mizzmarvel: (billy batson ;_;)
It's not that I want to go back to college; I just want to feel the way I did in college. I remember a sunny day when I woke up, stared at the ceiling, and realized with shocked clarity that not only was I not depressed for the first time in forever, I was actively happy.

I have never been happier than when I was in college. Even when I had a big test or a paper on the horizon, I never had nervous stomachaches. I was in the best shape I've ever been in because I had the motivation to get out and take walks. I got plenty of sleep, and I wrote for fun, and I went out and did new things occasionally. It felt like I knew what I was doing, or I was at least better at tricking people into thinking I did.

And, I don't know. It was the closest I've ever felt to being a fully functional person.
mizzmarvel: (northstar is pissy - thecutepolice)
My freshman year of college, a friend of mine -- not a best friend, not even a close friend, but a friend nonetheless -- was killed by a drunk driver. The entire school was shocked and saddened, because even though he had only been a student there for a little over a semester, he was known for being a really nice guy. We had a campus memorial service, at which the university president spoke, and there's a memorial wall in one of the dorms.

A few years later, the university president was arrested from drunken driving.

Fastforward a few more years, and he's retiring. And I'm getting solicitations from the school to donate to his "legacy" scholarship.

HA HA HA. Oh my God. I used to work study for the Annual Giving department, so I have a thick skin when it comes to soliciting donations, but this is in poor taste even by my low standards. I'd really rather not support the legacy of a hypocritical douchebag who couldn't be bothered to practice what he preached about drinking safely.
mizzmarvel: (indiana jones)
[livejournal.com profile] only_sorta_hot, whom I went to college with, recently went back and visited with some of our professors, including our one and only Anthropology professor, Dr. Berry.

He was one of the most amazing professors I've ever had, both in his intelligence and ability to engage and enthrall a class. Basically, once you passed the intro, gen ed course and continued to the advanced classes, you pretty much had the same classmates in all your anthro courses, most of whom at least became anthro minors. Because we all adored him, even though his classes were all incredibly difficult. We'd get frustrated by his demands, and then he'd say something like, "...and like Sam Gamgee says, you can always use rope" and we'd love him again. There's a Facebook group called, If Dr. Berry Wanted a Pyramid...We Would Build It, and it's so true. We would.

And anyway, [livejournal.com profile] only_sorta_hot sent me this message:

Dr. Berry told me this, "I always think of classes by the year they enter, not the year they graduate. That said, 1998 and 2002 [our class] were vintage years. If they were wine, I'd drink them."

Which is bizarre! (Though maybe not so bizarre, considering he sent this message to our graduating class.) And coming from Dr. Berry, one of the best compliments I ever received, even if it doesn't reflect on me specifically.
mizzmarvel: (kid flash impatient - mignolagraphics)
1. In late July, I submitted my resume to be posted on the job board of my former university. I was warned that my resume needed to be approved before it got posted, which was cool.

2. In very early August - not too long later - I got an email saying my resume had been approved and was posted. Huzzah! But it was followed by another email saying that they had a policy of approving alumni resumes automatically, and there were some (vague) problems with mine, so I should email them soon or something. Uh-oh. I do.

3. After a week of not hearing anything back, I emailed again.

4. More time passes. I actually called the freaking office and left my name, number, and email for the guy in charge to get back to me.

5. No word. Email again a few days later. No word. Call again a few days later. This went on a few more steps. Keep in mind that this whole time, I cut back job applications to a minimum, as there was no point in sending out a sub-par resume.

6. After calling again and sounding particularly pathetic, the receptionist actually apparently spoke to the guy and called me back, saying, "He said your resume had been posted, so it's fine." I headdesked, then told her that, no, I'd been told specifically that it had problems. She was all, "Ohhhh," and later called back to inform me that he said he'd do a resume edit and get it to me in a few days. Hooray! Finally!

7. A week went by. Nothing. So I called today and spoke to the receptionist again. She said, "I thought your resume was posted and fine." AUUUUUUUGH. *head explodes*

UE Career Services = NOT VERY GREAT. Of course, at this point, school has started for the year, so God knows when my resume's going to get looked at. Meanwhile, I'm paranoid and putting things off and blah blah wocka wocka wocka.
mizzmarvel: (kon wears ladies underwear - poisonivory)
[livejournal.com profile] khirsah's parents arrived tonight. They brought the entire Thanksgiving meal, two bookcases, a vacuum cleaner, and a treadmill. I mean, for our use. Not like they learned how to pack from Thurston Howell III.

