This is a long one, folks...

Yesterday was faculty-advisor meeting day. I'll be finishing my Master's degree in May (thank GOD!), assuming I survive my internship and comprehensive exam, which means it's time to start thinking about The Next Step. Those are always the discussions that are pretty much guaranteed to give me anxiety. It means it's time to start thinking about where and what the next job will be, and most importantly, The Doctorate Decision (or TDD, as I've decided to nickname it). My advisor and I talked for a solid hour about whether or not the PhD would be the way to go. Of course, she thinks so. Any academic will tell you to go for it - after all, it's the one thing they've devoted their lives to. Not to encourage another 4 years of indentured servitude to academia would be a crime for those already a part of the clandestine few. Plus, if I want to move up in Higher Ed, it's gotta happen.

I know I'm good for it. It's not the work that intimidates me - academics have always come pretty easily to me. It's just the combination of the other issues that concern me. First off, it's a major commitment to several more years as a student, which I find a bit wearing. Second, finding a topic I care enough about to write an entire thesis on would be a challenge. Number three, however, is the big one. Often times, lately, I wonder if there's any point to the field of Higher Education and all of the work that we do as administrators. I've spent hours upon hours of the last 2 years of my life learning to be culturally competent, how to counsel and communicate effectively with students to teach them to, in turn, become culturally sensitive and competent people. But the more I interact with the average college student of 2008, the less I think we have an impact.

Today's college students are different than those I graduated with 5 years ago. The Millenial generation has given way to another breed of student that I'm not sure I can even comprehend, let alone foster growth in. The children of the late-cycle Baby Boomers are self-involved, self-important, and have zero social skills. Many of them don't understand the concepts of work ethic or compassion, respect or value. One might argue that, because everything they could possibly need is in their dorm rooms (fridge, plasma tv, high speed computer, cell phone, instant messenger, library interface) or can be delivered (pizza, laundry, and even online classes) they don't ever have to interact with another human being live-action. They view everything as negotiable. Americans like to pretend that college is about "getting a good education", but really, it's about "getting a good socialization". Teens might pick a school based on academics, but what they actually learn is how to be a productive person that lives in the world. When I pull up a mental image of today's college sophomore, sometimes I actually picture those little monsters from the Lamisil commercial, running around screaming


How am I supposed to be prepared to devote another 4 years of my life studying how to improve the educational and social environment for a bunch of 20 year old terrorists who care about nothing? I don't see college students protesting or advocating for change. I don't see them having debates about politics. I don't see them really engaging in anything more significant than Britney Spears'** latest antics or who was on American Idol last night. They live in a world of fast-cutting, transitory elements, and I feel like they have very, very, very little in touch with reality. I see almost nothing of my college self in them anymore. Maybe after (barely) surviving 8 years of George W. Bush's America - an America he stole - I've become incurably cynical. I'm not sure if this is the case, but at any rate, I have serious doubts as to whether or not this population is worth investing anther 4 years of my life into. I don't know who to blame for them - parents? George Bush? Bill Clinton? The pop-music phenomena? TMZ? - but I do know that I have very serious reservations about what happens when they grow up to be in charge of the development of others.

Is this a person who really should be going for a Doctorate in educational administration and psychology - someone whose faith in the process is quickly waning? Maybe I should switch it up and go to Vet Tech school instead. Dogs and cats still have some humanity left in them. Now isn't that ironic?

** This front-page article in the latest issue of Rolling Stone titled "The Tragedy of Britney Spears" was something I found really interesting in relation to the phenomenon of today's societal values.

Should I Call it the "WC" Instead?

I just realized that the email address of a coworker who I absolutely can not stand rhymes with the word "toilet". This discovery made my day marginally more amusing, especially since there's not much of a difference between sending an email to her and sending one right down the crapper.

If He Can Do It, Anyone Can!

While I'm at work, determining the fate of various transfer students, I often listen to online radio through my computer. I find it keeps me motivated and in a better mood, which is a good thing for the aforementioned potential future students. I have general guidelines for my preferred selection: it has to be background music, something rock-y but mellow, unoffensive volume-wise, and generally enjoyable. I tend to gravitate towards the Coffeehouse station on Yahoo Launch, which tends to play the Jack Johnson, Norah Jones, singer-songwriter types.

