Becoming Aly

"Yes, I'm a mouse"

2008-06-17T21:07:00.008-06:00

So declares the brave mouse warrior Reepicheep in the new Narnia movie, "Prince Caspian," when facing stares of astonishment and disbelief from the humans he's cut down with a stroke of his little but mighty sword. It's a declaration, a challenge, and a statement of fact all in one.

(No, this is not a picture of Reepicheep, in case you haven't seen the movie and were wondering. This is a picture of my windup mouse that does terrific back flips.)

Like Reepicheep, I am coming to terms with my limitations, but I am finally learning to do so, as he does, without any shame. Yes, it's been quite a while since my last post. Yes, I've struggled to find inspiration for a long time. But yes, I'm still writing - contrary to the apparent lack of evidence.

I realize that my blog has been dark for months. I've been wondering if I should sign off for good because my posts have been so shamefully sporadic. However, I decided that this would only tempt me to give up on other things in my life, and right now I am trying to take ownership of my goals after letting them go by the wayside. So this is not the time to sign off. I'm going to keep plugging away in my little corner - that is my declaration to you and my challenge to myself. As a statement of fact, this long-overdue blog post is one of my first steps toward reclaiming my goal to start writing again.

While I'm in a positive, declarative frame of mind, let me share a few other matters of fact...

Yes, I survived my second-to-last semester of grad school, even though it felt like I was always drowning in reading and writing assignments.

Yes, I took the nastily exhausting comprehensive exam for my masters program in April - and passed! (That is a huge weight off my back.)

Yes, I have one more semester to go before I graduate. If all goes well, I'll be accepting my diploma in December.

Yes, I'm really enjoying my summer off from school (although work goes on, of course). Reading lots of good books, loving the lighter summer traffic, singing in choir at my church again after a long absence, and just catching up on life.

Yes, my 11-year-old car finally outlived its reliability, and I had to get a new car last month. (I'd been driving my mother's car since last December, so it was a relief to finally stop the "Musical Cars" game.) It's so nice not having to worry if my car is going to make it all the way to and from work without dying.

Yes, I've seen the new Narnia movie ("Prince Caspian") and the new Indiana Jones movie, and I liked them both.

Yes, I like Coldplay's new album.

Yes, I've run out of things to say for now. But that's OK.

The enchanted hour

2007-11-09T12:29:00.000-06:00

Lately I feel as if I've been living under a fairy tale enchantment. Not the fun kind, like meeting a charming frog you might end up marrying, or discovering a goose that lays gold bullion for eggs. Not even the initially tragic kind that leads to happily ever after, like being forced to take a hundred-year nap until the right prince finally comes along. No, the enchantment I'm under is of the annoying torture variety, like having to hide yourself at night because your skin turns green by moonlight, or being unable to eat because your mouth is only the size of a pinhole.

OK, maybe that's exaggerating my situation a little...but I do love to exaggerate. Makes things sound more interesting than they really are. Anyway, I like to call my affliction "the enchanted hour" - and my comfort is that I know I'm not the only one under this spell.

Let me illustrate the terms of the enchanted hour. For example: at a certain time in the morning as yet undetermined, perhaps at 8:37 by an atomic clock, I can leave the north side of town and report to my downtown office on time. Otherwise, it makes little difference whether I leave earlier or later - I will invariably be late to work. If I miss that mysterious little window of time, I am doomed to stabbing myself repeatedly with a pen to fight drowsiness and insanity while idling through an impenetrable barrier of cars on all sides for close to an hour. In the evening, the window of clear passage is even more elusive - whether I leave the office early or late has about as much effect on my chances of smooth travel as does counting backwards from 100 while standing on my head and wearing a snorkeling mask.

Here's another example: There is a grocery store conveniently located just across the freeway from my apartment, and easily accessible by any of the three routes I might take home after work. However, this grocery store is under the enchantment invoked by the words, "so close, yet so far." For only after 7:30 p.m. on weeknights is it possible to enter the store's parking lot without being surrounded by a horribly gridlocked tangle of cars attempting to enter and exit, and only after 8 p.m. can I shop in the store without being surrounded by a horribly gridlocked tangle of customers attempting to maneuver their shopping carts up and down the aisles. This is why I prefer to go there on Sunday mornings, which seem to miraculously part the traffic congestion like the Red Sea, making a clear path by which it is actually possible to enter and exit without extreme distress.

To my dismay, I am finding that my third semester of graduate school is also under the spell of the enchanted hour. For example, I have limited access to the tools I need to work on my projects. Both classes I am taking require that I use Adobe software to complete my projects. At first, the situation was very grave. I didn't have this software on my computer at home. I couldn't go to the computer lab on campus, because (of course) it's only open while I'm at work. I couldn't just go to my parent's house on weekends and borrow my dad's computer (on which is installed the Adobe Creative Suite), because I would need to have regular access to the software throughout the week, not just on the odd weekend I could afford to drive all the way across town and commandeer my dad's home office for an hour or two. However, my own little notebook computer, which at nearly five years old had already been exiled to the age of dinosaurs (though I found no other fault with it), was neither new enough nor powerful enough to house the Adobe Creative Suite. So...with some financial assistance from my dad and from my rich Uncle Sam, I got a new computer and the Adobe software.

Now I have access to the software I need, any time I want to use it...provided that I want to use it only on nights and weekends. Sure, I have this software on my computer at home...but I only have it at home. It's not installed on my computer at work. Nor is it a wise idea to bring my computer to the office, when another office on the same floor has been the victim of laptop theft.

I won't bore my dear reader(s) with any more humdrum details of this not-so-fairy-tale enchantment, but I am experiencing other limitations to my coursework that are at worst driving me crazy and at best teaching me to maintain a very flexible project timeline. There seems to be no incantation or elixir to break this very annoying enchantment, and I'm afraid that even a charming frog would have no power to save me (though it might be an interesting distraction). Sometimes I think I might even summon the courage to pass under the dreaded sphinxes' gaze in the "Neverending Story" if on the other side I could find a quick fix to all this frustration.

However, I have learned one "spell" that seems to be working. I call it my "no-worry policy." Under this policy, I am not allowed to worry about anything at all. I can pray, I can plan, I can deliberate, I can take action, or I can simply wait if there is nothing else to do. But I am not allowed to worry. When a feeling of panic or anxiety creeps into my mind, I turn it off like a switch. Sound too good to be true, like something out of a fairy tale? Well, this doesn't mean that I never actually worry. But interestingly enough, it seems that even if I just pretend I'm not worried, this is sufficient to alleviate panic and prevent total paralysis of the mind. Which means I can actually get things done and cross items off my list, even if I have to bend my timeline a little. My life may not be as exciting as a fairy tale, but I am learning that the ability to stay calm under all circumstances is more valuable than dozens of golden eggs. (Although I'll probably be ready for a hundred-year nap by the end of the semester.)

I Spied: Four

2007-09-18T11:19:00.000-06:00

This morning on the way to work, I spotted something that made me want to clap my hands in girlish delight, the way heroines in old-fashioned novels always do. (I don't recall if I've ever really "clapped my hands in girlish delight.") I was driving through a scenic part of my route, a tree-lined, gently winding road, when a girl on a red scooter appeared in the lane next to me. A girl on a red scooter is cool enough, but on top of her cute mode of transportation, she had a hobo purse slung over her left shoulder for all to see. I do happen to be a handbag fanatic; but fanaticism aside, this was a truly eye-catching purse: pom-pom tassels dangled from the flap, which sported an adorable squirrel applique. What made it so adorable was its tail: a puff of bright magenta flocking that no one could possibly ignore, whether they loved handbags and hated squirrels or loved squirrels and hated handbags or didn't give a hoot about squirrels or handbags. I wondered if the girl had made it herself or bought it; and if it was store-bought, I imagined she must have found it at some thoroughly Austin-flavored little boutique.

