This is what happens when the monkeys in my head get tired of sitting at their typewriters, and start throwing poop at each other instead.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
My major and academic experience thus far is a joke
I miss the hard sciences. I always liked math and science, and I was fairly good at them. But it's been three years since I've done a calculus problem, and longer than that since I did anything science-related at all. I thought I had the right idea. We were all told in high school that no one knew the English language anymore -- that writing had become a lost art. Here I was thinking I was doing the right thing, getting involved in the humanities. And now, I'm here lost in a crowd of soulless dumbass humanities students, discussing god-knows-what with the end product being a whole shitload of nothing.
At the end of the day, that's what bothers me most. Someone who's a math major can have a sheaf of papers with completed problems or proofs. Someone who's a chemistry major can have a lab report, based on a real experiment where you actually were personally involved in carrying it out. What do I get? A bunch of brackets and underlining in some book about the internal politics surrounding Harry Truman's budget battles? A whole lot of nothing. Not only that, but then I have to participate in a discussion of that whole lot of nothing, and listen to idiots try to make something... out of nothing.
I like to think of humanities being on a plane -- there's in infinite number of things you can read/write/think about, and indeed a lot of it is interesting. But what you read in PSC 003 (Intro to International Politics) is just as comprehensible as something I'm reading now in my Honors ESIA Senior Seminar -- it's on the same plane. By building up a "background" in whatever topic, you're really just focusing your energy on one part of the same plane -- often unnecessarily.
With math and science, I feel like it's linear learning. You learn something, you progress down a structured path, getting to things that are more complicated while still being forced to know all the basic stuff. You can't understand Taylor or Mclauren series without understanding basic concepts of algebra. Conversely, I can forget everything I learned in PSC 003 and still be able to pull out an A in my senior seminar.
This is, I feel, the essence of why I am so upset. I could completely disregard every course I took freshman and sophomore year. I had plenty of good courses (my proseminars with O'Gara and Winstead come to mind). And even with those courses, they were philosophy, which is totally useful in underpinning an argument. But mostly, I don't have to remember a damned thing about what I learned in my early classes. So why the hell was I here? Why did I waste my time?
Furthermore, now everyone is part of my major. Where I thought, in high school, that getting into humanities was something that our society needed, now I'm adrift in a sea of oblivious humanities students who can all talk better than I can, and will therefore get all the jobs for which I would even be able to apply. Not only that, but we as a country are brimming with these touchy-feely assholes, and now we're in dire need of people who actually know how to build infrastructure, develop new technology, and keep the scientific revolution rolling. I feel like humanities programs just cultivate people who can just bullshit their way around whatever screening process is in place. No real knowledge is required. And no real product results. I have the real knowledge, but I'm not very good at convincing people that I do. And in humanities, that's all that matters -- being able to convince people of things.
And now it's too late. It's taken me three years to realize that I miss math! And I miss science! I miss structure, and rules... theorems, axioms, processes. I'm sick of bullshitting. I'm sick of talking. I'm sick of reading. And I'm horrified that when I get out into the real world, knowledge of the collegial model of presidency, the 1953 Berlin Uprising, or the three levels of analysis will be nothing more than parlor tricks... things I can say to appear smart in front of others. It has no real application.
In the end, it doesn't matter. Because in May, I'll get my degree for my two majors, and everyone will be happy for me. But I'll be wishing the entire time that I stuck with real academics instead of whatever I'm wading through now...
Kate: haha, don't call me a clown, you clod Dave: You ARE a clown. Dave: For playing beer pong like a frat boy Kate: what?!? i am NOT a boy!! Kate: I'm going to type like you now. Kate: I am Dave. I like frisbee. I also like Russia and Russian vodka. Dave: omg i am kate i like country music and w.e. does neone else like country music because zomgz i luv it lol Kate: HAHAHAHA! Kate: YOU KILL ME Dave: lolz Kate: HAHAHAHA Kate: dave, dana wants to meet you Dave: Who is Dana? Dave: And why does she want to meet me? Kate: you dumbass, she's my roommate Kate: bc i told her that you ar super fun and cute Dave: Fun maybe Kate: oh who are you kidding, you're super cute Dave: You go to poindexter school though. Of course I'd be a hot item.
I'm sure that many of you out there have heard me rant about how "beer pong sucks," or "beer pong is so pedestrian," or whatever. I actually do have a reasoning behind this that I've explained a few times, but elucidating my position can't be a bad thing.
First off, it has very little to do with the fact that it is BEER pong and I have, numerous times, professed my hatred for the nectar of the nitwit. In fact, what I actually hate is MOST beer, as I have tasted beer before that is tolerable. Example, whatever EHers was drinking at the Big Hunt on Tim's pseudo-birthday, and also some beers at the Brickskeller. Unless you're playing beer pong with beer that actually costs something, I will want no part of it -- this is true.
