Adventures in Grad Studenting: Life Sucks Sometimes, But Perhaps That’s a Not Such a Bad Thing.

So I wrote this four months ago and completely forgot to post it, so here is my entry, in all of its magnificent glory

6 May 2011

 I’m feeling quite demoralized today, and I’m having a bit of a pity party. And all I really want to do right now is order a pity pizza, drink real Coke, and watch multiple episodes of Murder, She Wrote.

Today was our First Year Composition yearly end of semester meeting. And it did start off pretty well: I won a best practices award today for my teaching for the third year in a row (yay me! And another line for the CV). But the meeting quickly made its way to disappointing territory when we began to discuss next year’s curriculum. I have absolutely no complaints about the curriculum—I understand its purpose, it’s well thought out, well written, it will be incredibly beneficial to students, and it will most certainly make my life easier while I’m trying to finish my dissertation. I’ll be happy to use it in the fall. Really. I mean it. (And my words are sincere. There’s absolutely no sarcasm here).

I just feel that this curriculum is further evidence that my freedom to create assignments and assignment sequences is being taken away bit by bit every year, and this feels a little demoralizing. I’m incredibly passionate about my teaching, and I truly love where I teach. It’s the whole reason I went to grad school in the first place. And I put so much hard work and effort into creating my classes, assignments, and lessons. Learning how to do all of that has made me a better instructor.

Perhaps this evidence I just need to finish up my dissertation, graduate, and move on. But even that’s kind of sad. I love where I teach; my colleagues and bosses are wonderful, and what they’re wanting us to teach and their rationale behind it is solid stuff. Things can’t and shouldn’t stay the same forever, nor would I want them to. I guess I’m just a little sad about the change and maybe this is evidence that I’m really just scared about actually finishing and leaving the relative safe world of grad school.

So I left school this afternoon feeling a bit on the irked side and the demoralization just dug its way deeper into my psyche after I got home. A few weeks ago one of my committee members nominated me for our department’s yearly academic excellence award (yay her!) And then I learned that I didn’t win the award. Logical me says that it was an honor to be nominated for the award in the first place and that my submission for the award was really strong. But then emotional me creeps in with her disappointment and questions the quality of my submission, which was the prospectus for my dissertation—the project over which I’ll be spending the next couple of years sweating blood and tears. But logical me is jumping back in. Because you know what?  My prospectus IS good. And even though the free food at the banquet would have been cool, and the award plaque would have been cooler and the award money would have been the coolest, in the end none of that matters. These disappointments, these are right now. My dissertation is what I need to get my PhD, and I’ve been dreaming of this PhD since I was 19. That PhD is my future and teaching English is more than just my chosen career path, it’s my vocation. And I am determined to make all of this help me into being a better instructor and a better scholar. ‘Cause that’s how I roll.

This is the nice thing about writing/blogging on my feelings about all of this. I gave myself a pep talk and you all (if there are any you all out there) get to read it and (perhaps) feel pepped up yourselves. I do actually feel better now and less demoralized.

But I’m still going to drink my Coke, order my pity pizza and watch Murder, She Wrote. And one more (completely unrelated) thing: my cat is grooming the couch. I have no idea why, but it’s just kind of funny.

A Very Informative Post About Easter (Not Really, But Read It Anyway...Please?)

Easter is my very favorite holiday (it's so pretty! and there are bunnies!) and I try to spend each Easter with my parents. So after I finished teaching on Thursday, I packed up my car, loaded my cats into the back seat and headed home. After an agonizingly long 5 hour drive (filled with whiny cats who were very vocal with their displeasure about being stuffed into cat carriers for 5 hours) I arrived home, ready for Easter weekend. Little did I know that it would be filled with learning (of a sort).

So, without further ado, I present the list of things I learned (because I know you were waiting with baited breath):

·         1 twin bed + 2 large adult cats + 1 me = 4 nights of bad sleep

·         It will always rain when I wash my car, even if there is a drought.

·         I will never grade, work on my dissertation or read for school while visiting my parents, so I need to stop lugging all of that stuff. That backpack is really really heavy.

·         I spend inordinate amounts of time on my computer while visiting my parents. (And I’m still not any better at Bejewled Blitz than I was before)

So there you have it. The results of my very informative (not really) weekend. I know you the readers of my blog (if there are in fact any of you at all) are the better for having read this. (Again, not really, but thanks for reading anyway). 

Star Trek is NOT My Guilty Pleasure

I love me some Star Trek, I always have, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Anymore.

