I am fixated on the idea of college.
We live in a tiny enclosed community until we graduate, then we set out in all directions for college, imagining that we are exhibiting some kind of agency, some autonomy over the volatile variation of life, but in reality we're just throwing ourselves upon the mercy of a vast, multifarious machine. College happens to us, like a gigantic wrecking ball crashing into a building, and the only agency we have is the right to pick up the pieces when what we've built is inevitably destroyed.
I know that this right is more than most have, but this constant destruction and reinvention is painful to experience and to watch.
Some of us get lost and never find ourselves again. Some of us find a cause, something greater to be a part of. Some of us put on masks that we never remove again for the rest of our lives. Some of us find love, and some of us grow to hate it. Some of us discover dreams, and even fewer of us find the courage to pursue it.
We, young, bright-eyed, and hopeful, mortgage our lives to gamble on the future, and the investment doesn't always pay off.
Sorry. I am an unrealistic person with an overactive consciousness who sometimes drinks too much coffee.
ANYWAYS, time to study.
brain dump
I really suck at ordering drinks at coffee shops, even though I study there most of the time. I typically end up ordering something that's not even on the menu and getting a weirded out look from the barista. I'm very confused by the menus, the various names for the sizes, and what things I can get iced or not. Tall equals medium equals venti equals small equals large equals what? They need more pictures on the menu - pictures of the drinks, not hands sinking into bags of coffee beans and shit like that. Also, I don't like to order lattes because let's face it, that's some foo foo shit, and I don't know what any of that other crap is. I just want espresso, milk, and mocha in a certain proportion, what's the name for that?
Hope is a dangerous, even psychotic emotion that can take over your life.
I live with 2 black guys and a philipino, and as a result I am now more racist than I ever have been, because well, it's funny.
If melancholy was a drink, it would be some kind of very strong, sweet wine that I can't talk about here because I don't know anything about wine or alcohol in general. What a failure of a thought, haha.
Sometimes I'm really mad/sad that I won't ever get the opportunity to be one of those ignorant americans studying abroad in europe and taking obnoxious pictures in front of landmarks and such.
heeeeyyy, 'white men can't jump' is on!
Jeff Tweedy from Wilco is the only person in the world that really understands me right now.
back to studying.
Hope is a dangerous, even psychotic emotion that can take over your life.
I live with 2 black guys and a philipino, and as a result I am now more racist than I ever have been, because well, it's funny.
If melancholy was a drink, it would be some kind of very strong, sweet wine that I can't talk about here because I don't know anything about wine or alcohol in general. What a failure of a thought, haha.
Sometimes I'm really mad/sad that I won't ever get the opportunity to be one of those ignorant americans studying abroad in europe and taking obnoxious pictures in front of landmarks and such.
heeeeyyy, 'white men can't jump' is on!
Jeff Tweedy from Wilco is the only person in the world that really understands me right now.
back to studying.
In retrospect, I didn't realize the magnitude of the decision I made to leave Tennessee and move to Los Angeles. I traded an incredible, diverse group of friends that I respected and who appreciated me for a complete unknown. I figured I would keep in touch with the people that mattered to me, but it's not that simple. You can call, you can write, you can savor brief moments in the margins of your lives, but it doesn't matter. Your paths diverge. Life churns on and the distance grows.
Fast friends fading, opportunities forgotten, years disappearing. You don't really notice a lot of the tragedy in life, but it's always hovering in the periphery.
Fast friends fading, opportunities forgotten, years disappearing. You don't really notice a lot of the tragedy in life, but it's always hovering in the periphery.
Notetaking FAIL
I'm sitting next to this guy in history of economic thought this morning. He sleeps the whole time, except for waking up briefly to write the words 'the fall of rome' then goes back to sleep. At the end of class he awakes and frantically copies a graph from the slide that we didn't actually talk about. So his notes for the day read 'the fall of rome' and some completely irrelevant graph that he doesn't even know the meaning of.
Dell D400 sequence of events.
July 25th, 2009: The memory and the harddrive on my dell d400 simultaneously fail, taking months of research notes and 3 pages of my rough draft with it. I install a backup harddrive, replace the memory, dry my tears of rage and soldier on.
August 30th, 2009: The memory and the harddrive fail again, taking 8 pages of the final draft of my research paper. I stop just short of cleaving the entire thing in half with an axe. My dad arrives to visit, bringing a replacement computer, which ironically is another d400.
September 30th, 2009: Dell d400 powercord begins to fail, charging the battery only after several minutes of jimmying the cord in various directions.
HRRROUGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
but anyway. The workload this quarter is ridiculous. But I like my classes - they have so much variety. This morning I had Physics m155, energy and modern economy, taught by Michael E Kahn, one of my favorite professors and a world renowned natural resource economist, and Michael Jura, a physics professor. They alternate teaching on tuesdays and thursdays, and Jura taught today. This meant that I looked down for a second to check a text message, and then looked up to find that we had fully diagrammed and calculated the energy flux between the earth and the sun and moved on to climate change. Kahn teaches energy economics on tuesdays, which is also awesome but in a way that I can actually understand.
Time to get to work.
August 30th, 2009: The memory and the harddrive fail again, taking 8 pages of the final draft of my research paper. I stop just short of cleaving the entire thing in half with an axe. My dad arrives to visit, bringing a replacement computer, which ironically is another d400.
September 30th, 2009: Dell d400 powercord begins to fail, charging the battery only after several minutes of jimmying the cord in various directions.
HRRROUGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
but anyway. The workload this quarter is ridiculous. But I like my classes - they have so much variety. This morning I had Physics m155, energy and modern economy, taught by Michael E Kahn, one of my favorite professors and a world renowned natural resource economist, and Michael Jura, a physics professor. They alternate teaching on tuesdays and thursdays, and Jura taught today. This meant that I looked down for a second to check a text message, and then looked up to find that we had fully diagrammed and calculated the energy flux between the earth and the sun and moved on to climate change. Kahn teaches energy economics on tuesdays, which is also awesome but in a way that I can actually understand.
Time to get to work.
Damn It, Television
I've never watched much tv. I had cable access to the internet since I was about 12 years old and before that I preferred books. But over this summer I've been working over 20 hours a week at Young Research Library (paltry length of time for most but not for my soft, unlined hands) and I have now experienced the fully body torpor that takes hold when you get home from a shitty day at work. The average person(me) wants 2 things after they get off of work: food of some sort, with cheese on it, and to forget that they just spent the whole day completing boring, repetitive tasks. This combination of desires is essentially a mathematical equation that sums to tv and hot pockets.
So long story short, I've been watching more tv than I have ever watched in my entire life. It's been a whirlwind summer full of self discovery and enlightenment. But mostly rage.
