Grad School Can Turn You Into a Poet-Or not

Well, prior to the eventful weather occurrences of last week, the fall semester began.  Here at the beach house we had, and I kid you not, a tornado on Monday, an earthquake on Tuesday and a hurricane on Friday.  Not good for my pre-semester jitters.  By the time the nervousness of a new semester and the onslaught of natural events of a particularly sinister type were over I was nearly ready to invest in some white pajamas and take up ping-pong.....Actually, that's a lie. I didn't even know about the tornado until Tuesday, so worrying about it was completely useless by that point, the novelty of experiencing an earthquake made it a little more exciting than upsetting, and I slept through the hurricane.....However, the thought of the semester beginning did have me eyeing Krispy Kreme donuts with nothing short of envy and greed, but I satisfied myself with working my way through two packages of Chips Ahoy in as many days. 
And yet, as with so many other things in my life, I seem to have wasted a good stress for nothing.  So far, it seems as if this semester may prove to be a bit less.......hmmmm, how shall I put this......ummmmmm "murderous"?  "devastating"? "turn you into Haley Joel Osment in 'The Sixth Sense'"? (you know, that "freaked out, maladjusted, tortured kid with a white patch in his head from all of the trauma of conversing with dead people" kind of basket case).   Anyway, like I said, seems like this semester might be a trifle more manageable.  Which in itself has me worried.  I mean, does this mean it actually will be better or is it just lulling me into a false sense of security before it springs the whole, "All the better to EAT you with, my dear!!!!" on you right before you're ravenously devoured in one bite?  Or maybe I'm just beginning to suffer from Stockholm Syndrome?  How do you know if you're experiencing Stockholm Syndrome symptoms?  I mean, it isn't like it is listed on Medline Plus' website or anything.  (It really isn't-I checked.)  So, anyway, as I was sitting in class, my mind began to wander (don't worry, mother, it was only the last five minutes or so...I think?) and here is the result of said wandering.  While I am no poet, I recognized as a child that my strengths leaned more to the prose end of the spectrum, here is my humble contribution to the world of Stockholm Syndromed Graduate Student Poetry.  I hear the market for it is growing.......


To all Grad students far from home
Beware of a syndrome currently on loan
From that city in Sweden called Stockholm.


The disease, while not mortal,
Though this may make you chortle,
Creates such confusion
Indeed, the delusion
That one's captor means no harm,
Even has a certain charm;
And who, in the end,
May even be a friend.


This is rather unfortunate,
For no matter how importunate,
While attending university
It's nearly a dead certainty-
A hostage striving for academic potential
Usually just ends up a tiny bit mental.


All in all I think it was a pretty productive first day of class.

How the World of Dating is Like 'The Wizard of Oz'

Sorry, nope, the clip doesn't have anything to do with the post, but it just seemed fitting considering my lengthy absence.  Plus, Eddie Murphy totally makes that movie.  But yep, I am still alive.  Promise.  Anyway, I have to admit that while such a lengthy absence would in other circumstances result in a profound, well-written, well-researched post by someone else, such is not the case.  Instead, my "comeback tour" post is the result of one of those afternoons when your mind wanders in that harmlessly aimless manner of that one slightly senile yet amiable relative who shuffles around in nothing but a bathrobe and slippers at Christmas dinner.  So, during this mind-stroll through a Sunday afternoon park, I began to think how the world of dating is remarkably similar to Frank L. Baum's children's classic The Wizard of Oz.  It would take too long, and admittedly it would be too boring, to explain how my mind wandered into this train of thought, so I'll just skip the introduction.  
(Personally, The Wizard of Oz for me resembles dating in that it is a complete fiction that takes place in an alternate reality.  Grad school is like taking the cloth and a vow of silence.  Except you still have to decide what to wear every day.  This all began when I was thinking about the current state of the economy, which led to thinking about how in the 1960's it was argued by one writer that the classic novel was actually a political argument in favor of bimetallism, which supporters claimed would stabilize a similarly bottomed-out economy in the early twentieth century.  This led to remembering the time when I told that story during a conversation on a date, which apparently was not a "date-like" thing to say, as it effectively ended both the conversation and the date.  Which is when I first began to suspect that I would completely suck at dating; it was a rare moment of pure clairvoyance...Okay, so I gave the introduction anyway.)  Anyway, here's how dating is like The Wizard of Oz:

First, the shoes.  The shoes are the key to the whole thing, everything revolves around the shoes.  The woman with the right shoes holds the power.  'nough said.  Not surprising that in the movie they were a pair of red heels.  If clothes make the man then shoes make the woman.  

