Post-Thanksgiving Pep Talk

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There are two weeks left until finals week.

I discovered this lying face down on my couch at home, my stomach extended several feet beyond and many pounds beyond its normal capacity, bloated on turkey and cranberry sauce and pie.

It was not a particularly pleasant revelation—only because I felt like where did that time go, and is this the effect of marathoning Parks and Recreation and Criminal Minds at the same time, and oh dear that is a lot of 5000 word essays in not a lot of time, and what the heck am I buying people for the non-denominational winter holidays, and the hobbit movie comes out really really soon and everyone will die, and maybe I should pick my poems for that poetry reading I’m going to. In other words, I felt a little bit shocked by the sudden rush of everything I have left to do.

But it also has a sense of a deep breath, right before one jumps into the very icy waters of Puget Sound, or outside into the iced-over grounds of the University of Puget Sound—I know it is going to hurt, but I also know that, on some level, it will be worth it.

And it is not like I am not prepared, either—these two (ish) weeks are what I have been working towards for most of the semester, and I know what I am doing, and I am capable of dealing with it. Like I know what policy options are available in the Middle East-North Africa region, and I can write a grand strategy paper on that, and I can tell you the themes of Amélie and Mon meilleur ami for my French film class, and I already have half of my paper on governance and state-building written. It’s all up in my head, and I know how to work it.

Basically, this here is my pep talk to myself. I have been alternating between stress, anger, and emotional repression for the better part of three months, due to myriad personal and political issues including but not limited to a very nasty break-up, the new Exodus movie, the dehumanization of black lives in Ferguson and throughout the United States, and the recurrence of depression, anxiety, and PTSD among everyone I know. I’m definitely not saying that any of these situations have improved, but at this point, at least I am capable of dealing with it.

(I am not, however, capable of dealing with the next hobbit movie and the farewell to Middle Earth without falling apart, but that is because I am a giant nerd.)

An Open Letter to Taylor Swift

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In which Daniel unpacks his complex emotions regarding the new musical ventures of the pop star Taylor Swift.

Dear Taylor Swift,

My darling Tay, dear Tswizz, Tswizzle, Swisscheesizzle, Tswift of the swiftest Taylors. When first I listened to your new album 1989, I was a different person. I dismissed it with a certain amount of derision and laughter.  And yet I still felt compelled, perhaps because of my allegiance to trashy pop music, to download your album onto my iPod and listen to it on repeat. Over and over again, I listened to the songs, with the assumption that I would eventually remove it from my music library, but to my surprise, the awkward, almost juvenile manner by which the songs were constructed became charming to me.

The album cover of Tswizzle's new musical masterpiece.

The album cover of Tswizzle’s new musical masterpiece.

Many of the lyrics first struck me as bizarre, as if they were a stream-of-consciousness first draft.  The best two examples are from the song “Bad Blood”, describing a grievous offense by a past friend:

1) “Don’t think it’s in the past; these kind of wounds, they last and they last.” So, Tay, not only do these wounds last… they ALSO LAST AGAIN. Could you think of no other phrasing wherein you didn’t use “last” twice?

2) “Time will heal, but this won’t; so if you’re coming my way… just don’t.” Again, Twizz, it sounds as if you just couldn’t think of anything better. Your ex-lover is approaching you and you tell him “What are you… could you… just… don’t.” I am heavily reminded of the phrase “Could you NOT?”

And yet I am simultaneously delighted by the ridiculous self-indulgence of so many of the album’s lyrics.  Take the words of one of the bonus tracks entitled “New Romantics”:

1) “We show off our different scarlet letters; trust me, mine is better.”  Let’s be real, for a second, Taylor; if someone is actively seeking and listening to your music, I doubt that they are wild enough to merit a scarlet letter from anyone. Mind you, I have no idea what the “crazy kids” listen to these days, but I have a strong suspicion it is not your music.  That being said, the concept that any of your listeners might be wild enough to attract the derision and scorn that “scarlet letter” suggests is hugely over-dramatic, and therefore I am a massive fan.

