Well let's back-up the metaphor and go back down the roadway I've just been down.

----

More a side story than anything, Dr. Lace had asked the two of us to come into the lab this past wednesday. At first I didn't mind, but then I was angry about coming in based on principle--y'know, holidays being just for relaxing or family-induced emotional scarring. I was expecting scarring anyway, since I thought Dr. Lace irate, which'd set Dr. Ziv straight off. I had kinda fried a 6,000 USD piece of equipment, true, but I didn't think the thing was THAT fragile. Being that I'd fried the machine twice, I thought the situation was hopeless so far as salvaging the thing.

The truth was thankfully nowhere close by. Dr. Lace was a kindly old man in his 70's, with an air of intelligence and profound wisdom about him. He came down, checked out that the ECT machine kept making the buzzing noise, then mentioned it was doing what I'd described in the e-mail. He mentioned that it was probably a blown circuit, something that could be easily fixed if he had the schematic for the machine--which just so happened to be over at a storage place in the Mt. St. University Medical Center. He mentioned he'd get lunch, drop by there, pick up the schematic then drop it back our way. I said I'd stay as long as necessary. Dr. Ziv said he'd be leaving soon since he had kids.

So I stayed around, stomaching hunger by doing some breathing techniques; the whole campus had closed down so I was about 20 minutes from the nearest eatery, and I didn't know when Dr. Lace would call. In the meantime I worked on the application for Nazi Animal Research Cabal (NARC), the one which'd actually make it legal for us to electrocute rats into unconscious and administer the most powerful opiate on the planet to them.

Eventually Dr. Lace phoned up and mentioned that the storage place wasn't open. We exchanged contact info and then got into a discussion about our research. Apparently Dr. Lace is the first person to have ever found the adenosine chemical in the brain. This is the same chemical that, when released in your brain, can incapacitate you for up to a week. Apparently Dr. Ziv was sortof his intellectual son--so I guess that made me his intellectual grandson. Well he was definetely an improvement over the man I remember as my grandfather.

----

Our collective holiday season was severely disturbed by two damned unfortunate things. First, my mother's boyfriend, Scott, learned that his mom had suddenly become ill. She couldn't take in food, breathe by herself, and seemed to have shut down suddenly. She's been in a nursing home for years, but her health had been stable. Alot of people get sick around Christmas, though, myself included for one potent night of being miserably flu-ish.

Anyway, her being in the hospital was bad enough for the effect it had on mom and Scott. We learned late on Christmas Eve that Scott's brother and his gold digging wife had suddenly decided to drive here--from Colorado. These are horrible people. His wife is attempting to fleece Scott's family trust of most of its money by many, many illegal and (mostly) stupid ways. Scott and Mom remain civil with them. They bitch about them at every juncture offered or even suggested, naturally, but they take the 'keep your enemies closer' approach. I'd personally just sue them with the evidence we have now and freeze/seize their assets to pay back the trust, but who am I to argue.

They want access to more of the trust money very badly--and they began to visit Scott's mom at the hospital every day. Now we can't point to them doing anything overt to harm Scott's mom, but constantly trying to tell her that her husband is dead (since she has Alzheimer's) does make us wonder. Since Scott's son had a premonition of the gold-digger actually killing her, Scott, mom and Scott's son have set up hospital visits around the clock. Fortunately they've got the hospital staff on their side.

----

But I was dealing with another crusade entirely. My graduate application to work with Dr. Zivago at Mt. St. University was due in on the 30th. I originally thought I'd just re-word a few paragraphs here and there, change the headers for all the other documents and send the thing in.

Such was not the case. I read over the requirements that Mt. University had for the personal statement. They wanted alot of very specific info, including my "educational background". Trying to wedge in that part came to me after a few days, but I kept running into new obstacles: what I actually did in Dr. Ziv's lab versus taking a few liberties, how to put more detail into the sections talking about my research, etc.