TV enrages me. I hate reality TV, late night tv journalism, everything on E!, and I really hate that stupid exclamation point at the end of E!. But the last straw is commercials. Commercials really enrage me, to the point that I can't watch commercials - I'm too sensitive of the effect that it's trying to have on me and I just complain incessantly. It's probably pretty awful watching tv with me.
Carl jr is a consistent offender.
"HA HA Big Mac has a Jingle, that's so fucking lame!" What the fuck is this shit, I ask you? What are you expecting me to think? "Sorry McDonald's, that big mac is a really classic sandwich and all and I'd eat one except I'M NOT A PUSSY." Mostly what I hate is the tone of the announcer's voice. It's like he's announcing a professional wrestling match. It's just a goddamn hamburger.
Then this:
CARL JR'S WANTS ME TO SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO HAMBURGERS. I don't have anything to say about this.
The way things are marketed today is terribly fucked up. My rant is pointless because this stuff works and everyone who watched the above videos is probably extremely hungry or horny or both right now.
As for the FreeCreditReport.com commercials, I have no specific complaints. They don't appeal to my base instincts or anything. I just really want to strangle that guy.
So long story short, I've been watching more tv than I have ever watched in my entire life. It's been a whirlwind summer full of self discovery and enlightenment. But mostly rage.
TV enrages me. I hate reality TV, late night tv journalism, everything on E!, and I really hate that stupid exclamation point at the end of E!. But the last straw is commercials. Commercials really enrage me, to the point that I can't watch commercials - I'm too sensitive of the effect that it's trying to have on me and I just complain incessantly. It's probably pretty awful watching tv with me.
Carl jr is a consistent offender.
"HA HA Big Mac has a Jingle, that's so fucking lame!" What the fuck is this shit, I ask you? What are you expecting me to think? "Sorry McDonald's, that big mac is a really classic sandwich and all and I'd eat one except I'M NOT A PUSSY." Mostly what I hate is the tone of the announcer's voice. It's like he's announcing a professional wrestling match. It's just a goddamn hamburger.
Then this:
CARL JR'S WANTS ME TO SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO HAMBURGERS. I don't have anything to say about this.
The way things are marketed today is terribly fucked up. My rant is pointless because this stuff works and everyone who watched the above videos is probably extremely hungry or horny or both right now.
As for the FreeCreditReport.com commercials, I have no specific complaints. They don't appeal to my base instincts or anything. I just really want to strangle that guy.
Everyone and Their Mother has a law school blog
The sheer volume of information out there about whether or not to go to law school is pretty mind boggling. Why does everyone feel like they have to weigh in on this? There must be more people who write law school advice blogs then there are that vote in mayoral elections.
I've spent the last 24 hours lost in a maze of law school confidential blogs and career advice websites. It's been a kind of like walking through a stadium jam packed with people shouting "don't do it, you idiot!" The general consensus is that you should only go if you want to be a lawyer, because it's very expensive and insanely competitive. Also, most people find that being a lawyer either sucks because you work at a firm, or doesn't pay well because you work for the public interest. Here's how much debt you will rack up, on average. The people are all a bunch of jerks. Job prospects aren't actually all that shiny. This is how shitty it is to work in a corporate law firm.
I must be a deaf idiot, because I'm leaning towards it.
Yes, law school costs a lot and you shouldn't invest that much unless you know where you're going with it. But I'm not convinced by this argument. Undergraduate education is just as, if not more expensive and typically even more worthless. Barely anyone knows what they're going to major in and what they're going to use it for when they start undergraduate, but that's not keeping anyone's wallet shut. My own reasons were for college were pretty dumb in retrospect, but I still stand by them. I needed to get the hell out of Nashville, Tennessee (no offense to my friends and family there - the best friends I have are still there), and I wanted to learn something about the way the world works. I got exactly what I wanted out of my undergraduate - an incredible experience living in the insanity of Los Angeles and a new lens with which to view the world, tinted green.
I think that I can get exactly what I want out of law school. Anonymous Lawyer's Jeremey Blachman talks about law school giving you a sense of purpose. On the real, I want that - I want a path, so I can just get started running on it already! My internship director has ph.d's, bachelor's, masters, professorships, you name it, and she tells me her law degree was the one that changed her life the most. Say what you want, but people treat you differently if you have a j.d. I'm not just talking about the opportunity to preen at a party when someone asks you about your career. It's like a big fucking gold star on your resume, and god knows why but people take it seriously. A lot of journalists have law degrees. And I think it will matter when I go into the job market. Assuming symmetric information and symmetric skill sets(forgive me, I am an economics major.), a J.D. is going to make a difference to a hiring director. Big. Fat. Period. Additionally, I will find the classes interesting. I will learn information I consider useful. I can get at least as much out of a law degree as out of UCLA, and it can't possible cost me more than UCLA has.
Admittedly it will take some convincing, a few lifechanging epiphanies, perhaps a lobotomy(law school admissions board, please read this as humor) until I can seem myself being happy as a big corporate lawyer. But what if I can use these skill to do something more meaningful, in environmental law, or in public interest? I've never cared about money. (wait what's my major?) All I care about is finding a job that I can care about enough so that it's not hell making a living off of it. (If anyone's having this dilemma, read this now. It's like he plucked the thoughts about careers from my brain, really eerie.) It's a definite possibility that those jobs could make me happy. I know that I want to end up as a published writer no matter what I do after UCLA and for how long, and that kind of work can only help me in that.
I know exactly how hard it will be - I've read more than enough about it. From what I hear, it's exactly like placing your head in a meat grinder and turning the crank yourself.(this site for mature audiences. apologies to the creators of Saw if I stole the idea for your next movie.) But for some reason I'm not afraid. Assuming that I'm not an overconfident fool, I think it's because I've spent the past 3 years strapping my brain in the iron maiden that is the UCLA economics program, and I'm not even slightly mathematically minded. I'm so right brained that I don't even know how to use the number pad on the keyboard. It's like I'm right handed and I've been trying to make a career as a lefty armwrestler. If I can have the success I've had in economics with my particular skillset, then I can't feel real fear when I read those law school horror stories. Law school may be hard, but at least I'll get to use my right hand.
Damn this was long. but yeah, I need help on this one guys.
I've spent the last 24 hours lost in a maze of law school confidential blogs and career advice websites. It's been a kind of like walking through a stadium jam packed with people shouting "don't do it, you idiot!" The general consensus is that you should only go if you want to be a lawyer, because it's very expensive and insanely competitive. Also, most people find that being a lawyer either sucks because you work at a firm, or doesn't pay well because you work for the public interest. Here's how much debt you will rack up, on average. The people are all a bunch of jerks. Job prospects aren't actually all that shiny. This is how shitty it is to work in a corporate law firm.
I must be a deaf idiot, because I'm leaning towards it.