Yet there are certain artists, despite my attempt to tell Yahoo to never play again by clicking the "never play this again" box (and this is a major pet peeve of mine) that continue to resurface, despite my best intentions. Brett Dennen is one of those artists. This might sound harsh, but I really fucking hate Brett Dennen. Why do I hate him so much, you ask? Well, it all started with the fact that his voice sucks, and culminates with the fact that he pronounces the word "free" "fweee". 3-year olds speak that way. It's an "r" buddy - learn the damn alphabet! And I hate his hats. Plus, his lyrics are petulant, insipid and infuriating. Dear Yahoo Launch: please stop playing Brett Dennen. And Beth Orton. And Sarah McLaughlin. And Mo-Zella, whatever or whoever that might be. Oh and especially James Blunt. Jazon Mraz is fine. Thank You.

Parting Words to Mr. Anonymous

Duke, huh? Let me guess... with that kind of vocabulary... you're there on a lacrosse scholarship. Am I right? And for the record, you called me a "dyke" the first time you visited my blog, uninvited and unsolicited. I'd say you threw the first punch.

I won't be responding to you again.

Survey Says...

Christina Aguilera's boobs - real or fake? Discuss.

February Blues

I am ready for winter to be over.

I'm sick of slush. I'm sick of snow. I'm sick of feeling like my skin is so dry and tight it's going to peel right off. I'm sick of this hacking cough I've had for 3 weeks. I want to run outside again, finishing up as the sun sets, watching the world turn red and gold. I want to wake up in daylight, sit on my balcony drinking my first cup of coffee, watching the neighbors stroll by with their dogs. I want to leave the house with less than 3 layers of clothes on. I want to see leaves on the trees, vibrantly-colored flowers, music in the air and the smell of charcoal on the breeze. I want to wear skirts and flip-flops.

The one comforting thing about living in the Northeast is that, despite the desolate brown of winter... you know there's an end in sight. One day, probably in late March, I'll roll out of bed, and it will all be here. The birds, the leaves, the sunlight, the warmth. Life will return to my little corner of the world, and happiness will be restored. At the end of February, however, that moment often seems all too far away.

That being said... I don't think I could live in a place without seasons. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I'm fairly certain I wouldn't love summer half as much if I didn't have winter's misery to compare it to.

Life Lessons

This is why NCLB is a terrible thing:

"i was bored and i like reading. u should try it 2 better ur writing. u deleted my comments? y? thaz sad. u must really B a fat dyke if it bothered u that much."

How many problems can you find with this comment from someone who can't be bothered to spell out entire words? Shockingly, this gem of a human being (I use the term loosely) doesn't actually have his own blog. And at what point in our education system have we allowed text message and instant messenger shorthand to become an acceptable mode of formal communication? Good luck in junior college, kiddo - try not to fail English comp more than twice.

A few other things, douchebag (I was trying really hard to refrain from name calling, but a girl can only handle so many uses of the word "dyke" - at least switch it up and me a lesbian or queer or something): My picture is on the right of your screen, and my NAME is next to it. Maybe you should use your brain before you start spewing filth. At least "crayon dicked lard-ass" shows some creativity. But don't worry too much, honey - keep working hard at being a disgusting human being, and someday you'll be the manager of your very own Taco Bell!!

She Really Is Evil!

Since my re-entrance to the blogsphere, I've had some catching up to do. I noticed this morning that Segue posted an entry on The Dayton Underground at the end of December and I swear, he must have been talking about my cat...

I've Been Called Worse

To the 'anonymous' moron who found it entertaining to make nasty comments on my blog yesterday because he clearly has nothing better to do (and good grief, how bored were you that you went that far back?):

Either go away, or try upping the level of discourse a bit. Considering the fact that intelligence seems to be of premium concern to you, calling people "fat dykes" (of which I am neither, but thanks for the effort) is a pretty neanderthal response, wouldn't you think? Go find someone else's blog to anoint with your pearls of infinite wisdom. Here, they will be deleted. Better yet, why don't you let me read your blog for a while?

An Open Letter

Dear Student,

If you can't say your name intelligibly on my voice mail - and I've listened to it 4 times in an effort to comprehend your message - I'm not calling you back. Realistically, what do you expect me to do? "Hi, this is Becky calling from the College. Someone with an inscrutable name from this number - I think it was this number, but I'm not sure, because that was kind of jumbled too - left me a voice mail, so I'm just going to talk to you, whoever you are that picks up the phone." No, I don't think so. With any luck, I'll get your 12 year old little sister who wants to tell me about her Barbie Playtime Palace. You have now wasted 3 minutes of my day that could have been productive. In fact, you wasted 10, because you aggravated me so much that I had to take approximately 7 minutes to blog about it. That is all.

