t want to speak on this at great length just now because a) I will likely be speaking on it in future blog entries and b) because it scares me.  More than a little.  The acceptance process into any given program is so arbitrary that, while I know I have done everything right and that I am a prime candidate for my programs, I can’t help but dwell upon the great and imminent coin flip that determines the rest of my life.  This entire ordeal is equally strange because it feels like college applications all over again.  You know, that time in your life that you thought was done but (apparently) is not.  That great burgeoning uncertainty as you stand on the precipice of your future waiting to jump but uncertain which direction will be your best bet for surviving the fall (sorry, can’t resist a pun…).  Looking over the abyss, teetering on the edge, dipping my toe into its unknown depths, I think fear is a natural reaction.  I keep trying to remind myself that fear is an acronym for “False Expectations Appearing Real”, but this seems to only deepen the illusions rather than make them disperse.  I’m fairly certain that I am approaching a jittering, uneasy serenity about this entire process, which, really, is all you can do.  Lay back, enjoy the ride, and accept that for a time you’ll just have no clue.  Yup.  Blissful Cluelessness here I come…
*I cleaned my bookshelf last night of last semester’s textbooks (with the exception of those on the Master’s Reading Exam List which got re-located to a separate shelf) and placed upon it instead this semester’s new acquisitions.  Somehow, this makes everything feel more real.  My first class is on Wednesday, I just completed my first academic reading for the semester, and my first syllabus is printed and ready to go.  I am pumped.  I’m already thinking about paper topics and possible conference papers… though this likely means that I’ll have to finally get around to reading Judith Butler.
*This year at the theatre seems to be Shakespeare year and I can’t be more thrilled.  Two of our four annual productions will be Shakespeare-themed!  In the fall, we will be doing a production of Magic Time by James Sherman followed by a Spring production of Twelfth Night.  Twelfth Night is definitely one of my favorites and a show that I’ve had an intimate knowledge of for some years.  Featuring the best Shakespearean clown (in my opinion), one of the best heroines, and (drum roll please) a comic fight scene, this play really has just about everything that a novice Shakespeare Company would need or want.  Granted, we’re not a Shakespeare company, but we do have some pretty amazing people who work on these things.  Stay tuned for more info on Twelfth Night.  In the meantime, I have been asked to work on Magic Time as the fight director.  Magic Time is a show about a Company producing Hamlet.  Naturally, the duel scene is enacted several times in the script.  Which means that I get to live every fight director’s dream and do the infamous duel.  I’ve started kicking around ideas (it’s harder than you think to kick ideas with a sword when you don’t even know who your actors are and if they have any scrap of hand/eye co-ordination).  Will our heroine be able to pull through?  Will she kill and/or gravely injure any actors in the process?  Will the fight look good and not like a clay-mation Errol-Flynn wanna-be sequence?  Only time will tell….
*I am about 98% certain that I will again be grading for the Best Professor in the World (who may or may not be reading this right now).  Pending financial disaster in the Department or a lack of registration for Eighteenth Century British Lit (part I), I will definitely be on board as a paper monkey for Dr. Lynch.  I could not be more thrilled.  This man has been (and will continue to be) an inspiration and mentor to me as I pick my way through academia.  I am waiting with bated breathe for his Spring Graduate Seminar in Gothic…. Oh, and for those of you who have had need of (and will need in the future) a GREAT style guide written to be useful, readable, and fun, check out his.  It is complete with historical tid-bits and lovingly annotated grammar rules and regulations from a man who knows his stuff.  That and it’s online for free (though it does come in paper version, which, let’s face it, is totally worth having).
*I want to go apple picking and eat pumpkin everything.  I understand that the weather will be kicking back up to eighty degrees this weekend as summer shows us the strength of its death throes.  I hope that this won’t foil my perky autumn-inspired mood…