Jobber

I’m a bit more than a month into my new job. That’s four months of work here in Virginia, after about three months of unemployment. A lot of the time the work stresses me out, but I’m happy to have it. It was tough to be jobless.

Obviously it wasn’t hard work being unemployed. And I tried to make the most of my time, reading and writing and telling myself to appreciate it because soon I’d have a job again and wish I had more leisure. Which I do.

The biggest stressor was the feeling of limbo. With so many things that I want to do, I couldn’t stand to, well, sit around all day. I ended up researching and considering all the possible things I want to do, and then didn’t do any of them.

I remember a guy at a party telling me that I was lucky to not have a job. That he wished he didn’t. I told him to quit. He laughed, and I thought of how we both envied each other’s situations.

Since I had so much time, I reread “Days of War, Nights of Love.” Their outlook romanticizes unemployment. Job free, home free, deodorant free. But I couldn’t feel the romance. I wanted to get back to work.

Maybe I needed something to keep me from over-thinking. Or maybe it was the sense of identity, of fitting in – contributing – that became even more desirable since I’d moved to a new place. In any case, I'm ready for a vacation.

Personal Statement, First Draft

I tried to quit school for a year. I didn’t enter the classroom this August, and, for the first time in twenty years, summer’s end didn’t mark the beginning of a new academic year for me. I planned to work outside the realm of education for a bit. See what I may have missed. But I couldn’t cut myself off entirely. By October I started to tutor for an after-school program at a local elementary school. Plus, the majority of my friends in town were full-time graduate students. Then my new teacher’s license came in the mail, and got me thinking of the students I’ve had in the past few years, of the students I could have had this year.

From 2006 through 2009 I taught high school English in New Hampshire, Vermont, and France, respectively. I loved it. I found, though, that I wasn’t ready to end my own education. This isn’t to say that I wasn’t learning while teaching – quite the contrary. However, I wanted to continue my formal education at the graduate level. I wanted to return to the classroom as a student.

My last year three semesters at college preluded those past three years: I worked in seminar-level literature courses at Keene State, studied at the University of Rennes II in France, and completed my internship as a student teacher at Souhegan High School. It was also at that time that I decided on my eventual goal of earning a PhD and teaching at the university level. Unfortunately, I couldn’t decide what material I wanted to dedicate so much time and energy to.

So far in my academic pursuits, I have chosen breadth over depth. I love to look at seemingly disparate subjects and search for fruitful connections, or, specifically as a pedagogical tool, to use knowledge of one subject to enrich the understanding of another subject. For example, I can use a student’s knowledge of collegiate wrestling to better explain the writing process. Or, in my own work, I can call on my understanding of quantum physics to gain a new perspective on a post-modernist text. Even though I plan to maintain my generalist tendencies, I understand that graduate school is a world of specialists. And until recently, I struggled to narrow my scope.

At first it seemed odd that living in France would invigorate my interest in American literature and culture. Yet the more I thought about it, the easier it became to see how the experience of a foreigner would cause one to deal intimately with one’s national identity. My nationality was my defining characteristic. In order to reflect on my interactions in France, on how others perceived me, I had to explore how American culture has shaped me. Additionally, I had to think about how others view American culture – generally – and how the French view America and Americans – specifically.

What started as a pursuit to better understand my identity as a foreigner became a realization of what I wish to focus on in graduate school. Within my English coursework as an undergraduate, the 20th Century American Literature class and the Thoreau seminar stood out. While I credit the professors for making the content especially engaging, I also know that when left alone with the texts I found myself captivated. These courses, combined with my non-academic exploration of how language and national culture shaped me, led me to my desired field of focus. Specifically, I am interested in how 20th and 21st Century American literature reflects and represents the impact of modern science on individuals and culture. Furthermore, within this context, I would like to explore the role of science and language in constructing and defining one’s reality and identity. I believe that further study into the connection of philosophy of science with semiotics, in the context of 20th & 21st C. American literature, offers awesome insights and I’m excited to pursue them.

How specific program would be good for me (professors to work with).

My undergraduate and professional teaching experience greatly influenced my graduate and post-graduate school aspirations. However, I also believe that this year, this brief intermission in my educational career, has been instrumental in realizing how much passion I have for teaching and learning. Just as my sejour in France brought my excitement for American literature and culture to the forefront, this period outside the classroom has reinforced my desire for a career in education.

First Draft Poem

Clip

First the feelings swoop,
free in places.

Then separation pens them
to one time, location,
person that you have slowly
shed until,

Eventually, the feelings bind
into memories.

Deliverance

A big guy came to the porch, its single bulb the only source of light in the driveway/parking lot. He yelled, "Whatchuh doin' here" over the fence and board pen full of an uncertain number of barking dogs. I walked away from my car, past the pen, towards him. Another guy, this one even bigger, also with a buzzed head, came to the porch.

"I'm droppin' off my car for Mike to work on."

