In college I loved going through the course catalogue before each semester started and reading all the different course descriptions. So many classes sounded interesting when reduced to four or five sentences. However, I was often seduced into taking classes that turned out to be less than I'd imagined: "Aristotle," "Mind, Brain & Behavior," and (most notoriously amongst my friends) "The History of the English Language."

Looking back on it now, I think maybe it was the image I had in my mind of the type of person who would take those particular classes that made me sign up for them. I liked the person I imagined I would become if I knew more about, say, the "Philosophy of Literary Criticism."

I'm not sure that's a good way to make decisions, but sometimes I wonder if that tendency is still with me in the books I choose to read; several of my fellow bookclub members were none too pleased to read Sentimental Education, for instance. I guess the question is whether or not Flaubert adds anything to my life, or if I just want to be someone who can say he's read Flaubert even if he doesn't remember anything about it. I'm not sure I really know the answer to that, to be honest.

I really do honestly try to feed my curiosity. Drew's a great partner in that. We're always asking each other questions, several of which end up in the sidebar "Why Don't I Know This?" to the right of this entry. I keep that list up because those are all questions I have genuine interest in. I tell myself I'll take down a question when I feel comfortable that I know the answer. I still have to click on nearly all of them.

I'm not as concerned with appearing smart as I was in college. (At least I tell myself that, because my life loses meaning if I don't convince myself there's some type of evolution happening on a yearly basis.) I don't think it's dishonest for me to say that I read books because I love to read and not because I want to blog about how I love to read so you'll think I'm smart and interesting.

I do talk about what I'm reading on this blog so that I won't take three weeks to finish a book, though. But I don't think I'm doing it because I like the image I think I'm creating of myself in your mind. I do it for myself. And maybe that's what I was doing in college and I'm just being too hard on myself. Maybe reading Herzog was no different than "History of the English Language": a well-intentioned mistake. I do know that even if my reading taste is pretentious and I may justifiably be accused of being a literary dilettante, Swann's Way was a fantastic read and I'll never regret it.

 

 

Blogging is only exciting to me when I write something that helps me crystallize some feeling or bring some order to the (seemingly) random series of thoughts that are subconsciously informing how I make daily decisions. It's a way of clarifying my thinking while also giving a snapshot of what I'm struggling with on any given day.

I don't like blog entries like the one I wrote last night, in which I take some meaningful moment and try to recreate it because it seems like it's worthy of a blog entry. It's just boring and it sounds pat and stale.

 

I said good-bye to Nicholas today.

I started the day knowing that it would be a blog-worthy event, but then I went about trying to make it as normal for him as possible. Just a regular day of hanging out. That's what he needs. Not some big cathartic, emotional blowout.

We went to Drew's parents' house and swam in their pool, hung out in their jacuzzi and played billiards. He helped Drew wash his car (for which he was paid $9). He was adorable. He was whiney. It was just like every other day I've spent with him.

I've been accused of mentoring Nicholas for personal gain (it did look good on applications, after all), but that's not why I did it. I really like the kid. He's very shy, but sometimes when we're together you can feel him expanding. Suddenly he's full of himself, bragging, puffed-up, arrogant. And then he'll throw you a look that asks "Is it okay that I just said that?" It's charming, and I feel like I give him the space and the attention to act that way. At home he's one of five kids. With me he's center-stage.

The ending was tough because I didn't really know what to say. I wanted to tell him that he could call me any time, that I'd see him again soon. But I needed to be honest. I'll be really busy in Philadelphia; regular phone calls will be near impossible. I probably won't be seeing him again any time soon. So instead of making too many promises, I gave him my new address. I told him to write me and promised I'd write him back and give him my phone number (I don't have my Philly number yet). I figure that way he'll feel like I'm still a constant in his life, but he won't feel like I've let him down if I don't call him twice a month.

I always want to offer him guidance. I've gotten better about that. You can't talk to an eleven year-old that way. They're not equipped to hear explicit advice about how they should deal with life. Today at one point I told him, "You're a good kid. Do you know that?"