Yes, law school costs a lot and you shouldn't invest that much unless you know where you're going with it. But I'm not convinced by this argument. Undergraduate education is just as, if not more expensive and typically even more worthless. Barely anyone knows what they're going to major in and what they're going to use it for when they start undergraduate, but that's not keeping anyone's wallet shut. My own reasons were for college were pretty dumb in retrospect, but I still stand by them. I needed to get the hell out of Nashville, Tennessee (no offense to my friends and family there - the best friends I have are still there), and I wanted to learn something about the way the world works. I got exactly what I wanted out of my undergraduate - an incredible experience living in the insanity of Los Angeles and a new lens with which to view the world, tinted green.
I think that I can get exactly what I want out of law school. Anonymous Lawyer's Jeremey Blachman talks about law school giving you a sense of purpose. On the real, I want that - I want a path, so I can just get started running on it already! My internship director has ph.d's, bachelor's, masters, professorships, you name it, and she tells me her law degree was the one that changed her life the most. Say what you want, but people treat you differently if you have a j.d. I'm not just talking about the opportunity to preen at a party when someone asks you about your career. It's like a big fucking gold star on your resume, and god knows why but people take it seriously. A lot of journalists have law degrees. And I think it will matter when I go into the job market. Assuming symmetric information and symmetric skill sets(forgive me, I am an economics major.), a J.D. is going to make a difference to a hiring director. Big. Fat. Period. Additionally, I will find the classes interesting. I will learn information I consider useful. I can get at least as much out of a law degree as out of UCLA, and it can't possible cost me more than UCLA has.
Admittedly it will take some convincing, a few lifechanging epiphanies, perhaps a lobotomy(law school admissions board, please read this as humor) until I can seem myself being happy as a big corporate lawyer. But what if I can use these skill to do something more meaningful, in environmental law, or in public interest? I've never cared about money. (wait what's my major?) All I care about is finding a job that I can care about enough so that it's not hell making a living off of it. (If anyone's having this dilemma, read this now. It's like he plucked the thoughts about careers from my brain, really eerie.) It's a definite possibility that those jobs could make me happy. I know that I want to end up as a published writer no matter what I do after UCLA and for how long, and that kind of work can only help me in that.
I know exactly how hard it will be - I've read more than enough about it. From what I hear, it's exactly like placing your head in a meat grinder and turning the crank yourself.(this site for mature audiences. apologies to the creators of Saw if I stole the idea for your next movie.) But for some reason I'm not afraid. Assuming that I'm not an overconfident fool, I think it's because I've spent the past 3 years strapping my brain in the iron maiden that is the UCLA economics program, and I'm not even slightly mathematically minded. I'm so right brained that I don't even know how to use the number pad on the keyboard. It's like I'm right handed and I've been trying to make a career as a lefty armwrestler. If I can have the success I've had in economics with my particular skillset, then I can't feel real fear when I read those law school horror stories. Law school may be hard, but at least I'll get to use my right hand.
Damn this was long. but yeah, I need help on this one guys.
Trash Man and Law School
Just moved to the new apartment, and by new I mean old. The building is a near exact copy of the one I lived in last year, which is pretty eerie and results in my trying to sit in chairs that aren't there any more and look for stuff I need in the places in which they used to be located last year.
The timing of the move was incredibly lucky - I moved into an apartment with air conditioning as soon as this 100 degree heat wave swept across LA, overwhelming deodorants and antiperspirants and generally sapping all of the will to move or live. I'm liking this place so far, except for one thing - the 7am garbage man wakeup call.
Every morning around 7am, I wake up, and for a brief confused moment, I am utterly convinced that I'm tied to the wing of a Boeing 747. Understand that this isn't a nice, short series of clangs or engine noises. It's so loud it's like having your ear pressed to the engine of an 18 wheeler, while it's exploding. This racket lasts so long that I'm beginning to suspect that the garbage man is some sort of sadistic insomniac who hates the mere idea of sleep. I imagine him with bloodshot eyes, earplugs, and teeth bared in a triumphant grin .
Make no mistake, I'm not some princess who wakes up if he can hear the sound of a fly landing on a pillow. I can sleep through earthquakes, fires, and more often, the last call for my flight at the airport. I have all of the vital signs of a rotting log when I'm asleep. But this is 20 car pileup noise for at least 20 minutes. What can he be doing? How many dumpsters are there? This is literally the only explanation I can provide for the unholy cacophony of noises I hear:
The garbage man arrives that the pick up point with a broken muffler, replaced by what sounds like a pane of aluminum siding and garbage can lids. Alas, the mechanism for lifting the dumpster and overturning the refuse has failed. He is not a sensible man, but he is quite imaginative and resourceful, and decides to hammer a metal plate to the front of the vehicle to act as a ramp to flip objects in it's path, like he saw on a rerun of Robot Warz last night on G4tech tv. The possibility that he achieves the exact combination of speed and force necessary to send the dumpster on the precise trajectory that would flip the refuse into the truck is minuscule, but this garbage man is a determined man and tries anyway, clanging a spoon against a pot and shooting off a 12 gauge rifle to drum up his courage. For 20 minutes, he rams the dumpster repeatedly and fruitlessly. Finally, realizing that he was simply pressing the wrong button, he detaches the metal ramp, dragging it on the sidewalk, where it clashes with the littered shrapnel from the destroyed dumpster, and takes the trash away the normal way.
It doesn't help my morning mood much, and I already have an insanely angry morning mood. If you see me glaring at a truck in the AM, it's not because I'm pissed about something in general or because I'm grumpy. It's because I want to kill that fucking truck for being so fucking loud. Seriously, stay away from me before 10am unless I've had coffee.
Anyways, I've been thinking about going to law school, thanks to a conversation with my internship director who holds roughly 5 degrees and says that law school is the most useful and fulfilling. I don't know what she could have said to me, because I've always said that I would hate law school and hate being a lawyer. My friends, family, and anonymous readers, it's now your job to convince me not to go to law school.
The timing of the move was incredibly lucky - I moved into an apartment with air conditioning as soon as this 100 degree heat wave swept across LA, overwhelming deodorants and antiperspirants and generally sapping all of the will to move or live. I'm liking this place so far, except for one thing - the 7am garbage man wakeup call.
Every morning around 7am, I wake up, and for a brief confused moment, I am utterly convinced that I'm tied to the wing of a Boeing 747. Understand that this isn't a nice, short series of clangs or engine noises. It's so loud it's like having your ear pressed to the engine of an 18 wheeler, while it's exploding. This racket lasts so long that I'm beginning to suspect that the garbage man is some sort of sadistic insomniac who hates the mere idea of sleep. I imagine him with bloodshot eyes, earplugs, and teeth bared in a triumphant grin .