Now all this time I'd been expecting school transcripts from my Alma Mater, Oberlin College. You need official transcripts on the due date or you are fucked, basically. I checked saturday's mail. They were not there.

I wasn't quite panicking at this point, since I knew one place they'd still be: Dr. Zivago's office, since he'd written a letter of recommendation for me.

I decided to make it a photography night/transcript stealing jaunt as I made my way out to Mt. University, circa 11:30pm. I found a parking spot, hiked past ghostly familiar plants and odd fluorescent lights to the bowels of the lab. I was giddy: I could nip this transcript thing in the bud right there.

As I unlocked the door and stepped into the lab area, I listened and noticed that the sink was running. I went into the wash room, shook my head and made an amused comment as I turned the thing off. I approach Dr. Zivago's office with a grin. Just as suddenly, the grin died.

He was there. In his office. On a saturday. At 12:30pm in the morning.

My mind and body backfired in a trail of 'what the fuck's', moving back quietly and outside. It seemed like he hadn't noticed me, but then what in the fuck was he DOING there? I was so bloody confused I sat in the corner office for 40 minutes reading the BBC news, wondering back and forth if I should just: 1) Lie and say I was in the area and wanted to check my email. 2) Ran the fuck out of the building. I finally decided on a more cautious version of 2. I couldn't believe it. I hadn't planned on this! I'd obviously have to go back there sunday. Wait, or should I just call Dr. Ziv about where the transcripts are? Would they be by his place maybe, or still at the office?

I recovered eventually, got stopped by a (thankfully) friendly neighborhood patrol cop while taking a far-off business building shot, and got home to worry incessantly for a little while before going to bed. I consider it sortof a nervous hobby.

----

Words can't begin to describe it, but I'll try.

Late in the morning I decided to phone Dr. Zivago about the transcripts. Yeah, they'd been at his office--but he'd thrown them out. He mentioned that I could just send a note with my application about the fact that my official transcripts would be in soon. He assured me the office wouldn't have a problem with that.

I didn't believe him. He's been wrong enough times in the past about procedure. It suddenly dawned on me, then, that I'd ordered some unofficial transcripts back in my decay days of late last year. 'They should still be over at Gran's house', I thought. Mom tried to discourage the idea but I wouldn't listen.

First, though, I focused on trying to finish the personal statement and work on the NARC application. Time continually dove for its tail as the hours were nipped away. Finally I couldn't take it anymore: I HAD to find those unofficial transcripts. By some amazing stroke of luck I actually did find them! For about...45 seconds I was happy. I then began to wonder about the transcripts themselves. See, they were from April 2002, before I graduated, so they didn't have the grades listed for my last semester. While I at first said "fuck it, they won't care, I'll just write a letter detailing them", I kept getting the gnawing feeling that that wouldn't be enough.

Still, as I drove all the way back down to Palos Verdes, I figured that was as good as I was going to get.

Now I had to focus on the personal statement. I'd more or less been content with it, felt like I needed to re-edit some, but I could do that in the morning. So I saved all my files, sent them to an email storage address and went to Scott's computer to print out the things. I have to do all of that because, for some reason, my own printer only prints if there's a pretty picture in the fucking document.

Here was the first problem: the printer/photo-copier wouldn't turn on. Mom had no idea why. Scott was hibernating again for his usual 2-3 day cycle. I abandoned the thing and instead decided to use Mom's scanner (to scan and print the transcripts) and her printer (to print the other stuff). Since her computer has been on the fritz, however, I had to unplug the cords for both gizmos. Since she has one of those desks with a 9 ft tall back and a hand-sized hole through which all the cords go through, however, it proved to be one hell of an undertaking.

Ok, so I've got my mother's scanner and printer dislodged from the computer like two eviscerated, torn-out organs. I can just hook them up to my computer and they'll work fine, right?