Secondly, people say you can't knock it until you try it. Besides this argument being fallacious to begin with (don't knock heroin before you try it, don't knock slamming your hand in a car door before you try it, don't knock getting a lobotomy before you try it, don't knock hooking up with fat chicks before you try it...) -- despite this argument being fallacious to begin with, I have tried it. So put that in the Rook's fife and smoke it.
Thirdly, given the off-campus venues this year, the very idea of having a party and including beer pong is laughable. If we were a school like Indiana or UConn, where off-campus places have yards, or are in large houses, beer pong would be a perfectly good addition to a party. I might not join, but people who do like it could at least partake. At GW, parties are held in apartment buildings, or townhouses. Apartment buildings + beer pong = solid meatmass of sweaty partygoers and a horrible, horrible waste of space because of the pong table. Enough people come to parties in apartment buildings anyways, don't make it miserable for everyone else, just so that maybe a dozen people can cycle through playing beer pong.
Similarly, townhouses are skinny -- that's the whole point of building townhouses -- everyone gets a front facing the street, but the houses go back way far so that you actually have enough room to live. Putting a beer pong table in a townhouse where, at its maximum, the walls are nine feet apart IS A BAD IDEA.
Fourthly, the essence of partying is getting together with friends. Beer pong detracts from this, as inevitably, people are drawn to a game and they just watch. The only thing I can think of that is actually more boring to watch than beer pong is golf. And the worst part is that people will just sit there and gawk at other people playing a dumbass drinking game for a good part of the night. Beer pong detracts from the social ambience much more than it adds, in that people become more concerned with a stupid game than what is essentially important: seeing friends and growing closer.
Fifthly, it's really, really disgusting. You really think that water cup cleans off the ball? If god forbid, I'm playing some kind of pong, and the ball rolls into a corner and comes out with hairs and lint stuck to it - END OF GAME. There is no way that anything that ball has touched is ever going in my mouth (wow, that didn't sound overly sexual...).
So be judicious about beer pong. Trying to have a big party in an apartment building while simultaneously having an assload of people over? Just dumb. People will get a lot more out of the whole experience, and on the whole be less sweaty and physically uncomfortable, if you just let the party flow and sit around and talk with good friends. Even beyond that, dance party! I don't dance, but if I did, I would not want to have to boogie my way around a table (if anyone can even imagine me boogying). Again, just be smart about it. And it's still pedestrian just because it's fucking beer pong...
Once people arrive, it's time for the first shots of the evening. I single out, for some reason, the Myers' spiced rum and decide that the smell isn't too repulsive, so let's give it a go. Two shots of that, and Ivey is telling me that it's a cooking rum, but upon later contemplation I am pretty sure this is only a half-truth (we saw handles of it at the ABC store in Virginia -- by the way, another topic for another time is the absurd way in which the state of Virginia handles alcohol sales).
I'd been in touch with one of our rookies all night, and told him I'd keep him updated on the party situation. I explained that the girls had messed up the tap, and that I had been thwarted in my attempts to buy further beverages, but we'd amassed a random assortment of liquors at Claridge. Max arrives, and as I'm pouring a shot of vodka, he says "If that's for me, then you'd better pour three of them," or something to that effect. Of course, though I was in no way looking to upstage anyone, I did not want to allow myself to be upstaged, so three it was, for me as well.
Shortly thereafter, I'm fairly well on my way to Boris Yeltsin levels of drunkness - coherent enough to run the Russian government, or the Mount Vernon shuttle, but soused enough to loosen my tongue slightly and get a little on the belligerent side. I have since determined that three vodka shots are no way to start an evening, merely 20 minutes after shots of that rum. Actttuallly, under the right circumstances that's not that bad. Here's where things start to get hard to remember.
I remember that the clown spoon made yet ANOTHER appearance at this party, and that I hit a bunch of people with it. I also remember Brittany yelling at me for drinking and Bagels often making the "nish-nish" motion at me (from Da Ali G Show). Also, I remember Premie walking around pantsless, saying something about "This is my house, and I don't require pants!" Of course, my pants were off within the next minute or so, and I slipped into not having any memory of specific things.
I've been told I fought off Kanika for the clown spoon. I made several of those drinks I like, the Moscow Mule. I spoke in Russian a lot, and I actually do remember that more or less. I also vaguely remember talking to Max for some time. I think the more important reasons I don't like not-remembering things is that I could have been having a perfectly cromulent conversation at this point. Later on... not so much, in fact I've been told I was quite awkward and inappropriate, and for that appropriate reparations will be made. The point is, alcohol loosens my tongue (to which all of you 21st birthday participants can attest) and THIS is the main reason why I need to ensure I never find myself in such a state of over-the-top intoxication ever again. Along with being unable to recall what could have been a perfectly productive and interesting conversation.