"He know 'bout it?"

"Yeah."

I guessed so. Hoped. I hadn't actually talked with Mike, nevermind met him. A coworker said his friend, Mike, would change my timing belt at a good price. The coworker also told me about the dogs, and that he'd let a roommate know I'll come by that night. He explained that this last detail was important because the roommates have an arsenal as big as the police department's, and may not like an unexpected visit.

I thanked the roommate for letting me park my car, then thanked my Texan friend - by giving her fried pickles - for following me to the place in her Jeep and driving me home. The next day at work, when I thanked the coworker for giving the well-armed roommate the heads up, he said he was glad I found a ride back, that he felt bad not going with me because I'd probably thing I "was getting into some 'Deliverance' shit."

(Written on October 7th. Posted November 23rd.)

Relatives

Lately I've been talking a lot with one of my co-workers when the place isn't too busy. Today, as we were discussing politics and music, I realized that I was unintentionally comparing him to some of my friends. It wasn't a comparison to decide if he is as good as them, but a search for who he reminds me of. As though pinning down someone to connect him to would give me a better grasp of who he is.

I think everyone does this sort of thing, to try to better understand or feel comfortable with something new by connecting to to something familiar. Like how people always say, "you look just like (or remind me so much of) so-and-so." Maybe it's a basic urge to link things and seek patterns. In any case, I wonder if it's possible to see anything as it is by itself, to take that raw, new thing and process it alone.

(Written on September 3rd. Posted on November 17th.)

He Who Laughs Last

I probably understood two thirds of what people said to me when i was in France, especially in the first few months. Normally that, plus context, was enough to get the general message. Though often I wouldn't be exactly sure what someone was saying until the end of it, so I'd let things to that I didn't understand. I figured it was better to let a couple of things slide in a conversation than to interrupt it each time I didn't know a word or phrase. Because of this, there'd be times when someone would finish talking and I'd have no idea what they said. At that point I'd decide whether to have them repeat themselves, based on how important it seemed, and usually I'd just let it go.

Unfortunately, this habit of not asking for clarification when I didn't hear or understand something - or worse: going on as though I know what the person said - has transposed to my US mind. But I'm working on it.

(I wrote this on August 31st. Not sure why I hadn't posted it yet, or anything for that matter.)

Public Education and Health Care

I’ve got a suggestion for the health care debate. Someone may have already brought it up, but I haven’t heard it put the way I thought of it. That is, to treat health care the same way as education.

This would make health care an obligation for all citizens. It would also make each community, district, and state responsible for organizing and providing health care to its citizens. Finally, while all taxpayers would financially support this system, they would be free to use alternative, private schools.

I don’t think public schools are perfect. I’ve seen many of the problems, both as a student and educator. But I do believe its model provides a core system that effectively benefits citizens and society alike, while constantly adapting and seeking to best serve them. Plus, if we pay doctors as much as teachers then it’ll be affordable. Though I guess we couldn’t give two months of summer vacation to doctors too.

Comment Tester Ton Ami (Pt. 2)

He put his hand on the cutting board right when I brought down the knife. I tried to pull it back, but couldn’t. It’s a weird feeling to commit your body and mind to a sudden motion, and try to stop it in the middle of the act. First I saw the blood spray out, hitting the wall near us. Then I stared at his hand. He, much smarter than me, yelled to get something to cover the wound. I grabbed a rag, but he said, again with a clear mind, that it was filthy. We ran to the sink and put a clean towel over the gash, both of us applying as much pressure to it as we could.

In Defense

The first section of the French history textbook, picking up after WWII, focuses on globalization. Though it’s not overt in its anti-globalization stance, subtle is often more effective. I don’t want to defend globalization, but two things bother me as I read.

First, I’m tired of the suggestion that consuming US products and culture is forced. If people don’t buy it, if there’s no demand, then corporations can’t profit. That’s not to say corporations and media aren’t aggressive, but that consumers aren’t helpless victims.

Second, I don’t think the French, historically, have a right to claim moral high ground on the issue. Why do citizens of some African countries speak French? Napoleon undertook massive military and cultural invasions, and, unlike the decision to buy a coke or watch a Hollywood movie, his were occupations by force.

Comment Tester Ton Ami (Pt. 1)

He squatted in front of the mini fridge to stock portioned lobster roll and cole slaw. Or was it tuna salad? I still wondered about the newly delivered knives, which came with the warning, “careful, you know, these things are real sharp.” We had tested the big knife on various things, and nothing could slow it. I looked at the three-inch stack of square, American cheese slices. That’d take some force to cut through. So I placed it on the white, textured cutting board mounted on top of the mini fridge, and raised the knife just below shoulder height. I like to think I remembered to then say “don’t move” to him, that I’d made him aware of my plan – reckless as it was – in some way. But I’m not sure. I do know that I chopped as hard as I could, cause the block of cheese didn’t figure to split easily.