Sincerely,
Your Devoted Registrar

They Have Pink Martinis On Them!

Full Disclosure: Sometimes in the winter, I like to sit in my office in my bare socks for as long as I can get away with it in the morning instead of putting on my big girl shoes. It's not like anyone sees me in my little hole. Or cares.

It's A Jungle Out There...

A cautionary tale of the pitfalls of online dating below...

Don't believe your mother - even Jewish guys can be creepy!

Warning: Don't Try This At Home!

Do you suppose it says something about the society we live in when, a commercial showing a woman steam rolling over her old washing machine so she can buy a shiny new one, has to include a disclaimer at the bottom of the screen that states, "do not attempt"? Seriously - what? I guess it speaks to the same litigious obsession of Americans that forced McDonald's to put a disclaimer on their coffee that says, "caution: this beverage is extremely hot"... but still. This, to me, seems even MORE ridiculous. I mean... where am I even going to GET a giant slingshot machine or bulldozer to destroy my old washer, and even if I could... that girl in the commercial looks way hotter than I would doing it, anyway. I'd be grunting and sweating, and she's standing around filing her nails in a designer red dress. Plus, I don't even have enough quarters (at a buck 25 a load!) to do coin-operated laundry this weekend - I can't afford your fucking washing machine anyway. Don't you know we're heading into a recession, LG? How dare you! I'm gonna go back to selling my kidney on Ebay to afford my rent next month...

You Mean Vegetables Don't Always Come Out of a Can?

I'm on a new health and fitness kick. I'm bound and determined to get myself back in shape, feeling good and looking at least ALMOST as non-repulsive as I'd like to in a bikini by the time the weather warms up. In the past 6 months, I've been eating more organic foods, paying more attention to things like vitamins, whole grains, fiber and all that stuff... and I've managed to stumble on a few resources to help me out. While I can't credit all of this motivation purely to my own higher level of consciousness, I've found that knowing and sharing is half the battle. If you have even a passing interest in any of this information, here are a few links that I've found particularly helpful in my new resolve:

The Daily Plate - Here you can basically keep your own food and exercise journal online, see where you're going and where you've been.

Eat Better America - Lots of recipes, fitness, health and diet information.

Grist - Environmental news, humor, resources and information. You can discover how to live, eat and even vote more Green.

Cranky Fitness - A Blogger with a refreshingly sarcastic approach.

Whether you look at this an laugh or take a peek... at least I'm doing my part to pass on the good mojo. May it inspire you as well if you happen to be looking for inspiration.

Have Your Cake... And Sweat It Out Too!

Birthday Observation: It takes a lot longer to burn off cake and ice cream than it does to eat it.

Dear John

Dear Grossly Under-Qualified Transfer Student,

I understand that you're confused - transferring to the particular institution that I work for is a complicated process. Transferring to any institution is usually a bit of a process. I'm doing my best to change that, and one day when I rule the world, it will be easy as pie. Today, however, is not that day. I also understand that your confusion isn't entirely my fault. According to the essays, transcripts, grade reports, and letters that make up your application packet, you're a bit of a moron. If I were in charge, you most likely wouldn't have been accepted to the rigorous program you've chosen, let alone a 4-year college of any kind... but the institution I work for is tuition-driven, and sometimes that's reflected in the caliber of student we continue to bring in the week before classes start. It's also reflected in the quality of student that decides to apply the week before classes start. In my experience, the future neurosurgeons aren't the ones applying on January 8th when classes start the 12th. Because of all of these things, I'm begging you to stop asking me the same questions over and over again. I can explain procedures, policies and requirements until I'm blue in the face... you simply lack the brain capacity to comprehend the content of the response. It would really save both of us quite a bit of time and frustration if you just... stopped talking.

Thank You,
The Blogger

Black Hole Sun

In my city, there's a bar. It's a bar that any and all of the local regulars know well - so well, in fact, that it has at least half a dozen nicknames, so recognizable that a passing stranger on the sidewalk would know where you were headed if you happened to mention any of them. Everyone you meet, either native or transplanted to this city, knows this particular watering hole, and everyone has a story to go along with it. These stories usually involve some degree of nudity, projectile vomit, sexual indiscretion, extreme overindulgence, minor or major physical damage, complete blackout, or a volatile combination of the above. A local musician actually made headlines not long ago after being hit by a car crossing the street in front of this magical mystery land, thankfully "only" breaking a leg (you'd think at this point, motorists would avoid driving anywhere nearby Thursday through Sunday). Because of this startling similarity among patrons, I've come to think of it not as a bar, but as The Black Hole of afterhour activities. I now almost exclusively refer to it as The Black Hole.

