The New England Society for Tea Fetishism

I have to write a short blog and tell you all about the clubs I'm in. One is the GSA. The membership is something like TEA's at the end of the semester. Not a lot of people, but they all seem enthusiastic. I also go to this one club called P.A.G.A.N.S. with my suitmate, Tracy. I have no idea if it actually stands for anything. It's a club for people who are interested in less conventional religions/systems of belief/ways of looking at the world. I went because I wanted to meet some new people. One of the girls who runs it is named Cassie. She looks like........oh shit, total brain freeze. Last name gone, first name....Crazy Katy who used to run TEA and had sexcapades with President Lizz. Cronin. Yes!! I rule! Anyway, she looks like Katy Cronin if Katy gained about 30 pounds and had very curly brown hair. And she's kinda nuts. But straight. Just thought you guys would find that amusing.

The workshop went very well. Most people actually enjoyed what I wrote. Mr, Earnest, Hemmingway, or Assface, as I like to call him now, gave his spiel about wanting more description, but no one else seemed to have that problem. Professor Blaise did raise the valid point that it's really not a story, more like a fictional memoir or something, but I'll get more of his opinion on Wednesday when I have a personal conference with him (eeep). I think that Assface may have shared his views on my story with my neighbor, Randy, before class. Randy's written comment on my story went something like, "You have a style of description that is all your own. It's good to be original." I appreciated that.

In response to Amy's question, Sarah is good. I'm enjoying life here, and I'm getting to know two of my suitmates. One is named Tracy and she's very quiet. Nikki is older, a little louder, and more outgoing than the both of us. I think we'll be good friends.
That boy I was complaining about a few posts ago, the one who wants to be Hemmingway, well, he's in my Literature of the American South class, too. Last night I went to class about ten minutes early. He was there, and proceeded to tell me all the things he didn't like about my story, or things that would be good if only they were different. For five minutes, I just stared at him and nodded my head. The thing is, a lot of what he said was relevant, and he mentioned a lot of things that I need to work on. But then he said something like, "You know that What Would Jesus Do thing? Well I always think What Would Hemmingway Do," and that just gave me another reason not to like him. So now I am preparing myself for tomorrow night's criticism of my story, all of which I will inevitably take personally, and I will slink away into the shadows, never to write again. I should have submitted the scifi story.

I'm not quite sure, but I think Radiohead's "A Wolf at the Door" might be my new favorite song of all time.

I'm one of three people being workshopped on Wednesday. It's me, an older woman, and a young guy. After reading his story, I can honestly say that I am a much better writer than the guy. I can also honestly say that I feel bad for him because his story is going to be torn apart. But he's not in the MFA program, so he has nothing to prove, unlike me, which is why I'm all excited about writing better than an undergrad.

Amy sent me oatmeal! How cool is that? And I also got oatmeal raisin cookies and little brownie cup-cakes. I will be well fed. I loves me some Amy. Oh, my friends, how I miss you all.
Work has picked up. I actually have things to do. And I have access to all kinds of personal records that I take more than a passing glance at when I'm handling them. But I'll keep that stuff to myself.
Last night in Short Story we workshopped two stories. One guy has no idea how to use punctuation. We're talking excessive use of comma, like six commas per sentence connecting ideas and actions that aren't related. He expected the reader to get things out of the story that were impossible. For instance, a character smells his girlfriend's perfume and starts to cry. From that we are supposed to get that it is the same perfume his possibly dead wife used to wear and he bought it for the girlfriend out of habit. When he finally got a chance to explain himself he was all "Hemmingway" this, and "Hills Like White Elephants" that, and anti-climaxes all around. I was thinking "Don't even pretend that you're pretending to be Hemmingway." "Hills Like White Elephants" is one of the reasons I'm a writer. He did have some amazing descriptions of the landscape, though.
I am terrified of my workshop, which is coming up next Wednesday. The professor and the students aren't mean, but they are highly critical and tend to pass over the whole "I really liked how you ___" part and head straight for "You know that part where you wrote words? What were you thinking?" Seriously, I have butterflies right now thinking about it.
But onto my next story. I've decided to take the advice of Anne Lamott. Subtlety is for wimps. If you want to show your heart you have to risk being sentimental. And I will write shitty first drafts.

