The Bad Place
Avram is in in a bad place. I understand. We, collectively, understand.
Avram, when a certain friend of ours applied to the Ph.D. program, I was with him, not just in spirit, but physically. Let's just call him J.. I remember the day when I said, "hey J., have you mailed out your transcripts yet?" The transcripts were do at all of his schools in three weeks. All schools have a two to three week expected arrival date for transcripts. He was,in fact, pressing his luck for not having transcripts ordered. So, J. and I walked the 100 yards necessary to get the transcripts. We walked this route together because I did not trust him to do it alone.
First trip: "oh my God! Where's my form for Rutgers?!?"
Second trip: "Oh my God! Where's my wallet?!?"
Third trip: "Oh my God! Where's my checkbook?!? No, I won't take a loan from you for a day. You're treating me like a child!"
Fourth trip: Honestly, I don't know what was said on the fourth trip. I got so damned fed up that I couldn't manage to juggle his self imposed personal crisis. He had to do this one alone.
J. is not alone in his neurosis. I myself had to go to Sacramento to get my transcripts from Sacramento State. I could not for the life of me figure out how to order them over the phone (a task that took five minutes once relieved of the joy of having some menial little something or other decide my whole future). I applied to twenty schools, Avram--twenty!!! My file was complete for only fourteen of them. That means that I screwed up six envelopes worth of application. To give everyone some idea of how easy it is to stuff an envelope:
To Grad School--Application, check
To English Department--Writing Sample, Personal Statement, Letters of Recommendation
Just to be sure I duplicated all material and stuffed all of it into BOTH envelopes (except for the check). Having done that, I still managed to fuck it up six times. It took me four hours to stuff forty envelopes.
My writing sample? Well, I didn't notice that Tasso was the worst possible choice of writers. First of all, I'm twentieth century, he's sixteenth. I deal with literature in English, he writes in Italian (I don't know Italian, and I wasn't applying for Comparitive Literature). I deal with novels, he writes epic poetry. Moreover, no one has ever read Tasso except Karen Hatch. I might as well have said, "here, could you throw this away for me, please?"
J.'s writing sample? Until the night before the last possible day he could send it, it was a collection of paragraphs interspersed by commentary like this:
. He would then skip three pages, literally just include three blank pages, to indicate the space that needed to be filled with this explanation.
I hated my writing sample--HATED IT!!! I thought many times of burning it in the yard, knowing that with the flames would go my last shred of sanity, and perhaps the only thing that kept me sane was the knowledge that if I went, nobody would be around to change J.'s sentences like "epistemological skepticism apriori is indicative of a cultural matrices that both affects, and is affected by, constructs outside the philosophy qua philosophy," to, "A person's belief system is shaped by the culture in which they live."
I could not sleep. I could not eat. I did little besides chain smoke and read books on the Inquisition and the Crusades--and when a moment of relief came, I pretty much filled it with alcohol.
End result: no grad school for me.
Next year, not nearly as bad and I made it in. I don't know that I could have taken a third try. I'll be honest about that. Had I not gotten in, I would very likely have applied to law school.
So, I know where you are Avram. I really do. You can't be worse off than J. and he made it in. So, I'm going to give you the same advice I gave him--it seemed to help. Ready, here goes:
I DON'T CARE HOW FUCKING STRESSED YOU FEEL, IF YOU WANT TO GET INTO A PH.D. PROGRAM YOU WILL SEND ME YOUR WRITING SAMPLE AND YOUR PERSONAL STATEMENT.
Believe me, I only shout because I care. Now, do it. Please.
Avram, when a certain friend of ours applied to the Ph.D. program, I was with him, not just in spirit, but physically. Let's just call him J.. I remember the day when I said, "hey J., have you mailed out your transcripts yet?" The transcripts were do at all of his schools in three weeks. All schools have a two to three week expected arrival date for transcripts. He was,in fact, pressing his luck for not having transcripts ordered. So, J. and I walked the 100 yards necessary to get the transcripts. We walked this route together because I did not trust him to do it alone.
First trip: "oh my God! Where's my form for Rutgers?!?"
Second trip: "Oh my God! Where's my wallet?!?"
Third trip: "Oh my God! Where's my checkbook?!? No, I won't take a loan from you for a day. You're treating me like a child!"
Fourth trip: Honestly, I don't know what was said on the fourth trip. I got so damned fed up that I couldn't manage to juggle his self imposed personal crisis. He had to do this one alone.
J. is not alone in his neurosis. I myself had to go to Sacramento to get my transcripts from Sacramento State. I could not for the life of me figure out how to order them over the phone (a task that took five minutes once relieved of the joy of having some menial little something or other decide my whole future). I applied to twenty schools, Avram--twenty!!! My file was complete for only fourteen of them. That means that I screwed up six envelopes worth of application. To give everyone some idea of how easy it is to stuff an envelope:
To Grad School--Application, check
To English Department--Writing Sample, Personal Statement, Letters of Recommendation
Just to be sure I duplicated all material and stuffed all of it into BOTH envelopes (except for the check). Having done that, I still managed to fuck it up six times. It took me four hours to stuff forty envelopes.
My writing sample? Well, I didn't notice that Tasso was the worst possible choice of writers. First of all, I'm twentieth century, he's sixteenth. I deal with literature in English, he writes in Italian (I don't know Italian, and I wasn't applying for Comparitive Literature). I deal with novels, he writes epic poetry. Moreover, no one has ever read Tasso except Karen Hatch. I might as well have said, "here, could you throw this away for me, please?"
J.'s writing sample? Until the night before the last possible day he could send it, it was a collection of paragraphs interspersed by commentary like this:
I hated my writing sample--HATED IT!!! I thought many times of burning it in the yard, knowing that with the flames would go my last shred of sanity, and perhaps the only thing that kept me sane was the knowledge that if I went, nobody would be around to change J.'s sentences like "epistemological skepticism apriori is indicative of a cultural matrices that both affects, and is affected by, constructs outside the philosophy qua philosophy," to, "A person's belief system is shaped by the culture in which they live."
I could not sleep. I could not eat. I did little besides chain smoke and read books on the Inquisition and the Crusades--and when a moment of relief came, I pretty much filled it with alcohol.
End result: no grad school for me.
Next year, not nearly as bad and I made it in. I don't know that I could have taken a third try. I'll be honest about that. Had I not gotten in, I would very likely have applied to law school.
So, I know where you are Avram. I really do. You can't be worse off than J. and he made it in. So, I'm going to give you the same advice I gave him--it seemed to help. Ready, here goes:
I DON'T CARE HOW FUCKING STRESSED YOU FEEL, IF YOU WANT TO GET INTO A PH.D. PROGRAM YOU WILL SEND ME YOUR WRITING SAMPLE AND YOUR PERSONAL STATEMENT.
Believe me, I only shout because I care. Now, do it. Please.