I read an article today about a new Star Trek coffee table book, and one passage in particular caught my eye. The author, Mark Dery makes a lot of cool points about Star Trek that I completely agree with. Really. Go read this article (http://www.lasvegascitylife.com/articles/2011/03/24/news/local_news/iq_43145986.txt)  if you have a deep and abiding love of Star Trek. But one passage made me stop in my tracks and ponder: “Granted, TOS (The Original Series) is often groaningly lame. (I'm thinking of those surfer dudes from Gamma Trianguli VI in "The Apple." The ones in the bouffant wigs and lava-lavas. The ones with the radiantly fake Snooki tans. The ones who worship Vaal, a serpent-headed idol sheathed in Reynolds Wrap. Literally.) That's why the term "Trekkie" reeks of geek, and why some of us are loathe to admit that Star Trek classic is a guilty pleasure.”

Though Dery doesn't appear to think of Star Trek as a guilty pleasure, that particular passage made me stop and think about the whole of Star Trek and trekkie-dom as a guilty pleasure--because it was for me for many years. I thought back to my younger years, when Star Trek was my guilty pleasure. After hearing someone, probably more than one someone, bash Star Trek and derisively proclaim that those Trekkies were nerds, I didn’t openly proclaim my geeky fandom for fear of being made fun of. I, like many children and adults, was far too concerned about other people thought of me than about what I thought about myself. Even in college, I would furtively sneak to my dormitory’s common room for the late night showing of DS9. I probably would have died if someone had seen me.

My reluctance to admit that my love of Star Trek is a part of who I am, and to deny that publicly was to deny a part of who I am, and today that makes me sad. It’s clear to me now that my tendency to closet my Star Trek loving ways, was an indicator that I didn’t feel very confident about myself. I had many many geeky guilty pleasures back then. Why lie? I STILL have many many geeky pleasures, and I’m not at all ashamed to admit it.

However, I wouldn’t change my past, because in reflecting on it, I see how far I’ve come. I like the person I am. I love that I love Star Trek. I love that I’m a big ol’ geeky nerd. I don’t need anyone’s approval to be a trekkie or to wear outrageously colorful outfits and crazy jewelry (I LOVE color. A lot).  I’ll proclaim my ardent love of ponderously long nineteenth-century British novels to anyone. I’m proud to show you my awesome Mr. Potato Head collection. Sure I’m not perfect, no one is. I could be more diligent about working on my dissertation, I wish I weren’t such a couch potato, and I really need to learn to manage my money more effectively, but that’s okay. I have every confidence that I will finish my dissertation, spend less time watching tv (except for Star Trek of course), and I will finally learn to manage my money. I don’t let my flaws get to me. (Much. I’m only human after all). But despite my shortcomings, I’m proud to say that I love being me. A lot. I wouldn’t want to be any other way. It’s freeing. My life is better, more interesting, and more fun than it’s ever been. Star Trek will never be my guilty pleasure ever again. 

And I totally want to buy this coffee table book. It looks awesome.

Adventures in Grad Studenting: What to Do When There’s No Cable or Internet Because You Can't Afford to Pay Your Bill

Because periods of grinding poverty are the lot of the grad student, there are certain points in my year when I am really broke. Thanks to an unexpected root canal, right now is one of them. This month the only things that got paid were my rent and the minimum amount of money the electric company needed so that they wouldn’t shut off my power. So my cable company had every right to shut off my cable on Monday when I was unable to pay the bill (note to cable company: you will get some money as soon as I do, I swear). And yes it sucks being without cable (and internet as well), but I’m finding that it’s really not all that bad.

I have a lot of really cool dvds that I almost never watch because there’s almost always something on the vast array of channels I get. Last night I had fun picking out the specific Disney movie references that Disney stuck in Enchanted. Apparently, I know my Disney movies.  And I’m not able to check my email as often (note to my students: I swear I will answer your emails as soon as I get to school in the mornings) but I have a bit more time to work through the really cool novel I’m reading right now. (It’s called The Monk, and it’s very salacious) And best of all, I’ve unchained myself from my laptop and given my lap over to two very cuddly and friendly cats who are thrilled for the extra attention.

Now what I really wish the preceding paragraph had been about was how I used my cable-less and internet-less state to get massive amounts of work done on my dissertation. But alas, I threw my back out on cable-outage Monday, and I’ve had to spend a lot of my time at home laying down, which isn’t terribly conducive to my writing process. However, I’m quite certain another period of really brokenness will descend at some other point this year and I fully intend to use that time to get loads and loads of work done on my dissertation.