Maybe this sounds blah and kitschy, but in the moment it was quite a serendipitous sight, like something from the movie "Amelie" - if it were filmed in Austin instead of in Paris. I thought of Cake's song, "Short Skirt Long Jacket"; the refrain played in my mind with the new words, "I want a girl with a squirrel purse and a reeeeed scooter." A wonderfully weird sight that made my morning!

My best rejection ever

2007-09-11T14:07:00.000-06:00

Sometimes rejection can be bliss. Seriously.

I know how much it can hurt. Like everyone else, I've experienced a healthy portion of rejection in various forms. But yesterday, I received a rejection that gave me the floating-on-clouds feeling.

After revising and submitting my short story to a new webzine last month (see previous post), I did my best to forget about it. And I did. My primary goal was simply to rewrite the story to my best ability, which I had already achieved. Of course I wondered every now and then if the editor had read my story yet, and if she liked it or hated it or even cared about it. But I kept busy with other things and didn't worry about the outcome. One of my favorite mantras is, "Blessed are those who expect nothing, for they shall never be disappointed."

So...yesterday I was minding my business as I had been doing for the past month - only at a more frenetic pace because suddenly I was getting really busy with schoolwork and work work all at once. And what should I discover in my inbox that afternoon but a reply from the webzine editor! I was pretty certain it was a rejection, as the premiere issue is scheduled for release this month and it would be rather last-minute to be receiving an offer for publication now.

Nevertheless, I held my breath as I opened the email. I sort of stumbled through it once in disbelief, and then pored over the words again...and again. This wasn't an ego fest. I truly couldn't believe I was seeing a generous dose of encouragement framing the more than civil rejection. The editor's reply was almost - dare I say it - friendly! Although she used one of the stock rejection phrases, something along the lines of "it was with regret that she could not use my story at this time," she also gave me some very positive feedback. She found my story "captivating" and said I had succeeded in writing "a protagonist [she] really cared for." And if that weren't enough to send me over the edge of writer's paradise, she invited me to submit to the webzine again. Wow!

If you're an aspiring author, or know anything about writing for publication, you know how rare it is to receive direct feedback from an editor or agent. The most common type of response to an unknown, unpublished writer's query is the form rejection, which is randomly generated from a library of about five stock phrases - all variations of "We don't want your manuscript. Have a nice day." I've received a few of these and have yet to shed a tear - I know rejections are part of a writer's life and I'm just starting my collection.

A positive, specific comment from a busy editor or agent is therefore a gem to be treasured - and invested. I will allow myself a little time to be deliriously happy; and then I will refocus on my schoolwork and work work; and then, as soon as I have a chance to write again, I'm going to try my hand at another story to submit to the webzine.

One more thing: I can't resist ending this post with a HURRAH!

Writing again!

2007-08-01T20:49:00.000-06:00

Once again, I've been a negligent blogger. But I hold my head up high, and if you look at my face you'll see no trace of shame. Why?

Because this time I have a very good excuse: I've finally started writing fiction again!! Through my writers' critique groupvine I discovered a new webzine that is accepting short story submissions for its premiere issue. When I read the webzine's description, I realized I had a short story that might possibly fit. I originally wrote this story several years ago, and I had not revised it in quite a while. After reading through the most current draft, I decided surface polishing wasn't enough. I needed to do a serious rewrite. So I spent a good two weeks or so fleshing out the characters and expanding the plot. Finally, when I couldn't stand to look at my draft anymore, I declared it complete (for now) and submitted it to the webzine last week.

I have no idea what my chances are for publication. It depends in part on how many other writers submit to the webzine; but mostly it depends on whether the editor sees my story as a good fit or not.

Whether I get published or not, however, is irrelevant (though of course I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping). I've already achieved my goal in this venture, which was simply to start writing fiction again. I've been creatively dry for so long that it felt wonderful just to be in the thick of a story, the pen in my hand tapping a direct connection to my brain, ideas gushing forth and spilling on the page almost in real time.

I don't think I'm ready to tackle novel writing yet. Ideas for characters, settings and scenarios come in a steady trickle, but viable plots seem to elude me. Still, through lessons learned in the writing of my first two novels, I've managed to breathe freshness into an old short story; and that has to count for something. There may yet be hope for the unfinished short story I began over a year ago, for the poem trilogy as yet missing its third part, and - who knows? - maybe there is even hope for those dozens of novel ideas I've been dutifully writing down and trapping inside an old binder until the time is right for one of them to germinate.

Grad school resumes in just a couple of weeks. Soon the extra time I've been enjoying this summer for leisure reading and creative writing will be overtaken by classes, reading assignments and projects. But I'm glad, at least, that I finally got to take one little stroll down Fiction Lane before returning to Academia.

A new bridge

2007-06-28T10:50:00.000-06:00

Last night, I witnessed the building of a new bridge. For the first time in my life, I saw my two grandmothers meet...for the first time in their lives. Mother and I were there with our little snapshot cameras, clicking away, while the two women who consented to the joining of their children in marriage so many years ago beheld each other at last. Grandma's face lit up with happy surprise. Obaachan, my Japanese grandmother, embraced Grandma and then had to take out her pocket handkerchief to dab the tears in her eyes. Later my grandmothers exchanged the kind of laughter that crosses all language barriers. I felt overcome with amazement at the sight of them in one room. As we were leaving, Obaachan clasped Grandma's hand in hers and said "Bye-bye," the only English she knows. The Japanese actually use this same word in their own language as a casual "See you later" goodbye - and so it was, for my grandmothers will meet again during Obaachan's month-long visit.

Two countries, two cultures, two families, divided by one great ocean for a lifetime - until June 27, 2007. This is a day I will not soon forget.

Both sides of the ocean

2007-06-25T11:03:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I experienced a first: I saw both of my grandmothers in the same day. This has never, ever happened. It is really a bigger deal than it sounds because...

One of my grandmothers lives in Japan, and she has never, ever been to the United States before. Until yesterday. My mother was visiting her and brought her back for her first-ever visit to America at the age of 86. Dad and I met them at the airport. Tears welled in my eyes when I first beheld my grandmother standing on American soil (American escalator stairs, to be precise, but whatever). I'd been reviewing Japanese the past few weeks in the hope of communicating with her at least a little, for she doesn't speak a word of English. I was afraid all the Japanese I'd studied would retreat at the crucial moment. However, to my relief I did manage to speak quite a few sentences (albeit broken and grammatically flawed) in my grandmother's native language. And that afternoon, once we had settled the weary overseas travelers at home, Dad and I went to visit my other grandmother, who lives here in Austin. Both grandmothers in one day! Truly a singular event.

Yet I am waiting, as I have been for a month with great anticipation, for an even more singular event: the meeting of the two grandmothers. I hope to witness this, for I couldn't have dreamed it would ever happen. I'll be there with my camera and my eyes as wide as they will open, anxious to capture the reactions on their faces, the faces of both my parents' mothers who will stand in the same room together for the very first time.

I Spied: Three

2007-06-01T07:43:00.000-06:00

When I moved back to Austin a little over two years ago, one of the first things I saw that affirmed the "Keep Austin Weird" motto was an old van covered from top to bottom with...junk. To put it more nicely, I could use a word like "doodads" or "trinkets" or "knickknacks." But whatever you want to call the odd conglomerate of things that made the van appear as though it had a run-in with a pediatric office's prize box, it looked WEIRD.

Just this year, I've sighted three similarly embellished cars. So I decided it was time to start a list. Here are the latest WEIRD vehicle sightings:

1. The Poetry Magnet Car - An SUV covered with - well, they had to be poetry magnets. Although I wasn't close enough to read any of them, I can't think of anything else they could be. Little white strips with printed text arranged like newspaper clippings. Yup, gotta be poetry magnets. Wish I could've read the poems!
Spotted on Great Hills Trail, North Austin.

