20 mars 2006
Phew!
Got into NYU! (the School where I messed up my GRE scores). Very excited. Nice to know that some schools are forgiving of slight application errors.
The program is an M.A. in French Studies and Journalism, which sounds cool. Maybe the universe wants me to go back to France or have some connection to French language and culture--I don't know. One more school to hear from, and then I'll make my decision.
The program is an M.A. in French Studies and Journalism, which sounds cool. Maybe the universe wants me to go back to France or have some connection to French language and culture--I don't know. One more school to hear from, and then I'll make my decision.
16 mars 2006
boo who?
Did not get into a certain local school that has a very good reputation for journalism. I want to call up the woman who was supposedly "helping" me and yell at her perky blond ass. I wish I could go back in time and fix my stupid bureaucratic mistake. Fucking assholes. I'll just take my $30,000 and spend it elsewhere, thank you very much. And when I become the youngest international journalist to win the Pulitzer, I will call up Ms. Perky Admissions Associate and tell her where to shove it.
14 mars 2006
When you assume, you make an ass out of u and the woman sitting next to you...
At the Atwood Café, in Chicago's Burnham Hotel, looks can be deceiving.
To the average customer (average being over 55, eating alone or with a partner, drinking fine wine and relaxing after a long day of work), two tall, twentysomething ladies who sit giggling loudly at the table by the window as they share appetizers, might not have anything "important" to say.
So muttered the woman at the table next to us as she stood up to leave after her meal. She had been dining alone--reading the paper as she sipped on white wine--but was not for lack of conversation. Throughout our meal, we could hear this woman breathing comments impossible to decipher, but harder still to ignore. I thought she was a little light in the loafers, having some kind of discourse with herself. But after she paid and brushed past us, we finally caught wind of the subjects of her commentary: us.
My partner was rattling off an anecdote in her casual, youthful manner, and the woman in question mumbled something that we understood a couple seconds after she was out of sight:
"Stop saying 'like!'"
We were in shock. This lady had not only been listening to our private conversation, but had a beef with the way we were speaking, and couldn't keep it to herself. Now I don't care if you have a problem with the way I speak. I use "like" as a filler word, and so does most of my generation. It's fairly accepted, if used informally. But the fact that the woman was listening in on our conversation about fairly serious issues--love, relationships, and the pursuit of happiness--and could only comment on the most mundane of linguistic habits really irked me. It was as if she assumed that we were unintelligent because we have a tendency to speak in something less correct than the Queen's English.
But wait: the story is not over yet.
After Wig Lady left (I call her that because she was, in fact, wearing a badly highlighted brown spiky wig--not to be made fun of under normal circumstances, but she had already broken the rules of common courtesy), we kept saying that if we'd caught her in time, we'd have given her a piece of our minds. Boy, if I ever saw her again, I told my friend, I'd ask her to repeat her passive-agressive commentaire. So we finished our way-overpriced glasses of fancy red wine, stuffed our bellies with warm goat cheese & sweet confit on crackers, paid, and got up to leave.
It was then that we noticed that the Atwood had been sponsoring a charity donation program with Community Shares Illinois for the evening, where 30% of every patron's bill went to the organization, or any of its partner groups. There were two women chatting in the lobby of the hotel outside the restaurant, wearing Community Shares buttons, and one of them was Wig Lady! We passed by and I pointed behind her back and silently indicated to my friend that this was the one!
We walked by, glaring at Wig Lady, and then, just as we got to the exit doors, I stopped in my tracks and declared, "we're going back."
I didn't know what I was going to say, but I wanted to find out what this woman was all about, because it was clear she was more sane than we thought.
So, we walked back to where the two woman were planted, and my friend started asking about their organization. It turned out that the organization is a really good thing, and we felt bad that we had assumed the worst of Wig Lady. BUT, she must have felt pretty bad too, because in the course of our introductions, both my friend and I got a chance to present ourselves and the work we do in our most refined, elegant, eloquent language. She saw what we were made of, alright. And then some.
P.S. The reason we were at such a fancy place was in celebration of the fact that I found out I got into one of my grad schools (the Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University)! It's a huge relief, and I feel really good that somebody somewhere thinks I write real good.
To the average customer (average being over 55, eating alone or with a partner, drinking fine wine and relaxing after a long day of work), two tall, twentysomething ladies who sit giggling loudly at the table by the window as they share appetizers, might not have anything "important" to say.
So muttered the woman at the table next to us as she stood up to leave after her meal. She had been dining alone--reading the paper as she sipped on white wine--but was not for lack of conversation. Throughout our meal, we could hear this woman breathing comments impossible to decipher, but harder still to ignore. I thought she was a little light in the loafers, having some kind of discourse with herself. But after she paid and brushed past us, we finally caught wind of the subjects of her commentary: us.
My partner was rattling off an anecdote in her casual, youthful manner, and the woman in question mumbled something that we understood a couple seconds after she was out of sight:
"Stop saying 'like!'"
We were in shock. This lady had not only been listening to our private conversation, but had a beef with the way we were speaking, and couldn't keep it to herself. Now I don't care if you have a problem with the way I speak. I use "like" as a filler word, and so does most of my generation. It's fairly accepted, if used informally. But the fact that the woman was listening in on our conversation about fairly serious issues--love, relationships, and the pursuit of happiness--and could only comment on the most mundane of linguistic habits really irked me. It was as if she assumed that we were unintelligent because we have a tendency to speak in something less correct than the Queen's English.
But wait: the story is not over yet.