Though, that reminds me of an assignment I had for a class in seventh grade. We had to make a list of the things we'd pack if we were moving to a new country. So I made my list, and it consisted of things that thirteen-year-old me couldn't live without, like my comic book collection and Chuck All-Stars, among many things. But in class, when the other kids read their lists, they had stuff like grain and first aid kits. I was the odd person out, but to this day, I still think they were all dumb. Nowhere in the instructions did it say that we had to pretend we were moving to a third world country or a refuge camp or nineteenth century Oregon Territory or something. If I'm moving to Germany or Japan or somewhere, I'm not going to bother packing fresh drinking water.
mizzmarvel: (angel - ashandsmoke)
If I were still a college student, I would've moved into my dorm room today. It'd probably be very hot, and it'd take a few trips to my storage space to get all my stuff together, but we'd be done and ready in time for classes to start in the next few days. Nighttime, still hot and sticky, fireflies blinking in and out of sight and other insects chirping like they never do in southern California.

It's sort of numbing to realize that after seventeen years of formal schooling, I'm done. No courses to register for, no first day of class, no notes to take, just...nothing. For the moment, I'm really, actually done.

And no Indiana, no drive halfway across the country. As much as I complained about Evansville, and no matter how strongly I prefer it here, Evansville was my home for most of four years, and it's so strange to be away from there in late August. For the first time in years, I'll be home for Labor Day.

Speaking of which, kids still at UE - go to the Labor Day picnic. Pick up a (free) yearbook. I only devoted a full year of my life to the damn thing.

I'm just bitter because the DSL stuff hasn't come in yet. Dammit.


May. 14th, 2006 08:44 pm
mizzmarvel: (pietro liek WHOA)
First off, thank you to everyone who congratulated me about my graduation! I appreciate more than I can say, and even if I don't respond to your comment individually, I want you to know that I love you for it.

Right now, I am packing. I need to check out of my room tomorrow afternoon, and it's just going very, very slowly. As usual, I underestimated how much junk I actually have. In years past, I've just tossed everything into a storage unit for the summer and driven off into the sunset, but now I actually have to deal with four years of miscellaneous garbage.

Like, I just honestly pulled out three trash bags full of clothes I not only don't wear anymore, but no longer even fit into. There were articles of clothing I've had since my freshman year of high school. And let's not even bring up the Disneyland check I apparently forgot to cash (how does someone forget $103?) and the fact that I apparently kept every credit card solicitation ever.

I...really hope this stuff fits into the car, now that I look at what I've finished with. Plus, there's my computer. Oh Jesus.


May. 13th, 2006 10:24 pm
mizzmarvel: (tyger tyger - valdezicons)
I was almost thirteen when my mother was arrested for narcotics possession and child neglect. It was ironic that it happened then, because we had actually been living in a house for about two years; before, we'd mostly been living in motels or her boyfriend's van, parking at the beach or woods for the night. But that didn't make our house less of a slum, or the drugs less real. After a day in a county home, my little brother and I were released to our father's custody.

I really hadn't been doing well for a long time. I was deeply depressed and my mother didn't make me go to school or try very hard to get me there on time, and worst of all I'm inherently lazy. As a result, I was failing the seventh grade - when that first semester ended, my GPA was 1.8 (at the time, 1.5-2.0 was generally classified as failure, depending on the school district). I had basically been waiting to drop out of school legally - it was easy to give up. I counted the years, actually, just waiting, even though I was more afraid of what I'd do next.

But when I went to live with my dad, something just sort of clicked - I could start over. I could turn work in and get to school on time every day and maybe feel smart again. So I did.

By the second semester of eighth grade, I had a 4.0 (perfect grades) for the first time in my entire life, and it was like this little spark of something was flickering in my brain, like maybe I could do something, but I didn't know how.