2. The Googly Eyes Car - A red sedan covered with plastic googly eyes of assorted sizes. My roommate and I laughed out loud at the sight of it, and I was about to snap a photo with my camera phone until I realized that someone was sitting in the car. If Count Olaf (of Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events" series) were alive and well, I don't doubt he would drive a car just like this one. I could see it was a work in progress - the hood was still bare in some places (which is how I figured out the car was red).
Spotted in front of Half Price Books on Parmer Lane, North Austin.

3. The Astroturf Car - A compact (maybe a VW Rabbit?) covered with Astroturf, and a garden gnome hood ornament to boot!
Spotted at Lamar and Sixth, Central Austin.

Just one question remains: How do these creative owners wash their cars??

Strange spring

2007-04-25T15:06:00.000-06:00

Maybe the bizarre cold snap on Easter weekend has something to do with my sense of bewilderment and confusion. Or maybe I just feel disoriented because today is the very last day of class for the spring semester, which marks the conclusion of my first year of graduate school. Whatever the reason, I simply must exclaim in Holly Golightly fashion, "Quel printemps! [What a spring!]" And my, has it flown! Since I neglected to post regular installments of Aly's Adventures in Grad School this semester, I shall have to give you one big panoramic view of the whole experience. If you enjoy poring over long entries, you're about to enter pure bliss; if not, I won't ask you to torture yourself more than you can bear (unless you're into that sort of thing).

Writing (And Chatting About) Proposals
The online class, Proposal Writing, was an interesting challenge. At first I thought of nothing but how nice it would be to come home, change into pajama pants, grab some dinner and log on. But after the first session, I realized I had to trade one inconvenience for another. Although it was wonderful to attend class at home, I had to adapt to a means of communication I was unfamiliar with. Sure, I love instant messaging and emailing and all such cyber chat; but having to communicate in this format with my professor and with the students in my project group proved to be more difficult than I thought it would be.

Since I'm a visual learner, I felt as though my hands were tied behind my back without something in front of me to refer to, or someone physically present to speak with. As I wrote in my mid-semester progress report, "the lack of visual cues (facial expressions, hand gestures, etc.) and auditory cues (tone of voice, verbal fillers, etc.) really thins the texture of communication. We are also limited by the chat room interface. When there is an agenda to be addressed, time - and text - are too precious to waste. We have to type out our comments in a rapid-fire, abbreviated manner. This format has certainly forced me to practice more brevity - a quality I have to work at. [Who, me??] However, it is sometimes difficult to express an idea or opinion effectively in this text-messaging style."

As a matter of necessity, I picked up some interesting vocabulary along the way. Abbreviation was key. "Oh, def" [Oh, definitely] became one of our favorite group expressions. We used "prop" for "proposal" and "eval" for "evaluation" and referred to our professor as "Dr. W." One member coined the term "wreditor" to express our dual task of writing and editing the proposal. I just love that word! And of course, we shared many a LOL. Much humor, both intentional and unintentional, arose from the limitations of online chat. When two or more of us hit the "reply" button at once, our comments appeared on the screen like organized cheers at a pep rally; and more than once we had to say "jinx" for posting identical comments. We all learned to clone ourselves: by a strange quirk of the chat room, whenever we exited and returned to a session, the program would replicate our IDs. Behold - Aly and Aly2! (I know, creepy.)

Ultimately, my love of group collaboration saved me. I was so excited to have this rare opportunity to brainstorm and bond with peers that I put every ounce of effort I could into adapting to this strange form of communication that is oddly intimate and distant at the same time. I was thankful that at least I already knew everyone in my group. (I got to know them in my classes last semester.) Being able to picture their faces helped me overcome the lack of visuals, and being familiar with their personalities helped me connect with them across cyberspace.

And what did I learn about proposal writing? My ignorant, uneducated view was that prop writing had to be one of the driest, most boring kinds of writing; but I really didn't know anything about it until I took this class. Imagine my surprise and relief upon learning that writing a proposal is a lot like writing a book, a process I'm familiar with: research, write, revise, revise, revise. It can be tedious, but there is a satisfaction in seeing the whole document come together. Submitting a proposal is also like submitting a book: in both instances, you'd better make sure you follow the submission guidelines to a T or your baby will be dumped out the window faster than dirty bathwater. Although we did not reach this final stage in class, due to time limitations and other logistics, we got a pretty good idea of how rigorous the submission process can be.

Advertising, PR and Chapped Hands
My knowledge of writing communication plans before taking the Advertising & Public Relations class was about the same as my knowledge of proposal writing: nil. Since our major project was to develop a communication plan, guess what? I learned how to write one. This may sound like a "well, DUH!" observation, but at times I felt I was in over my head and out of my element. It was a great accomplishment, therefore, just to be able to say that I finally knew what was going on by the semester's end.

Our topic was a daunting one: pandemic flu. Yikes! Although I had heard a little of the concern buzzing around the world about the avian (bird) flu, I was completely ignorant about the concept of pandemics, or worldwide epidemics. I did not know that the real reason for the concern about avian flu was that the virus might mutate into a supervirus capable of transmitting itself from animals to humans, and because it would be a new virus, there would be no vaccinations and therefore a pandemic might break out. Many cities, schools and organizations have already developed pandemic response plans. My class had the task of developing communication plans that would raise awareness among college students - specifically, among students at our school. Cheerful subject, huh? What we finally decided on as a class, after meeting with the university's health education coordinator and hearing his perspective, was that we should focus on educating our target audience about flu prevention. By simply raising awareness about proper hygiene habits such as washing hands thoroughly and covering coughs and sneezes, we could help students be better prepared to fight the spread of flu viruses of all kinds. Still not an easy task, though - especially when I didn't even know what a communication plan really was. But I learned through the process, which is often the best way to learn.

As a writer, I am always looking for comparisons, for connections between seemingly disparate things; and although I thought proposal writing and communication planning must be as different as two things can be, I was surprised to learn that they share a number of similarities. First, both involve a lot of planning. This is obvious with communication planning, as the word "planning" indicates; but even the "simple" (hahaha, my group would laugh)project my group had to write a proposal for - establishing a scholarship for our technical communication program - required us to carefully think through not only what objectives the project was going to accomplish, but also how it was going to accomplish these objectives, and why the project was necessary. (I could also say that a communication plan is a kind of proposal, since it proposes ideas for reaching a target audience.) Interestingly, grant proposals and communication plans contain a lot of similar items: both types of documents call for statements of objectives and tasks, and both call for evaluation and budget plans. Another similarity between prop writing and communication planning is that both require continuous research and revision. If you sit down and write a proposal or a communication plan in one go, you're probably missing something. I ended up being very glad that I was taking Proposal Writing and Advertising/PR in the same sememster, because drawing comparisons between the two subjects helped me make sense of all the jumble.

A significant contrast between the two classes was that while the proposal writing class met almost entirely online, all the students worked in groups; and while the adv/PR class met in person, nearly all the students worked on individual plans. We had the option of partnering with one other person in the class, but I decided that although the task of doing everything myself seemed daunting, it would be easier in the end. I was learning in the prop writing class that collaboration creates just as much extra work as it saves. And I was very proud when at last I managed to pull together all my scattered research and thoughts into one well-organized plan. Throughout the semester I kept thinking my plan was going to be horribly mediocre because I had no background in advertising or PR; but what happened instead was that my lack of experience prompted me to spread my creative wings. Once I got up the courage to soar, I felt like I was back in my element, playing on my home turf.

Since I wrote a communication plan about flu prevention, you may be wondering, do I now practice what I preach? You bet! Although I had to learn the hard way that there is such a thing as overwashing your hands. For a while, I became so obsessive that the skin on my hands began to look more reptilian than human, and I had to use exorbitant amounts of body butter, hand cream and first aid ointment to restore the proper balance of moisture. Ouch! (If I make a pun about hands-on experience, I know that will only be more painful. So I won't. Oh, wait a minute - I just did.)

