Posts Tagged ‘school’

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Knowledge

December 1st, 2009 by Suzanne | 1 Comment | Filed in random

>Years before I went back to school to study the craft of writing,* I spent scads of money to study social welfare policy and public administration at Columbia. Early on in the program, I realized that I went back when I was way too young, but I resolved to learn what I could. I discovered that I really liked statistics. This was a huge surprise.

My last semester at school, I enrolled in a poverty research class. Students paired up and selected a topic to investigate. We then we given national databases, which we ran many numbers over the course of the semester to support or disprove our thesis. It was exciting.

The topic I chose was whether children living in households with two adults had outcomes that matched those of children living in households with married parents. I pictured grandmothers, aunts, uncles, and other family members offering the same support that a spouse might (or might not) give, thus enabling children to live in more stable environments. My partner and I ran a gazillion multivariate regressions, basic stats like averages, and a fancy-schmancy time-hazard regression to see if this was true.

It was not. According to data from the National Longitudinal Survey of Youth, children from married households had better outcomes than those from two adult households, who in turn were better off as adults than children from single parent homes. I was crushed. Did this not mean that horrid policies put forth by right wing nutjobs were correct? That people really should rush off to get married (assuming they have the right, but that’s another story), come hell or high water?

As I moped about my findings, my wise professor opened my eyes. He pointed out that the data may not support my theory, but that the social environment in which we live does not provide the same benefits to unmarried people. Perhaps if I recommended that we implement policies that support different types of households rather than continue to punish them for not conforming to a conservative view of family life, then the outcomes would improve.

I hadn’t really considered that it was possible to take a “bad” finding and turn it into a tool for advocacy. This changed the way I interpreted studies and all sorts of news reports. Cool.

*Seriously, just typing “to study the craft of writing” cracks me up. I had hoped to learn how to write a book with a plot and characters. Instead, I discovered that I am not “literary” and my writing will never be literary, because my brain does not think that way. While this discovery caused enormous angst last year, I am OK with it now. I’ll just admire people who write really beautiful sentences and go about my business trying to entertain people with a serviceable story. Which is not to say that I did not learn anything, because I learned a lot. But anyway…

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Four Bad Ideas in No Particular Order

November 17th, 2009 by Suzanne | 2 Comments | Filed in I'm a natural resource producer, random

>1. My scary bear hat flew off my personage when a big gust of wind overtook me in London on Saturday. It landed in a muddy puddle at the edge of the curb. As I reached out to pluck it up, I realized that a bus was barreling down the road. I wondered if I could grab it before the bus got there. I snatched back my hand with a second to spare. Unfortunately, the bus ran over my poor hat. When the light changed, I picked it up again, sopping and dirty. All’s well that ends well on this, as I did not lose my hand and the hat came out of the washing machine and drier as good as new.

2. For my lit class tomorrow, we are reading What Is the What by Dave Eggers. It is an excellent “autobiography” of one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. (It also could maybe be about 100 pages shorter, but I still recommend it.) People stared at me while I read it on the subway and bawled.

3 & 4. Last night I defrosted a large plastic container of Daisy Mae’s baked beans that I found in the back of my freezer. I plan on eating them tomorrow for lunch. It’s double whammy of potentially bad ideas, as I probably should not eat a lot of beans before going to class, and the container has been in the freezer since my book party. My book party rocked the house in August 2008.

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>Richard Peck Made Me Cry Today

November 3rd, 2009 by Suzanne | 2 Comments | Filed in fuck, nerds, random, writing

>The day started out well. I woke up a bit before my alarm sounded, feeling refreshed. After feeding Tycho the rabbit and myself, I ran three miles at the gym. Then I scurried home to purchase U2 concert tickets for Husband. For a concert on Sept. 16, 2010.

Ticket purchasing is not as easy as it sounds. First, he had to subscribe to the band’s fan site. This runs something like $50. Then he received an email with a secret code that could be used to purchase up to four tickets before they went on sale to the general public. Since Husband was at a Very Important Meeting when his special group of bribe givers was allowed to give U2 more of their money, he asked me to click on the magic link, enter the code, and secure the best tickets available, at whatever cost.

Fine. How hard can that be? Except that he already used the code he provided me for tickets for a concert this past September. And I had no access to his U2 account to find his new entree to U2 happiness. The man asked me to do a simple task, and it distressed me to no end. He works hard. All he wants are some fucking concert tickets, and I could not provide. Two frustrating hours later, I finally bought the tickets. Yay.

However, I was late for everything else I had to do today. Among other things that did not get done in a timely fashion, I missed a call from an organization offering me a job. Yay for the job offer, boo for missing the call. I left the woman an overly enthusiastic message on her voice mail at 5:30.

Blah, blah, blah. Fortunately, I arrived at school on time to hear my favorite author from when I was in 4th grade. Blossom Culp, the main character in Ghosts I Have Been, was a hero to me back then. I wanted to be her. So all semester, I’d been waiting to hear Richard Peck. During his talk about writing, he said, “I write for lonely people looking for friends in books.”

Thank you, Mr. Peck.