2) “We need love, but all we want is danger.” Again, few true swifties would be inclined to seek out terribly dangerous activities, but still you offer the philosophy of “thrill over romance” in this song that is so clearly an over-dramatization that I can’t help but love it.

In no particular order, here are a few of my other favorite lyrical and musical moments of the album:

1) The line “The monsters turned out to be just trees” from “Out of the Woods”

2) The first bass drop during “Welcome to New York”.

3) The introduction of male vocals after the bridge of “Out of the Woods”.

4) The line “Darling, I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream” from “Blank Space”.

5) The second bass drop during “Welcome to New York”.

6) The moment in “Out of the Woods” at 3:20 when the stacked vocals singing “Are we out of the woods?” (for the umpteenth time) form an Am add9 chord.

7) The third bass drop during “Welcome to New York”.

8) The line “Love’s a game; wanna play?” from “Blank Space”.

9) The retro guitar riff that carries most of “I Wish You Would”.

10) The sick arena-rock drum beat change during the chorus of “I Wish You Would”.

11) That ENTIRE section of talking in the middle of “Shake It Off”.

12) The use of head voice, rather than belting, in “Wildest Dreams”.

13) The arpeggiation of the EM7 chord in the background vocals at the end of “This Love”.

14) The line “It’s all fun and games until somebody loses their mind” from “Wonderland”.

15) The bass drop during the chorus of “Wonderland”.

16) The fact that the melody of “You Are in Love” only uses four pitch classes: A, B, C#, and E, and yet the song gets stuck in my head all the time and I do not find it unmelodic.

So, my dear Tswift, what I am getting at? I am saying that your album reminded me that life can be ridiculous and fun and, sometimes, you’ve just got a kitten and a cake full of blood and a gazelle, and when the time comes, you just have to stand on your white horse before your Long Island mansion and sing:

I mean, magic, madness, heaven, sin – what’s not to love? They tell us we’re insane, Tay, but we’ve got a blank space, baby…

With all due respect,

Daniel Wolfert

Blackout

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Disclaimer: This article conveys the thoughts and observations of myself, the writer, and does not reflect the views of the Communications Department or University of Puget Sound.

When the news broke last Monday that the grand jury decided that there was NOT probable cause to indict someone, Darren Wilson, for a crime (of shooting and killing of Michael Brown), our campus was not silent. As many of the nation, our students spoke out on social media about our confusion, sadness, anger, and wealth of emotions we felt. And the welcoming and interest in the ethics of justice, equality, safety and security arose from this incident in our community is so good to see. UPS students care and we want to make it known our feelings and are taking steps to help each other be educated and act on our beliefs.

While I know that the grand jury did not and cannot judge if Michael Brown deserves justice and could only sift through all the evidence and testimonies to determine if there is probably cause to to indict someone to a crime, which the grand jury decided there was not. This doesn’t mean that other actions can’t be taken, another grand jury could be called to reconvene or a federal criminal trial could be brought on the charges of Darren Wilson violating Michael Brown’s constitutional rights. I think it’s hard to know what actually happened on that fateful day but one thing I think is clear, all people matter. Every American deserves the opportunity towards their American Dream to be treated with respect and prove their worth before being judged based on their appearance alone, and for that reason I #wishforjustice and believe #blacklivesmatter.

On December 1, 2014 one week after the grand jury announced there will be no indictment of Darren Wilson for the shooting of Michael Brown, the students, faculty and staff of the University of Puget Sound wore black to signify our commitment to dismantling institutional racism in our country. We stand together in solidarity as we mourn the death of Michael Brown and demonstrate our frustration with the recent grand jury decision. The UPS Black Student Union has committed to a series of peaceful protests to ensure that we continue the conversation on the implications that this tragedy has on our campus, community, and country. Please join this act of solidarity wherever you are located and whoever you are.

-Black Student Union, Black Out Event description shared on Facebook

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Fun fact: Undergrad enrollment has increased 50% since 1990.