Make no mistake, I'm not some princess who wakes up if he can hear the sound of a fly landing on a pillow. I can sleep through earthquakes, fires, and more often, the last call for my flight at the airport. I have all of the vital signs of a rotting log when I'm asleep. But this is 20 car pileup noise for at least 20 minutes. What can he be doing? How many dumpsters are there? This is literally the only explanation I can provide for the unholy cacophony of noises I hear:
The garbage man arrives that the pick up point with a broken muffler, replaced by what sounds like a pane of aluminum siding and garbage can lids. Alas, the mechanism for lifting the dumpster and overturning the refuse has failed. He is not a sensible man, but he is quite imaginative and resourceful, and decides to hammer a metal plate to the front of the vehicle to act as a ramp to flip objects in it's path, like he saw on a rerun of Robot Warz last night on G4tech tv. The possibility that he achieves the exact combination of speed and force necessary to send the dumpster on the precise trajectory that would flip the refuse into the truck is minuscule, but this garbage man is a determined man and tries anyway, clanging a spoon against a pot and shooting off a 12 gauge rifle to drum up his courage. For 20 minutes, he rams the dumpster repeatedly and fruitlessly. Finally, realizing that he was simply pressing the wrong button, he detaches the metal ramp, dragging it on the sidewalk, where it clashes with the littered shrapnel from the destroyed dumpster, and takes the trash away the normal way.
It doesn't help my morning mood much, and I already have an insanely angry morning mood. If you see me glaring at a truck in the AM, it's not because I'm pissed about something in general or because I'm grumpy. It's because I want to kill that fucking truck for being so fucking loud. Seriously, stay away from me before 10am unless I've had coffee.
Anyways, I've been thinking about going to law school, thanks to a conversation with my internship director who holds roughly 5 degrees and says that law school is the most useful and fulfilling. I don't know what she could have said to me, because I've always said that I would hate law school and hate being a lawyer. My friends, family, and anonymous readers, it's now your job to convince me not to go to law school.
It's been an eventful past couple of weeks. Last weekend Amanda and I went to the Sunset Junction Street Fair in the silverlake neighborhood. Live music, corny rides, roided out grandpas holding hands, and the worst infestation of hipsters I have ever seen in my life.
We spent most of our time at the Bates St. Stage to see Nico Vega, The Submarines, Delta Spirit, and a 2 hour set from Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley band. I'd never heard of Delta Spirit before this. Essentially, they are a group of emo punkers turned rootsy folk rockers/ The lead singer never smiles, except ironically or sarcastically, and regularly quaffs a shot of whiskey between songs, a practice complicated by the presence of the harmonica stand mounted on his neck. They all play multiple instruments, including a tin trashcan lid which one guy enthusiastically and somehow, artistically bashes during the song "trashcan". All of this added up to a truly intriguing show. new favorite band.
Conor Oberst was pretty goddamn amazing. We were both tired as hell during the 2 hour set, but definitely glad we stayed. Definitely the best 15 dollars I've ever spent.
We spent most of our time at the Bates St. Stage to see Nico Vega, The Submarines, Delta Spirit, and a 2 hour set from Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley band. I'd never heard of Delta Spirit before this. Essentially, they are a group of emo punkers turned rootsy folk rockers/ The lead singer never smiles, except ironically or sarcastically, and regularly quaffs a shot of whiskey between songs, a practice complicated by the presence of the harmonica stand mounted on his neck. They all play multiple instruments, including a tin trashcan lid which one guy enthusiastically and somehow, artistically bashes during the song "trashcan". All of this added up to a truly intriguing show. new favorite band.
Conor Oberst was pretty goddamn amazing. We were both tired as hell during the 2 hour set, but definitely glad we stayed. Definitely the best 15 dollars I've ever spent.
Writing seems like such leisurely work that it’s difficult to take it seriously. I procrastinate more when writing a paper than any other assignment because of that particular quality. I can indulge my short attention span just as I would if you were playing a video game or skipping through my ipod. All art is this way. That’s why it’s so easy to fail at creating art. You can imagine yourself to be working hard – you can spend hours and hours a day trying to create that work of art – but you are still procrastinating. Real creative work happens quickly and takes a kind of discipline that most people don’t have, that I am attempting to develop. It’s why writing teachers tell you, just write. You simply have to do it. It takes a mind that is conditioned and strong to face the problem of creation constantly, persistently, without deviation from the issue at hand. I guess what I’m saying is it takes more focus than you probably realize. You might even call it obsession. I need this obsession.
The reason I'm writing in this so much is that coffee bean's internet enforces this ten minute break every two hours, and I'm opening up a word document and rambling.
Took a picture of The Wiltern next door on each two hour break:
The reason I'm writing in this so much is that coffee bean's internet enforces this ten minute break every two hours, and I'm opening up a word document and rambling.
Took a picture of The Wiltern next door on each two hour break:
A Strange Juxtaposition
The center of the UCLA nightlife is an all walk intersection in Westwood where a pair of hookah bars, a pair of movie theaters, a Starbucks, and the best boba and cookie places in town are all within a hundred feet of each other.
There are students driving expensive cars unnecessarily fast, the roars of 8 cylinder engines periodically drowning out conversation. There are students clustered around glowing hookahs spending too much money, laughing as plumes of sweet scented smoke issue from their mouths. At least a hundred students line up for cookies and ice cream from Diddy Riese.
A homeless man claims a bench in front of the Mann Bruin theater and the Starbucks. He seems like every bum I’ve ever seen; he’s wearing almost everything he owns, and everything he owns is stained and torn. But he never asks for money and I’ve never smelled alcohol on him. His hands aren’t curled around a cup, rattling the change inside. Instead, they clutch a bible which he waves like a two-handed sword as he shouts maledictions and condemnations of passers by. His eyes bulge madly, offwhite against black skin. His violent gestures stop just short of physical blows. He is angrier than anyone I’ve ever seen.
An acoustic guitar accompanies him on the bench. Occasionally, he seizes it by the neck and strangles a melody from it, singing songs that remind me of the rhythmic chorus of chain gang at work. His voice is deep, and surprisingly rich. It vibrates with a passion that I don’t understand.
Everyone tries to ignore this guy. Just noticing him seems to ruin your night. I made eye contact with him once; it was like an immediate injection of anger and resentment. I haven’t seen him in a while. I wonder what happened to him.
There are students driving expensive cars unnecessarily fast, the roars of 8 cylinder engines periodically drowning out conversation. There are students clustered around glowing hookahs spending too much money, laughing as plumes of sweet scented smoke issue from their mouths. At least a hundred students line up for cookies and ice cream from Diddy Riese.
A homeless man claims a bench in front of the Mann Bruin theater and the Starbucks. He seems like every bum I’ve ever seen; he’s wearing almost everything he owns, and everything he owns is stained and torn. But he never asks for money and I’ve never smelled alcohol on him. His hands aren’t curled around a cup, rattling the change inside. Instead, they clutch a bible which he waves like a two-handed sword as he shouts maledictions and condemnations of passers by. His eyes bulge madly, offwhite against black skin. His violent gestures stop just short of physical blows. He is angrier than anyone I’ve ever seen.
