Thursday, July 31, 2008

The Joys of College Admissions Essays (not) and What NYU has Done for ME.

I'm not a good writer. I can't easily make one sentence flow to the other, and, while my sentences are free of spelling and grammatical errors, they lack substance and zing. It's funny to observe just how much my style has diminished throughout the years. From the time I was three years old, til I was about thirteen, I wanted to be an author when I grew up. In school, I was treated like a prodigy when it came to writing. Unfortunately, that didn't last. In junior high, I switched my focus over to music (specifically John Mayer). From that, I picked up a guitar and banged around on a keyboard. I wasn't able to afford lessons for myself, so I did what seemed practical enough: I taught myself. Again, for whatever reason, this was seen as impressive, and I was treated as a prodigy. But as time went on, my interest in music dwindled.

In high school, I didn't write for fun, and I barely picked up an instrument. My life literally was centered around friends and the computer. But hey, that's high school for you. I was treated like a prodigy concerning my schoolwork, too. Oh, sure, the classes I take aren't exactly a walk in the park, but I barely put effort into them, and I'm not at the very top of my class.

Well, my point is that I wanted to write back when I was a kid. Every writing assignment I turned in during elementary school was my best work, and it paid off. Now I dread sitting down to write a blog. Similarly, I wanted to play guitar and piano. I would sit in my room practicing for hours and hours upon end until I got whatever concept I was trying to learn down perfectly. Now I can barely play for more than ten minutes at a time.

High school came, and I didn't want things like I used to. I didn't know what I wanted. I didn't know what to try for. Money seemed more important. Schoolwork seemed less so. It was a dull, depressing life, and I had a lot of downs during my freshman and sophomore years. The PSATs (practice test for the SATs) were a joke, and I went into them on three hours of sleep. I subconsciously checked off a box to have my scores sent to colleges, and within months of doing so, my mailbox was stormed with floods of letters on a daily basis. They were all from colleges, and while I knew their interest wasn't directed at me personally, I was still flattered. So I opened letter upon letter and read the opening lines. That was usually as far as I got.

Millersville: "We want you at our school! Come visit."
Drexel: "We hear you're a high achieving student."
Penn State: "Here at PSU, we look for students just like you!"
Franklin & Marshall: "Are you looking for a school with renowned professors, great academic opportunities, and unique campus life? Then F&M is right for you!"
New York University: "I'll be honest with you -- NYU isn't for everyone."

Wait...what was that last one? You mean you aren't one-hundred percent certain that you want me at your school? To be perfectly honest, I had intended since junior high to just go to Millersville or Penn State because they were cheap, and I could live at home. I didn't aspire to travel anywhere cool, let alone to New York City. But for some reason, I really, really liked the sound of NYU.

I went online, checked it out, and I found that I had the right GPA and courseload, but my SATs were predicted to be way lower than NYU's range. Also, the tuition was 50k a year -- way more than I could ever afford. I almost gave up on any ambitions to attend the school until I mentioned those three letters, which now roll off my tongue on a daily basis, to Tina's mom. I told her all the reasons why I could never attend, and she nearly smacked me in the face. "Are you crazy? NYU is the PERFECT place for you! You deserve that school, Elizabeth. So your SAT scores aren't the highest. They have enough kids with perfects. They need someone like you.And as for the cost...don't even worry about money if that's where you want to be." And that day in February, Tina's mom sparked the fire which has dimmed and flickered from time to time but has yet to go out.

I'm not going to write a blurb about all the amazing things that NYU is. What I am going to write, though, is how grateful I am that the Office of Admissions sent me that letter. For the first time in two and a half years, I really want something.

What I really like about wanting admission into NYU, what's really different about truly wanting something this time around, is that it's not easy for me. I don't have all the stats needed for NYU, and I probably still won't by the time I apply. It's quite the reach away, but I'm willing to jump for it, and that's what'll make it worth it in the end.

So far, I've worked hard to familiarize myself with the SATs (which is A LOT better than going in blind, trust me). I didn't study for them, but I learned what to expect on them. I scored above average with a 1950, just barely in NYU's range. It won't get me in, but it gives me a chance, plus I have an opportunity to get my score higher in October. I've also managed to convince my mom not only to visit NYU but to accept the fact that New York City is where I want to be. This was a remarkable feat, and major props go to her for being so understanding. I've gained a lot of respect for my mom over the past six months.

