...or in other words, there's been a change of plans. A big change.
After talking a lot of things through with the parental units, I've decided to move back to Denver. Like all big decisions, it seemed to happen in a split second, but even upon reflection over the last several days, it's still the best choice.
It's a given that, with the exception of my volunteer work at the museum, I'm not getting any closer to my goals here in Philadelphia, and I continue to hemorrhage money for rent, food, gasoline, etc., with no income whatsoever to replace any of it. Vermont is still an option, certainly, but I don't really want to uproot my entire life to move up there, take a couple of classes, and still quite possibly not be accepted into the program.
So here's how it's going to work.
At the end of August, I'm headed back to Colorado -- back to Mom and Dad's house, more precisely, but I'm not terribly ashamed of that. They'll let me live rent-free while I attempt to get on my feet job or internship-wise, and having had their adult children come home before, they know how to not revert to treating us like actual children.
Dad has even agreed to let me get a puppy! ...Which, honestly, is a huge surprise. I know that Dad loves Duffy, but I really didn't think he'd agree to having another animal in the house. He has his reservations, definitely, largely concerning how the responsibility and commitment of having a dog is going to affect my life, but I'm pretty determined on this score. I'm enough of a grown-up that I don't expect Mommy and Daddy to clean up after my doggy for me, and it's still possible to have a social life with a dog in tow.
...But that's off-topic. I'll find internships, jobs, whatever, which should hopefully get my feet in the career door, and if Vermont is still something I want to do, I'll apply in the fall like a normal person, knowing that whatever I do during this next year will only add to my resume.
As you can imagine, I've got a ton of stuff to deal with, so of course, I'm sitting here and knitting a sweater.
Good lord. Geraldine Ferraro and her ilk are making me seriously ashamed to self-identify as a feminist.
Don't get me wrong, I am very appreciative of everything that the women in her generation did for the women's lib movement, and I completely understand the desire to see a female president. However, they have gone completely off the rails these last few months.
I am the first to say that, yes, sexism does still exist. I certainly don't seek it out, but it exists inasmuch as no type of prejudice ever completely dies or stops affecting our lives (at least, not that I've seen). To set some vague notion of sexism up as a straw man, though, and claim that Hillary Clinton is losing the nomination only because of sexism and that everyone except her campaign -- Obama, his campaign, the media -- are sexist, well, that's just disturbing to me.
I started being creeped out by it after Teddy Kennedy's endorsement of Obama, when the New York chapter of NOW published a scathing editorial, describing him as a traitor and betrayer of all women for not endorsing the female candidate. Since then, it's just gone downhill. Ferraro, who was, as all BK alumni should know, the first female candidate for vice president (on Mondale's ticket), claimed that Obama had only made it as far as he had because he was black, and when that statement (rightly) drew fire, called the media sexist and said that she was being attacked for being white. She proceeded to resign from Clinton's campaign, with a resignation letter that should be used as a definition for "passive-aggressive": "The Obama campaign is attacking me to hurt you. I won't let that happen."
And now she and other middle-aged female Clinton campaign surrogates have been making the media rounds, again claiming that Hillary is the victim of nothing but good, old-fashioned sexism. I'm sure that sexism has played a part, just as racism has. However, isn't it possible that Hillary is also losing because of her transparent disingenuousness? Her failure to keep in check (if not subtly promote) her campaign's race-baiting? Her spouting of bald-faced lies -- and then more lies when she's caught in the act? Her quasi-schizophrenic changes of campaign strategy from week to week? Her bad management of her campaign, which, at current count, is $21 million dollars in debt? Why, no, surely; it's got to be just because she's a woman! And accusing Obama of sexism? Good god, the man has practically been a paragon of class during this entire process. He's had a couple of slip-ups, yeah, but nothing that I would even consider as being close to being sexist.
Give me a break.