One spring day, I was called into the counselor's office. A teacher from the high school, Mrs. Balas, was there to see me. She told me she was the local coordinator of a program called Advancement Via Individual Determination (AVID). To paraphrase what she explained, it was basically for kids who were smart and tested well, but had weak points (mine was, and still is, math), were maybe somewhat lazy, and didn't always have the right amount of encouragement at home.

Mrs. Balas was offering me everything I needed, and I didn't even know it yet. She was giving me a class I'd be in all four years, to feel grounded in. She was giving me extra help in math, and guidance as to what classes would make me competitive for college. Most importantly, she was giving me herself, someone to work hard for, someone to be proud of me and make sure I never got lazy and gave up ever again, someone to believe that I could succeed and go to college.

I didn't know, but I wanted to be in AVID so badly. I don't think I've ever been prouder than when I got my letter of acceptance into the program. I still have it, and looking at it just now made me cry to remember how it felt when everything was just a spark of distant possibility.

I graduated from college today.
mizzmarvel: (emo kid - nelliewu)
I've decided I'm not too keen on this graduating thing. It was all right earlier, when I was around people, but now I'm in my room, alone, and I think the whole floor has checked out other than the RA and me. Lonely, I guess.

My anthropology professor sent this e-mail to the graduating seniors today )

What am I going to do without a Dr. Berry class next semester? What will I have if I don't have the option of taking an archaeology course in Hyde Hall 8, or a key to let me into the student publications office?

Anyway. My dad and his girlfriend got here today. I cussed in front of one of my parents for the very first time.
mizzmarvel: (mysterious skin - oolah)
I took my archaeology final today, which I think went well, and got my thesis back and received a very good grade on it, so all goes smoothly thus far. I need to complete an anthropology take-home test tonight and finish a painting tomorrow, and then all will be done in finals world. Yaaaay.

I feel like I haven't posted anything of interest here in a very long time, so:

Read more... )
mizzmarvel: (northstar = namor. for serious.)
1. Biting my fingernails
2. Watching CourtTV programs about real murders with grim fascination
3. Referring to pregnancy as being "prego"
4. Buying things off Amazon merely because I get free two-day shipping
5. Congratulating myself on a job well done with large portions of fried food
6. Saying "whatevs"
7. Taking a short break from studying, only to succumb to the compulsion to pick my split ends and then look at the clock to discover that half an hour's gone by, because really, it's not that interesting
8. Going, "Cho CHAAAAAAAAANG - that whore," every time someone mentions the character out loud
9. Collecting old take-out cups and straws like I'm going to reuse them one day
10. Using the ABBA CA DABBA method of multiple choice test-taking, only to be left with the song "Abra Cadabra" stuck in my head forevermore

In other news, all of my finals will be done by this Friday. In the past, this would've been great, because then I could leave for home early. Now, all it means is that I'll be studying like hell for two days, only to be left twiddling my thumbs and working relentlessly on yearbook stories until graduation (and a few days after). I guess I could say I'll be packing, but the inconceivability of that notion just makes me giggle.


Apr. 28th, 2006 02:32 pm
mizzmarvel: (office - lvlwing_icons)
Today, the last Crescent issue of my undergraduate career came out. I only worked on the newspaper when I was asked to, generally content to putter around with my yearbook, but I've spent so much time in the office with everyone while they were putting out their weekly issue that I feel like I'm losing something. It's hard to believe they won't be here on Sunday, starting work on the new paper.

Being the last issue for the school year, it was also had a special graduation section, with "Cheers & Jeers" for the past year, reflections of seniors, and so forth. This is the section where people can buy grad ads for you, and I have...three. Nothing beats the one Student Publications gave me. Their ad features a very buxom photo of Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman. With my face superimposed over hers. The copy: "LinC's Own All-American Hero. Friend, Woman, Hero." Er.

Also, I was asked to write the senior Humorist column. You can read it here, if you're interested, and also see my somewhat terrifying (non-Wonder Woman) photo. When that was taken last August, I never thought it would see the light of day outside the office, and at least in the paper it's small and black-and-white. Online, it's really too much.

Anyway, congrats to [livejournal.com profile] scalderwood for a really awesome final issue.
mizzmarvel: (eomers_elf - bucky)
This weekend was pretty much THE BIG WEEKEND for my university. I'll skip ahead to the boring part, which was today's Bike Race, in which mostly-Greek groups...have a bike race. Basically, today was the day that everyone got drunk before noon and then probably died of dehydration. Except me.

