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Random Poetry Moment; Ford Fellowship and my amazing advisor; opportunities

2004-11-12 - 10:04 p.m.

Foreign tongue in a native language of roads, wagging by the thousand downcast angels of the boulevard, cookie-crust bulbs threading through the darkness. Streets are shedding paper cups and footfalls. Life walks on with big brown eyes and a tan fur coat, hands clutching to the shoulder harness, the huffing clamber; four-legged jig of prancing ear-perks.

The windows had no eyes and all the pebbles sang songs with leafs, reedy cohorts by the brambles and smooth skins.

A voice called out from a box, within the box, belching sentiment unwed to reality but sporting a love-child of delusion, patina patois smeared across the city--in back-alley gang-bangs of joy and intimate normalcy. Lightning is everywhere, white streaks across every room and corner but nowhere in the sky.

It was a friday, the younger sister of Halloween, songs ringing while the sands fell...

* * *

Grants: Balls First

When we last left our slightly zealous hero, I'd been giving a think about how neat it was to have the NSF Fellowship due Dec. 9th. It was in a haze of worried ease that I finally got a chance to tick-click through the Ford Minority Fellowship site.

The date was obvious: November 17th. 7 days away. A thought flickered, a bad zippo trying to convince me to indulge what I saw as an illusion. No fire with that impulse.

I told my advisor, half-hoping he would say to drop the idea. What I got was two pages of insight and trumpet calls to intellectual Mecca. But there was a new twist. I didn't have 7 days. He would be gone on monday and tuesday. I had two days to write a fellowship grant.

And so it was BALLSFIRSTdownESSAYAVENUE!sprintingacrossPersonalEssaysavannahblindingflyingfuryrunjumpscreamtopassaStatementofResearchExperiencerunningmadlaughingslickdownbarrels ofProposedResearchandfinallyfinishing...finishing at 2:00am in the morning on friday. I had even written up my Proposed Research essay early on Thursday, so I did a near complete revision to make it more general.

At every turn on Thursday and today was my advisor, a beacon of hope in my otherwise despondent coffee-clutch of reality, my peanut gallery of me wondering about what-if's and worrying. We talked on Wednesday, you see, about a general plan, and while I had wondered if I could pull this off in two days, there Dr. C was: his side-eye wrinkles expansive like small bat fingers, extended out to reveal a life and disposition of joy and amazing resilience in the face of everything. In my life I have never looked up to someone else with as much admiration and respect. He is a mentor and advisor in the most ideal connotations possible, and I left the lab that wednesday with a smile. My confidence was shaky, but I couldn't help smiling. Dr. C does it often and its infectious.

But it didn't stop at advice. When I had my proposed research essay, all 4 crammed pages of it, I gave it to him on Thursday..and a few hours later, as I waited reading my stats, he came back and ticked through the feedback on it. But this wasn't just general comments or a few scribbles. He'd slashed, re-written, and suggested over most of the paper, insightfully helping me to make things more broad or offer clarity here and there. It was obvious he'd spent alot of time on it, just like I had.

The very same was the case today. I'd rolled out of bed today at 8:30, finding it bizarre that 6 hours of sleep would leave me feeling..awake, but maybe it was getting all those essays done. So I showed, shaved, dressed and slid my feet to the lab, handing off the stuff. He'd said to come back in a few hours--and sure enough, after I came back with a full stomach and my laptop from home, he came to my office with that beatific expression and handed back the stuff. It was less slashed up than before, but still with plenty of corrections to take me several hours to get through. Dr. C had told me that every good grant went through 3 revisions--and I wanted to keep going, and going I did for 5 hours. I had to find some references and such, after all, and Dr. C's writing is sometimes hard to make out.

But as 5 rolled around, he came by and asked if I was done. I told him I was busy trying to reformat the stuff because, for some reason, M-Soft Word can't read M-Soft Works--which would kinda make reading my stuff difficult. So we decided that since the application is due in on midnight on the 17th, I'd send him the stuff one last time after I'd gotten some people to read through the essays.

So, with Dr. C's help, I actually did 10 pages of essay-writing and am nearly done with the fellowship application--all in 2 days. All that's left is fine-tuning the thing.

Speaking of which...if any of you happen to be or were english majors and wouldn't mind helping your friendly local Daath out, I would definetely appreciate some feedback on these short essays. Trust me, THESE ARE NOT TECHNICAL...at least so far as they don't expect you to have prior knowledge about my research.

* * *

And so with multiple revisions of essays tucked underneath my black beanie hat, I strolled into the crisp cold of an evening in Insanity, Wisconsin. I decided to take it kinda easy and start my statistics homework (the allegedly "short" one) while I listened to a female songwriter called Kira pour sunshine into the night. That bit was over at Brown Bros. coffeehaus, which is basically my second home nowadays. I know, The Crypt has a much more bohemian atmosphere, but it's fucking stuffy down there, they have no 'net access and the chai is bad.

So as the set was finished and I poured through my calculations, I thought about getting her demo CD for one of the songs that she'd jammed through. So gorgeous, but sadly I had only a pocketful of ones and some hope that I had more to give. I don't scrimp on donations.

And so I came here to the effete wanker capital of coffee, the corporate powerhouse of ass and java that you all know and..know, all for my favored caramel apple cider. It is that good, and it's three bucks for a bucket of it.

Nothing much has happened here besides me writing this entry and being amazed that there's Christmas music being played in mid-November. A young woman with short black hair is talking about her experience here with an older woman. Attractive Anonymous Woman had been looking at me about a minute ago, I noticed, and continued to do so after I glanced at her. I'm pretty sure that was one of those moments where I'm supposed to smile and say hello. Damn I wish I'd gotten the manual back when I was whatever. (five minutes later: ahh, she's talking with her mom. Maybe that was a good move)

And so after I finish this entry and post it, I'll go back to my empty apartment and either work more on the homework, or run my fingers through some thoughts in the dark, then delightfully indulge in a 7 hour coma.

Oooooo, but people are eating taco bell over there. That's kinda tempting in a cancer-causing happy toxic way. I may have to indulge that little sin of me before I go through with the outlined plan.

So to sum: BALLS FIRST down an ice chute of grant writing, best advisor on the face of the planet, good singer songwriter, attractive missed opportunity, and listening to that "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a special presentation this evening from Blue Note Records" song, that really jazzy upbeat one.

Starshmucks is playing classical now. Life is good.

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