Sunday, January 3, 2010

1) Its fifteen degrees below zero in NYC and tomorrow evening, I have to go all the way from Queens to Manhattan in this cold, to tutor Spanish to Steven Spielberg’s daughter. Steven Spielberg’s daughter is eight years younger than me, and has her own apartment near Central Park. Meanwhile, I’ve never lived with less than two people, but what matters is quality, not quantity. Steven Spielberg’s daughter is interested in Don Quixote, and in getting into UCLA, because she wants to go to college somewhere sunny, with beaches, with tanned people, very far away from the NYC weather. Meanwhile, I’m applying to graduate programs in NYC, because apparently I think I can handle this weather. Steven Spielberg’s daughter is my mother’s high school Spanish student, and she has a real name too, that I won’t mention due to celebrity privacy issues. Steven Spielberg’s ex wife is paying me a lot of money an hour to tutor Spanish to her daughter, so that she gets a good grade in her Language class, and gets into UCLA. But maybe I shouldn’t mention this either, because now my friends are going to think I have money and say: “You owe me for this time, and for that time I paid for your drinks and for that time too. And how about donating any extra money to charity?”

2) You know how I manage to handle this weather? I play mind games and imagine I am some hot detective from Florida who is on a mission in Alaska. That is, in my imagination and under my rags, I am actually really good looking, but over my huge winter coat and upon the sock covering my entire face, I am just another homeless lady. I believe in my mind that this is my original idea, but in reality this theme is from a really bad movie I watched once, about a detective in Alaska who is trying to solve a crime. I’ve noticed how sometimes at parties, a guy will try to show off to a group of people by narrating an “original movie script” to them, something they believe they spontaneously came up with. But then the story is exactly like some famous action movie that everybody has already seen. People are so predictably spontaneous, even Steven Spielberg.

3) Allen Ginsberg once wrote in some biography that one could get fat by eating Oreos. He mentioned that even if you didn’t eat anything but Oreos all day, you would still get fat. Guess what I’ve been eating all day? Half a pack of Oreos. You see, I’ve been acting like a skinny person lately. That is, skinny people are always “too nervous” to eat, and they are always too neurotic, or too stressed to finish their entire plate of food. Boo. Skinny people used to get on my nerves, so I always tried feeding them, hoping this would stop making them act so neurotic and stressed, so skinny. I love feeding skinny people because I feel like I’m caring for a starving child. But then I started acting like a stressed, neurotic skinny person myself. And eating like a skinny person was getting on my nerves, but I was too stressed and moody to do anything about it. I mean, I have all these Italian genes, and not enough flesh to go with them, so I thought: I’ve been acting like a moody depressed skinny person, and I’m sick of it. Pass me the Oreos and let me be happy. Yes, happiness is a box of Oreos don’t you judge me.

4) I used to think that to get a good job you just had to be well qualified. I also used to think that to get into a graduate program, all you needed was a good writing sample that showed you could address a philosophical issue clearly and successfully. I used to think people would select you, for a job or for a program, based on your merit. This is why I spent so much time working on my writing sample. But this is Humbug. Apparently, a big part of succeeding in life is learning how to kiss ass. Screw merit.
Kissing Ass applies to your boss, your supervisor, your professors, and also ( I'm recently learning) graduate program committees. Ever since last summer, I have been introduced to professors whom, if I successfully kiss ass, might have enough influence to get me into their program. When people recommend me to e-mail professors who work in my programs of choice, what they are implicitly recommending me, is to kiss their ass.
At this point and knowing that rejection rate is %80, I am still wondering why do I even have to explain myself with a cover letter! Just read my writing sample which I have spent time on, and if you like how I do philosophy, fine, and if you don't, then spare me the trouble of having to meet you, shake hands with you, tell you that I like your work, e-mail you to remind you that I like your work, e-mail you to ask you for a letter of recommendation, kiss your ass. I have other things to do over here. Like write in this journal, or read chick-literature for example. But also, when I get rejected, I may just wonder if it was due to my lack of philosophical abilities, my lack of ass-kissing abilities, or a combination of the two.

5) My sister is wearing two sweaters and a knitted hat to go to sleep; this is how cold it is in NYC. My sister was telling me that for people who are from Chicago; this weather is flip-flop and Bermuda weather. I guess you don’t know cold until you know Chicago. But then again, you don't know Alaska until you spend the night in Flushing, Queens.

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