And even though I may moan about my poor pitiful poverty stricken state, I realize that in life even sucky things like having one’s cable cut off has its advantages. And, dare I say it, it's been kind of fun. I'm enjoying myself. In the end I have a roof over my head and food to eat, so despite my lack of cable and internet, I’m in pretty darn good shape.

Post Script: The paycheck gods came through with their monthly deposit; I've paid my past due balance and welcomed cable and internet back into my life. But in the end this experience was a good one for me, because I learned that sometimes the sucky things that happen are really not so sucky after all.

Ode to Deep Space Nine

A few months ago, I began to watch my Deep Space Nine DVD’s.  I’ve seen every episode multiple times and I’ve owned all seven seasons for a long time now, but I’ve never taken the time to rewatch all seven seasons all the way through.  But, as my friends could tell you, I would always argue about its status as the best Star Trek show, and, in my own humble opinion, the best show ever.  So, toward the end of the summer, I dusted off my DS9 DVD’s, fired up my trusty DVD player, and began to watch. 

            DS9 saw me through high school and most of college, an incredibly awkward (and incredibly long) period of my life.  And as I went through each season, I remembered my life as it was back when the show first aired.  When DS9 began, I was 15 and I hid my Star Trek love because it was the height of nerd-ity to be a trekkie, and fitting in was of tantamount importance to me.  About seven months before the show began, we had moved halfway across the country, from Georgia to Texas.  I was shy and lonely and I had trouble making friends, but Star Trek was always there for me.  I wasn’t lazing about on Saturday nights, I had plans—to watch Star Trek, and that was important to me.  I made sure to be home most Saturday nights because I did not want to miss a single episode. Besides, it was a Star Trek show, and I owed it to Star Trek to watch every single episode.  By the end of the first season, I was hooked, and grateful to have Deep Space Nine, particularly when we again relocated to a new town at the end of my freshman year of high school.  I felt even more shy, awkward, and lonely, and I felt like I had forgotten how to make friends, but DS9 was still there for me on Saturday nights.  I’m not exaggerating when I say that this show helped me get through high school relatively unscathed. 

By the time the fifth season began airing, I was a freshman in college, and DS9 had gotten really good.  Again, I didn’t have too terribly many friends, so my Saturday nights were generally free for DS9.  During the seventh season, I fell in love for the first time (he was a Deep Space Nine fan too).  At the end of the seventh, I had worked up the courage (and convinced my parents) to spend the summer going to school Mexico, so I missed the last six episodes of the show.  I peppered my parents with frequent emails, reminding them to NEVER EVER FORGET TO TAPE EVERY SINGLE EPISODE OF DS9 THAT AIRED WHILE I WAS GONE.  I forbade my boyfriend to tell me anything that happened.  I was determined to enjoy these last episodes without spoilers.  Watching DS9 was one of the first things I did after I got home.  I locked myself in my parents’ spare room and tore through those last episodes of the show.  I think I cried through the most of the last episode.  Watching that show end was like losing a friend. 

            After the end of the last episode, tv stations showed DS9 in syndication for a while, and I watched as much as I could, but after a few years, it sadly began to disappear from tv, I was in my first grad school by this point (another incredibly awkward time of my life, and again I didn’t have too terribly many friends), and I sorely missed its presence on Saturday nights, but I still had Voyager and Enterprise to keep me company.  A few years later I began collecting the dvd’s and The first three seasons of Deep Space Nine kept me company when I was spending a semester in England.  The exchange rate in 2007 was two dollars to a pound, so I was broke quite often.   I watched those first three seasons over and over again with an American friend who loved the show just as much as I do.  We spent hours watching the episodes and discussing the underlying themes, good plot lines, and overall minutiae of Deep Space Nine.  It was fantastic to finally find someone who appreciated it just as much as I do. 

            Fast forward three years to the summer of 2010.  I have a whole group of friends, who though they aren’t the Star Trek fans that I am, are at least familiar with the show. And I am proud to say that I am a trekkie.  I’m still in grad school, and being a TA is not the most lucrative of professions, particularly in the summer.  I fell behind in paying my cable and internet bill, so the cable company saw fit to suspend my service (note to cable company: I have paid my bill). So, without cable or internet, I pull out my trusty DS9 dvds.  And watching the episodes again these last few months has been fantastic.  It makes me glad that I was without cable and internet.  My long years of grad school and years of teaching critical thinking skills to college freshman has enabled me to enjoy this show on a deeper level.  Watching it as a whole, I can now see the way the writers crafted these intricate, detailed, complex, and involved plot lines, and I now marvel at their skill and ingenuity in writing this show—even more than I did in the 90s.  I love this show far more now than I did when it was first on. 