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My younger sister, Grace, got her first college acceptance letter yesterday.  (Sorry, she isn’t applying to UPS – I did try, but apparently being a younger sibling makes her disinclined to follow me to college.)  This is a bit weird for me, because she just turned seventeen, and I swear I was seventeen just last year or something, despite our four-year age gap.  But besides that, it’s weird because I’ve been hearing all about how awful college applications are, and despite my misperception of my age, college apps feel like a long time ago.  The Common App?  You mean that one website with all the forms and tabs and things?

Grace has two older siblings from whom to learn, and thus appears to be far more on top of things than I remember feeling as a senior in high school.  Except for one thing: she doesn’t have a “type” of college.  Small liberal arts school?  She’s applying to one of those.  Varying sizes of state school?  Yep.  Big private schools?  Got those, too.  The only consistent thing is that all of the schools are in places of extreme cold – with the exception of UC Santa Barbara, which our mom made her add to counteract the preponderance of upstate New York and Michigan-types of places.

I was talking to my cousin over Thanksgiving, and the subject of “if you go back and tell your younger self anything, what would it be?” came up.  This particular cousin is my age, went to college for a year, hated it, dropped out, and is now working as a pretty well-paid computer programmer.  But he said that he would tell his younger self to go to college.  Maybe a different college than the one he briefly attended – one with a bit more of a small, liberal-arts-type of feel than last time, with its 35,000-strong student body – but college nevertheless.  And not only to go to college, but also to study something that isn’t computer programming; he said he’s noticed that, career-wise, it’s generally a lot better to have multiple areas of expertise.  (Interdisciplinarity!  Who knew, right?)

The type of school can clearly make a pretty big difference in your success in college.  Unless you’re Grace, who can apparently do anything, like apply to a random mix of schools and take six AP classes this year and intern for a congressman and still have me edit her college essays.  (I’m going to continue making fun of her for as long as I can, because of my impending battle with College Apps Round Two: Grad School Edition.)

Skipping Stones

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On the first day of Thanksgiving break, a friend and I, having remained on-campus, seeing that it was a day warm enough for shorts, went on a rather scenic run through Proctor district, and from there, through an environmental sanctuary to the waterfront, where we lingered for breath and for beauty. Looking over the still water, we carefully climbed down the rocks and jumped onto the damp sand.

The water was still, its surface, smooth, so we picked up some stones and began to skip them. Rearing and whipping our arms forward, we watched as the pebbles ejected from our hands, like saucers across a starry night, over the water, touching down some distance away, and hopping from the momentum. Each step was marked by the appearance of concentric circles upon the glassy water. Two, three, four—we counted as each stone hopped farther, the water it splashed up raining in its wake.

“Here, try this one. It’s got a nice copper color.”

I whip my arm forward, turning my wrist slightly. A large splash means the stone has sunk, unfortunately, upon initial impact.

“Sorry, that was a waste. Here, you try this one.”

In this manner, we continue to throw stones across the water. When I get tired, I sit on a rock, and watch my friend lob stones. He’s on a roll, I think, as he approaches, with each attempt, a legendary five-hop.

On a three-hop throw, I watch the water ripple away from the place where the skip has died. A thin circle, vaguely defined, expands in all directions; it is approaching the shore upon which I sit and the shore opposite ours. In this latter direction, I watch it until it disappears, indistinguishable from the lines of movement on the surface of the water (which is a little less calm now). Still, I follow the circle as it expands, if only an imaginary one supplied by my mind, to the neck of the basin, and from there, as it bends around the promontory that obstructs its way, to the horizon, where I can follow it no more. But I know that the ripple is still travelling. It will travel until it reaches all the shores, which it will reach at different times—but it will never stop until it has touched land in 360-degrees.

If I subscribe to the belief that an action is like a stone in the water, that it creates a rippling effect, then I suppose I should think of everything I do as having the potential to carry me to far and distant shores.

Yet on Thanksgiving Day, with a slight rain gracing my window, I wonder if that ripple has reached home.

Skipping Stones

I Applied for an Internship at Intel and Almost Died

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(The title is definitely an exaggeration, but I swear my heart never beated so fast as when I was typing up my resume or when I was sending it in.)