When it comes to dating we are all the Cowardly Lion.  At least I know I am.  Roar? I'd rather not, thanks.  If you roar loud enough somebody might take you up on the challenge, and then where would you be?  "Think fast and you might live to lie about it."  If you're gonna growl, you've got to have the gumption to back it up-and few of us are blessed in that capacity.  Rather than live by the maxim "Leave not for tomorrow what you can do today, " I live by the advice "Run, Forrest! Run!"  And it has stood me in good stead thus far.

The Scarecrow.  Ah, the Scarecrow.  The brainless one.  I am of the opinion that love makes you stupid.  This can be good or bad-depending on how you use that stupidity.  I hate to sound cynical, but "All you need is love"?  Well, no, not really.  What you need is a steady income and a good dental plan.  So when you marry, don't marry for love, marry someone with a good, responsible, if not ten year plan, then at least ten year idea of a goal.  Or at the very least good teeth.  Love is definitely requisite for successful dating, but the brainlessly flippant, frivolous line of dating that doesn't take into consideration the impact your decisions will have on the other person which seems to be, from my general observations, so prevalent nowadays doesn't do anybody any good.  I'm sorry, but when some of the most popular t.v. shows running are shows on which self-centered, materialistic people are supposed to choose a spouse over the course of a t.v. season, the world needs help.  The field has become inundated with scarecrows. 

Dorothy: maybe it's just me, but it seems like we're all Dorothys, to a certain extent.  One second you're a country rube trying to outrun a tornado and singing about rainbows that, in your present circumstances, would only show up in varying shades of gray, and the next you're being accosted by slightly disturbingly pigmented, diminutive people who insist on singing to you in helium-saturated voices and giving you candy which may or may not be spiked, considering their current state of apparent inebriation.  You feel lost, far from home, out of your depth and thrown into the middle of a story of which you don't know the beginning and have no idea how it is going to end, but said ending nevertheless seems to depend on you.  The best you can do is make friends along the way; friends who aren't perfect, but that's alright because you're all there to help each other.  At the same time, this process can take you from a world in black and white to a world where Glenda the Good Witch can wear lipstick of a decidedly alarming shade of pink.  

Wicked Witch of the West-does the phrase green with envy seem suitable to anyone else?  (At this point I have to throw in my beef with most children's stories/fairy tales, etc.  Why is the blonde always the "good" one and the brunette the "bad" one?  Seriously?  Give us a break once in a while....At least Dorothy was a brunette.)  No matter what you look like before hand, the particular shade of green known as envy never made anyone attractive.  However, the upshot of being the Wicked Witch of the West is that you get to have an army of cyanotic, winged, simian minions to send after that cute, annoyingly perky little interloper who flounces in and successfully launches herself at every individual of the male-type within a 100-mile radius.  I could probably enjoy being the Wicked Witch.....all I require is unquestioning loyalty and a pair of opposable thumbs.

Finally, the Wizard.  Interesting tidbit about this: I once read somewhere that the coat used by the man who played the Wizard, the guard and the carriage driver, was bought at a thrift store.  When he put his hand in the pocket, he discovered a label which, on inspection, bore the name Frank L. Baum.  Weird, huh?  Anyway, the Wizard and dating.  There is no Wizard.  If there is anyone, he is just a man behind a curtain with a machine with bells and whistles.  People are just people, including us.  The "magic" isn't something someone else is creating, it is how you yourself are looking at the situation.  The world is what it has always been, the only thing that you can change is the way you personally look at it.  It is only after realizing that the "Wizard" isn't really a wizard that Dorothy realizes that she had the ability to go home all along.  Sometimes in dating, we expect the other person to make us happy.  Nobody is a wizard; other people can help us be happy, but not only is it impossible for someone else to actually make us happy all the time, it is unfair to lay that expectation on the shoulders of the other person. 

So there.  The Wizard of Oz wasn't really about bimetallism and stabilizing the economy after all, it was about dating.  Next up-Charlotte's Web.  A country fair, a pig, a spider weaving a web, a gluttonous rat...it's perfect......And who says I'm not a romantic?