Back by popular demand. . .
I think everyone has had to make a big decision at some time in their lives. I mean, holy shit, if you haven’t had to make any big decisions by now. . . .what the heck are you doing? You may or may not know that this 3rd interview, at Uwisconsin at Madison, was the last of the grad school interviews for me. Big deal? Yeah, it is. But let’s get to the whole, monstrous account shall we? Once again, likely a gigantic entry, but I’m tired, so we’ll see . . . .
Physics isn’t really Phun, regardless of what they tell you. Low notes. My home, the airport. Why not king-size it?
So when I last made an entry, I had finished a lab report to turn in at midnight. I really didn’t get much sleep, and had little fun at all in Physics lab the next morning. Despite my ability to get A’s in calculus, I’m really slow and perhaps retarded when it comes to “math on the fly.” Our lab was a very calculations-intensive lab, and I got so far behind my partner—which meant I got really frustrated—which meant I got even SLOWER because I was so flustered. I was so tired already, and trying to explain to people that I really did understand what was going on and that I was just sloooow on getting the math done. . . . I wanted to cry. I think my lab partner thinks I’m stupid, because I’m in regular physics this semester and I take so long all the time. I want to yell and say NO I’m NOT STUPID!!! But you know, I am slow. . .oh well.
I said something at lunch that hit Dave the wrong way, and ended up leaving for CAK with very few smiles and no I love you’s, which was really pretty horrible. I thought talking with Sam would help, but while it cheered me up, I didn’t really feel any better.
I got to the airport, ready to make the trip happen, and the first thing the airport clerk tells me is that my connecting flight to Pittsburgh has been cancelled. To top it off, he doesn’t think I can get to Pittsburgh any other way but ground transportation. Great. He walks around helping people in the meantime, and I bang my head on the counter slowly. Thankfully, when he comes back he realizes there’s a flight leaving at 6:30 that should get me there on time. My original flight was to leave at 3:25PM. So I sit around, and entertain myself as best I can with my Blood Dimmed Tides sourcebook, but I’m still bummed and also EXTREMELY tired. I want to take a nap, but I’m too paranoid I’ll miss the flight. I also get to experience the joy of buying [last minute] feminine products at the airport. WOW, could this be more fun? The 6:30 departure time rolls around, and our plane is nowhere in sight. A clerk who’s obviously lost her voice whispers into the intercom that our plane will be here any minute. She’s right. We make it on board the tiny turboprop, and I swear I make the shortest flight of my life. We are up at cruising altitude for like, five minutes, and then we begin our descent. Doing the math, I realize I have ten minutes to make it from my arrival gate on one side of Pittsburg Intl’ airport to my departure gate on another side. I don’t recommend running in an airport. Not only is it tiring, but you just feel more stressed doing it. I had to dodge a roaming pack of teenage wheelchair enthusiasts—where the hell did they come from? Oh well, my flight is delayed when I get there by about 45 minutes. I ran all that way for nothing.
But enough complaining. I am lucky enough to have a professor come meet me at the airport—no taxi’s to worry about. Dr. John Woods and I get along well. Sometimes you can lock in to somebody’s brainwaves and feel comfortable around them, and I found that to be an easy thing with him. This time round’ I’m staying a the Best Western InnTowner—and it’s across the street from a sushi place! I take this as a good sign. But the best sight in the world was my hotel room: a king sized-bed, and NO roommate to share it with. Nice touch. I fling myself onto that bed and just roll around for awhile, happy to be quiet, warm, and able to sleep. But of course first I check out the cable, and discover I get free porn—some documentary on strip contests and sex classes or something. I had to fight myself to go to bed.
Interview Day . . .need we say more?
I get down to the lobby at 8:30 to meet the other 8 recruits for breakfast and a day of interviews. At UW, I have 6 interviews slated for me in the day: 3 in the morning, 3 in the afternoon. I consider myself a pro now, but admittedly I feel a bit lonely for the first half of the day. I greet everyone with a big hello—and one girl greets me back with “Woooow. You’re awfully. . .cheery.” and not in a sarcastic way, which I could’ve respected. Of course, immediately my brain is starting up the checklist of reasons not to like this person. But oh well. Everyone is a little detached. . . I don’t’ know, maybe we’re all still waking up or something, but I don’t feel much solidarity compared with the UGA recruits. There are only 3 girls too, including me.
Over we go to the biological sciences section of campus. The weather is pretty much as yucky as Hiram, and I have to try really hard not to despair. Crap, there’s a lot to cover here, but I’ll try to keep it short. I meet my graduate student host, Charles, and he seems like a nice guy. The day is spent partly feeling completely unadept at being social. You know, like everything you say, you mean to be kind and funny and well-thought out, but you sound to yourself like somebody whose brain isn’t really in the right place at all. You sound DUMB. It’s the part of these visits I could really do without—getting used to everybody so I can just relax and not feel so inarticulate, so that people will stop crinkling their eyebrows when I talk.