After Wig Lady left (I call her that because she was, in fact, wearing a badly highlighted brown spiky wig--not to be made fun of under normal circumstances, but she had already broken the rules of common courtesy), we kept saying that if we'd caught her in time, we'd have given her a piece of our minds. Boy, if I ever saw her again, I told my friend, I'd ask her to repeat her passive-agressive commentaire. So we finished our way-overpriced glasses of fancy red wine, stuffed our bellies with warm goat cheese & sweet confit on crackers, paid, and got up to leave.
It was then that we noticed that the Atwood had been sponsoring a charity donation program with Community Shares Illinois for the evening, where 30% of every patron's bill went to the organization, or any of its partner groups. There were two women chatting in the lobby of the hotel outside the restaurant, wearing Community Shares buttons, and one of them was Wig Lady! We passed by and I pointed behind her back and silently indicated to my friend that this was the one!
We walked by, glaring at Wig Lady, and then, just as we got to the exit doors, I stopped in my tracks and declared, "we're going back."
I didn't know what I was going to say, but I wanted to find out what this woman was all about, because it was clear she was more sane than we thought.
So, we walked back to where the two woman were planted, and my friend started asking about their organization. It turned out that the organization is a really good thing, and we felt bad that we had assumed the worst of Wig Lady. BUT, she must have felt pretty bad too, because in the course of our introductions, both my friend and I got a chance to present ourselves and the work we do in our most refined, elegant, eloquent language. She saw what we were made of, alright. And then some.
P.S. The reason we were at such a fancy place was in celebration of the fact that I found out I got into one of my grad schools (the Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University)! It's a huge relief, and I feel really good that somebody somewhere thinks I write real good.
07 mars 2006
what the deuce?
Still no word on the grad school front. Last time I checked, universities do not send their notification letters via pony express, so what the deuce?
06 mars 2006
somebody's got a case of the mondays...
It's 7:48 a.m. and I really should be getting ready for work, but instead I'm lying in my darkened room, mulling over melancholic dreams and trying to figure out how my pajamas managed to find themselves on the floor instead of staying my body.
Today could be the day I find out about the grad school that never got my test scores. I'm trying to be upbeat about it, but it's hard to be upbeat at 7:56 on a gloomy Monday morning when your cold won't leave your body and you have to go to work. Gosh, I sound like a real party, don't I?
One more depressing thing (and then I promise the next post will be optimistic): I got my laptop back from the Apple store last night, and they couldn't save any of my old files before giving me a new hard drive. Luckily, my bosses helped me save a good deal of it before I handed it over to those butchers. At least they did it for free.
Today could be the day I find out about the grad school that never got my test scores. I'm trying to be upbeat about it, but it's hard to be upbeat at 7:56 on a gloomy Monday morning when your cold won't leave your body and you have to go to work. Gosh, I sound like a real party, don't I?
One more depressing thing (and then I promise the next post will be optimistic): I got my laptop back from the Apple store last night, and they couldn't save any of my old files before giving me a new hard drive. Luckily, my bosses helped me save a good deal of it before I handed it over to those butchers. At least they did it for free.
03 mars 2006
yikes
So yet another grad school mishap has befallen me--this time because I stupidly confused two very-similar sounding schools at a large university, and did not find out until last week that my test scores were sent to the wrong school. I am so smart.
Fortunately, they were able to make the decision without my scores...??? This can't be good. See below (identifying names have been omitted. The original letter is below the response).
From : Kristi < >
Sent : Friday, March 3, 2006 4:39 PM
To : Suzanne < >
Subject : Re: application materials missing?
Dear Suzanne,
A decision has been made on your application, and a letter was mailed out yesterday. You do not need to worry about the scores.
Thank you.
Kristi S______
At 11:27 AM 3/3/2006, you wrote:
Dear G_____ Asmissions,
I am an applicant to the Joint M.A. in F_________ & J_________ for Fall 2006. I recently found out that my GRE scores were sent to the wrong school at N__ (G_______ instead of G____). I have resolved this problem by rushing the scores to G_____, but I fear that they won't get there in time for my application to be reviewed.
I humbly ask you to pardon ETS's error and consider my application with the current round of decisions.
Please let me know what else I can do to make sure that my application is reviewed as soon as possible.
Thank you for your time,
Suzanne ___________
UID: ____________
Fortunately, they were able to make the decision without my scores...??? This can't be good. See below (identifying names have been omitted. The original letter is below the response).
From : Kristi < >
Sent : Friday, March 3, 2006 4:39 PM
To : Suzanne < >
Subject : Re: application materials missing?
Dear Suzanne,
A decision has been made on your application, and a letter was mailed out yesterday. You do not need to worry about the scores.
Thank you.
Kristi S______
At 11:27 AM 3/3/2006, you wrote:
Dear G_____ Asmissions,
I am an applicant to the Joint M.A. in F_________ & J_________ for Fall 2006. I recently found out that my GRE scores were sent to the wrong school at N__ (G_______ instead of G____). I have resolved this problem by rushing the scores to G_____, but I fear that they won't get there in time for my application to be reviewed.
I humbly ask you to pardon ETS's error and consider my application with the current round of decisions.
Please let me know what else I can do to make sure that my application is reviewed as soon as possible.
Thank you for your time,
Suzanne ___________
UID: ____________
01 mars 2006
i get by with a little help from...
I am forever indebted to my close girlfriends. When I told some of them about a recent mishap in my grad school application process, they got very concerned, and immediately started calling around to whomever they knew who is remotely associated with the school to which I am applying. It's such a nice feeling to have friends who go to bat for you.