I'm guessing every city, town, and oasis has just such a place. What makes this particular bar, unlike dozens and dozens of others, the one with the reputation? What is it about this place that makes it such a powder keg of sin? Is it the location? The lighting? The pool table and dartboard? The back alley, perfect for sneaking a drag on a cigarette, hidden from the eyes of a disapproving lover, brother, or friend? Do the surly bartenders, crappy jukebox, or never ending supply of popcorn make a difference? Is it just dark enough, just loud enough, just warm enough that the urge to misbehave or cross the line flows without hesitance? Or is it just that it's a tantalizing short cab ride and no-cover charge away from oblivion?

Summer Would Be Boring If It Were All Year Round...

My last blog was about 7 months ago. There's really no excuse for this. I guess it's a normal part of the human process... different periods of our lives require different means of analysis. I've always used the written word as a way of disseminating and dissecting the pieces of my life, in an effort to understand and reassemble them in a manner that makes more sense. But I think, maybe, every once in a while... it's okay to take some time off from self-examination. Sometimes you need to stop thinking about living your life and just live it. I've made mistakes and changes. I've made new friends, lost touch with old ones, taught myself how to cook (a little bit) and tried new things. Not all of this has been successful, not all of my choices were the right ones... but they were mine.

Life is a journey, and there's a long path to be hiked. We can't realistically expect ourselves to never change, never grow, never evolve. As people, we tend to view change as a negative thing - change is bad. But the truth is, change is... change. And change is scary, because it involves the unknown. But without change, there would be no growth, no evolution, no Darwinism. Often, change enriches our lives instead of detracting from them. The trick is taking the time to let the cards fall and figure out which direction it's got us heading towards.

Arbor Day Is Safe

Dear Friends,

It has become increasingly clear to me lately that we need to have a little discussion about religious holidays and proper celebratory etiquette. The majority of you are aware by now that I like to classify myself as a "non-practicing Jew". This means that I was raised in a Jewish household, have a Jewish heritage, have been forced to participate in Sunday School and Hebrew School, and have even been Bat-Mitzvah-ed. In terms of my personal religious beliefs, however, I'm more of a "practicing Agnostic" (if one could say that Agnostics actually "practice" anything other than the act of ambivalence).

I don't necessarily buy the whole concept of religion as a whole in ANY form. This, however, does NOT mean I am Christian. Non-practicing Jew does NOT equal "Christian by default". Just because I don't buy into my own religion doesn't mean I want your New Testament. If I did, you'd know it. Christmas for me is like celebrating John Lennon's birthday - a kind of famous guy was born, cool... but it has no application or personal significance to me. Wishing me a Happy Easter is the equivalent of extending your best wishes on the day Kurt Cobain died. A kind-of tortured pop culture icon died, but I was never that into Nirvana anyway so I don't really care. Such is my personal interpretation of Jesus.

Do you know what I do on these holidays? I rent movies and hang out with my cat, or maybe call Mom and joke about how we get the day off to do nothing, but at least we don't have to get stuck in traffic. I find it really, really ignorant when my Christian friends wish me a Merry Christmas or Happy Easter. I don't go around screaming "Mozel Tov!" at you guys on Yom Kippur or Rosh Hashonnah - do you even know what Purim IS? I keep it to myself, aware that you may not be actively observing MY holidays (or non-holidays, since I don't really observe them either). So I'd appreciate it if you keep your religious holidays to yourselves. I don't begrudge you your celebrations, nor do I run commentary on what I think of them... but I find it extremely small minded for those of you who know me well to assume that I spend your holidays reflecting on a religious custom I don't believe in. Just because I joke that I'm a "Bad Jew" doesn't mean I'm automatically Catholic or Protestant, Baptist or Methodist, defaulting to a religion I find even harder to swallow than the one I was environmentally conditioned to believe in.

I get that strangers automatically assume that everyone around them engages in similar holiday reflection, so most of the time I disregard the "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Easter!" from a grocery store cashier, pharmacist, or toll collector as an endearment of the season. But if you're someone who knows me well, or even ATTENDED my Bat Mitzvah... please spare me. Show just a little bit of sensitivity? How about you consider that my Easter present?

Glory Is...

"A lot of people run a race to see who's fastest. I run to see who has the most guts." --Steve Prefontaine

Days 'til the Delmar Dash: 6
Day's 'til the Mule Haul : 83
Days 'til the Boilermaker: 104