"Yeah." He smiled. "My mom says I'm greedy, though."

"All kids are greedy. It's okay."

"My mom says I'm really greedy. She doesn't like it."

"Well if you were my kid I probably wouldn't like it, either."

"Why not?"

"Well, because you're as greedy as all kids. And I don't like greedy people. But it's all right. You're a kid. It's normal."

"But if I lived with you I wouldn't be greedy because there wouldn't be so many other people around."

"Is that why you're greedy? Because you have so many siblings?"

"Yeah."

I tried to tell him that he would be greedy no matter where he grew up. That that's how all kids are. But that was too much for him. He was pretty sure that if he had more money and fewer annoying sisters everything would be perfect.

For me, that conversation gave me yet another little window into his world. For him all I hope he takes away from it is "You're a good kid."

 

I'm in a bit of a panic. I have a little more than one week left to sell this car. If I can't unload it before Drew and I leave for Philadelphia, I don't know what I'm going to do.

My mom helped me buy it in the summer of 1999, just a few weeks after my college graduation. The deal was that she would make the down payment and handle the taxes and the first few car payments. Then the payments and the insurance would become my responsibility.

Looking back on it now, I wonder if this car was a mistake. Perhaps I should have bought a reliable used car. For the next five years I was saddled with monthly payments of $292 + insurance, which yoked me to some jobs I wouldn't have taken (or kept) if I had had more financial freedom.

So the Saturn has now become a symbol of my youthful sense of entitlement. Hopefully there's a college grad out there who's a bit more pragmatic and wants to buy a car for about $17,000 less than what I paid eight years ago. If not I'm really screwed.

 

 

A couple days ago while going through some old college papers I found a very old edition of my friend Katie's resume. She had created it around the time of our college graduation. Wanting to steer herself away from the food industry jobs of her past and show off her smarts to potential employers, she listed major projects she had worked on while in school. Looking at it this week, I thought to myself how different our experiences of college were.

Katie had a very clear point of view while we were in school. I feel like she came to freshman year knowing who she was, extremely confident in herself, and while she was open to new ideas she looked at all her classwork from a very specific perspective. I was not like that. When I look at my college files (a hanging file for each course I took) I see how much I was groping in college. Neuropsychology, the History of the English Language, The History of China to 1900, the History of China 1900-present, Silent Screen Film -- I'm all over the place. When I look at papers, particularly from freshman year, it was obvious I had no idea what I was doing, what I was thinking, or why I was even in the class.

It's not that this is necessarily new information to me; I've always known that I had a very different experience of college than Katie. I'm also not necessarily regretful of the classes I took or the way I studied. I did the best I could at the time. I was groping for something Katie had already found. And because of that, I couldn't really believe in myself. I wanted to, I thought very highly of myself, but that's not quite the same thing. If you're in a tough, competitive academic environment you'd better know what you want and work hard to get it. It requires some real chutzpah. I had very little.

I have it now. I have a pretty strong commitment in my mind to what I like and don't like about the healthcare industry. I'm trying to stay open to finding the right career path, the right specialty (if I specialize), but I have criteria for myself that are immutable, undeniable, and I will not be swayed from them.

In college I thought about what was happening that day or that week. Now I'm focusing on what will happen to me in four years, seven years, fifteen years. And I think if I focus on my post-graduation resume, what accomplishments I want to see there and where I want it to take me, I'll be in good shape.

 

Click here.

 

I had a nightmare last night. It was the first day of med school. I was in a big auditorium with hundreds of kids, including two high school friends (neither of whom are med students and one of whom I haven't talked to in twelve years).

We were supposed to bake chocolate chip cookies. Everyone seemed to accept this as a normal first-day-of-medical-school activity. Even worse, they all had their ingredients already! I had nothing. I had no desire to bake cookies, either. I thought it was silly and was confident in my refusal to join in.