I'm excited and scared for application time this fall. Screwing up my apps or my essay is not an option. The essay is what worries me the most, especially, because I absolutely cannot write. I can't tell the admissions officers through written expression why I'm the kind of person that NYU was made for. I don't know how to explain my extracurriculars or how I'd change the world with a five dollar bill. So in conclusion to this long, tangent-filled post, I'm just going to say that, despite my lack of confidence in my writing skills, I am determined to pull things together and figure out a way to make it work. I'll be damned if I've come this far to have it all ruined by a stupid essay.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Bad news never had good timing.

I came home from work today (or yesterday, rather) completely exhausted from working the dreaded 7-2 shift. I hopped on facebook and just surfed through friends' pages, looking at them in more detail. I noticed that, listed on one of my friend's facespaces, was a group called "In Dedication and Remembrance to Mr. Way." Out of curiosity, I clicked the link to the group's page, and this whole array of memories seemed to flood my mind.

My mom has been working in the daycare for the local rec center since before I could walk or talk. She first met Mr. Way when he put his twin daughters in the nursery when they were toddlers. As she sometimes does with the parents who drop their kids off, my mom conversed quite a bit with Mr. Way. Unlike other parents, who would leave their kids and run off quickly to exercise, he would make the time to sit and play with his daughters before leaving. This gave my mom plenty of opportunity to get to know him and his wife.

Years and years later, when my brother entered high school, he had Mr. Way for General Science in his freshman year. During the school's open houses, to which I usually came along, my mom would go up and talk to him. Every year, for all four years of my brother's high school career, they talked of me possibly having Mr. Way as a teacher once I got to the high school level.

And I very well almost did. During course selection in eighth grade, I could have chosen to take Honors General Science, and therefore I would have had Mr. Way as a teacher. But I'd heard so many horror stories about his class being terribly difficult and how hard he graded science fair, etc. My own brother dropped out of honors science after taking his class, so I decided that I'd better take the regular level course instead.

Ninth grade came along, and I enjoyed my courses very much. Although I didn't have Mr. Way, I heard from many of my friends taking honors that he was an amazing, though admittedly tough, teacher. One friend told me at the beginning of the year that it was too bad I didn't take honors because Mr. Way often let his discussions meander from science so much that he would wind up talking about human nature or his life experiences. She said that his thought-provoking tangents were "my kind" of thing.

Mr. Way wanted everything done precisely (Way's way). I heard that he once took points off on a test because a kid showed work horizontally instead of vertically. All of his students needed to have their binders organized in a certain manner, and he graded them on this. A lot of kids received their first F's in his class. Still, he was respected and honored as one of the favorite teachers of most of the students who had him.

From day one of freshman year, my mom periodically insisted that I go see him and tell him that she had watched his daughters in the nursery and that he had my brother seven years ago. I answered that I would, when I got around to it, every single time. I had plenty of opportunities to let him know, too. I'd followed friends into his classroom both freshman and sophomore year when they had to ask him questions, and I often passed him in the halls. Junior year, I walked past him standing outside of his room several times a day to get to my locker. I just thought it'd be awkward to go up and tell him that he knew everyone in my family except for me.

By all means, I don't forget coming to school Monday November 12th of my junior year and hearing that Mr. Way had died unexpectedly from a brain tumor the previous day . The English, Math, and Cultures teachers were all saddened, but the Science Department was a wreck. I had Chemistry first period, and the first thing my teacher said to us was, "I had a lesson planned, but one of my best friends just died, so I don't give a crap." And we all sat and did nothing for forty-five minutes. The response from students was huge, too. At least five tables were set up in the Commons, and within a day all were filled with flowers and cards as a memorial to him. A sign was posted on one of the tables that read, "Men of genius are meteors destined to burn themselves out while lighting up their age."

Anyway, today I was on facebook reading all of the comments left on his page from people who knew him, and they were all so meaningful, much more than the typical, "Oh, this is so sad." He meant so much to a lot of kids. Just looking at the group page would tell you that. It made me truly regret that I never had the guts to a.) take his honors class when I definitely know I could have done it, and b.) tell him who I was and be able to meet him. I wish I could say something about how awesome a person I knew him as, but unfortunately, I just have to go by what other folks say.