An acoustic guitar accompanies him on the bench. Occasionally, he seizes it by the neck and strangles a melody from it, singing songs that remind me of the rhythmic chorus of chain gang at work. His voice is deep, and surprisingly rich. It vibrates with a passion that I don’t understand.
Everyone tries to ignore this guy. Just noticing him seems to ruin your night. I made eye contact with him once; it was like an immediate injection of anger and resentment. I haven’t seen him in a while. I wonder what happened to him.
I've been thinking a lot about what it takes to find happiness in life. I think that more than anything, you need courage. It takes courage to recognize that your choices have backed you into a cage, and even more courage to tear down those bars and start all over again. It takes courage to make choices not out of expediency, practicality, or perceived necessity but from an unflinching assessment of your own desires. You can't shy away from difficult choices, because happiness is a difficult thing in and of itself.
Life is difficult right now, and will be for several years. The economy will not recover quickly, and once remade, it will be completely unrecognizable from the economy of the 90's. I know I sound pessimistic, maybe even depressed, but I promise that I'm not. I've started to change my perspective - to see opportunities where adversity and drudgery once loomed.
Life is difficult right now, and will be for several years. The economy will not recover quickly, and once remade, it will be completely unrecognizable from the economy of the 90's. I know I sound pessimistic, maybe even depressed, but I promise that I'm not. I've started to change my perspective - to see opportunities where adversity and drudgery once loomed.
I suck at blogging.
But I have a couple things to say while I'm here.
A friend of mine gave me some really good, very basic advice on my career. Essentially he told me I was smart enough to succeed at anything I desired, and that I'd have to choose something that would make me happy.
This is my first summer in Los Angeles and man, the living is easy. Pool after work, long leisurely dinners, walks at night in perfect weather, buying bags full of fruit from the grocery store for a few cents, taking the bus to somewhere new+venice beach every weekend. I'm overwhelmed with life changing decisions to make, and I'm struggling to both pay my rent and keep from starving, but god damn if I don't feel like I'm on vacation.
oh yeah, and that bike I was excited about below was stolen. Don't worry, 'Los Angeles, here I come' is still very much in effect but I'll just be on foot.
Also, what's this Twilight nonsense? I bet other vampire fiction writers are taking a long, hard look at their lives, wondering what they could have wrong. I imagine them sitting alone at the bar as the bartender gives the last call, one hand curled limply around an empty glass, the other clutching a ragged copy of "New Moon." Their faces are frozen in a rictus of despair and rage. "Why?" They cast the question into the empty room. Nobody can answer. The question shrivels, disintegrates, and fades into silence.
but seriously, what the fuck is this shit?
But I have a couple things to say while I'm here.
A friend of mine gave me some really good, very basic advice on my career. Essentially he told me I was smart enough to succeed at anything I desired, and that I'd have to choose something that would make me happy.
This is my first summer in Los Angeles and man, the living is easy. Pool after work, long leisurely dinners, walks at night in perfect weather, buying bags full of fruit from the grocery store for a few cents, taking the bus to somewhere new+venice beach every weekend. I'm overwhelmed with life changing decisions to make, and I'm struggling to both pay my rent and keep from starving, but god damn if I don't feel like I'm on vacation.
oh yeah, and that bike I was excited about below was stolen. Don't worry, 'Los Angeles, here I come' is still very much in effect but I'll just be on foot.
Also, what's this Twilight nonsense? I bet other vampire fiction writers are taking a long, hard look at their lives, wondering what they could have wrong. I imagine them sitting alone at the bar as the bartender gives the last call, one hand curled limply around an empty glass, the other clutching a ragged copy of "New Moon." Their faces are frozen in a rictus of despair and rage. "Why?" They cast the question into the empty room. Nobody can answer. The question shrivels, disintegrates, and fades into silence.
but seriously, what the fuck is this shit?
Every now and then I rediscover how much I love to read, which typically involves reading 10 or so books in the space of a week in an orgiastic attempt to make up for lost time, checking books out, reading them rapidly during class or otherwise shunting aside prior obligations to read, and returning them within hours.
This time I'm obsessed with Isaac Asimov, his fiction and his life. Some interesting details: A full time tenured professor of biochemistry at Columbia, and also one of the most prolific science fiction and science nonfiction writers ever while being the vice president of Mensa. He was also a member of some sherlock holmes societies, wrote mock science articles, and made a pact with his rival science fiction writer that involved the both of them declaring the other the best science fiction writer in the world, as long as they both declared themselves the second best writer. This guy seemed to had a great time being really incredible smart.
I had a great time with I, Robot. Each story is sort of a mental puzzle that is immensely satisfying to figure out, or barring that extremely pleasant to watch unfold. He always surprises me, and I especially didn't expect it when he incorporated Descarte into a story about really awesome robots.
This time I'm obsessed with Isaac Asimov, his fiction and his life. Some interesting details: A full time tenured professor of biochemistry at Columbia, and also one of the most prolific science fiction and science nonfiction writers ever while being the vice president of Mensa. He was also a member of some sherlock holmes societies, wrote mock science articles, and made a pact with his rival science fiction writer that involved the both of them declaring the other the best science fiction writer in the world, as long as they both declared themselves the second best writer. This guy seemed to had a great time being really incredible smart.
I had a great time with I, Robot. Each story is sort of a mental puzzle that is immensely satisfying to figure out, or barring that extremely pleasant to watch unfold. He always surprises me, and I especially didn't expect it when he incorporated Descarte into a story about really awesome robots.
This says everything.
"A man of knowledge is one who has followed truthfully the hardships of learning, a man who has, without rushing or without faltering, gone as far as he can in unraveling the secrets of power and knowledge. To become a man of knowledge one must challenge and defeat his four natural enemies.
When a man starts to learn, he is never clear about his objectives. His purpose is faulty; his intent is vague. He hopes for rewards that will never materialize for he knows nothing of the hardships of learning.
He slowly begins to learn--bit by bit at first, then in big chunks. And his thoughts soon clash. What he learns is never what he pictured, or imagined, and so he begins to be afraid. Learning is never what one expects. Every step of learning is a new task, and the fear the man is experiencing begins to mount mercilessly, unyieldingly. His purpose becomes a battlefield.
And thus he has stumbled upon the first of his natural enemies: fear! A terrible enemy--treacherous, and difficult to overcome. It remains concealed at every turn of the way, prowling, waiting. And if the man, terrified in its presence, runs away, his enemy will have put an end to his quest and he will never learn. He will never become a man of knowledge. He will perhaps be a bully, or a harmless, scared man; at any rate, he will be a defeated man. His first enemy will have put an end to his cravings.