As a special bonus, I even got to live the subject: the day before the rough draft of my flu prevention plan was due, I came down with a virus! I couldn't help reflecting on the irony of the situation; I had become so fastidious about washing my hands and coughing into my sleeve (even though I still think that's kind of disgusting), and yet I couldn't avoid getting sick. However, I realized that just because I was trying to practice good hygiene didn't mean everyone else was. I could have gotten that virus anywhere, from an elevator button to a door handle to a shopping basket. Who knows. Considering the subject of our project, my professor was very gracious and gave me an extra day to work on the rough draft. And thankfully, this virus was fairly benevolent - I mean, benign. In a couple of days I was able to return to work and school.

Semester in a Snapshot
What is most ironic in looking back is how easy I thought this semester was going to be, in contrast to the reality - which turned out to be very different. I felt much relieved at the start of the spring semester, knowing that I would not have to go to the south campus or crash at my parents' motel two nights a week as I did last semester. I soon found out, however, that this semester was no stroll in the park; it was more like a skate park, with all the loops and jumps that required me to stay constantly alert. Which is not a bad thing if you like skate parks. I've never been to one, but I do like the mental equivalent - the ongoing challenge of looking ahead and preparing for your next move, executing it with as much skill and precision as you can muster and then quickly recovering for another.

After focusing on theory last semester, it was exciting to get hands-on experience in both classes this semester. I also liked having just one major, semester-long project to work on for each class. In a way, this made things much simpler, as I prefer focusing on one long-term project rather than dispersing my attention among several smaller projects. However, I had to do a lot more independent research and planning, which somehow kept me busier than the weekly writing responses I had to turn in last semester. But this was a very good experience for me, and I couldn't help feeling a thrill at taking on more individual responsibility in my studies. And once again, I learned I'm capable of more than I ever imagined. That's always a great self-esteem booster.

Paddy & Aly

2007-03-17T10:36:00.000-06:00

Today is our special day. One year ago, Paddy and I started something new - and now it's our first anniversary together.

Hey, who's cueing up the Puccini?? No no no, it's not like THAT. I was thinking more along the lines of something with a fiddle. Uillean pipes and a bodhran would be nice, too. And if we're going to get sentimental...well, for me it has to be "The Rainbow Connection," that haunting banjo ballad sung so poignantly by the most famous green Muppet in the world.

You see, I'm celebrating two things today. First, it is my most favorite non-Yule holiday of the year, the day that honors St. Patrick, the missionary to Ireland. (I don't know about the snakes...wasn't it the guy on the plane who drove those out?) Second, Becoming Aly is one year old!! Yes, I have been a blogger for a whole year already.

Admittedly, my blogging has been rather patchy at times. Especially last month, in which I deftly managed to avoid posting a single entry. [Insert frowny face here.] If I were a professional columnist, I would have been fired a long time ago. [An embarrassed pause, in which the author hangs her head.] However...I am not a professional! Sure, I don't have the acclaim that comes with being syndicated and receiving fan mail and having bucketloads of readers down my daily dose of wisdom along with their morning caffeine jolt. But there is one thing amateurs have a lot of: freedom. Freedom to be inconsistent, freedom to be random, freedom to experiment (and get really lousy results), freedom to hack away at the world's problems one moment and then stop to pull out a prickly, petty issue from one's soul the next.

So I am not congratulating myself for being a wonderfully prolific blogger who dispenses entries at every click of the reader's mouse, like some sort of cyber gumball machine. I am merely celebrating the fact that within a year's time I have established a little nook on the World Wide Web that I can call home. And when I'm not terribly behind on my housekeeping, whenever I've actually made Becoming Aly presentable (i.e., posted an entry more recent than the milk that expired last month), I'm blessed and happy to have received a few visitors.

This little thing called graduate school, on top of the little thing I call my full-time job, has made it difficult for me to be anything but inconsistent. So I thank all the readers who have kindly stopped by for a visit in Becoming Aly's first year. I thank you most sincerely, and with a bit of sentimentality if I dare (but no Puccini, please). I hope I may make your visits more worthwhile in the years to come...but I know better than to make any promises. What You See Is What You Get: if you like what you see you're more than welcome to it! There are plenty of other sites on the information superhighway that have better food for thought, I'm sure. But there's only one Becoming Aly! (At least, there's only one at this URL...I gotta keep that old saying in mind: "Remember, you are unique - just like everyone else.")

So Happy St. Patrick's Day to you, and Happy First Anniversary to Becoming Aly!

Theory into practice

2007-01-26T16:28:00.000-06:00

This week I began the second semester of my adventures in graduate school. Though I really did enjoy digging into the two rhetorical theory classes last semester, I am even more excited about this semester because both classes are application courses. As a technical communication student, I will get my first crack at actually doing some technical communicating.

In my proposal-writing class, we have only one textbook (yes!) to read. We have divided into groups of 4-5 students each, and each group will spend the bulk of the course working together on a proposal for a real need in our technical communication masters program. My group will be working on a proposal for scholarships.

There is no required text for my mass communication PR (public relations) class (YES!). Our professor will provide us with free copies of a health communication guide put out by a non-profit. We have a real live client, the local health and human services department, and we have been given the task of developing a communication plan for raising awareness among college students about the pandemic flu. Lovely topic, huh? (I hope I don't start developing psychosomatic symptoms.)

But I am really, really excited about both of these classes because I don't know a thing about proposal writing or PR and yet I am going to be diving right into practical application, learning as I go. Yippee!! This will be just like freelancing, except without pay of course.

And, as a really thick layer of icing on the cake, I don't have to commute to the south campus at all this semester!! Whoo-hoo!! (I am also a little excited about this.) My PR class is at the north campus, which is still quite a commute from my downtown office but much closer to where I live. This means coming home will be a 20-minute cinch. And my proposal writing class is online, so I can just come straight home, fire up my computer and log on. This will be sooo much nicer than commuting way south and crashing at my parents' motel two nights a week.

Ice!

2007-01-17T22:03:00.000-06:00

Reporting from the little outpost I call home...

And what would an ice storm be without ice? Yes, the snow melted away. But in its place were icicles that grew larger overnight and plants completely encased in frozen water. T and I ventured to the Walgreen's down the street, normally a 5-minute walk but more like 10 minutes today because we had to accommodate the ice. We saw so many interesting sights that we had to go back outside with our cameras and record some. Samples are shown above.

The sounds were interesting, too--ice crackling under our shoes, people hacking at cars and sidewalks with scrapers and shovels, the tap-tapping on windows from intermitten sleet.

I'm sure this is a joke for people who are used to plowing three-foot mounds of snow out of their driveways, but for Austinites this is a rare and beautiful phenomenon.

Snow!

2007-01-16T19:59:00.000-06:00

ALY'S APARTMENT, AUSTIN--This may not look like much, but for a city that sees snow only once every few years, it's a rarity! And it was especially exciting since I have hardly set foot outside my apartment since Saturday.

The ongoing winter storm watch has kept my roommate and me virtually housebound for four days and counting. It started with the rain on Saturday--a heavy downpour that went on all day long. Late that evening, when the rain had finally all but stopped, T and I made a dash to the nearest Target to stock up on bottled water and other necessities. On Sunday not much happened aside from a light drizzle, but we stayed home just to be safe because there was a flash flood warning in effect. We only drove to the grocery store down the street to get a few more things.

And we haven't gone anywhere since.

The temperature dropped even lower on Sunday night. A major winter storm warning was in effect. Both our offices decided to close Monday, thank goodness, and so we stayed home to watch the sleet and admire the thin patches of frost on rooftops, cars, and under trees in our apartment complex. Since we were stocked up on food and water, and our electricity was working, we were more than happy to stay off the icy roads. Yet a good number of residents, because they had run out of either food or patience, I suppose, put on their winter coats and set to scraping their windshields.

The winter storm warning only increased its admonitions for Tuesday, predicting sleet, snow and treacherous ice on the roads. So once again, our offices closed. And my first class of the spring semester was also canceled. Both school campuses closed. Another day confined to the little outpost I call home.