Yesterday was the Sunset Concert, which a more diverse group of people attend. It starts off with you getting a Sunset Concert t-shirt. Fifty percent of people leave immediately after getting their shirt. The rest of us go to various organization booths and win cheesy little prizes and eat. For example: before dinner, I had chocolate ice cream, two snow cones, and a "Hero Pop," which is a Teen Titans Go popsicle. (My flavor? Robin Cherry. Let me repeat that: Robin. Cherry.)

There are also inflatable bounce things, which I stay the hell away from, and later in the night, some bands perform. I sadly missed when the drummer of an opening act lost his drumstick, which flew into the crowd and knocked out a girl's tooth, but I did stop by for the big venue, which was Blessid Union of Souls. (Which I had never heard of, by the way. Freshman year, they brought in Better Than Ezra, whom I like, but this is the third year where I haven't even heard of the Sunset band - the other two were Seven Mary Three and Sugarcult.)

After two songs, I left, and ran into a friend and his girlfriend who were also leaving. Since we were all leaving, she, for some reason, became very enthusiastic about playing Trivial Pursuit; I've played with him before, but never her. He seemed interested too, but I said I was busy with school stuff - which was true.

Um. Then she got mad and threw something at my face, and it hit my cheek. Not that it hurt or anything - it was small, and I don't even know what it was. She might have just been kidding. But if she was? We're definitely not close enough for her to throw anything at me in jest and me to laugh it off. And if she wasn't kidding? HELLO CRAZY.

I'm going to console myself with the pillow porn [livejournal.com profile] joosetta and I wrote yesterday. It is the greatest love story ever told.
mizzmarvel: (sleeping hermaphrodite)
Okay, so in my art class, there's this girl. I have no idea what her name is, what her personality is like, her hopes, dreams, aspirations, or anything. All I know is that I have basically seen her butt every damn class we've had together.

And not in a remotely interesting way! I mean, it's a clothing issue; her jeans are cut too low, I guess. So, whenever she sits down - in my direct line of vision - it's just...there. Her butt. And I don't mean, like, a scandalous glimpse of underwear, either. I mean there is crack and partial cheek visibility there. She basically has the Grand Canyon of butt cracks, and I am the unwilling tourist trying hard not to see its vast cavernous depths.

Every class, I think about discreetly mentioning it to her. I mean, if I can see it, no doubt others can, too. But I think she realizes the problem, as she's often hitching up her jeans, so apparently it isn't a big concern to her. And it's not as if this is a hard problem to solve. 1) she can wear pants with a decent waistline, 2) she can wear longer shirts, or 3) she could actually wear underwear, for God's sake.

Also, how would you explain to a person that you've essentially been observing her tendency toward embarrassing butt crack since January? Checking has kind of become part of the Tuesday/Thursday routine - Does the girl have her usual crack out there? Check. It's like calling a very odd sort of roll. Butt crack? Present!

And then once I check, it becomes very hard not to look every once in a while during class. I assure you, it's not in a, Mmmm, sumptuous plumber's crack! sort of way - dear Lord, it's just disgusting. It's more like, I wonder if the crack is still there. I'll check - egad, it is!

It's just a terrible situation all around.

The moral to this post: I really had nothing interesting at all to say today.
mizzmarvel: (The Lady of Shalott - entwashian)
Today at my workstudy job, I was flipping through alumni files when I glimpsed what looked like an old postcard. It took a few seconds to register, so I had to go backtrack a bit to find the file. It was labeled, typed, "Conrad Rose, WW II," and then in handwritten blue ballpoint, "Alumni - DEAD."

This was a little weird - there's a separate series of filing cabinets for the files of deceased alumni, so I pulled it out to file it properly. And yeah, of course I wanted to check out that postcard, so I started looking through Conrad's file.

It just became the most interesting story.

Conrad was born in Howell, Indiana, which seems to be or have been a small town near Evansville. He graduated from Reitz High School (where he was a "football star") and Evansville College (which later became the University of Evansville, where I go). I'm not sure when he graduated - he wasn't in any of the yearbooks I looked in, but based on his year of birth (1906), and the fact that he was also able to graduate from the University of Kentucky in '31, I'd say he was here in the late '20s. From there, he went on to coach football at Georgetown. This is all pretty much from an obituary.