It is not possible for a man to abandon himself to fear for years, then finally conquer it. If he gives in to fear he will never conquer it, because he will shy away from learning and never try again. But if he tries to learn for years in the midst of his fear, he will eventually conquer it because he will never have really abandoned himself to it.
Therefore he must not run away. He must defy his fear, and in spite of it he must take the next step in learning, and the next, and the next. He must be fully afraid, and yet he must not stop. That is the rule! And a moment will come when his first enemy retreats. The man begins to feel sure of himself. His intent becomes stronger. Learning is no longer a terrifying task.
When this joyful moment comes, the man can say without hesitation that he has defeated his first natural enemy. It happens little by little, and yet the fear is vanquished suddenly and fast. Once a man has vanquished fear, he is free from it for the rest of his life because, instead of fear, he has acquired clarity--a clarity of mind which erases fear. By then a man knows his desires; he knows how to satisfy those desires. He can anticipate the new steps of learning and a sharp clarity surrounds everything. The man feels that nothing is concealed."
Procrastination isn't laziness. It's not something to brag about, or even something you can dismiss as trivial. You only delay the inevitable when you are afraid.
"A man of knowledge is one who has followed truthfully the hardships of learning, a man who has, without rushing or without faltering, gone as far as he can in unraveling the secrets of power and knowledge. To become a man of knowledge one must challenge and defeat his four natural enemies.
When a man starts to learn, he is never clear about his objectives. His purpose is faulty; his intent is vague. He hopes for rewards that will never materialize for he knows nothing of the hardships of learning.
He slowly begins to learn--bit by bit at first, then in big chunks. And his thoughts soon clash. What he learns is never what he pictured, or imagined, and so he begins to be afraid. Learning is never what one expects. Every step of learning is a new task, and the fear the man is experiencing begins to mount mercilessly, unyieldingly. His purpose becomes a battlefield.
And thus he has stumbled upon the first of his natural enemies: fear! A terrible enemy--treacherous, and difficult to overcome. It remains concealed at every turn of the way, prowling, waiting. And if the man, terrified in its presence, runs away, his enemy will have put an end to his quest and he will never learn. He will never become a man of knowledge. He will perhaps be a bully, or a harmless, scared man; at any rate, he will be a defeated man. His first enemy will have put an end to his cravings.
It is not possible for a man to abandon himself to fear for years, then finally conquer it. If he gives in to fear he will never conquer it, because he will shy away from learning and never try again. But if he tries to learn for years in the midst of his fear, he will eventually conquer it because he will never have really abandoned himself to it.
Therefore he must not run away. He must defy his fear, and in spite of it he must take the next step in learning, and the next, and the next. He must be fully afraid, and yet he must not stop. That is the rule! And a moment will come when his first enemy retreats. The man begins to feel sure of himself. His intent becomes stronger. Learning is no longer a terrifying task.
When this joyful moment comes, the man can say without hesitation that he has defeated his first natural enemy. It happens little by little, and yet the fear is vanquished suddenly and fast. Once a man has vanquished fear, he is free from it for the rest of his life because, instead of fear, he has acquired clarity--a clarity of mind which erases fear. By then a man knows his desires; he knows how to satisfy those desires. He can anticipate the new steps of learning and a sharp clarity surrounds everything. The man feels that nothing is concealed."
Procrastination isn't laziness. It's not something to brag about, or even something you can dismiss as trivial. You only delay the inevitable when you are afraid.
During the course of striving indecently to kill UCLA economics before it kills me, I don't get much time to stop, sit, and think about who I am, and how much I've changed.
When I was in high school, I told myself, "Never grow up!" All around me, I saw old people trapped by their choices because they were afraid to step off of their chosen paths. I told myself never to fear the possibility of giving up and starting over. My happiness would be my highest value, and I'd do anything to preserve it. I was going to be different - happy.
I've received a heavy dosage of reality since then, and I've changed. I don't have much fun any more. I've tried to walk the path of an ascetic careerist, slaking my thirst for happiness with accumulated success. I try comfort myself with the thought that once I graduate and find a job, I'll be able to lead a fulfilling life in my spare time.
But it's time to remember that path I saw for myself so many years ago. The world is the way it is, but I won't let it stop me from being who I am. Life is not meant to be lived in your spare time.
I want to live a chaotic life without routine. I want to be poor. I want to be rich. I want to go as many places as I can and see as much as I can and write about it so I'll never forget about it. I want to do something useful with my brain. I will never, ever do work that keeps me alive but kills my soul, and I believe that there's good, productive work to do somewhere that can actually make people's lives better. I refuse to care about the kind of stuff I have. I want hundreds of friends all over the world. When I'm 40, I hope I'm still talking trash to Will and Weier and Ian and Kevin.
Right now I'm a student, and a pretty good one. I'm good at thinking, at being interested, and I'm endlessly curious. I want to cram as much knowledge as will fit in my brain. I'm intelligent, compassionate, personable, and strong. I have no idea what I want to do with my life, and though I'm trying very hard to figure it out, I'm completely fine with not knowing.
When I was in high school, I told myself, "Never grow up!" All around me, I saw old people trapped by their choices because they were afraid to step off of their chosen paths. I told myself never to fear the possibility of giving up and starting over. My happiness would be my highest value, and I'd do anything to preserve it. I was going to be different - happy.
I've received a heavy dosage of reality since then, and I've changed. I don't have much fun any more. I've tried to walk the path of an ascetic careerist, slaking my thirst for happiness with accumulated success. I try comfort myself with the thought that once I graduate and find a job, I'll be able to lead a fulfilling life in my spare time.
But it's time to remember that path I saw for myself so many years ago. The world is the way it is, but I won't let it stop me from being who I am. Life is not meant to be lived in your spare time.
I want to live a chaotic life without routine. I want to be poor. I want to be rich. I want to go as many places as I can and see as much as I can and write about it so I'll never forget about it. I want to do something useful with my brain. I will never, ever do work that keeps me alive but kills my soul, and I believe that there's good, productive work to do somewhere that can actually make people's lives better. I refuse to care about the kind of stuff I have. I want hundreds of friends all over the world. When I'm 40, I hope I'm still talking trash to Will and Weier and Ian and Kevin.
Right now I'm a student, and a pretty good one. I'm good at thinking, at being interested, and I'm endlessly curious. I want to cram as much knowledge as will fit in my brain. I'm intelligent, compassionate, personable, and strong. I have no idea what I want to do with my life, and though I'm trying very hard to figure it out, I'm completely fine with not knowing.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/18/education/18college.html?em
For later.
If generalizations is frowned upon then a generational attack, such as the one that's being made here.
Kids are on scholarship, others pay nearly a quarter of a million dollars to be at the schools they're studying at. These kids work hard.