That and waking up ASS NAKED ON THE COUCH IN THE FEMALE DEANS' INTERNS' ROOM. You heard me. All of the Deans' Interns live in a cluster of rooms. I do not remember returning to my room, but I do know that I did not have my backpack, contained within which were my wallet and roomkey. So it would seem that I ended up down the hall, in the room of the three female Deans' Interns by some twist of fate. I woke up at 8:24AM, naked as Ethan at Anything But Clothes and in the fetal position, covered by a somewhat inadequate blanket, and quite cold. I look up and see a box with a Package Services label, with a big "E" written on it. My last name does not begin with E, and even though I was still wasted at this point, I put two and two together and realized that E was for Leah E, one of my coworkers. I was struck with an unfathomable horror of not remembering my night -- what I said, to whom I was inappropriate, whether or not I had yarfed, WHY I WAS NAKED ON THEIR COUCH. All important questions. Even when you are still wasted at 9:00AM.
For the moment, though, I needed pants. I found them and my boxers over by one of the desks, put them back on and actually went back to sleep on their couch. I was awakened, strangely enough, by my phone, which was vibrating on the floor. Gigabyte had texted me that my backpack was still in his apartment. I called, and Giga told me that I could just walk in and take it, the door would be unlocked. This was great news, because it meant that I didn't have to face any of my coworkers after what I am sure was a wholly embarassing situation for all involved. So I walked over to Claridge, and, lo and behold, Waltzing Matilda, everyone's favorite urine-soaked LEGITIMATELY INSANE homeless person is outside of her alleyway screaming at the top of her lungs. Imagine a chain-smoking single mother coming home from her job at the cereal factory, yelling at her teenage daughter for being a "slut," and a "goddamned whore." That is what Waltzing Matilda was doing at this point. Except without a slutty daughter - just Waltzing Matilda and the passing cars.
After being creeped out by this and speedwalking past Her Horridness, I get up to Gigabyte's room and retrieve my horribly misplaced backpack. I checked the freezer, to see if my previously two-thirds-finished handle was still there. It was not. Apparently, I killed it, possibly with help from Max, but reports on the fate of my Stolichnaya handle are spotty at best. I also don't know where the bottle is, but I do know I wanted to keep it, so that's sad news. I got my roomkey, and passed out in my own bed for about an hour before... surprise! 11AM practice!
Thanks to Pete and his no-longer-needed rental van, I didn't have to walk down to the fields, but even on arrival, I was still hammered. But I came on time. And I was out there leading my half of practice while still shit-housed.
So what have I learned? Starting off with five rapid fire shots is not actually that bad of an idea. It becomes a bad idea if... a) you follow it up with a shitload of mixed drinks and b) there are lots of friends there to do additional shots with. Rolling to parties with a handle may not be the smartest idea either, as then quantity is removed as a limiting factor.
Either way, piecing together such a night is delicate business, but I think I am okay with any filling-in of the story people wish to make. Though I do think I'll have to have a few drinks in me before I actually find out what type of guts I spilled post-rememberance. Either way, if nothing else, a good story, and all my social ties seem to be intact (most important thing). So for now... party on, and someone slap me upside the head with the clown spoon if I get awkward again.
Another legendary evening last night. Certainly not of birthday proportions, but man, if this story is not blog-worthy, I don't know what is. Not even because it was that much fun - I am pretty embarassed about the whole situation, but it's just too funny.
Club Sectionals was supposed to happen today. The organization for this had already been a shitshow - one kid who was supposed to get a rental car ended up getting shitty early on that night, we hadn't handed in the proper travel paperwork the school makes us fill out, and the number of people going had just increased by a dozen or so, making our two teams quite overstaffed.
After a spate of Chinese fire drills and driving around campus for an hour or so, we were finally ready to rent cars. Cars rented, emails sent, we looked completely ready to go, despite the plethora of ways that we should have, by all right, failed. Given that I was going to have to cram 5 people into my Accord coupe, I decided that I finally needed to empty all the useless shit out of the back seat and trunk. This included the four winter tires that came with the car. So here I am, having just lugged four goddamned tires from the parking lot by the Mammogram bus into City Hall, and having finally cleaned out my car, when who calls but Mr. Ben Tufsky, who informs me that the tournament has been canceled by the owners of the fields.
At this point, given all the shit work I had done to make Club Sectionals happen, given all the frustration about the rental car debacle (for which, of course, we still had to pay despite the cancellation), and given the fact that I had just lugged shit back and forth from my car for the past hour, the call that started it all went out at 11:27 -- "Hey Gigabyte. I've made an executive decision to get shitty."