This is my fervent request to those uber-old school feminist Clinton campaign surrogates (none of whom read this thing, I'm sure, but whatever): Please, just stop. You are making yourselves look embittered and more than a little insane. Stop screaming "SEXISM!" at every shadow and let a new, less militant generation of feminists take over for you. Things have changed since the '50s and even the '70s, but you seem to be stuck in the exact same old paradigm. Please, stop now before I lose every last shred of respect I had for you. And don't say "it'll never happen," because Bill Clinton has done a perfectly smashing job of making me hate him during these past five months, and you could be next.
But, it's entirely possible that, just like Hillary herself, you don't give a damn about the damage you're causing. So all I'll say is this: if there isn't another viable female candidate for president for a long, long time, it won't be because of sexism. It'll be because of you. Sleep tight, ladies.
Things are changing, folks. I may be leaving Philly sooner rather than later (by which I mean in a matter of months, rather than a couple of years). I'll explain when I know more. No point getting all worked up if it doesn't happen, right?
I keep meaning to update this thing, since the last time I posted was before my defense, but I've been so busy/allergic to this entire city/braindead (sometimes all at once) that I haven't gotten around to it. Quick points before I crash for the night:
1) Passed the defense. Most of it was me arguing with the more difficult of the two professors present, while the other, my advisor, sat mostly quietly and looked somewhat put upon. Anyway, I got through it. I did the final revisions, got all the paperwork done, and turned my monstrosity of a thesis in last Wednesday afternoon. So, hip hip hurrah, I survived getting a Masters thesis. This is part of the reason that I've been braindead. The last week has largely been spent sprawled in my reclining chair and playing Dark Cloud 2 while a movie plays on my laptop until my eyes start to glaze over (the fact that the allergens were extremely high last week also contributed to my not going out much). 2) Attempting to get started on the next phase of my life. Bits of it are proving quite difficult. Updates as events allow. 3) After the defense, the boyfriend came to visit and we had a great time. He's hopefully coming back for a slightly longer visit next month before he prances off to basic training and I don't get to see him for god knows how long (don't even ask...). 4) Am trying to cook more. I make a mean banana bread. The key is sour cream. Seriously. 5) I've started doing logic puzzles again. They're so addictive, and it's nice for me to see how much better I do at them (braindead moments aside) than I did when I used to buy the puzzle magazines as a teenager: I'm more patient and better at figuring the logic itself. As a 16 year old, if I found myself at the end of the hints and couldn't see the next step, I just got frustrated, left the puzzle half-done, and moved on to another one. Now I work with it until I've beaten it. Sometimes I make a mistake somewhere, erase, and start the puzzle again later. I suppose that, for me, it's just a somewhat tangible way of seeing how I've grown up.
Anyway, I've been awake for 18 hours now, goodness knows why, so I'm going to wrap this up and call it a night.
(PS - Now that I've got a Masters [though graduation -- which I will not be attending -- is next month], you may all have to start calling me Master Leah. Just a thought.)
This is it. Tomorrow morning, I wake up and head over to campus to defend my Masters thesis. As you might imagine, I'm pretty nervous. As this is a pretty public forum here, it's probably in my best interest to be much more diplomatic than I might prefer. Suffice to say, this has been an immensely frustrating process in many ways. I've learned a lot -- though most of what I've learned has wound up being more related to how to deal with people and how to try and make people treat you with respect than it was about researching or Japanese history or some such. I'm just trying to remind myself that in just about 12 hours, I'll be pretty much done (well, except for any final revisions they want and turning the paper in officially and all).
And in 14 hours, my boyfriend will be arriving at the train station to spend a few days with me and (hopefully) celebrate successful completion of my thesis. And next Wednesday, I'm attending the taping of the Colbert Report being taped on campus. So, basically, once I finish this defense, my life improves tenfold, my stress levels decrease, and I will have the energy to talk to friends and be around more often.