At least the one's contesting their grade care. Adminstrators, departments, create twisted incentives. Learn! Explore! Discover! they shout, but make sure you beat that guy next to you, because we're grading on a curve. And don't spend to much time learning and discovering, because there are exams every two weeks and departmental pressures require us to give the majority of you C's. (I've heard a lot of my professors mutter to themselves during lecture that they would be fired if they gave an exam in which too many people do well.)
This is a stupid situation. Here's the setup - Here Now UCLA, we have so many smart student! Here Now UCLA, we have high grading standards! Here Now UCLA, we are failing these students. Does a system of that can only measure relative mastery of the material really capture each student's ability? What if geniuses take the class one quarter, or a harder professor teaches the same class next quarter? I suppose 'A' students would have run probabilistic regressions on these possibilities, unlike the rest of use who in these people's eyes, sit on our asses and beg for A's on the street corner, a drain on the economy.
number 2, grading is often outsourced to stressed out graduate students who are just trying to get the damned things done. They make mistakes - refuse to read for understanding and simply match it to an answer sheet. Questioning is not only important, it's necessary in this case. I contested my grade on my last trade midterm, and it went up 2 letter grades - the original grader simply saw that my answers were dissimilar in look, and ignored their content.
There are students that fuck up, who think they can talk their way into anything, where merit doesn't enter into their calculations of what kind of grade they deserve. I complain about my generation than probably anyone else I know but this is too much.
For later.
If generalizations is frowned upon then a generational attack, such as the one that's being made here.
Kids are on scholarship, others pay nearly a quarter of a million dollars to be at the schools they're studying at. These kids work hard.
At least the one's contesting their grade care. Adminstrators, departments, create twisted incentives. Learn! Explore! Discover! they shout, but make sure you beat that guy next to you, because we're grading on a curve. And don't spend to much time learning and discovering, because there are exams every two weeks and departmental pressures require us to give the majority of you C's. (I've heard a lot of my professors mutter to themselves during lecture that they would be fired if they gave an exam in which too many people do well.)
This is a stupid situation. Here's the setup - Here Now UCLA, we have so many smart student! Here Now UCLA, we have high grading standards! Here Now UCLA, we are failing these students. Does a system of that can only measure relative mastery of the material really capture each student's ability? What if geniuses take the class one quarter, or a harder professor teaches the same class next quarter? I suppose 'A' students would have run probabilistic regressions on these possibilities, unlike the rest of use who in these people's eyes, sit on our asses and beg for A's on the street corner, a drain on the economy.
number 2, grading is often outsourced to stressed out graduate students who are just trying to get the damned things done. They make mistakes - refuse to read for understanding and simply match it to an answer sheet. Questioning is not only important, it's necessary in this case. I contested my grade on my last trade midterm, and it went up 2 letter grades - the original grader simply saw that my answers were dissimilar in look, and ignored their content.
There are students that fuck up, who think they can talk their way into anything, where merit doesn't enter into their calculations of what kind of grade they deserve. I complain about my generation than probably anyone else I know but this is too much.
The Days are Just Packed
I've noticed that whenever I'm on campus lately I've been walking a lot faster. There's too much to do, and it's going to be this way for a while.
I've been reading Niall Ferguson's The Ascent of Money. Pretty interesting, informative read, aside from this:
"So how did this Mr. Bond(speaking about the bond market) become so much more powerful than the Mr. Bond created by Ian Fleming? Why, indeed, do both kinds of bond have a license to kill?"
Are you kidding me? What a ridiculous sentence, and coming from a well respected Harvard economics professor. If it was meant to be funny, it's completely out of line with the tone of the book, and if it was meant seriously, Niall Ferguson needs to stick his head in a bucket of cold water.
I think it was serious, and it really speaks to this kind of mass delusion I've observed among some economists when they're talking about the financial markets. Even though this book is written in the context of providing some understanding to the meteoric rise of the financial markets and it's current downfall, at times, Ferguson writes about economics with this almost indecent tone of reverence. He compares the ascent of money to the ascent of man, comparing Planet Finance to Planet Earth, gleefully citing statics that express how dominant money is in our lives. Perhaps that's the point of his book - money is now more important to our lives than ever before, but in Ferguson's and other economists' world, it's as if wealth has replaced normal human metrics of a man's worth like integrity, honesty, a sense of justice. Simply amass a pile of money and you can skip right over all of that petty moralizing bullshit.
I think this is a huge problem. Humongous sums of money confer godlike power onto their holders. These days, anything is possible if you have enough money - buy, sell, destroy a country, a person, a species, a town. This kind of power understandable distorts your self perception.
So the wealthy are deluded by their wealth. You can see this happening - Auto industry CEO's flying to Washington on private jets after driving their businesses into the ground to ask for money, John Thain shits on a 35000 dollar toilet, and bankers, so talented at finance, keep luxury cruises on a budget that they beg the government to balance. Their wealth acts as a shining shield of self confirmation - if they could amass so much value, they must have done something to be worthy of it. Their shit smells like roses, their mistakes are merely preludes to success, their inordinate wealth is their inordinate self-worth. You can do no wrong so long as you can point to that your giant pile of money.
I don't think you can make the argument that they deserve it. Financial firms didn't make all that money by working inordinately hard, being more innovative, smarter, or creative. If you're digging a hole and and discover an oil well, do you deserve the millions that you make? likewise, If you're a bond trader and you can convince someone that trusts you to buy a bond that has been carelessly rated triple a by a regulatory agency at a price higher than you bought it for, do you deserve the millions you make? What exactly are you being rewarded for? Are you 'creating' wealth?
I need to read more about monetary policy and banks, maybe this opinion will be revised.
I've been reading Niall Ferguson's The Ascent of Money. Pretty interesting, informative read, aside from this:
"So how did this Mr. Bond(speaking about the bond market) become so much more powerful than the Mr. Bond created by Ian Fleming? Why, indeed, do both kinds of bond have a license to kill?"
Are you kidding me? What a ridiculous sentence, and coming from a well respected Harvard economics professor. If it was meant to be funny, it's completely out of line with the tone of the book, and if it was meant seriously, Niall Ferguson needs to stick his head in a bucket of cold water.
I think it was serious, and it really speaks to this kind of mass delusion I've observed among some economists when they're talking about the financial markets. Even though this book is written in the context of providing some understanding to the meteoric rise of the financial markets and it's current downfall, at times, Ferguson writes about economics with this almost indecent tone of reverence. He compares the ascent of money to the ascent of man, comparing Planet Finance to Planet Earth, gleefully citing statics that express how dominant money is in our lives. Perhaps that's the point of his book - money is now more important to our lives than ever before, but in Ferguson's and other economists' world, it's as if wealth has replaced normal human metrics of a man's worth like integrity, honesty, a sense of justice. Simply amass a pile of money and you can skip right over all of that petty moralizing bullshit.