The idea was put forth to go to Shoppers' in Alexandria to get some refreshments and bring them back to Gigabyte's place to have a small, clown-less get-together. So Bagels, Gigabyte, and I all drove out to Shoppers', where the employees told us we had basically two minutes to buy all our stuff. Apparently, Virginia law prevents liquor sales after midnight. So we sprinted to the back of the store, where the booze is at, and started throwing shit into the cart, Supermarket Sweep style. The aisle on the way back is being remodeled, so it's the autobahn of booze buying. Bagels is hauling ass with the cart, careening all the way up to the checkout line, and we're told it's too late. I try to reason with the manager, but she was having none of that, so I whipped out my cell phone and started gesturing wildly, exclaiming that it was clearly 11:54, and the state law does not take effect until midnight. I am told that the check-out system is programmed to stop accepting liquor purchases at 12:00, but that the clock is fast and therefore I can't buy anything. At this point, I am livid, and we leave disappointed, with me vowing that I would never again return to that Shoppers' Warehouse location. We'll see if this lasts.
Once again, we're looking for ways to conduct damage control. Gigabyte and I are making lots of calls, telling people to amass their reserve liquor in anticipation of this evening. The simmering ire left over from the cars and Sectionals planning combines with the vexation with the Shoppers' establishment into a maelstrom of desire to get revenge on the circumstances. I will not be denied.
12:23, we're back in D.C. We've got a bag of random liquors from Tufsky, my remaining Stolichnaya and Woodchucks, Gigabyte's reserves, some beers from Pete, and assorted other what-have-you. The party begins, mostly composed of refugees from another party where the girls failed to work the tap properly, resulting in a severe alcohol deficiency. It begins.
I go to the grocery store far more than any one person should. But in addition to delicious things like Asian Sesame salad dressing, Simply Limeade, and Ore Ida Tater Tots, every now and then you'll get another type of morsel worth sharing. For example:
So now that I'm settled in and back into school-year mode, I apologize for the long respite between posts. As many of you may or may not have heard, I now work as a Deans' Intern for GW Housing Programs (formerly CLLC). They use me for projects that need, and/or can benefit from having, input from students who have worked "on the ground" for Housing. They reward me with a standard paycheck and a free dorm room in City Hall. For this I am most grateful.
I think you all know what's coming here, so let me start off by saying that the changes CLLC has made are, for the most part, significant improvements over the last system. Especially when Housing Selection time comes around again, I think that the new system they roll out will be met with cautious applause rather than thunderous hisses of disapproval. The people there also, for the most part, go far and beyond their job descriptions in doing what they believe is the right thing to do.
That said, GW Housing has placed emphasis on operating more like a business (something that has been university-wide). I am not wholly against this, but I find at least one of the programs in which they are engaging this year to be contradictory to this new philosophy.
What I'm talking about is the implementation of Living and Learning Cohorts. LLCs provide students an opportunity to form their own themed communities with their friends, so that they can all be placed on the same floor or section of a building and supposedly "learn and grow together." I cannot fault this policy at all - it allows students to be happier with their surroundings, thus reducing overall work for the department by staving off potential reasons for complaint. My problem is financial in nature. Using my friend's LLC as an example, I will show you how absurd the LLC programs have gotten.
She, and her group of friends, receive an budget of more than $2,000. The theme of their Cohort? Multicultural Food and Festivals. They receive more than $2,000 to go out to eat at international restaurants together. Now, I certainly do not fault her or any of her friends for taking this money; if GW offered me $2,000 back, especially in food form, I would take it graciously and certainly not think twice. But, being one of the many students who has to pay into this, I am outraged that any of my money is going towards something that is so far removed from anything related to a college education.
Not only that, but at least two good friends of mine from the former CLLC were denied jobs over the summer because there wasn't enough funding for them. So instead of paying qualified employees to do necessary work, they provide money for that LLC to eat international cuisine. They cut their own ability to serve the students, but continued to provide essentially pocket money for small groups of students. This, and crap like it, is why people hated CLLC, and why people will continue to hate GW Housing Programs.
The LLC system itself is beneficial to students. Giving them thousands of dollars to do things completely unrelated to education is not beneficial, and irritates me to no end. Building communities is, to an extent, the most vital part of any Housing department. Allowing people to live together based on a common interest is a great idea, and a great way to have students participate in a community voluntarily. MUCH better than trying to make juniors and seniors form a "community" in their dorms after they've already had two or three years to join some other sort of community. It is simply staggering, though, that GW Housing Programs will support programs like my friend's (of which there are dozens), where they are essentially paying students in pocket money.