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Where Husband’s Money is Going

October 24th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in hilarity

>An email exchange:

> ——– Original Message ——–
> Subject: where your money is goingq
> From: Suzanne Reisman

If it makes you feel better, New School was just ranked by “Poets & Writers” magazine as the #3 nonfiction MFA program.

Nah, it doesn’t make me feel better, either. :)

–

[Husband@husband.com] wrote:

The accolades are piling up. I hear “Delaying Reality” magazine ranked
New School’s MFA program quite highly as a top place for trust fund kids
to cool their heels for two years.

> ——– Original Message ——–
> Subject: where your money is goingq
> From: Suzanne Reisman
>
In that fine publication, Columbia ranked even higher, though.

—

[husband@husband.com] wrote:

Yes. And I was only talking about MFA programs. In the review of all
graduate programs, “Delaying Reality” ranked 327 law schools before the
Columbia MFA at #328.

> ——– Original Message ——–
> Subject: Re: where your money is goingq
> From: Suzanne Reisman

I have to disagree with that analysis. Certainly, law school buys more time for trust funders before they have to enter the real world, but at least most people graduate law school with some sort of job, even if they hate it and abandon it a few years later to get an MFA.

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Puke

October 20th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in writing

>After I posted the last chapter of Always, I went to school. My story about my grandfather’s life was set to be workshopped. I was nervous, but figured that it was still better than something I wrote 20 years ago, even if it had no similes.

The workshop was extremely helpful, but also brutal. People were very generous with their praise for what worked, and constructive with why the parts that didn’t work failed. I may have improved my writing since “Always,” but damn, I have a long way to go.

Class left me both drained and with lots to ponder, but I joined a few friends for food and drink anyway. Indulging myself, I ordered chocolate pudding at the French restaurant we went to. It came with this luscious almond studded chocolate cookie thing (it was sort of like a chocolate waffle cone) and sugary whipped cream. I felt nauseated after I ate the cookie and a few bites of pudding, but ignored it.

When I finally got home, I still felt sick. My undiagnosed mysterious digestive ailment does this to me every once in a while, so I went to bed, figuring I’d feel better in the morning. Dear Reader, false hope. Oh, false hope.

Since I woke up, I have done nothing but puke and crap. It was so bad at one point that I even shit myself, ruining a pair of underwear that I really like. At other times, I lay on the bathroom floor, writhing with cramps. I worried about dehydration, but my second round of vomiting was the Gatorade I sipped to prevent that. I also have a low fever.

Sam Tanenhaus is scheduled to speak at school tonight about his book, The Death of Conservatism. I’m not sure I buy his theory about the two different types of conservatives – good ones who see that government can be positive and bad ones who, in the words of Grover Nordquist, want to shrink it to the size where it can be drowned in the bathtub – but I’ve been looking forward to the event all semester. It is pretty rare that my political interests and my literary interests collide. Now I can’t go. Puke. (Well, I could go and puke on the conservatives, but that is pretty rude, and I don’t want to stoop to their behavior. Plus there aren’t likely to be many conservatives in a New School audience.)

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Memoir, Fiction, and Balls vs. Testicles in Literature

October 16th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in mortification, writing

>I read Frank Conroy’s memoir Stop-Time for my lit seminar on Wednesday. What’s good about it is the writing. Conroy doesn’t tell his story in a linear fashion, and at times switches to the present tense. I just tried both of these techniques for a story that I handed in last week which will be workshopped on Monday, so it is nice to have another successful model to learn from. (I patterned my work on A Feather on the Breath of God by Sigrid Nunez.)

During a break from the meandering class discussion, a friend calculated that we pay $125 an hour for our classes. We resumed class. After a ten minute debate on Conroy’s use of the word “balls,” which our professor defended by saying, “Balls is a great word,” I thought about other uses I had for $20.84 I spent for that. Not that I disagree that balls is a great word or really minded talking about whether Conroy should have used “testicles” instead of balls, but still. That’s a lot of money for something I talk about for free all the time.

Speaking of balls, I posted four more chapters of Always. Chapter 9 is one of my favorites so far, and Chapter 10 (not to be confused with Chapter 10*, as I had two chapter tens) is one of the most gag-inducing. The similes flow in Chapter 11 most impressively. I actually learned a lot from myself from twenty years ago while typing up this work.

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New Mottoes

September 30th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in nerds, random, writing

During class on Tuesday night, I reflected on my inability to write things that are descriptive. I decided that it is because I do not think in images, but in concepts. Por ejemplo, when I think about the tree that grew in front of my parents’ house, here is my thought process:

It was taller than our humble abode and a conifer. The pine needles fell all over the driveway and any car that was parked near or under its branches. One day, Dana and I came from home school and found our neighbor chopping branches off our tree. We freaked the fuck out, but my parents were glad that he took matters into his own hands because it had become overgrown and blocked part of the driveway. My sister and I, however, felt that the tree was rendered bald and ugly by the indignity visited upon it. Years after that, my mom noticed that the branches at the crown of the tree looked lame. She asked my dad to call a tree doctor. By the time one of them finally put the call in seven years later, the tree was ridden with some sort of tree disease and past saving. It was chopped down. Now no one can find my house, as my friends used to look for the ginormous evergreen tree as a landmark.