And in rewatching these episodes, I remember seeing these episodes for the first time; I remember the feelings I had when I saw these episodes for the first time; and I remember where I was and what I was doing when I saw these episodes for the first time.  And somehow, remembering my past through the lens of Deep Space Nine makes it seem a little less sad awkward.  I’m definitely not nostalgic for my teens and twenties, but I guess I don’t feel the embarrassment at my awkward and almost friendless state, and I tell anyone who will listen that I am a proud to be a Star Trek fan.  Watching this show makes me remember that I did have a few real friends, who knew I was a complete geek, but didn’t care, and it makes me grateful that I have still have real friends now, who proudly fly their geek flags right along side of me.  And by the time Deep Space Nine ended, I realized that Sisko, Kira, Bashir, Jadzia, Worf, O’Brien, Odo, Quark, Jake, and the many other characters on the show were, in a way, my friends too.  I felt that when I was watching the show, I was a part of their (albeit fictional) lives, and the show had become a part of my life too. 

 I’m about to start the seventh and final season now, and I want to take my time with this season.  I’ll only watch an episode every day or two and when I do get to that last episode, I’ll close my blinds, grab my Kleenex, and quietly watch that last episode one more time.  And I’ll probably cry all the way through the episode.  I always do.  

My Name

Every fall, I give my students a short diagnostic essay prompt so that I can evaluate their writing skills.  I ask them to write about the story of their names, a humorous or interesting story about how they got it, what, what it means to them, etc.  Since I start teaching tomorrow, I dug out the prompt and I was inspired to write an answer of my own.  Here it is:

          There are times when I feel like the story of my name is so far divorced from who I am.  My parents named me after Barbi Benton, who when I was born, was a famous Playboy playmate. It’s a funny story certainly, and it’s certainly a unique origin for a name.  And when I was a kid, I hated my name.  My mother, in her infinite motherly wisdom tried to tell me that I was definitely a Barbi.  She often tells me that it was my parents’ intention to call me by my middle name since both of my parents go by their middle rather than first names.  But after I was born, she took one look at me and knew that I was a Barbi. 

But I was stubborn (I still am).  I was absolutely determined to change my name the day I turned 18 because I couldn’t stand being Barbi anymore.  I was going to choose something that I thought sounded more like me, like Rebecca.  I was obsessed with the name Rebecca for a number of years.  Rebecca, to me, connoted a dark haired sophisticated beauty who was as intelligent as she was beautiful (that way people would overlook the fact that she was a total trekkie sci-fi nerd).  However, by the time I turned 18, I had other things to think about like graduating from high school, service work, who to vote for in my first election, what college I was going to attend, and what major I was going to choose.  I had too much on my plate to change my name to something that would fit me or to even contemplate what name exactly did fit me. 

                It wasn’t until years later that I realized that it isn’t a name that fits a person; it’s a person that fits a name.  Barbi representative of who I am simply because it’s the name I’ve used all of my life.  Barbi isn’t some dark haired sophisticated beauty, although I do like to think I turned out to be a fairly intelligent person.  The name Barbi indicates a woman who has a love of really bright colors and has the wardrobe to prove it.  Barbi connotes someone who is kind, compassionate, and loyal—and a total softy when it comes to cats.  She has a deep (and perhaps a bit obsessive) love of literature, particularly when it’s from 19^th century England.  Barbi is the name of person who now embraces her love of science fiction and Star Trek, and isn’t ashamed to admit it.  It’s the name of a woman who is finding it hard to learn to be happy with what she has instead of what she wants or thinks she should have.  Barbi is a cute, quirky kind of name, and I find that it suits me far more than Rebecca ever could. 

                In short, learning to accept my name, for me, meant learning to accept who I am as person, warts and all.  And honestly, it’s not easy.  There are still days when I think my name is really stupid and I question my parents’ wisdom in giving me such an odd name, and those are often the days when I have trouble accepting myself for who I am.  But it’s a process, and I’ve found that the more I come to love my name, the more I come to love myself, because, in the end, Barbi is who I am.  My mother was right all along.  

 

Good to know....

How to Tell if Your Cat is Plotting to Kill You



My cats are VERY crafty.