It almost makes me wonder what else I have the ability to do and yet, for some lame excuse, am not doing.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Stream of consciousness writers were always bipolar. How artsy. (Rather pessimistic, I'm afraid)

Fitter, happier, more productive, comfortable, not drinking too much, regular exercise at the gym, 3 days a week, getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries, at ease, eating well, no more microwave dinners and saturated fats, a patient better drive, a safer car, sleeping well, no bad dreams, no paranoia, careful to all animals, keep in contact with old friends, enjoy a drink now and then, will frequently check credit at, moral, bank, hole in the wall, favors for favors, fond but not in love, charity standing orders, on Sundays ring road supermarket, no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants, car wash, also on Sundays, no longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows, nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate, nothing so childish, at a better pace, slower and more calculated, no chance of escape, now self-employed, concerned but powerless, an empowered and informed member of society, pragmatism not idealism, will not cry in public, less chance of illness, a good memory, still cries at a good film, still kisses with saliva, no longer empty and frantic, like a cat tied to a stick, the ability to laugh at weakness, calm, fitter, healthier and more productive, a pig in a cage on antibiotics.

Anyway, every Tuesday that I work, the same woman comes into my line a little before 5:00. She's older, overweight, and her hair is thinning. When she talks, her voice lacks any emotion whatsoever. She doesn't wear a wedding ring. Every week (for the past eleven months), she buys sixteen containers of yogurt, two tubs of ice cream, three bottle of coke, seven TV dinners, two loaves of bread, and a bag of apples. I wonder how she got to that point.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Laziness! Procrastination! Throw a computer into the mix, and you've got one sedentary kid.

Well, I'm back at my humble abode where The Iliad and an AP Biology packet that probably killed a whole tree have been eagerly awaiting my return. Those three days at the beach appear to be exactly what I needed to get me away from the dull home life I had been living. I had expected to stay through today, but we came back on Thursday because Tina's parents realized that we could come home with one of the chaperons from the Youth Group that was staying across the street. That's allright, though, because we realized on Monday that we only had three days to do whatever we wanted, and consequently, we packed a lot into those three days. It was a very full vacation.

Not to mention I was able to see John Mayer for the second time. As Tina said, he is amazingness in a man. I could blab on about the concert, but I really don't want to. Okay, I will. We arrived in Columbia right as the gates opened, and we joked about rain because it looked like clouds were moving in up ahead. Merriweather Post Pavilion smelled like old, wet sneakers (a scent others might recognize as boardwalk fries), so I can't say walking around aimlessly was exactly the most pleasant experience I've ever had.

The torrential downpour came just as the opening act (Brett Dennen) took the stage. I feel bad for opening acts. I couldn't hear Brett and his band playing at all, and the crowd simply didn't care. We were too preoccupied with trying to stay dry the entire time. Our seats were under a tarp...a very battered and ripped tarp, but at least we weren't on the lawn. Those people were completely drenched. Tina and I had bought sweatshirts before the show began and jokingly talked about how we could just sit on them if our seats were wet. However, when this became a reality, we found that we had no other choice but to keep ourselves dry with our newly bought sweatshirts. They smelled like fried food, anyway. It rained throughout the entire concert, but I have come to the conclusion that it was indubitably worthwhile.

He's playing "Who Did You Think I Was?" solo. (I am not the one who keeps saying, "Yeah!")



Here he's playing Van Halen's "Panama" while his guitarist sings. The sound quality is very bad because the microphone was weak and the guitar distorted. In addition nearly everyone in the audience was screaming because Mayer's torso was not draped in cotton.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

People seldom differentiate.

A good friend buys you jewelry, lotion, and a shirt because it's your birthday.

A best friend buys you Harry Potter und der Feuerkelch because she was in Europe, and it was there.

I'm going to Ocean City with one of the coolest kids around.
Hmmmmmmmmmmm...I've got a lot to do in remains of the summer! I've spent countless hours wishing that I would do something with my life rather than sitting around idly and waiting for the grass to grow...well, okay, maybe not exactly, but something to that effect. My point is that I don't do as much as I can, and I'm a firm believer in not overloading myself and leaving plenty of time for chillaxation, but I keep finding myself unsatisfied with the things I've done (or haven't done).