I just may have gotten an ulcer and a heart attack here or there from applying for an internship at Intel. Yeah, you read that right. INTEL. ONE OF THE BIGGEST TECH COMPANIES IN THE WORLD. One of the new professors in the Computer Science Department, David Chiu, had a contact from a former student at Intel. Her software development team was attempting to increase the number of female engineers on their team to a more proper 50/50 ratio.

And, so he showed up to the WACM meeting and invited seniors to apply for the full-time positions and for the rest of us to apply for internships. David is my lab professor, so he knew that this was my first semester dealing with CSCI as I am taking CSCI 161 (the intro class) AND HE STILL WANTED ME TO APPLY FOR AN INTERNSHIP. AT INTEL.

Our conversation went a little like this (paraphrased and taken from memory):

David: You should apply. For the experience. Even if you don’t get it, you’ll have that.

Me: But, I have no experience. Like, none. My resume is nothing.

David: Just do it.

Me: No.

David: Apply.

Me: Okay.

He was incredibly helpful in helping me (sorry for the redundancy) create my resume. It turns out my resume isn’t actually nothing (I did do robotics for four years in high school). So, I corrected the resume worrying over every period while sweating all my fear onto my keyboard. And, then I sent the resume in and had a heart attack.

I haven’t gotten any results. But, that’s okay because I came away from the application experience with a resume and an ulcer.

 

Off-Campus

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Puget Sound is often and fondly by all of us, home. And this home isn’t in the literal sense necessarily, it’s finding a place where we can be ourselves, share our learning and passions and grow as people. And while I’ve made some great and truly amazing friends living in T/P Garden Level last year and Theta this year, I’ve decided to make the decision to live off campus. And there are many factors attributed towards that decision.

The cost to live on campus is pretty expensive, especially compared to the off-campus housing opportunities. There are options to rent a room or share a room, and pay only the rent, utilities heating and cable bills as necessary all can amount, in my case, lower than the cost of living on campus. It also gives me the opportunity to have an off-campus meal plan, more suited to my eating and spending as well as make my own meals, here comes the mac n cheese, ramen, oatmeal and cereal days but it’s realistic and puts the power of what i’m eating more directly into my hands instead of just what the sub has. The third perk is choosing who I want to live with and where we are living. The different types of rooms vary in cost on campus along with room options through the lottery which isn’t ideal either. This way I found five amazing friends I want to live with and we can all have our own room, or share if we choose to, to look for large closets if that’s what we want or non-scary basements, to live as close to campus as possible or close to the nearest Starbucks. Having these choices and responsibility is really pushing all those lessons learned at home and growth as individuals respecting others space and holding my self accountable.

And while I’ve had amazing roommates on-campus (I’m actually going to be housing with my current roommate next year) it’s time for another new step, because in two years when I graduate I most likely will be living on my own, finding where in the world do I want to try and make my mark and my living situation while doing so. What’s great is that UPS supports this growth within it’s students. We found our house among the many listings on the UPS website, articles about safety and protection services Security offers, someone to look over our leases and the many options of subletting, moving in, lists, and more. I’m excited for this new step next year and can’t wait to see how it goes!

I May Be Okay With Failing

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Over the last week or two the WACM (Women’s Association of Computing Machinery)  has invited some amazing ladies from the tech field to give talks about their experiences as a woman in technology and what they have learned. One was Arry Chu, whom’s career path has been all over the place with her position as a consultant (also has her own startup now) and the other was Christina Chen who is a project manager who has been at Microsoft for twenty-so years.

Both of these women gave talks in different styles. Arry’s was more of a casual “here is my life story and some things I learned”. After her talk, we all went to Wild Orchard (a thai restaurant) for dinner (how cool was it for her to have dinner with us!) and she mentioned her tips for success. Not tips as in “this is what you say to a client” or “how to get a raise” tips. They were more of a philosophy to drive your career in a way that gave you happiness. It was focused on passion and caring for others.

