Rebel Rebel

I clearly remember the first time I fully considered my mortality, my death. My eighth grade math teacher walked by my desk to see if I needed help with a worksheet, but when she looked at me and said "is everything alright?", she wasn't talking about arithmetic. I was either twelve or thirteen. Because of this, I would brush off the suggestion that teenagers think they're invincible, that they'll live forever. Maybe I didn't calculate risk as an adult would, but I certainly felt the full weight of my mortality.

This all sounds grave to me now, overly-dramatic, but those are also apt descriptions for most of my adolescence. And it's not as though I became obsessed with death as a figure or concept, earnestly drawing skulls and macabre scenes, nor with my own death in the way that some people fantasize about their funerals. I just remember thinking: this isn't permanent, and eventually all that I know and am will cease to exist for me.

It's silly to assume that I was alone in this realization. And now it seems a natural and crucial part of developing a sense of self, a period in a process that psychologists have probably laid out neatly. But those models of individual development always seemed like challenges to me. As though psychologists dared me to defy their predictions, like the freshmen orientation at college when they tell you to look to your right and left because only a certain percentage of you will graduate. When you say, "Not me, but I bet this homely-looking dude next to me won't make it."

Two Songs

I didn't realize that this song is from the 90s, though it seems obvious after watching the video (and Alix says it's in Empire Records, which is also a clear giveaway):



The song really does it for me. However, I'd assumed that it was a 90's style rip-off that came out around the same time (2003) as this song:



Aside from being a decade apart, I think these songs have a lot in common. First, they both have videos with the leader singer making weird faces. It's a nice reminder that most people look silly when singing, especially when they're not actually playing music. Stylistically, they nail the heavy pop rock sound - something rarely done. I'd also argue that both songs have bridges with enough hook to be choruses. In fact, all three parts of the traditional verse - bridge - chorus structure are solid in both songs. That's a rarity, like getting in all clean shots on a jab - cross - hook combo. Knockout.

Over and Under

At the end of every summer, as the school year arrived, I would tell myself how much I'd changed since the last year. How much cooler I'd be, for whatever reasons, and how much it would impress others. Then I'd find myself re-immersed in the day to day social and academic world of school, and realize that, for the most part, I was the same.

A similar process happens when I reflect on certain philosophical and spiritual ideas. At times, I will feel I've reached some sort of revelation, a new way of seeing the world and myself. But as time goes on I will find my overall perspective unchanged.

This isn't something I'm realizing now, though. After a couple of school years without significant growth in coolness, I'd say to myself: Yeah, I thought I was cool going into those last few years, but this year is totally different and I have a whole new perspective. Then I'd start to think that reflecting on one's coolness isn't very cool, and so I'd just let things ride. Be cool. Still, I was the same.

In my deeper reflections, I'd tell myself that constantly seeking progress in great leaps only held me back from further progress. Then I'd try to progress by letting go of my desire to progress.

I can't believe that I'm alone in this type of thinking. Rather, I assume that most people do it. Or at least most people under the same cultural influences as me, because I think that my culture creates this conception progress and growth. I'm not, however, referring to the obsession with get-rich-quick schemes or revolutionary diets. Rather, it's in our stories, our histories and myths. Here we have flashes, sudden revolution and invention and enlightenment that changes everything.

Supermen

I took a Russian literature course in college, titled "Outsiders, Supermen, and Ordinary People." The professor, a young woman from Russia who matched the description of all I'd imagine when told that the professor is a young woman from Russia, often provided much-needed insights on Russian culture as we discussed Pushkin, Lermontov, Turgenev, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky, among others. She also brought up characteristics of American culture, sometimes to contrast with the Russian perspective.

As the course title implies, we gave a lot of attention to the place of individuals in society, both as the individuals perceive their place and as society sees it. One day, the professor said: "One thing I cannot understand is how Americans so often believe that they can be anything they want to be." She went on about how one can wish and try and pursue the goal of being one of history's great writers, but only certain people are actually capable of reaching that level.

By saying this, she not only challenged the Disney-esque message that if we try hard enough we can all achieve our dreams, she also suggested that talent - genius, even - is an inherent quality. Some of the class sided with her, while others fought back. However, remembering this, I forget which stance I took. I can imagine taking either one. And maybe that's the thing: subjectivity and open-mindedness can create a wash that makes nearly anything look possible, yet nothing definitive.

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.)