This morning over a leisurely breakfast (that is one of the pluses of being stuck at home), T and I were watching the sleet fall outside our window. I thought, it's almost fine enough to be snow. But I didn't really believe we'd see any. Later on, I was getting ready to do some cleaning (might as well, this is the longest stretch I've spent at the apartment in donkey's years) when I decided to look out my window.

And there it was...SNOW!!

Tiny flakes at first, scant and hard to see. That was enough for us. T and I pulled on coats and gloves. I grabbed my little camera. By the time we had made our way carefully down the iced stairwell to the parking lot, the snowflakes were falling faster and larger. I snapped a bunch of photos, trying to capture the snowfall. You can see it in some of the pictures if you squint. The thin layer of white on the parking lot would hardly cause jaws to drop. But this photo of the leaf is the most solid evidence that we actually had snow in Austin, right here in our apartment complex.

As of this posting, I'm staying home again tomorrow. No work, no school. And probably no more snow. Most of it had already melted by early evening. But I'll savor the little flurries I saw today for years to come. Because we probably won't see anything like it for years to come.

Makeover

2007-01-05T09:24:00.000-06:00

Happy 2007! As you can see, dear reader (or readers, if I'm so blessed), though I neglected my blog for a couple of months, I have just given it a makeover for the new year. Not an Extreme Makeover. Just a little rearranging here and there. But oh! the difference to me, to quote Wordsworth loosely. I absolutely love playing with colors and design; so imagine my delight not only at discovering that the new Blogger enables more customizing, but also at happening upon a great site called HTML Station, which is beginning to unlock the mysteries of hexadecimal color codes for me. Whoo-hoo! (And I know I am the biggest nerd for being excited about this.) There's no telling what I might do next--maybe I'll actually learn how to write some of my own HTML code in the not-so-distant future! For now, I'm just happy playing with hex colors. (It sounded a bit like some kind of witch's curse to me, until I remembered that "hex " also means "six," as in, an alphanumeric code of six characters, based on the RGB color spectrum.)

I'm not just hexing around, though. I've also worked hard to create a color scheme that is (hopefully) more visually stimulating and appealing to the eye than the original. In addition, I've changed the typefaces to improve readability. *I* think Arial is a much cleaner typeface for body text than Trebuchet, its default predecessor; and Georgia gives the headings a bit of classy pizazz. However, it is my hope that even if you could care less about all this typeface babble (yes, I am a typeface geek as well), it will translate into better readability for you. So let me know what you think of Becoming Aly's new look--leave a comment. Constructive criticism is welcome. Rotten veggies or other forms of libel are not. As I become more HTML-literate, I will do more renovating.

And now I'll try to set aside my refurbished cliches and be serious for a moment. This is about more than just a visual makeover. The beginning of a new year is a popular time to reflect on what one has accomplished in the last year and what one hopes to change in the future. For one thing, I hope to establish some sort of regularity with my posts. I regret that I failed to post even once in December. But I have to remind myself that life isn't Hollywood cinema. I won't always have the time or energy to record every single discovery or achievement that excites me; forget the breathtaking orchestral score and the enhanced visual effects. Therefore, my blog will never read from beginning to (current) end in a perfectly seamless sequence of events. Rather, it's more like the pewter ashtray your Uncle So-and-so (who never remembers that you hate pewter and don't smoke) gave you for Christmas three years ago: it's just a hold-all for keys, after-dinner mints and spare change.

Keys, after-dinner mints and spare change have their place, though. I would like to share a few things I learned in 2006, which for the sake of my dear reader(s) I'll summarize:

About rhetoric
My first two classes of graduate school were surveys on rhetoric. I could go on and on about all the (truly) exciting nuggets I took away from them; but I'll spare you. The broadest, simplest definition of rhetoric is that it is the art of communication; and after reading all sorts of takes on it, from the philosophical to the sociological to the literary to the technical, I've learned to examine words and images in an entirely new way. My new favorite word is intertextuality. I can relate everything to intertextuality. Human existence is intertextual. And now I can see that I'm beginning to frighten you, so I'll leave it at that.

About working and going to school
As far as I can tell, there are no magic formulas for making it as a working student. The number one principle is perseverance: NEVER GIVE UP. I could tell you that I've learned the dummy's guide to slapping together a website, shooting and editing a video, writing a coherent paper about methodological and philosophical hermeneutics, reading 200 pages a week and commuting to night classes twice a week, all the while rolling out of bed and dragging myself to work five days a week. But the secret to all of those great mysteries is very simple and very boring: STAY UP LATE.

About myself
I am not as objective as I'd like to believe. Both personal experience and my study of rhetoric have taught me that no matter how much knowledge and insight I may have acquired, I can still turn up a blind spot the size of the Western Hemisphere.

Also, I have had no success at pigeon-holing myself. Maybe this is a good thing; but I'm slightly obsessed with naming and identification. Therefore, I get frustrated when I can't seem to fit all my scattered interests into one hat box and tie it up with a pretty ribbon. I've tried and tried, especially after my study of rhetoric, to find the one magic word that sums up my talents/interests/career direction/whatever. Communication, maybe? Or interpretation--not lingual translation, but interpretation of life through art, interpretation of cultures through diplomacy... I dunno. I'm almost as lost as you probably are, trying to make sense of this existential drivel. What I've decided for now is that I cannot and should not pin down my future. All I should focus on, as I said in my very first post for Becoming Aly, is learning to be myself. And this includes learning to be an artist, learning to be a communicator, learning to be, rather than aiming to produce art/communication/whatever and getting frustrated when I fail. As one of my former pastors has said, we're human beings, not human doings. Mainly I should just learn how to be alive. Living and being alive are two different things, I think.

And so, in conclusion...
If I can't change my situation or my circumstances, the only thing left to change is myself. Namely, my attitude. There's truth in the saying that life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you respond. So, I hope to make over my attitude in this new year.

Both myself and my blog are works in progress. Stay tuned--but don't hold your breath. I'm just growing like a blade of grass. Slowly.

Poetoric

2006-11-07T22:28:00.000-06:00

I've been trying to write ever since January. I don't mean blog entries or papers for my classes, although these have kept me from completely hanging up my identity as a writer and I am thankful for them. I mean something literary (or at least literary-ish), i.e. fiction or poetry. Well, after being creatively dry for nearly a year, I have finally received a trickle of inspiration! And who would have thought its source would be the socio-linguistic theories of Nietzsche, Bakhtin and Foucault? I hate to admit it, but these esoteric eggheads do have a way with words. (Much to my surprise, Nietzsche has the most beautiful voice of doom I've ever read. Not that I enjoy reading voices of doom, particularly.) Add total immersion in my new Bjork CD (finally got her Greatest Hits), which is absolute poetry, and what else was I to do with all this inspiration but write a couple of my own poems yesterday? I'll share the better of the two here. If you love this poem, the other one isn't as good so you're not missing much. If you hate this poem, the other one is even worse and you'll be kissing my pinkie toes not to read it. I ain't no Frost or Dickinson, but I am just SO glad I was finally able to write something other than schoolwork! Be happy for me. (For a limited time only, I will accept insincere flattery.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Although my rhetoric class analyzes discourse on a more technical level involving big heavies like sociology, linguistics and philosophy, I am really referring to the most basic definition of the word, which according to Merriam-Webster Online means a "verbal interchange of ideas; especially conversation."

dis-course

in this stream
there is no sure footing
must go slowly
eyes feeling
ears watching

words muddy and thicken
the current
like sludge
while thoughts drip
from the cuffs of my pants
and disappear
in the turbid flow
or lodge themselves
in rocks and eddies

something
brushes against my feet
outside of me?
a fish—
or maybe
just my own pulse

the only truth
I can name:
sharp gravel
biting my heels

Li'l shop of photo horrors

2006-10-28T15:42:00.000-06:00

Well, I've survived my first graduate mid-term maelstrom. I used two sick days to finish a paper and a take-home mid-term that was supposed to take about 3 hours total (HA!), turned my back into one giant, petrified knot from all the sitting and driving I've had to do lately, and had two nervous breakdowns. But I'm fine now. Though I'm proud of the essays I spent hours and hours writing, I'm not sure anyone else would read them unless under torture. Instead, I thought I'd share what I'm learning in my propaganda--I mean, in my visual rhetoric--class. The first image is one I took about a year ago at a lovely historic house and gardens in Northern California called Filoli. The second image is a manipulated version of the original. The goal of this assignment was to use Adobe Photoshop to give a neutral image a rhetorical slant. And so I thought I'd experiment with how gloomy and desolate I could make an idyllic place like Filoli appear with a little messing around. Spooky, huh? Looks like it could be the Addams Family's summer home. (My prof liked it--I got an A+.) Happy Halloween y'all!