There are all these tall beautiful boys with nifty accents that keep walking into my office and I want to ask them "Sveden, yah?"

I am the Cranium Champion. Oh, and Randy is, too. Nicky, my RA suitmate, invited me to play Cranium with two of her friends, another RA and the director of student activities. We then asked our neighbors Marshall and Randy if they would like to join us. Marshall was all gung-ho, but we had to call Randy several times and demean him to make him submit to our will. He ended up being my partner. And so it was that at 11:45 pm I successfully interpreted Randy's charade of "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," and won the game. It was great to socialize, too. I miss having all my friends around. It takes such an effort to get to know people.

I had my first day of work today. I think I'm going to be doing a lot of filing and sorting and generally helping clueless people who are only slightly less clueless than I am. For a little while at least. I'm in academic advising, by the way. But really, really good news. I thought that this assistantship would pay for 12 credits total, so out of the 36 credit program I have to complete, I would only be paying for 24 credits. As it turns out, that's 12 credits per semester, so all I'm paying for is room and board. Which means that my current 20,000 dollar per year loan is going to be reduced to more like 9,000 per year. Hooray!
And hooray for boys! For nice, intelligent boys who like to write, and who speak to you like you are a person and not a piece of ass. I found out yesterday that I am one of only about ten grad students living on campus. Two of the girls I'm living with and the two boys next door make up half. And we're the only ones living on the top floor of Montauk 200.
I did have one stupid boy moment yesterday. I was wearing the Hood Football shirt and when I passed by this kid and two girls he said "You went to school in the 'hood?" And I said "No, dumbass," in my head. Out loud, I said, "I went to Hood College. It's in Maryland." I'm sure more moments like that are to follow.

You wanna know a weird similarity between Hood and Southampton? For the past two afternoons I've heard someone playing the bagpipes outside while I stood in the bathroom washing my dishes.
I've decided to change the name of the blog because, well, change is good.

Well, Mr. Blaise appears to be a very laid-back, intelligent, personable kind of guy. I expect to learn a lot of good things from him. The class should be interesting, considering the ranges of age and experience in the class. We introduced ourselves and talked about our favorite authors. I thnk some people were trying to impress the professor. I can't imagine that both Faulkner and Joyce are someone's favorite authors, but they do kind of go together, if that really is what he likes. I ratttled off a bunch of SF short fiction writers and got a blank stare, but whatever.
Today I'm going to see Amanda Mills, head of Graduate Admissions so I can fill out some paperwork for my assistantship. Then I should be free to make my schedule.
Oh, yeah. I ate ramen for lunch the other day. I knew it would come to this. Damn 8 meal plan.

You know what I learned last night? Most writers don't go to grad school right after they get their BA. Like, they have families first, or they follow migrant fruit-pickers up the coast of California for a newspaper, or they help their buddy run a trucking company, or they teach English or Kindergarten, or they rent a cabin in the Adirondacks to write the great American novel but end up having a nervous breakdown and not writing for three years, or they become musicians for twenty years but realize that all they ever wanted to do was write. Judging from the introductions last night, I think I'm the youngest one in the class by at least a year. I have no idea what this will mean for me. But at least I'm distinctive. Short Story with Clark Blaise is tonight. I hear that he's a fun guy.
Oh, and I got the assistantship in Academic Services. I should probably go call them and see if they want me to stop by today.