Lately, I've been attempting to make my life more eventful. I've put in more hours at work, visited colleges, and all that good stuff. But now, with summer already half over, I can't believe how much I have to do in less than two months. I'm heading to Maryland tomorrow (technically today) for John Mayer and Ocean City, but I know that when I get back, I'm going to be completely overwhelmed with my to-do list. And what the hell? I've never had a to-do list before. I've never had a schedule. I've never had to thumb through dates on a calendar and pencil in appointments. What gives? Sure, during the schoolyear, I had homework, but that got done in its own course.

1.) Summer homework - Unfortunately, The Iliad won't read itself. Out of all the books they could've assigned, they picked one of the most drab stories I've ever tried to read. Yeah, yeah, it was like the first book ever written. I can appreciate literature, and I like to read, but when it takes me an hour to read ten pages, I don't want to deal with it.

Then there's that AP Bio packet -- that mother of a thing on the first five chapters. The thing about that is I don't even know if I've made it into the class yet. AP classes aren't designed to take a lot of kids, and way too many have signed up for Bio, so the school has to cut some from the class. We were supposed to know if we're taking it back in May, but the guidance office messed up everyone's schedules (IMAGINE THAT!!), so we still don't know what classes we're taking next year.

2.) Practice Driving - I'm going for my license August 6th, and I still don't know how to parallel park. I need to get it this time around because I'm taking Early Morning Gym next year, though I'm not sure which semester (again, because of guidance). If it's during the first semester, I'm going to have to get to school before 7, meaning if I can't drive, then I'm leaving the house to walk at 6:30. And I think I don't get any sleep now...

3.) Physical Therapy - My neck is officially fucked! So now, every Thursday, I have to see a physical therapist. Seems simple, ya know, only one day a week, blah blah. But now I can't work on Thursdays anymore, so I have to switch to Fridays. Also, I have to remember all the crap he tells me to do and not to do to my neck. I'm not supposed to crack it anymore, but it gets all restless and twitchy, and, well, I haven't been the best listener.

4.) George Washington - It's my second choice for college, so I think I ought to go and visit, but when??! I need to practice driving, and I need to work, and I need physical therapy. Plus there's my mom's schedule conflicts, too, as she's getting some surgery thinger done in the middle of August which I need to drive her home from, so I need to be home for that. Argh. Who knew getting to Washington, D.C. could be more difficult than going to New York City was?

5.) Visit my dad - I've seen him briefly for one day this whole summer. July doesn't look good because of Maryland and physical therapy. The beginning of August won't work because of my license and college visits. The middle of August won't work because of my mom's surgery. And the end won't work because of school. So what am I supposed to do? If I do find a day to see the kid, then I'll probably not be able to get off of work or something. He doesn't exactly live around the corner.

6.) Work - Yep, there's that, too. Work gets in the way of sooo much, but I need the money for college. I'm also pretty sure that work is what is making my summer go so fast. I keep looking ahead to next week and the week after. Planning ahead sucks.

7.) SATs and SAT II's - I know October 4th and November 4th are going to be here before I get a chance to review anything for either of these. My SATs I'm not as worried about because I've got an okay score (grrrr, but I want to do better!), but the SAT II's aren't looking so hot. I think, since I'm taking AP Bio and AP History, I ought to have enough ground covered to take the bio and history SAT II's in November, but who knows?

8.) College Applications - I have to write essays, get recommendations, get applications, fill out financial aid crap, and all that good stuff. When am I going to have time for this? Visiting UMD and NYU was great fun, but now I actually have to get to work to try to get into those schools.

9.) Hm, is there a nine? I don't know...there probably is. Yeah, I'm definitely forgetting something. On top of all of this, I don't sleep well at all. I never did, but now it's insane. The other night I slept 1-3, and then 7-8. Then I couldn't sleep anymore. Last night, I technically slept 1-6:30, but I woke up at least three times. Blah, I kind of almost want pills.

But all frustration set aside, life ain't so bad. Just busy. And who needs summer, anyway? I'll get plenty of long breaks once I'm in college. Good stuff.

Phew, well, hopefully I can forget about all that crap now that I just typed it out, and do some chillaxing, even if it means that I'll be about 20 times more stressed when I come back. I'll deal with that when it happens, though. I can't believe I used to wish for more things to do. Now that I have them, I want my old, lazy, let's-have-fun life back. But I'll whine some more once I return, I'm sure.