Oh hell no. I looked online for near an hour to get drivers (i.e. software) for that printer. Nothing. I asked mom if she knew where the installation CD for it was. I knew that was futile from the start, but I had to ask anyway. Nothing. I didn't even bother with the scanner.

My new game plan: I'd go to Dr. Ziv's lab and print/scan all the shit. It'd probably SAVE me time. True, it was already 10:30pm at night, but I figured I'd only need to edit stuff a little and then get it printed. I'd be tired as hell and it'd be 3AMish after I was done, but I'd have everything.

Then another thought struck me: why not just turn the shit into the graduate office or leave it in their mail slot? That way I wouldn't have to rush out and do all that shit late saturday night/early sunday morning.

So I went to bed.

----

So I woke up, headed out to Mt. St. University, hiked the 14 blocks from where I parked (since the campus shuttle service is off until students coome back), and got into Dr. Ziv's lab. Dr. Ziv wasn't there. This made things much easier: no sudden distractions.

I had two goals: to finish and send the Mt. University application and to finish the NARC application. Both were due in today. I knew I could do this.

I checked to see if the graduate office was open. No, it was not. Mind you, their phone message and website said nothing about their office being closed. Regardless of the whole campus being shut down, I honestly thought the graduate office would be an exception; it made logical sense.

Unfortunately, that didn't change the fact that I'd have to print out everything, drive back to Palos Verdes and mail out everything using Express Mail.

So I calmed myself and focused on re-re-re-editing my personal statement. Satisfied, I printed that and everything else at least 3-4 times until it was flawlessly, stapled perfectly and each page was symmetrical compared to the others. I fished out a manilla envelope from a pack of 20 (which I'd gotten from my sojourn at Gran's place), and steadied the materials on the packet. I'd have to check the checklist on the website and the materials themselves about 4-5 times, after all, so taking the stuff in and out of the envelope would have just been silly. I'd just do that at the post office, anyway.

It was 2:30pm by the time I was done printing and checking everything. I wasn't sure what times the Express Mail was picked up. I thought one of those times was 3:30pm, so I set that as a goal. Another goal was 5:00pm -- the time that I had to submit the NARC application online.

I made better time on the freeway than I thought, rolling into the area at 3:30pm. Now, while our mail carrier loves to chat with all the old folks on this mountain and generally drag her ass on the job, I thought it'd be wonderfully cool if it just so happened that my official Oberlin transcripts had arrived.

They had. I grabbed them, did a little dance, took out the photocopied unofficial transcripts and that silly letter, then put in the real transcripts. My application was complete.

Next it was time to race to the post office. I got there at a little under 4:00pm. They had no more Express Mail envelopes but some EM stickers, so I grabbed one and headed to the lines. I looked around the interior. On a placard was the message "Express Mail cut-off : 4:15pm. I looked up at the clock. It'd just turned to 4 about half-way in line.

Would I make the deadline? Would I Express Mail my application? Would the Penguin dastardly disintegrate the dynamic duo?

Yes indeed: I did make it on time, with a little to spare. In hindsight I should have written my name on the manilla envelope somewhere instead of leaving it blank--but I figured that the applications materials inside had my name at the top of each one, that and the Express Mail thingy showed my name quite clearly.

So I was done with one application, but the NARC thingy was still due. It was about 4:10pm now. I rushed back home, flew onto the computer and furiously edited the hell out of the thing. Ideas flew from my ass like monkies possessed. It was a sight and sound to behold. Finally, at 4:58, I clicked the "submit to NARC" button. I'd done it: I'd completed and sent both applications on the same day! Oh sure I didn't send the NARC application to the veterinarians to 'pre-review' it, but they can kiss my American Indian/White mongrel ass and ream me while they're at it. I'll deal with the fallout later.

----

So there you have it, a small but accurate taste of the wacky shit I dealt with in getting these things in on time.

Just one more application for University of Wisconsin-Madison to go. That one is due on the 5th of January. I can only hope I won't have another sunday and monday like these ones.

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