I think this is a huge problem. Humongous sums of money confer godlike power onto their holders. These days, anything is possible if you have enough money - buy, sell, destroy a country, a person, a species, a town. This kind of power understandable distorts your self perception.
So the wealthy are deluded by their wealth. You can see this happening - Auto industry CEO's flying to Washington on private jets after driving their businesses into the ground to ask for money, John Thain shits on a 35000 dollar toilet, and bankers, so talented at finance, keep luxury cruises on a budget that they beg the government to balance. Their wealth acts as a shining shield of self confirmation - if they could amass so much value, they must have done something to be worthy of it. Their shit smells like roses, their mistakes are merely preludes to success, their inordinate wealth is their inordinate self-worth. You can do no wrong so long as you can point to that your giant pile of money.
I don't think you can make the argument that they deserve it. Financial firms didn't make all that money by working inordinately hard, being more innovative, smarter, or creative. If you're digging a hole and and discover an oil well, do you deserve the millions that you make? likewise, If you're a bond trader and you can convince someone that trusts you to buy a bond that has been carelessly rated triple a by a regulatory agency at a price higher than you bought it for, do you deserve the millions you make? What exactly are you being rewarded for? Are you 'creating' wealth?
I need to read more about monetary policy and banks, maybe this opinion will be revised.
I think I've prematurely become an old man. It's Friday night at 10pm - Some people down on the street are walking around wearing shiny silver plants, sunglasses and vests with no shirt, replete with various plastic jewelry, yelling, and I'm sitting at my desk ready to dive into an ocean of work. Somehow I feel completely normal about it. Someday all of this work is going to pay off.
I've come to the conclusion that the intellectual culture of students at UCLA is diseased.
This is class.
It's mostly silent. The professor rapidly copies equations from his notes to the board, speaking in a monotone, boring himself just as much as he does the students. Behind him, the students who are not asleep or on browsing Facebook on their iPhones/blackberries are copy the equations the professor is copying from his notes to their notes (why not replace lectures with a xerox machine). They write furiously, almost desperately, as if they might get a's by turning a full notebook in with their final.
Occasionally, some poor fool wakes up, wipes the drool from his face and, despite the odds, actually becomes interested in what the professor is saying. He raises his hand tentatively and is immediately skewered with irritated looks, as if his question would actually prolong the class, which is of a scheduled, predetermined length. He ignores the looks, soldiers on and asks the question. It's a good one, but the professor is too busy plowing through the material to treat it with much attention. Though his interest is piqued, he only has ten weeks. He can't afford any digressions. He shunts the question to office hours. The Obnoxious Question Asker looks relieved for it to be done with, and a few minutes later, he goes back to sleep, resolving never to do that again.
Class ends. The professor looks relieved that it's over. He looks strangely lonely up there. The students shuffle out of the room, taking out their cell phones and putting on headphones to start their 'real' lives. Those of them who want letters of recommendation stay behind to inflict terrible awkward, forced conversation on the professor, who fields the questions, glad for some human contact, but he mostly just wants to get the hell out of there and get back to work.
Outside, the students talk about how they're so much smarter than everyone else, and lament about how they are saddled with a bunch of idiots for their group project.
"How did such and such even get in to UCLA? I worked my ass off!"
"I bet she just studied really hard"
They treat the material like some gelatinous muck they have to slog through to reach their goals. They skip class, take adderall and learn the whole course in a night.
What has happened?
edit: Maybe not this quarter for myself at least. I'm actually impressed by the first couple of classes. My first environmental economics class was genuinely fucking fascinating, even though the professor basically called me an idiot, and Effective Methods of Social Change is so ridiculous I can't believe it's actually happening. I'll write more about it when I actually know what's going on. And my econ 102 professor is actually concerned about his student's learning and is an interesting, impassioned lecturer! And australian - excellent bonus. The only problem is these classes will be so time consuming that I might not have time to deal with Rod Swanson's bullshit in International Trade Theory. The man hates marriage and wants the world to know.
I just checked out my professor's facebook and his taste in music is incredibly similar to my own. Cut Copy, Feist, Ryan Adams, Architecture in Helsinki, MGMT, my morning jacket? I have the music sensibilities of a 30 year old australian economics doctorate.
This is class.
It's mostly silent. The professor rapidly copies equations from his notes to the board, speaking in a monotone, boring himself just as much as he does the students. Behind him, the students who are not asleep or on browsing Facebook on their iPhones/blackberries are copy the equations the professor is copying from his notes to their notes (why not replace lectures with a xerox machine). They write furiously, almost desperately, as if they might get a's by turning a full notebook in with their final.
Occasionally, some poor fool wakes up, wipes the drool from his face and, despite the odds, actually becomes interested in what the professor is saying. He raises his hand tentatively and is immediately skewered with irritated looks, as if his question would actually prolong the class, which is of a scheduled, predetermined length. He ignores the looks, soldiers on and asks the question. It's a good one, but the professor is too busy plowing through the material to treat it with much attention. Though his interest is piqued, he only has ten weeks. He can't afford any digressions. He shunts the question to office hours. The Obnoxious Question Asker looks relieved for it to be done with, and a few minutes later, he goes back to sleep, resolving never to do that again.
Class ends. The professor looks relieved that it's over. He looks strangely lonely up there. The students shuffle out of the room, taking out their cell phones and putting on headphones to start their 'real' lives. Those of them who want letters of recommendation stay behind to inflict terrible awkward, forced conversation on the professor, who fields the questions, glad for some human contact, but he mostly just wants to get the hell out of there and get back to work.
Outside, the students talk about how they're so much smarter than everyone else, and lament about how they are saddled with a bunch of idiots for their group project.
"How did such and such even get in to UCLA? I worked my ass off!"
"I bet she just studied really hard"
They treat the material like some gelatinous muck they have to slog through to reach their goals. They skip class, take adderall and learn the whole course in a night.
What has happened?
edit: Maybe not this quarter for myself at least. I'm actually impressed by the first couple of classes. My first environmental economics class was genuinely fucking fascinating, even though the professor basically called me an idiot, and Effective Methods of Social Change is so ridiculous I can't believe it's actually happening. I'll write more about it when I actually know what's going on. And my econ 102 professor is actually concerned about his student's learning and is an interesting, impassioned lecturer! And australian - excellent bonus. The only problem is these classes will be so time consuming that I might not have time to deal with Rod Swanson's bullshit in International Trade Theory. The man hates marriage and wants the world to know.
I just checked out my professor's facebook and his taste in music is incredibly similar to my own. Cut Copy, Feist, Ryan Adams, Architecture in Helsinki, MGMT, my morning jacket? I have the music sensibilities of a 30 year old australian economics doctorate.
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