Wish me luck, folks. Experience has taught me that no part of this process is easy, and I expect the defense to be no exception. All I want is to turn my paper in and graduate. So... let's hope.
Imagine you are running a race. A marathon, perhaps. Everyone else is running faster than you are, but you're moving along at your own steady pace. You are the proverbial tortoise: you may not be the front-runner, but you'll get there in the end.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a brick wall looms directly in your path. With no time to brake, you slam directly into it. As you might imagine, it hurts quite a bit. You shake your head to clear it, move around the wall, and keep running.
And then another brick wall appears, inches ahead of you. This time, when you get back up and keep running, you're limping a bit and you can feel places where bruises are already forming.
Another brick wall. And another. Each time you hit one, you're a little more hurt, more cuts, more bruises, and it's taking you longer and longer to pick yourself up and start hobbling down the track again.
Then you reach a clear stretch. And it seems like everything's going to be okay. Sure, you're not feeling great, but you're moving along at a steady pace, and you know you're nearing the finish line. You can almost see it, and the feeling of relief and accomplishment is so strong that you manage to put on an extra burst of speed.
Mere feet from the finish line, another brick wall appears. This wall is thicker, higher, and wider than all the previous ones, and since you were running with all your might, the pain when you crash into it is much greater. You can't see any way around this wall. Or over it. The only way you might be able to reach the finish line is to slam yourself into the wall again and again, in the hopes of weakening the mortar and creating a hole to squeeze through.
You are sitting on the ground in front of this final wall. You are bruised. You are bleeding. You are struggling to breathe. What do you do?
Do you stand up and keep hurling yourself against the wall, hoping to break through and finish the race, since you've already injured yourself so much already?
Or do you start to think that perhaps this was a race you oughtn't have tried to run in the first place?
Edited a few hours later to add: Thank you guys so much for your thoughtful and supportive comments. I really do appreciate it. Happily, I managed to get my advisor to meet with me, and things are looking a bit less critical now than they were yesterday and this morning. So don't worry, I may yet make it out of grad school more or less intact.
Leah is on page 111 of her thesis (not counting intro and conclusion, which haven't been written yet). She has written 8 pages today, and is completely brain dead, which explains why she's using third person.
She hopes to have a complete draft of her thesis within two weeks. She also greatly desires to print out this monstrosity, turn it in to the graduate office, and be done with it forever, but that's not quite possible yet.
More than almost anything, though, she would just like a vacation. A real vacation. One where she doesn't have worried thoughts of this paper lingering in the back of her mind. It's been over a year since she had a vacation like that.
What a crazy, wacked-out couple of months it's been. Seriously.
12:51am 10/03/2008
mood: busy
I just set my homepage to this, so that every time I open a browser, I am attacked by sheer cuteness. I'm never getting tired of this thing.
Apparently I haven't updated my LJ in a month. I don't really think I can say, "whoops, sorry, won't happen again," because we all know at this point that it totally will. So. Time for one of "what you've missed in Leah's life" numbered lists. Hurrah! ...Yeah. Okay.
1) I am on page 86 of my thesis. 86. And I still have probably another 40 or so pages to go, not counting the introduction and conclusion, which have not been written yet either. My brain is actually melting. I can feel it. The longer I work on this paper, the dumber I am getting.
2) I'm taking a break from Judo till I get this thesis writing finished. I just can't really focus in there right now, and not focusing when you're doing a sport is a bad idea. But I have a schedule worked out that has me finishing the bulk of the work by the end of the month, and hopefully I can go back after that.
3) There is no #3.
4) I'm seeing someone. But it's complicated. For several reasons. I'm not going to go into them right now. Suffice to say, I think this guy is worth the trouble.
5) Still working at the museum, still having an awesome time, even as my job gets more complicated and more frustrating.
6) Tom Jones' "Sex Bomb" is an awesome song. So catchy.
That's it. You all know everything that's going on in my life. Back to work.