Non vis intelligi? LOL!

2006-10-06T14:03:00.000-06:00

This week I had my first-ever online classroom chat experience. In the days preceding, I looked forward to it eagerly, not the least because it meant I could come home straight from work rather than scarfing down my dinner at 4:45, rushing out of the office and driving the interstate highway to the south campus.

The chat experience turned out to be more free-form and stream-of-consciousness than I had expected, as the class of about 14 or so began with small talk, moved on to two or three simultaneous discussions about our readings interspersed with small talk, and concluded (as I was signing off, anyway) with movie recommendations, questions about our upcoming mid-term and a slightly heated debate about social issues.

I've been told that not all chat programs are created equally. About half the class expressed dissatisfaction with our interface, ranging from confusion to annoyance to early sign-off. The dissatisfaction had to do with the seemingly random appearance of our posted comments, which made it very difficult to maintain a steady discussion, let alone follow two or three simultaneous discussions. The effect was something like a roomful of people shouting at each other all at once. Here is a (partially) fictionalized sampling of our experience:

B: So, according to John Locke's theory, words cannot have fixed meanings because they signify different connotations to various people depending on social, cultural and experiential cues.

C: i don't know why but i am suddenly hungry for pizza

D: Then answer me this, B--how can any of us ever understand each other?

E: we never will be able to understand each other the way this conversation is going, LOL!

F: i am with you, C! double pepperoni with extra cheese sounds really good =)

B: I guess we can understand each other based on what we collectively perceive.

G: I think social construction plays a role in creating a collective perception.

H: does anyone know how many questions are going to be on our mid-term?

B: But even the way we define social construction is limiting: to say social construction is a theory that everything is socially constructed gets us nowhere.

E: H, i think there are going to be two questions but i'm not totally sure

D: Good point, B. Just like this conversation is getting us nowhere!

C: mmm, pizza...

Perhaps because I am a complete chat newbie and don't know any better, I actually enjoyed the haphazard, frenetic structure. I understood that the order in which our comments appeared was determined simply by the order in which we pressed the "add comment" button; and once I adjusted to this strange phenomenon, the whole experience became a game to me. I skipped from one discussion to another, sometimes participating, sometimes just observing. I smiled at the carefully-typed philosophical comments mixed with staccato bursts of emoticons and chat acronyms. I laughed at the witty quips of others and secretly exalted when I managed to get in a quip of my own right behind the previous commenter. In a way, I enjoyed this format more than our usual face-to-face class discussions--partly because I had more opportunities to comment online, and partly because I was able to "talk" to people in the class I normally don't have much interaction with.

In his treatise, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Enlightenment theorist John Locke quotes what is probably a key point, as he goes to the trouble of saying it in Latin:

Si non vis intelligi, debes negligi.
[Translation: "If it doesn't make sense, it may be disregarded."]

I wish I had thought to interject this little gem somewhere in the online discussion. I certainly applied it when navigating our chaotic chat, and I think I will apply it to future readings I find unfathomable (or just plain boring).

On a knee-deep level, I think Tetris ultimately prepared me for this experience. At one time I was addicted to the Game Boy version. Though I could never get past level 3 or 4, I loved trying to make sense of the randomly falling blocks of different shapes and steering them to appropriate gaps before they hit bottom. Well, the online chat was pretty much the same concept--only without the catchy music.

Graduate moonlighting tips

2006-09-29T12:19:00.000-06:00

Notes to self (and anyone else who might find this applicable) on how to make working and going to school as painless as possible:

1. Skimming and scanning are your friends.
2. No matter how exquisitely you schedule reading time, you will never finish those last four pages before class.
3. If you're tired, go to bed. You will be much more effective catching up the next day rather than trying to get your head round classical rhetoric at midnight.
4. If by some miracle you get ahead, don't waste time gloating. You'll be swamped again by morning.
5. Eat lots of protein. Protein is brain food.
6. Get to know your classmates and build a network of support.
7. Do yourself a favor on long commutes: don't while away the miles creating mental task schedules. Just relax. (But don't miss your exit.)
8. Reserve time for yourself to play on weekends.
9. Start writing your papers and responses before you finish reading. See tip #2.
10. When you're sick of studying and ready to buy a one-way ticket to Bedlam, take a deep breath and remind yourself that you chose to do this. This is important to you, and your hard work will pay off in the future.
11. When you're sick of working and ready to take up sniper shooting for fun, take a deep breath and remind yourself that even though you didn't choose to do this, and it doesn't seem important to you, your hard work will earn you a paycheck.
12. Breathe.
13. Laugh.
14. Sing.
15. LIVE ONE DAY AT A TIME.

This is what I've learned so far. I'm sure I'll have more ping-pong balls of wisdom to share in the coming semesters. Brace yourself.

The call of academia

2006-09-18T14:30:00.000-06:00

Shhh...

If you listen closely, you may hear the slight rustling of a page turning or the unobtrusive scratching of a pen. Such is the life of Aly the graduate student.

For one brief, shining day this diligent individual triumphed in the achievement of the unfathomable: getting ahead in her class readings. However, the jubilation was all too fleeting as very soon she found herself assailed by a new challenge: a paper on the Gestalt principles of perception, which Aly last studied eons ago in undergrad graphic design. Having overcome this obstacle through the earnest application of her abilities, on top of plodding through the usual weekly readings and responses for both classes, Aly once more ventured to cheer herself on. Then came the blow of an unforeseen little mishap (which even the keenest academic life observer has yet to unfold), followed by a restive night (the cause of which, astonishingly, appears to be one cup of decaf tea with two teaspoons of sugar) and feverish research for a paper exploring the origins and context of hermeneutics.

Suddenly Aly has changed from a relatively mild-mannered, introspective person to an academic shut-in who breathes more rhetoric than oxygen. She has had to withdraw from choir the past two Sundays and yearns to shop for some badly-needed fall clothes; but instead she resigns herself to sedan singing and repeated airings of end-of-summer outfits. More disturbing is the recent discovery that she actually enjoys much of this self-inflicted torture, even while she despairs of ever attaining a (normal) life. And does it make her more or less an alien to society that she delighted in finding the namesake of her favorite obsessive-compulsive detective while reading a brief survey of the history of hermeneutics? (Believe it or not, if anyone besides Aly cares: fictional detective Adrian Monk of the USA Network series is named after a historical person, one monk by the name of Adrian who lived in the fifth or sixth century A.D.)

Beware the call of academia...it can swallow a person whole! Aly still hopes she may somehow be able to hang out with her AR (awesome roommate), stay involved in her choir and young adults group at church and keep in some sort of touch with her friends. At present, however, the Roman orator Quintilian demands to be read by Wednesday.

God bless Steve Irwin

2006-09-07T13:21:00.000-06:00

Are there crocodiles in heaven? I've never pondered this before--but for the sake of a certain Australian Wildlife Warrior, I hope so. It's still a shock to me that the Crocodile Hunter is no longer with us. He was one of those rare people who could touch millions of hearts through the medium of television.

