How does one even BEGIN to go about selecting grad. schools to apply to?

There are just so many. And they’re all just so damn nice-sounding. 

Washington? Virginia? Toronto? Michigan? I don’t even know.

I wish I had the resources to visit all of them.

When your upstairs neighbors sex each other up at an unimaginable volume.

I’d like to thank my ancient house’s lovely, yet paper-thin walls and ceilings. This really couldn’t have happened without them.

My French professor is just the greatest. She invited me to Occupy LA and emails me about hikes she’s going on. I love how when you grow up, it’s okay to be friends with your teachers. 

As I was making my usual commute home down one large street and another, even larger street, I noticed a somewhat typical sight– a car with hazards on, and everyone else swerving around it. But what does one guy do but brake rapidly, swerve, and then honk the shit out of his horn, as if this broken car-ed man committed some unspeakable wrongdoing on the road. WHY YES, automobilists of southern California, the most helpful and logical response is indeed to make an unlucky fellow’s day even worse by loudly and forcefully scolding him.

I thought to myself, “when can I ever be freed of the necessity for cars, and more specifically, these utterly insane drivers who have excelled in the art of assholery?” Oh yes, that’s right. In less than two months. For come January 5th, I shall be seated in an aluminum death tube for 11 hours of sheer insomniatic horror en route to a city, country, and continent I have never before been to, for a mere five and one half months. 

And you know what? I’M EXCITED. Not for the death tube and near-certain instant overwhelmedness and subsequent paralyzing homesickness, but for being in a beautiful, old city in which CARS ARE NOT NECESSARY. Sweet and perfect baby Jesus, that day is soon coming. I shall not need to spend an average of $40 monthly on goop to fuel my Bubblemobile and destroy the atmosphere. I shall not need to drop $500 yearly on a parking pass which is titled very misleadingly, as in no way does it guarantee one a parking spot on campus. I shall never need to stalk innocent classgoers for their parking spots. I can use two of my limbs that have sadly gone quite unused as of late. I shall engage in the mysterious activity known as walking (a contraption called a bicycle will likely also be involved upon arrival).

Let us just simplify by saying new, big things lie ahead. Everyday lifestyle changes are involved. And I for one am somewhat thrilled of the prospect.

Photography, Art, Music, Choir, Dance.
Political Science.
Psychology, Anthropology, History, Human Communication, Primate Studies, Women’s Studies, Religion.
Biology, Geology.
French, Italian,
and English Literature. 

I may be nearly 22 whole years of age already with two years left of my undergrad career, making me almost 24 upon graduation– about two years behind most people I know (not to mention graduate school thereafter). But look at all the things I’ve been lucky enough to study. 

And I’m only 22!

Apparently in order to be viewed as “desirable” by almost any grad schools, one must possess a reading-level competency in at least one foreign language. Unlike most of my educationally-savvy friends in middle school, I decided to try just about everything other than a foreign language. I tried band, color guard, leadership… you name it. So my foreign language knowledge-getting didn’t commence until mid-high school and is, as of now, two years of Italian and two years of German. My actual abilities in these languages? Very, very pathetic. 

My solution to this problem? Dropping one of my three English courses and taking up Elementary French! Oui, that’s right, I shall be soon speaking with all the intellectual, snooty nuances of a regular Frenchwoman. I justify this switch by reminding myself that feminism had its own unique offshoot in France, and much feminist literature came out of it. Helene Cixous would be proud! So it’s relevant to a Masters in English application… right? Well I would’ve gone with Latin or something, but budget cuts have unfortunately hit that department of my college as well. As they say… c’est la vie.

(I’m catching on already).

It’s times like these I find myself perplexed as to why people cringe and/or visibly shudder when I tell them I’m an English major. This is my Fall reading list:

-Selected Poems by e. e. cummings
-Collected Poems by Wallace Stevens
-Collected Poems of Langston Hughes
-Complete Poems of Marianne Moore
-Selected Poems by Dylan Thomas
-Howl & Other Poems by Allen Ginsberg
-The Lost Lunar Baedeker by Mina Loy
-Book of First World War Poetry
-Pisan Cantos by Ezra Pound
-Selected Poems by W.H. Auden
-Selected Poems by William Carlos Williams
-Selected Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay
-Trilogy by H.D.
-The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot 
-Al Capone Does My Shirts by Choldenko
-Because of Winn-Dixie by Dicamillo
-Child’s Anthology of Poetry
-The Hobbit by Tolkien
-Rapunzel by Zelinsky
-Tuesday by Wiesner
-Where the Wild Things Are by Sendak

And that’s only for two classes.

My self is so excited, and my wallet is self destructing as we speak.