While this is a very nice story, it is not terribly descriptive. Anyway, once I realized that I do not think in images, and images are central to writing that is “literary,” I realized that “I am about as literary as a potato sprouting eyes.” (Actually, I love that image. Potatoes with “eyes” gross me out and fascinate me.) Without writing images, it is hard to include metaphors in my stories. Seriously, I would not think to include a metaphor if one walked up to me at a cocktail party, introduced itself politely, and then punched me in the face when I did not recognize it. If I was to write a metaphor about the tree, it would be something cheesy like, “The tree was an angel that guarded our house against the darkness of the night that wasn’t really all that dark because we faced a busy highway that was brightly illuminated by street lights.” No good.

Despite my lack of “literary” credentials, I think I can write well in a few styles. Hence my other new motto is, “This cubic zirconium has many facets.” Bwa ha ha ha. Fuck being literary.

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>Insomnia Cure!

September 14th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Uncategorized

>The train ride back from Long Island last night took an hour and forty minutes. I figured that I could use the time to get some reading done for my lit class. I am a fool.

The problem is that the book, Safe Conduct by Boris Pasternak, is insanely boring. Maybe boring is not the right word – pretentiously literary probably describes it better. Here is an illustrative passage:

We take people as our symbols so as to overcast them with weather, set them in their natural surroundings. And we take weather, or what is one and the same, nature – so that we may overcast it with our passion. We drag everyday things into prose for the sake of poetry. We entice prose into poetry for the sake of music. This, then, in the widest sense of the word, I called art, set by the clock of the living race which strikes with the generations.

Certainly, this is brilliant writing. I just can’t read it. Every time I try to read this autobiography, I fall asleep. I read about 20 pages on the train before I passed out. This is not good for my class discussion possibilities. However, I am glad that I now have a cure for the insomnia that plagues me.

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>Invisible Stigmata*

September 3rd, 2009 by Suzanne | 1 Comment | Filed in random

>During class last night, I spaced out a bit while the very intellectual professor recited a history of first person narratives from Roman times to today. What made me think about St. Catherine of Sienna is beyond me. The mind works in mysterious ways.

Maybe the mention of ancient Rome caused Maurice, the hamster who runs on the wheel that powers my brain, think of Italy, which I first visited in January 1996 as part of a scholarship program at NYU. We took a day trip to Sienna from Florence, and visited a church which had St. Catherine’s finger on display. (Now that I think about it, this may have been the start of my obsession with relics.) Our guide explained to us that Catherine’s family wanted to marry her off to some guy but that she had pledged herself to Christ (sort of a feminist act, right?), and did not want to break her vows. Suddenly, she developed stigmata that only she could see. Obviously, this was a sign from above that she should not wed a mortal man, and her family shipped her off to a convent instead.

Far be it from me to suggest that Catherine invented the “invisible stigmata” to get what she wanted; that would have been very clever. I suspect that she became hysterical (and I think we were also told that she was locked into her room without food until she agreed to marry the dude), and these conditions likely made her hallucinate the stigmata. Since no one was on her brain hamster’s wavelength, the bloody punctures were invisible to everyone but Catherine. I wonder if they really believed she had invisible stigmata, or if they just agreed that she did to shut her up. Interesting.

*I blogged a bit about the invisible stigmata in June 2007, when I saw her cloak in Milan.

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>School Dance Dream

May 21st, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in hilarity

>The buzzing alarm clock cut through the picture unfolding in my head. It interrupted my ascent up a grand staircase dressed in a green knee length silk dress and matching bolero jacket and black satin shoes with chunky two inch heels. The dance was just about to begin.

In only the way a dream can unfold, my friends (I think from New School, but also from my previous graduate program at Columbia) and I were excited for our graduation dance. We spent hours picking out dresses, putting on make-up, and styling our hair. When we got to the dance, I immediately saw my ex-boyfriend from when I was 16. I worried that he would think I was following him, and somehow lost the group of giggling ladies who I accompanied.

Attempting to go in another direction, I headed up the stairs. At that moment, Mayor Bloomberg swept down with his entourage, ready to open the ceremony. It occurred to me that Mayor Bloomberg looked like my ex-boyfriend’s unemployed, alcoholic father: short and overconfident. That’s when the alarm ended it it all.

Usually I have no idea what sparks my crazy dreams, but I’m pretty sure this one came from two sources. The weather was perfect last night for a long stroll, so I walked home from school. That led me through Times Square, where I saw several groups of high school kids departing from proms in fancy gowns and tuxes. School dance: check. Then when I arrived home, I read an article about how Bloomberg is once again buying an election for himself (last election, he outspent his opponent by 10 to 1), not only through campaign ads, but also by buying off the best Democratic consultants through hiring them to run his campaign. Mayor Bloomberg: check. The ex-boyfriend tends to show up in my dreams when I’m upset about something in general, so that explains that.

The dream, though, made me miss the good old days. I would love to gather up my friends, get dressed up, and go to a school dance. How fun would that be?

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