My first exposure to Steve Irwin was in undergrad. Someone on staff at the campus newspaper did an impersonation of Steve's trademark "By Crikey, what a beauty!" This at first led me to believe that anyone who actually hunted crocodiles for fun was a complete looney. However, curiosity won over, and thanks to our cable subscription, my roommates and I began tuning in to the now-famous show on Animal Planet. No matter how insane I sometimes thought Steve-O was for putting himself in dangerous situations, what won me over was his genuine passion for animals of all kinds, whether friendly or aggressive, beautiful or ugly. Actually, in his book there were no ugly animals, as was clearly evidenced by the frequent use of "sweetheart" to address his beloved crocs.

I admire his wife Terri no less for her amazing composure while traveling and working alongside him. I'm not usually big on love stories, but I've always thought the way Steve and Terri met was so special; and I still marvel at how perfect they were for each other. Their happiness, it seemed, was plentiful enough so that their mutual love of animals spread not only to the people they worked with but also to the millions of fans they attracted worlwide.

Even though I never met Steve Irwin, I felt that I had lost a friend when I heard the news of his tragic death. This grief, experienced by so many Crocodile Hunter enthusiasts, is a testimony to the size of Steve's heart for all life on earth--both animal and human. My thoughts and prayers go out to Steve's family, as well as to his friends, his co-workers--and yes, his fans.

Aristotle's lock-in

2006-08-28T15:30:00.000-06:00

I spent nearly the entire weekend hanging out with an influential man.

All right, that was just a cheap lead. In order to be honest I must include such trifling details as the fact that this "influential man" lived in Greece from 384 to 322 B.C. Oh, and his name was Aristotle.

Yup, I've officially started school. How could you tell??

As of Wednesday, August 23, I am a graduate student. Yippee! I promise I am not being sarcastic about the yippee. I really am excited to be back in school. I even visited the main (south) campus the weekend before classes started to practice the route, find my building, determine the most convenient parking, get textbooks and buy spirit souvenirs (T-shirt, mug, sticker for my car, etc.). I am so glad I made that special trip, because the main campus is HUGE and I would not have been able to find everything cold turkey sub on my first day.

The commute is actually not as bad as I envisioned--about 40-45 minutes from my downtown Austin office. (I was thinking it would take maybe an hour and fifteen minutes on a good day.) Conveniently, there is a faculty parking garage right next to my building--and after 5 p.m. it becomes a free-for-all, as long as you have some sort of parking permit.

The classes should be intriguing. I'm taking two theory courses: Studies in Rhetoric (Wed. nights) and Visual Rhetoric (Thu. nights). As I suspected, however, my main activity from now on will be sticking my nose in a book.

OK, so not much has changed. But henceforth my reading material will be much heavier--both in subject matter and in actual weight--than my previous choices. Probably in the region of 250-300 pages a week, plus writing assignments. I always like to laugh at Hermione in the first Harry Potter movie when she approaches Harry and Ron in the school library with the breezy comment, I just picked this up for a bit of light reading, and drops a ponderous tome the size of two Websters on the table with a resounding WHAM! Well, now that is me. Getting to know Aristotle was my first assignment for Studies in Rhetoric, and I don't know what my first assignment for Visual Rhetoric is yet because I haven't had time to start it. I will probably be reading up until the end of my work day on Thursday.

EEYARRGH!! It's 5 p.m. and I still have a lot of rhetoric to digest. Please excuse me!

Gusto

2006-08-17T15:17:00.000-06:00

Last night I got to eat chocolate cake and sing.

This may not sound particularly planet-pulverizing, and some of you dear readers may shudder at the latter activity (whether the thought of me singing or you singing is more terrifying, I don't know--take your pick). Nevertheless, these two things were a huge treat for me, as I haven't been able to do either of them all summer. I haven't been able to eat chocolate cake (or ice cream, or French fries, or pizza, or anything with an ounce of fat or dairy or yumminess in it) because of my ongoing struggle with an IBS flare-up (that's all you really need or want to know). I haven't been able to sing because the choir I joined at my church in February disbands every summer (and I'd probably have a lot of complaints from the neighbors if I indulged in this pastime at home).

Finally, however, I was relieved of my deprivation. The Choir had its fall kick-off last night at a member's lovely home, and this meant not only a read-through of the first few songs but also a potluck.

Lately, because of my IBS, I've dreaded attending any social event with food (I think "social event" and "food" are synonymous, actually). I get tired of trying to explain to well-meaning people why I can't eat their homemade potato salad and why I'm just nursing a glass of water and an unbuttered dinner roll. I also dreaded the thought of having to tell everyone I would no longer be able to make Wednesday night practices, thanks to my new class schedule, and the thought of socializing in general with a group to which I'm still new. (Guilty as charged: I'm an introverted plasterweed.)

I am happy to report that all of my Whatifs (thank you, Shel Silverstein) were unfounded.

Though not everyone remembered my name (nor, I confess, did I remember or even yet know everyone else's names), most people remembered my face, and I received several warm greetings when I arrived at the cozily crowded gathering. If I didn't feel quite at ease yet, an unexpected treat cleared away the last of my sociophobic cobwebs.

The Choir's piano accompanist and her husband, a professional singer, had just arrived. Both native Russians, they gave a rousing mini-concert of three songs. Their combined performances riveted me. She played the piano with vigor and clarity in every note, and he sang well enough to give Pavarotti a run for his euros. The accompanist's husband projected with such volume it filled the packed living room; and he effortlessly transcended a range from bass all the way to tenor. Aside from a few muffled laughs at the dog whose barking he set off, the audience was absolutely silent.

By the time we were lining up for supper, I had forgotten my worries. I filled my plate--all with relatively safe foods, and no heaping portions--and enjoyed visiting with my soprano buddy (another Choir newbie) as well as with some other members. We happened to be sitting next to the dessert table. Though by now I was used to resisting the most decadent edibles, and had no plans to shirk my self-discipline, an unsolicited boldness arose in me at the sight of my soprano buddy cutting the chocolate cake I'd been eyeballing. I took a small piece and ate it with deeeelight!

After dessert, everyone took their plates to the kitchen and we gathered once more in the living room, this time to practice our songs. Basses rubbed shoulders with sopranos; altos mixed with tenors. In a makeshift circle we lifted our voices while our director coached us to give more--and more we gave. This is mid-season singing! the director exalted.

Some members commented on the great acoustics of the room, and I agreed. We never heard our voices so well as this when we practiced in the choir room at church, nor even when we performed Sunday mornings. But I've always found that I sing better on a full, happy stomach; and I, for one, having managed to eat an entire meal and a decadent dessert without a single bad consequence, believe my happy stomach contributed to the richness of my singing. I also believe our accompanist's husband inspired us with his concert-hall performance.

Most importantly, to once again have the blessing of joining my voice with a roomful of talented singers reminded me how sorely I had missed it. While we sang "how precious did that grace appear," the words meant deliverance to me. Deliverance from my summerlong anxieties, health problems, and crumbled hopes.

On the way home, I listened to Loreena McKennitt. Her song "Dante's Prayer," which begins and ends with a heavenly choral refrain, only reinforced my grateful heart.

Oh yes, and I'm still dreaming about that chocolate cake.

Fun with financial aid

2006-08-16T11:26:00.000-06:00

Do I get extra credit for posting more than once this week? Probably not. I don't think there is such a thing as extra credit in grad school.

[hopeful pause]

Is there?

Dear readers who are current or ex-grad students are welcome to burst my balloon, as long as they send an audio file of their answer after taking a swig of helium. (J/K! Of course I would never solicit the ingestion of harmful substances--well, OK, maybe I would if it was funny.)

Seriously, though, my arms are not tired, I didn't just fly in from Denver last night, and I am posting again because already I've had another little [mis]adventure in the world of graduate school. Well, graduate school is just a small kingdom in the large empire called Financial Aid, and it is really this entity to which I am referring.