The whole department is awesome. I expected that, of course. Wisconsin has perhaps the top microbiology program in the nation. Everyone is doing really interesting stuff—I’m starting to think that’s a given by now. I didn’t feel on the same wavelength as some of the PI’s (Principle Investigators, who direct the research of their lab). But I had a good time all of them. The highlight of the day may have been interviewing with John Woods. His lab has a Little Richard bobbly-head doll, outside in the hallways is an idol-like skeleton wearing a black cloak, a flower lei, and a chicken on its head. In the office are bowls and bowls of candy—although the tootsie rolls are past their prime. He has a little snowglobe with a picture of the microbe he works on, with the title “The Cause.” If you turn the globe around, the other side reads “The effect” and has a picture of him drinking a beer.
Naturally, this guy rules.
I also get to go to the Pharmacology building to meet with Ben Shen—who does a multidisciplinary study of useful compounds bacteria can be engineered to produce. His office overlooks lake Mendota, and his lab is gigantic.
So this is how the other half lives I think to myself. The pharmacology building is awesome (it has a little café called the Apothecafé).
I’m starting to feel a bit more engaged in everything the longer I’m there. I guess it just took some time to get comfortable with everyone, and also get comfortable with myself as a socializer. Charles and I get more used to conversing with one another too, which is important—you come to depend a lot on student hosts. In fact the evening’s entertainment options are organized by them. There are a lot of options, but the majority of us opt for dinner at an Indian resteraunt, where I have Mutter paneer ( I think I did. It had homemade cheese and green pea curry. . mmmm) and a mango lassi (mango yogurt drink, kindof like a smoothie). DELICIOUS. I get to hear all about the martial arts scene from one grad student, and yoga and dance classes from another—it looks like I’d have lots of options for recreation here. And then it’s off to Essyn House.
Maybe you’ve been to a German beer hall, maybe you haven’t. Basically, it’s like being in a pub, with a polka band, and everyone is extremely happy and drunk. At the Essyn House, all the guys working their have to wear lederhosen, which rules a lot. And then there are the boots. . . . big glass boots which can hold several liters of your beer of choice. Apparently, you must pass the boot around the table, not letting it touch the table. You flick the edge of it with your finger, take a swig, and flick it again—then pass it to the next person. Sounds simple, but when the boot is nearly drained, you must attempt to finish it, or pay for the next boot. Also, depending on how you hold the boot, a bubble may form at the toe and blub up to splash you in the face. Wearing beer goggles takes on a whole new meaning when you can’t clean the stuff off your glasses, let me tell you. I start off not wanting to participate in this, but I feel guilty after awhile—and after a glass of Bitburger Pilsner. At one point, I look up from the boot to see Charles cheering “HEY! THAT’S MY RECRUIT!!!” We made’m all proud, and on the faculty slush fund. By the end of the evening, our group has consumed more beer per recruit than any other recruiting weekend that year (there had been two before us). Much later, I get back to my room and pass out—tomorrow is another day, but the hardest part (the interviews) are over.
Ask your local Grad student. Driving tours & sweet apartments. State Street.
Still didn’t get much sleep (more TV-MA rated movies on), but I get myself down for a presentation on the micro program. The offer is definitely sweet. Full tuition waver, yearly stipend of 21,000 (the 2nd highest offer was from Loyola, with 20,000). Health care equal to one HMO (I don’t know exactly what this means, but it sounds good). I mean, jesus Christ, the program is awesome and the pay I awesome. I also did some research the day before, and found lots of weird things in Madison that made me excited, like a local chapter of the
Hash House Harriers. The student panel is good stuff, learning about where to rent, and about the local beer festivals, brat festivals, kites on ice. . . .so much stuff to do!
Then we all pack into cars to go driving tours of Madison—and of course it starts snowing like a mofo. You know, I was worried about the weather, but it’s pretty much just like Ohio weather—which admittedly I don’t care for, but it’s tolerable until spring get’s around to showing up. Driving around, it becomes obvious that there are about a million places to rent in Madison, from part of an old house near campus to gigantic apartment complexes in the immediate countryside—which is like, ten minutes away. We get to peek inside one grad student’s home: a 2 bedroom apartment out in the west part of Madison. Our little recruit jaws just dropped to the wall-to-wall carpeted floor. He had a big kitchen, a living room with vaulted ceiling, balcony, and fireplace. The bathtub has JETS in it. It costs him about $500 to rent—he and his roommate share the 1000 rent. They also have surround sound, and a DVD player. Uh, yeah, I could live here. . . . .