Well, here I am in the Galley, hearing the sounds of MTV and smelling the smells of deep-fried grease. It's kind of like the Blazer, only with more food and there are eight computers with internet access for everyone to use. I have to tell you, so far, this place is great. They have Burt's Bees products in the bookstore, organic veggies on the salad bar, and the food is not that bad. Living in a suite is very nice. And I can see the ocean!! It's beeeyoutiful. And we have two windmills on campus--one is very old and looks like it should have dancing people in wooden shoes and beds of tulips all around it. The other is a modern one used to make electricity. We have an actual recycling program. And Target is opening up in Riverhead on October 12th. Overall, I am pleased. Now if I could only find a way to make all of these undergrads disappear....
The only thing I can complain about are the toiletries in my bathroom. The toilet paper is way too thin. I pull about fifty feet off every time but when I wad it up I end up with something resembling an anemic cotton ball. The paper towels are in one of those dispensers where you have to grab with both hands and pull down, and is the color and texture of birch bark. I am also not too thrilled about the antibacterial handsoap. But these are small complaints.
Oh, I had my first class last night. I went to Chancellor's Hall, room number 234. I thought I was early, but the class was already full and the professor was talking. Thoroughly pissed at myself, I slipped in and sat down, only to find out I was in the right room but the wrong class. They had been kicked out of 102 and told to come up to 234. My class, Lit of the American South (which, by the way, includes only two of the four authors mentioned in the course description) was moved to down to 102. But I wasn't late for that. Stressful night. But, as I told Tracy, it can only get better from there.

How many of you have Hood blankets handy? Look at Coblentz. Why are there bushes going up the stairs where a railing should be?
Well, I'm off to literature of the American South. Have a lovely evening.

Hey kids
Well, Southampton College is quite nice. I have a double room for a single, so double the everything, although I don't have king-size sheets, so one bed is a couch. And the closets don't have doors. It's just like a culvert in the wall with a long pole and two dressers on either side. I guess it's so the kids can't hide booze in there. I share a suite with an RA, so I expect little to no shennanigans. However, we are right next to a boy's suite, and I share a wall with one of their rooms. This morning at 3:30 I was treated to the sounds of growling and screaming. They were watching some kind of horror movie I think. Oh, and I though one of my suitemates was listening to some truly awful elevator jazz, but it turns out my clock radio is channeling the spirit of Coltrane's less talented brother. It's so soft I have to put my ear up against the speaker to hear it, but it won't go away. I can hear it on the phone, too, when someone calls me. There's something I have to do with some kind of long-distance code and I think it will go away. But it's damn annoying. I had to move my alarm clock to the other side of my room.
But, life will be good. I have three classes, one each on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and they don't start until 6pm. If I get this grad assistantship I think they're going to work me to death. I broke down and bought Ramen today. I get one meal a day, and even though it's Sodexho, it's not bad. It's self-serve, three entrees, a couple sides, deli bar, salad bar, and desert. It's fewer choices, but I think that since they make less food than Hood they can make it better.
I love you guys.

So, ladies and, well...ladies, tomorrow I head off to Southampton College, where I hope I am registered for classes. That's a story for another time. Wish me luck.

If anyone wants to see what my lurvely school looks like, you can go to www.southampton.liu.edu, click on About Southampton College and check out Directions/Maps. I'll be living in the Montauk Complex. If you check out the "zoom" function you can see what happens when admissions personnel have too much time on their hands.
Further exploration of the website shows that they have an Allies group and a group called CampusSTORM, or Students Telling Others about the Risen Messiah. I wonder how those two clubs get along.

So, the Comedy Connection? Fire hazard. We were packed in like the Japanese on a subway. Okay, maybe not that bad, but if there were a pyrotechnic mishap, we would have been jumping out of windows. Still, what a great show! The host sucked monkey butt, but the opening guy, Gary Gulman, was very good. He's about 6'6" and Jewish, "What a large Jew, you must be thinking." I watch comics on Comedy Central so much that I forgot how hilarious a strategically placed F-bomb can be. Live comedy is so enlightening. When a group of guys with baseball caps walked in late he said "Let's give it up for the Saugus Little League." Very Boston apropos. Dane Cook is a little shorter and much hotter in person. He's so tight. Nice ass. Very funny. My kind of guy. Anyway, the stage was pretty small and we were sitting on stage right, so he was mostly in profile. But he did move around alot. Since the stage was tiny he didn't do too many physical jokes, which was kind of sad because I was hoping he'd run around screaming and rip his shirt off, like he did in both his tv specials. No luck. He was still terribly funny fully clothed. All new material to me except for one routine about bathroom stalls. And, as all the great comics do, he closed with a penis joke. It was a great night had by all.