Then, as people started getting stressed about finishing their baking in time, I started to worry. Would I get kicked out for not doing this assignment? I tried to stay calm, but then suddenly a bunch of students started doing some kind of acrobatic routine in the front of the class. They stacked themselves into human pyramids, but their movements were too frantic. They weren't in control. Bodies started falling, bones cracking on the floor.

Surely "Structural Anatomy" can't be worse than that. Right?

 

Camping was a disaster on several levels, not the least of which was Drew's health. He got a nasty cold he can't shake. Pretty piss-poor timing, considering we're leaving town in 14 days.

I personally feel unmotivated to do much of anything except compile long list of things I need to be doing.

From an article in today's NYT:

"In the last two years, the staff of the consumer product commission has been cut by more than 10 percent, leaving fewer regulators to monitor the safety of the growing flood of imports.

Some consumer advocates say that such staff cuts under the Bush administration have made the commission a lax regulator. The commission, for example, acknowledged in a recent budget document that 'because of resource limitations,' it was planning next year to curtail its efforts aimed at preventing children from drowning in swimming pools and bathtubs."

Sweet.

 

We're leaving for our annual camping trip with Chris and John this morning. Five days in the Eastern Sierra Nevada. I don't know where that is. We put our trust in John to plan the "where" part of it. I'm hoping for five days of hiking, reading, eating, drinking, and playing with our dog.

 

"Wisconsin is contemplating legislation to cover all of its children by 2010 by expanding programs to those living with family incomes up to 300 percent of the federal poverty level by January 2009 and discounted insurance to those with higher incomes.

In Oregon, where legislators are furiously working to wind down the session, lawmakers are deliberating a $60 million increase to a program insuring children via a 84.5 cents-per-pack cigarette tax increase.

'The biggest agenda piece right now is to insure all kids in Oregon,' said Russ Kelley, the spokesman for Oregon’s House speaker, Jeff Merkley."

-- from an article about the unexpected budget surpluses in several states and how that money may be used.

 

I told a girl to get lost last night. I actually said the words "Get lost" to her face. She had cut in line between me and Drew at a bar. Lines were long Saturday night because it was Gay Pride weekend in L.A. and we had spent at least twenty minutes waiting with our friends to get into this place. She begged us to let her cut and when we said no she had the nerve to push herself and about four friends in anyway. Then she apologized, which I found irritating. Which is when I told her to get lost.

Tonight Jana took me to see Porter Wagoner in concert. He was so gracious and sweet with the crowd, who adored him, and his music was so full of hard-won wisdom. We loved it. The lady across from us, however, was more concerned about the substandard table service she was getting from our waitress. She complained to her husband, she complained to us, she complained to the waitress. She was totally in the right; the food was taking 1hr+. But she fucked herself out of a really great concert.

I don't want to be like her. I don't want to let some silly, rude girl distract me from enjoying a night out with my friends. I want to choose not to be crabby. There are so many things to be annoyed with in life. I understand that it's inevitable. I guess I'm writing this to remind myself not to overindulge in the whining and complaining. Especially during these next six weeks, which will be full to the brim with stressful situations.

As a postscript... the girl I told to "get lost" didn't much appreciate the suggestion. Chris claims she vowed to "scratch" me. I know she said something about how she never forgets a face and she's going to have her boyfriend kick my ass. I kind of liked the scratch threat. That was a new one. Do people really do that? Is scratching something people threaten to do to each other in real life or is this girl just drunk and crazy?

 

This list comes recommended by a friend.

I haven't heard of any of those books, which is kind of exciting. Just thought I'd share.

 

Success.

 

We're off to Philadelphia this week to look for an apartment. The original plan was that we would move into a furnished month-to-month in mid-July (which we had planned to find online) and just have the movers put our stuff into storage until we found the perfect apartment. But the idea of moving twice was eventually so repulsive to us that we opted for the riskier plan of an apartment-hunting trip. Our goal? To find an apartment....

... with two bedrooms
... ideally located in Washington Square
... with a yard (hah!)
... with great light from many large windows
... that allows dogs.

So it should be an interesting week.