The troops rally back at the hotel again, and we all decide that walking around State Street would be fun, despite the snow. First stop: Student Union for “the best ice-cream on earth” according to one grad student. Yeah right, I think. How good can ice-cream be?
Hah. It was the most awesome coffee-truffle ice cream ever.
Smooth, and buttery, and FULL OF GOODNESS. Or perhaps full of butterfat, but who cares? It was the most delicious ice-cream, better even than the stuff in Germany. Speaking of which, we sit down with our prized ice-cream in the Rathskeller. It’s part of the student union, made completely of stonework and brick, with a roaring fire (no malt beer till sundown) and basically the whole place oozes cool-german-beerhall-ness. We all picked up booklets describing all the cool minicourses you can take through the student union. Want to learn to be a Private Eye? Get better at playing pool? Make seagrass baskets? Track cougars? You can do it all here!
Off to wander State Street—the main drag of Madison, with Uwisconsin at one end of it, and the capitol building at the other. Mmmmmm. . . . at least 3 used book stores, 1 used music store, 2 GAMING STORES, a feminist bookshop (I just had to put it on the list), a Land’s End Not Quite Perfect outlet store, tons of café’s, an adult bookstore, recording studios, so many weird eclectic stuff that doesn’t fit anywhere, and even a JAMBA JUICE. I almost asked for acceptance papers to sign then and there, because Jamba Juices were one of my vices and joys during my stay in Honolulu. It takes a lot of effort to reel in my enthusiasm for yelling out store names. Mainly, I have to use my imagination on State Street, to wipe away the snow and ice, make the sky bluer and the trees greener. Because the main trouble I’m having is my lust for spring and how springy UGA was. I think it’s a turning point for a couple of recruits. . .I could see them nodding their heads and smiling. . . .I go back to the hotel and watch most of “Terms of Endearment” and realize that Jack Nicholson is perhaps the sexiest old guy ever, not because he’s good looking, but because of something. . . indescribable. I feel weirded out, but sad I didn’t get to finish the movie.
Pot Luck Dinner. Free Sip n’ Steins for Everyone
Evening comes, and with it the potluck dinner at a faculty member’s house. Apparently this is one of the many bragging rights a person in the department can accrue during recruitment weekend: faculty members compare the amount of recruits that accept offer to who was hosting the potluck dinner that weekend. It’s fun—and there’s sushi—but it’s always hard to socialize with people you barely know. I don’t think I’ll ever find this thrilling. It’s there that I meet a professor who just moved her lab from UGA to Wisconsin. We talk for a little while, and she sums up her opinion like this: She’d rather live in Athens—the weather is much nicer—but she’d rather be doing science here. It’s more helpful info than I think she’ll ever realize, because it’s how I’m feeling.
Heavy with thoughts, I make my way back to the hotel again—because it’s time to gather for a trip to the Rathskeller again for beer and pool and live music. It’s thankfully non-smoking, because I’ve talked so much the whole weekend that my throat is starting to feel like raw hamburger. Inside the beer hall, they’ve turned the lights down low, except a few orangish lights where the ceiling arches down into pillars. Our grad student head-honcho buys the last nine plastic sip-n-steins for us—they’re like those portable plastic insulated mugs you can get, but you can get discounts on sodas, coffee, and beer with em’; this is totally sweet. I just sit myself down at the big wooden table where the group has settled in, and I talk to two lovely grad students, and I get a kick out of how we all have long brown hair, glasses, and great voices. I feel cool in my own special, demented way. There are TONS of great opportunities for people watching, including a bouncer by the bar who looks like a Rider of Rohan in a black t-shirt. I wouldn’t start anything, man. The jazz band Doc Watson is playing some groovy music, and there are crowds swaying and spinning around the stage, enthralled. Near one corner, a middle-aged couple is breaking it down something fierce. The lady had soft white hair, and she calmly danced about with her dress flowing around everywhere. The gentleman had wild curly grey hair, and he was leaping and twisting and grooving. They’d come together and sway every once in a while—like they were the only ones dancing anywhere in the world. It made me really happy, because they didn’t care that everyone else in the room was 20 years younger. I had a lot of good conversations that night, drinking hard cider from my sippee cup.
Oh heck, the rest of this is all about me getting home without a hitch and my parents picking me up. We talked for a long time about my visit, and I’m pretty sure they think I’m going to Madison. I’m pretty sure, after looking this over, that’s what I’d think about me too.
It’s just a huge decision is all. I don’t want to make the day after I go there. I don’t want to say it yet, so please try to bear with me . . . :)