Babies are like dogs. They can sense evil, I'm sure of it. Check out the way this baby reacts to each of the candidates: The Baby Primary!
Life continues to be exciting and busy. Except for the thesis part; that's just busy. At least I'm done writing about literature... for now. Literature is so boring for me. I just want to get to the parts where I get to talk about jazz cafes and Japanese flappers and movies and stuff.
And tomorrow is Super Tuesday! I sure hope it's not a misnomer. And Wednesday, I go in to the museum to meet the guy who's going to be supervising me. Eeep!
Wow, folks. Just... wow. I am not often rendered speechless, but the experience of attending the Barack Obama rally in Wilmington today has done just that. It was one of the more amazing experiences I've ever had. I woke up at 6 AM, was on my feet for almost five and a half hours (9-11:15, in line, 11:15-1:15, waiting for Obama to speak, and 1:15-2:15, Obama speaking), and the amazing thing is that I would more than happily do it all again. In fact, I would wake up earlier, stand on aching legs for longer, and scream myself even hoarser. He is simply amazing.
Well, I think I've been mysterious about what's going on here for long enough. Time to let you all in.
First things first: 1) I've finally started actually writing my thesis. It's slow going so far, and often frustrating, but it's not quite as scary as I had pictured it being. Besides my (still-horrible) half-written historiography/intro of 6 pages, I've got 8 pages on the technological advances that led to the massification and Westernization of culture in the Taisho and early Showa eras, and about 4 pages on said culture. Bit by bit, I will get this thing done. I also made my visual sources pretty by giving them a nice border in photoshop. I am a dork. 2) On Sunday, I'm going down to Wilmington to attend a Barack Obama rally! The hours standing in the cold will be totally worth it just to hear and see him in public. No, I am not being sarcastic at all. I'm really that psyched. I'll take lots of pictures!
Now for the answer to the big mystery: I'm thinking that I might like to become a conservator in a museum (IE, the person who restores and preserves artifacts/artwork). This might seem like it's completely out of left field, but hear me out. My reasons: 1) I've always loved archaeology, anthropology and history. Since I was three years old, actually. Between the ages of about 7 and 16, I independently studied ancient Egypt (Tutankhamun and mythology), Ancient Grecian and Roman mythology, ancient Rome (particularly Pompeii and Herculaneum), and the Titanic, amongst other things... purely for fun. I think that history is tremendously important, and I can think of fewer things more worthwhile for me to do with my life than protecting pieces of history. 2) I realized long ago (with some help from my father) that the life of an archaeologist wasn't really the life for me for several reasons. Working as a conservator would still give me a chance to be involved with artifacts; I may not be the person digging them up, but I can sure as hell be the person saying, "See that piece? It's safe for at least a couple of centuries, thanks to me!" 3) I'm meticulous, detail-oriented, and enjoy solving logic-based puzzles, which are all important qualities for the job. (IE, you need to work slowly, on little tiny pieces at a time, and use logic to decide how best to restore and preserve each piece, given the materials and condition of that piece.) 4) I would not have to deal with the public. Maybe this sounds kind of shallow, but I think those of you who have been unlucky enough to work in retail know that it's not. I am not a people person. When I have to spend too much time being "on" for people, I get grouchy and turn into a hermit. A job like this, where I'd probably mostly only be associating with coworkers, seems ideal.
This all came to me about a week and a half ago when I attended a behind-the-scenes tour for graduate students at the Penn Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. I tried as hard as I could to get myself interested in the publishing department, but... meh. The only thing that really interested me was the conservatory lab. I tried to dismiss the thought, since you need chemistry to do that job, and, well, me + chemistry = disaster. That's what high school taught me, anyway.