Then World War II started, and this is where the file gets amazing. Apparently, when his brother died in the 1960s, his brother's widow sent all these papers to the college - WW II correspondence and old photos. And Conrad just suddenly came to life.

He was stationed in the South Pacific. In the postcard to his brother and sister-in-law, the one that caught my eye, with a B-25 bomber on the front, dated 7-2-43, he describes being promoted to sergeant and living in New Guinea: "This island is mostly all jungle, rich in mineral + vegetation of all sort, but I wouldn't give a yard of the U.S. for acres of any other country I've been in."

Later, he closes by saying, "Drop me a line sometime, and write to Mom. She worries more about you than me I believe." At the top, there's a stamp indicating that it was approved by a censor.

But by the next year, he'd die. He died, and his mother actually had to ask what happened to him. She waited two months and go no word on how he died. On January 30, 1945, she got a response that stated the facts. )

The next month, Mrs. Rose finally received official condolences. This is the most amazing letter of all - it's from Douglas MacArthur. I'm sure it's a form letter of sorts, but I liked the prose so much that I wrote it all down. )

In April, Mrs. Rose wrote to her surviving son and gave him the original MacArthur letter for safekeeping, but kept the one from Barnes because it had more detail about Conrad. She stated, "...if I live I shall bring him back to his country for which he died and was counting the days until he could come home. I can't get over it, it seems..." She then went on to talk about how she would be compensated $37 a month for the rest of her life by the U.S. government.

Conrad's body did come home, possibly in 1948, and was buried in Oak Hill cemetery. I think by then, his mother had passed away.

And after reading all this, I just had to put my head down and catch my breath, because Conrad Rose was so, so human. There was a picture of him clowning for the camera in a cowboy hat and spats - spats - and people called him Connie and he misspelled 'chief' and his mother loved him. He was real and human, and it is suddenly very hard to deal with life and death when you remember that people are human.

Then I changed his label and carefully filed him in the deceased cabinet, where I know probably no one else will ever look at him again.
mizzmarvel: (angel - ashandsmoke)
Per advice received in the poll, I dutifully did some research for my senior thesis tonight, and even ordered a few more books. (Matt Groening's advice for those putting off actually writing their thesis is, "Read another book!" Sound advice, I say.)

But then of course I wrote some Blue. I mean, if inspiration walks into my house, I'm not just going to ignore it until it wanders away or subdue it with a baseball bat; I'm going to offer it tea and some nice scones, coddle it and give it all the attention it needs.

(I don't think that made any kind of sense. Whatev.)

Speaking of Byron/Jeff, did you know that [livejournal.com profile] khirsah wrote me some more? Everyone interested should go read it, ASAP. (Not suitable for minors, FYI.)

Let me take this opportunity to completely fangirl [livejournal.com profile] khirsah: any of you who read fanfiction and are not reading her stuff should do so, and promptly. I've not read any piece by her that has not completely stunned me in the best possible way; I've even read pairings by her that I have no interest in or even actively dislike, and still loved them. She has the most terrific insight to characters, and even the briefest PWP has both remarkable style and substance. In short, she definitely gets my seal of approval.
mizzmarvel: (I subscribe to Nerdular Nerdence)
Dear Sir,

Don't get me wrong - I love the !Kung. I mean, what's not to like? They're wee, 28% of their diet consists of mongongo nuts, and they like doing the Giraffe Dance. I really dig learning about them and their 23% success rate at big game hunting, their penchant for discreetly having sex from behind while the kids are asleep, and that their gods are essentially a praying mantis and a tall guy with boots and a horse. They're drama queens who try to stick their heads in the campfire to commit suicide, knowing that someone will always pull them out, and they stuck anthropologist Richard Lee with the nickname 'Whitey.' How awesome is that?

Seriously, as far as I'm concerned, the !Kung are the coolest cats in the Kalahari Desert.