Actually, I should be grateful my first few miles of traversing this slippery road have been relatively smooth. Thanks to the convenience of the Palantir--I mean, Internet--I have managed to complete my federal loan application, secure an electronic signature (basically a PIN), complete pre-loan counseling, sign a promissory note, register for classes and disburse payment from my loan, all online. As Inspector Gadget is fond of saying, Wowsers!

But now we're getting to the fun part. I registered for my class (singular) on Monday, the plan being--as mentioned in my previous post--to take only one this first semester. I was astute enough to review the fine print in my Borrower's Rights and Responsibilities Statement. (I'm not talking about the part where it says, Oh BTW, this isn't free money--you have to pay it back or you will be blacklisted by every credit bureau from here to the Kuiper Belt for the rest of your life. I got that part.) I made sure to verify before I registered that the half-time enrollment required to keep my loan is considered to be 3 hours. Well, so said an anonymous source from my school's financial aid office, who shall remain anonymous because I didn't think to take her name down.

Then yesterday, I called my "inside source," a friend I'll refer to as L, who also works in my school's financial aid office. I needed to find out Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? [The author of this blog apologizes for this unsolicited trip down Nostalgia Expressway--she is now exiting.] So I was calling L to find out how in the world to apply payment from my loan online, because the registration confirmation window said I should be able to but the only options were pay with plastic or pay in person. L, who for me embodies compassion, said, Oh, no! I'm always so sad when people are given the wrong information! And I could visualize the worry lines appearing on her forehead.

Uh-oh.

Turns out I had been misinformed. L said the definition of "half-time" is always changing. Apparently 3 hours as half-time is so last term. This was the correct definition for the summer session, but for the fall session half-time is now at 4 hours. Eeyarrgh! So I had to go back online and register for another class, and only then would I be able to apply payment from my loan. That was the deal.

But you could later drop a class, L added. Your loan will not be affected.

How much later? I pressed. It's just that I don't want to buy textbooks I'm not going to use, and anyway I'd feel weird about going to a class I already know I'm not going to commit to.

I wouldn't drop until the end of the month, was L's reply. You have to wait for your loan check to be sent to you. If you drop prematurely your records will no longer show you are eligible for the loan.

I did a mental head-scratch. So this is all a technicality then? I just have to register for 3 more hours, buy some textbooks (which I can later return), and show up to class for a couple of weeks? Just go through the motions, and then after my check comes in I can drop?

That's right, said L. Grad students add and drop all the time, just to meet their enrollment eligibility.

Oh, I am such a newbie and I know I ain't seen Jack Sprat yet!

So to make a long story longer, I ended up going back online to register for another class, which I had to get special clearance for because every class in my program requires special clearance (I should feel special), and then...VOILA! The "apply payment from your loan" button magically appeared!

I guess this means I am going to go back to my original plan of diving in head-first with two classes. At this point, however, I'm thinking I will only keep this up for the required two weeks and then drop the added class. It's not that I don't want to take it. In fact, the class I added is one that keenly interests me, much more keenly than the class I mean to stick with. But it also looks a lot more intense, and it meets the night after my other class. I don't fancy making a kamikaze commute to the south campus two nights in a row, every single week. The thought of spending two nights in a row at my parents' house is even less appealing.

But we'll see what happens in the next chapter of the continuing Adventures of Aly the Grad Student!!!!!!! [cymbals clashing half-heartedly]

Back to school

2006-08-15T10:40:00.000-06:00

OOPS. I missed my Monday deadline to post. Fifty lashes with a tagliatelle grande for me (a la Lemony Snicket's Esme)! Soon I shall have to do better about these deadlines, for next week heralds the beginning of a new era for Aly: graduate school.

I've decided, after much gnashing of workaholic teeth, to take my original plan down a notch and just start with one class this semester. Though two classes are considered the normal load for students working full-time, I don't want to test my still-fragile health, and I also don't want to commute an hour or longer in rush-hour traffic to the south campus more than once a week. If you read between the lines, you're right: my school has two campuses, one in Round Rock (north of Austin) and one in San Marcos (south of Austin).

When I applied to the school's technical communication program, I was under the impression that I could take classes at either campus. Turns out this is only as true as the claim that the moon is made of cheese. (Wallace & Gromit found this claim to be true. However, if Japanese astronauts had gone to the moon, they would have expected to find rabbits pounding rice-cakes. So who's right?) Yes, classes are offered at both campuses; but I have recently been informed that the majority of classes tend to be where the majority of students are, which at the present time is San Marcos. And I moved up north to be closer to the Round Rock campus. Adding further to the irony, the only class being offered at the Round Rock campus this semester is online, and it is so popular that after registration had been open for just one minute the class was closed. Remind me to do a series on Murphy's Law in action sometime.

So I will be taking just one night class at the south (San Marcos) campus, and praying that 1 1/2 hours will be enough time to get from downtown Austin all the way to San Marcos during rush hour. In order to save on gas and lost sleep, I've made the brave decision to use my parents' house in south Austin as a weekly rest stop.

Life will only get more interesting, I suppose. Stay tuned (or tune out) for further adventures of Aly the grad student...

Aly breaks out of her cave!

2006-08-07T11:10:00.000-06:00

Today--less than an hour ago, in fact--I finally broke out of my self-made prison. (Well, one of them, anyway. I have several. But that is not the point.)

I took a walk on my lunch break.

Not exactly planet-pulverizing, is it? And you're probably wondering, What kind of self-made prison is she talking about?? A fear of cross-walks? An aversion to wearing sneakers? Let me (try to) explain.

I have never liked exercising. That is, I have never liked the obvious kinds of exercising. A burst of spontaneous energy in the form of apartment-cleaning, dancing as badly as I know how in the living room, or skipping around a parking lot, is something I enjoy. However, I tend to avoid anything involving machines, skintight apparel and/or organized rules. So that leaves out pretty much every fitness trend, every sport ending with the word "ball" and...well, pretty much every sport. (Yes, I was the kid in school who got hit in the eyeglasses with volleyballs.)

As you can imagine, this limits my choices. After some ballet and yoga lessons, I've at least decided that--although I don't have a single coordinated bone or muscle in my body--I enjoy calisthenic forms of exercise. A few years ago I developed a personal workout routine comprising a mixture of barre exercises and yoga postures and for a while depended on this, as well as the occasional hike, to stay reasonably fit.

But when I started my current job about a year ago, a new obstacle arose. This is actually the first job I've ever had with "regular hours," as in, the same schedule every day, five days a week. (I know, I've been spoiled. That's not the point, though.) With previous jobs I usually had pockets of free time during the week because of my atypical hours. So (when I was being disciplined) I did my workouts two afternoons a week and I was happy.

Now I don't have free afternoons. I refuse to get up at the crack of dawn to exercise (two things I don't like, mixed together=cranky Aly), and by the time I get home in the evening, I am too tired to to do anything but eat dinner and get ready for bed. So that leaves my lunch break.

Why has it taken me so long to start walking on my lunch break? I have to confess to a lack of motivation. I value the break as precious reading time. I love to read. I don't love to exercise. (Have I already mentioned this?) Lack of courage is another reason. I mean, if I start walking around in public, people might see me. EEYARRGH!! Also, I confess to a lack of ideas. What to do in less than one hour (by the time I've had a bite to eat) that doesn't cost money (i.e., gym membership) and requires no apparatus (e.g., a bike or a treadmill)?

Due to my sometimes extraordinarily dull skills of observation, I failed to realize the answer until today: my office building is within walking distance of the Town Lake trail. DUH! So at long last, after a quick lunch, I exchanged heels for sneakers, headed down Congress Avenue, and hit the trail under the bridge. It was so nice to be out in the warm weather, since being in my cold office all day makes me feel like a piece of frozen meat. I also enjoyed seeing the lake, laughing at grackles and squirrels, and hearing the chirping chorus of hundreds of bats taking shelter under the bridge. All this, just a few blocks from my building. I might as well have been working in a cave!

I'm going to make an honest effort to stick to my new exercise routine. It does take away some of my reading time, but who ever said life was easy?