But you know, over the next day or so, I couldn't stop thinking about how cool a job it was. After a bit of freaking out to family and my therapist, I returned to the museum unannounced a day later and asked to speak with the head conservator (if you know me, you know that I am NOT an aggressive person, so this was sort of a big thing for me). And luckily for me, she was unhassled enough and nice enough to sit down and talk to me for about fifteen minutes and tell me what I'd need to do if I decide this is something I really want to do: 1) Start volunteering at the museum (or a museum, anyway). (More about this in a moment) 2) Once I finish my Masters, I'd stay in town and start taking classes at the local community college: studio art, a bit of art history (though my credits from 'Deis might be enough, I probably need a refresher), and a metric ton of chemistry. I know, I know. You're thinking that I'm crazy for even considering this, aren't you? It gets worse... 3) Once I get enough of a background in art and chemistry, as well as enough hours working in the museum, I'd start applying to graduate programs, and would hopefully find myself back in graduate school, working towards a M.S. in Conservation.
I really am insane. But you know what? I think I could do it. You know, as much as I hated chemistry in high school, I do find chemistry interesting in the abstract, the logic/judgment parts of the brain are better developed in adults than in teenagers, and if I'm working towards a goal and can apply what I'm learning to that in a concrete way... You know, it might not be so bad. And in any case, I won't do it if I decide that this isn't something I really want to do. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that grad school is miserable when you have no direction, no goals, and are just there because you don't know what else to do with yourself. And the way I'm going to find out if this is the right direction for me?
You got it, volunteering at the museum. I'm already in touch with the guy in charge of the Asian Collection, and I'm going in next week to fill out the necessary forms, get a swipe card, a schedule, and get started working. My first project is going to be dealing with... wait for it... SAMURAI ARMOR. IS THAT NOT AWESOME?! I mean, okay, I don't get to do anything particularly cool with the armor, but regardless, anything involving samurai armor is inherently wicked. (I don't get to start out working in the conservatory lab, since it's such a delicate job and they don't take volunteers off the street; I'm starting out in collections.) Apparently, the samurai armor project consists of documenting pieces that don't have accession numbers yet and trying to piece together separate pieces that make up a complete suit or armor. This involves photography, inventory, and data input. I will do whatever I am told, and I will do it as perfectly as possible. Though I'm probably only starting out at 6-8 hours a week, since, you know, that whole "Masters thesis" thing needs to be my priority.
Anyway... sorry to babble on for so long, but once I got the volunteer stuff worked out, I promised myself that I'd update. Life is extremely interesting (and a little scary) right now.
So, it's entirely possible that in the last two days I've had an epiphany about what I might want to do with my life. Interestingly enough (or perhaps, obviously enough), it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with Asia. Rather, it reaches way back more into my passions and interests as a child that I never really gave up but never thought were realistic.
I don't want to say too much until I'm more certain about this and more educated on the topic, but I've taken the first steps towards making it a realistic option... and if it turns out that this IS what I really want to do, I have a lot of work ahead of me. Including more years of grad school. Which I know that I said that I couldn't wait to be done with, but if that's what I have to do to get a job that's worthwhile and fulfilling, well, I'll do what I have to do.
I grew up during the Clintonian '90s and as such, remember the years that they were in the White House with a great deal of fondness. I always said, "His personal life is his personal life; what matters is how he is as a president," and he was a good one. I admired Hillary for wanting to be so active, even if I really never cared for her all that much. My point here is that they both always had my respect.
Well, now that I've seen how Hillary and Bill are running her campaign, that has all changed. The way they have attempted to smear Obama over the past month, playing the race card and blaming it on him, playing the gender card while denying it, and trying to disenfranchise the CWU in Nevada... It is, quite frankly, disgusting.
For those who haven't been paying attention, let's start at the beginning, shall we?
As of about 27 hours ago, I am the only single Hagler left. That is correct: my oldest brother Max got married.
The wedding was beautiful and everyone had a great time... but (I say in my best Levar Burton impression) you don't have to take my word for it. Wait till January, and it'll be on TLC, on the show "A Wedding Story." Yes, I might be on TV (probably for a total of two seconds, since I was only the groom's sister and didn't play an important role in any aspect of the festivities... but still!). I'll remind you all when it gets closer to January, just in case anyone wants to see.