But you know what is not cool? Giving your class a take home test, complete with multiple choice, definitions, map section, and two essays, that is due the day after spring break. No, sir, that is, in fact, tres lame.

that kid who's been sitting in the back of your classes for four years, making wisecracks and counting your Monty Python references

Now, I guess I should go...do that. Instead of whining about it. I guess.
mizzmarvel: (skeleton dance - tropic_icons)
I am an agnostic, but I pray daily. Even if there isn't a God, it makes me feel better, so there's no reason why I should stop. I try my best to only pray about serious things, though - God probably has enough to deal with as it is without me whining about trivial matters. I don't even pray to do well on tests, only that He please help me stay calm as I do poorly on a test that I should have studied more for. But last night, I made a very selfish prayer.

"Please God, don't let me be in Latin by the end of this week."

AND HE ANSWERED. Oh, the good Lord smiled upon me today! Yes, yes, as of this afternoon, I NO LONGER HAVE LATIN CLASS.

See, the registrar messed up! I don't need Latin to graduate! In fact, I never needed Latin at all! I wasted nine credit hours on the subject! I don't care! SO I DROPPED THAT SUCKER LIKE A HOT POTATO.

Dear heavens, I want to strap a snare drum to my midsection and march about campus, announcing to the rhythmic beat, "NOT IN LATIN. NOT IN LATIN. NOT IN LATIN."

I believe this glitter text clearly demonstrates my feelings on the matter:

Myspace Glitter Graphics, MySpace Graphics, Glitter GraphicsMyspace Glitter Graphics, MySpace Graphics, Glitter GraphicsMyspace Glitter Graphics, MySpace Graphics, Glitter Graphics    Myspace Glitter Graphics, MySpace Graphics, Glitter GraphicsMyspace Glitter Graphics, MySpace Graphics, Glitter Graphics    Myspace Glitter Graphics, MySpace Graphics, Glitter GraphicsMyspace Glitter Graphics, MySpace Graphics, Glitter GraphicsMyspace Glitter Graphics, MySpace Graphics, Glitter GraphicsMyspace Glitter Graphics, MySpace Graphics, Glitter GraphicsMyspace Glitter Graphics, MySpace Graphics, Glitter Graphics

Tomorrow, I will celebrate by sleeping past 7:30 am!
mizzmarvel: (Default)
I hate Latin. I hate it with the power of a thousand fiery, burning suns. I rue the day that I thought, 'Hey, I love Rome. I'm an archaeology major. Latin will be cool!' I ache with the betrayal of every person who assured me that my five years of Spanish would be a huge help when learning Latin. (FALSE.) I weep salty bitter tears at the mere thought of studying it, and can think of very few ways I would rather do less than spend an evening declining words. (For example, maybe I would rather study Latin than roll around in dog feces. MAYBE.)

All this for a stupid quiz tomorrow. Gahhhhh. THE THINGS I WILL DO TO GRADUATE.

(And of course, last night I started pining to write Blue. Always before a test or quiz, ALWAYS.)
mizzmarvel: (h/d - adamasoda and melkor_)
There are two other Mackenzies at my school and one Kenzie (the name my family calls me), which just freaks me the hell out. I was never one of those kids in elementary school who had to go by the first name and first letter of their last name - through my whole childhood, I only met one other Mackenzie. It was at a Wal-Mart. I was eight, she was in her thirties.

It's difficult to comprehend that Mackenzie is now a common name for younger girls. I mean, I experience cognitive dissonance at the mere fact that other Mackenzies exist.

But anyway, the other (Mac)kenzies. I don't know them, and could not pick them out of a crowd. But today, in front of Union (food place on campus):

Me: *heading toward door*

Strange girl: Hey Mackenzie, are you going back to Hughes Hall? [Where I live.]

Me: Buh?

Other Girl: Yeah.


In other news, today was my first Art class in which I actually drew. We were supposed to draw shoes, and I got this little girls' Barbie sneaker with all these weird hearts and swooshes and contours. I got SO NERVOUS right beforehand; I guess I just really, really wanted to do well. (I didn't.) But then we started doing blind contour drawings (not looking at the paper at all), and that calmed me down. And, actually, I think a lot of my lines are smoother in the blind drawings. Um, that's it, I guess.


mizzmarvel: (Default)
Could that someone be Mack the Knife?

January 2012



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