We're all pretty exhausted -- It's been a whirlwind weekend -- so I'm going to go to bed now. It's back to Denver tomorrow, and back to Philly and my (inefficient) thesis-ing on Tuesday.
"Don't eat your own excrement or drink your own urine in the presence of others. If you do, you are sure to be branded a lunatic, however warmly you may protest."
-From a wartime English-language Japanese leaflet designed to scare Allied soldiers
I have no clever commentary. The quote speaks for itself.
You know, I've never been all that much of a dedicated sports fan. For me, sports on TV is really something I'll only watch socially, and I'm sort of a fair-weather fan. But one thing I do have is hometown pride. So while I won't be more than slightly disappointed if my teams lose, I'm very happy if they win.
But for me, watching sports isn't about the sport itself. It's all about the crowd. It's about hearing the roar of the crowd and realizing that these people, by the thousands, have all come together to root for the same thing. It's about how the cheers double in volume when your guys score a goal/touchdown/home run (I'm leaving basketball out, because I couldn't care less about it). It's about watching 50,000 people go crazy, screaming and hugging, when your team wins a post-season series for the first time ever.
That was just awesome. And I'd like to give Kaz Matsui a great big hug.
(Though I sincerely doubt I'll ever hear or see a more beautiful moment in sports than Joe Sakic picking up the Stanley Cup, then immediately turning around and handing it to Ray Borque... Because, my god, that very nearly made me cry.)
And now... I keep quiet about being a Rockies fan for a while, because that could probably get me shot in this town.
I remain firmly convinced that Last Kiss (written by Wayne Cochran, most famously performed by J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers, recorded 1964) is the most pointlessly creepy song ever written.
So basically, this guy takes his girlfriend for a ride in his dad's car, gets in a car crash, and she dies. That's it. That's the whole song.
...WHAT'S THE POINT OF THAT?
A guy, singing about his feelings after his girlfriend dies, that I could understand. But a song about a car crash? It's not inspiring or artistic, and this one's not even particularly moving. It's just kind of creepy. (And I know it was based off a real incident... An incident to which the songwriter was not in any way connected. Seriously, creepy. How would you like to be the parents of a 16 year old killed in a car accident, hear some random guy sing this song, and dedicate it to your dead daughter?)
And to make it worse, it's all sung in this... rather happy-sounding melody. No song about your beloved's death should sound quite so darned upbeat.
This goddamn song got to #2 on the Top 40 charts. I know it was the '60s, but there's no excuse for stupidity.
I've been looking for this for years, quite literally. My grandmother used to tape random kids shows off of TV for her grandkids -- this was way back in the day of betamax -- and she taped this one episode of Muppet Babies. Just this one. I used to snuggle up in her and Papa's enormous bed, and watch this song over and over again.
What a nice memory. I needed something like this tonight... Things have been rough around here.
And I don't care that I'm not 5 years old anymore, I still think this song is awesome.
Ahem. Perhaps I should approach this with a proper sense of respect and all, but wow, he did a pretty bad job, and I'm only surprised that it took him this long to accept the responsibility. Japanese politicians seem to have a habit of fucking up and then resigning with the speed of light, almost even before they've finished committing some sort of white-collar crime/planting their feet squarely in their mouths. Abe, though -- Japan pretty much said in no uncertain terms in July that it didn't like him or his government, but he just sort of stuck his fingers in his ears and said, "LALALALALALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU."
While I'm not necessarily a fan of the Japanese politicians' tendency to resign over even the smallest matters, I think that some politicians in our country could learn a lesson. I'm looking at YOU, Mr. "I got caught soliciting an undercover cop for sex, and so now I'll do the proper thing and resi-- Oh wait, I changed my mind."
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