Caring about people is definitely something I want to create in my own team or corporate culture someday. And Christina Chen also noted on this. This concept of putting others first and creating a culture on thoughtfulness. She crafted this concept by selecting the people on her team based on how thoughtful they are. And doing so has increased productivity since thoughtful people try to help other people with their problems and etc. Now, that she is one of the senior executives at Microsoft and at this shift in Microsoft as a company in the products that they begin to produce, she is able to influence the type of culture the company has. She is nudging the mindset from “look at this cool piece of tech” to “look at this piece of tech that will address human needs and help people and make lives better”.  And, I think that’s pretty cool. I hope that wherever I go a culture of caring for others in the world and within the workplace will exist.

I was also relieved when Arry mentioned how difficult it was for her to settle on a major and failing chemistry (because I failed physics last semester (also one of the most freeing things to have ever happened to me)). That sounds terrible, I know. I have been worried about being on the right path ever since I learned that careers, majors, and colleges were a thing. And when she mentioned going from job to job and doing all these things before she found something right. It’s scary when you are in school and you think about your job, you don’t see a lot of job mobility. You focus so much on finding the right path and making the right decisions the first time around. But Arry’s career path shows that you will always end up where you should be. And, that you shouldn’t be afraid of a healthy dose of failing, learning, and risk.

If I had not failed physics, since I still love the darn subject, I would have kept pushing myself through the major and cry all the time. I would be miserable since the curriculum and pushing myself to perform better on the tests was wiping myself out. But, I would not have given up because I am stubborn. And, though I did cry during the final, when I realized I had failed the class I never felt so light. It was like this thing just lifted off my shoulder. Life; it goes on. Failing physics wasn’t the end of the world. And, taking chances with my decisions won’t set me on the “wrong” path either. I get it now.

 

We Are Going to Have Fun (Even If It Kills Us)

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“Oh no,” I said, “There are wheels attached to my feet.”

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Help.

I slowly began to roll forward, my knees locked. My friends, who were swapping out their own normal shoes for tan roller skates, ignored me.

Carefully, I lifted one skate entirely off the ground, and then set it back down again in a motion similar to the one I would use if I were attempting to ski up a hill. The wheels rolled ominously under me.   I pushed myself out into the rink, far enough away from the wall that I couldn’t clutch to it desperately.

Okay, I said to myself, I got this.

It is a sad truth that I do not got, nor, frankly, will I ever get, the art of roller skating. It is one of those things that, if not mastered at the age of four, will leave you forever trailing behind, perspiring slightly from the work and the primal fear of “oh I am about to fell over and crack my head open.” However, my complete inability had not stopped me or any of my friends from riding the number 1 bus out to Rollin’ 253 Skate and Community Center for an hour and a half of sliding around with wheels strapped to our feet—because, in the words of my dear friend, “We are going to have fun if it kills us.”

We were having fun—and honestly, it could have killed me.

My friend skated up to me. “It’s Retro Night!” she said.

I looked around. There were no overt indications of anything retro

Perhaps the general aesthetic?

Perhaps the general aesthetic?

and the music playing was a generic mix of late-nineties pop.

“When did NSYNC become retro?” I wondered.

Alas, my friend was significantly better than me, and had already sped away, leaving my question hanging in the air. A group of twelve-year-olds, also significantly better than me, heard the question but ignored me.

As the time wore on, I slowly became more and more comfortable with the spinning wheels of death on my feet, gaining speed as I looped around the rink again and again. As I turned the corner, a small girl darted in front of, her skates blurring beneath her. I attempted to stop.

I failed at stopping. My arms flailed, as if the air would suddenly become corporeal and as if by grabbing it I would somehow stop myself from falling. My legs slid out from under me, and I hit the ground with a solid thump. The vibrations reverberated through my entire left side.

“Ow,” I said, still sitting on the ground.

I got to my feet, my entire body protesting. My wheels slid underneath me. I rolled dramatically up to my friends, crashing into the wall to stop.

“I’m here,” I said.

“Are you okay?” one of them asked.

“I think if we were meant to move around with wheels on our feet, we would have evolved like this,” I said.

“Probably,” one said. She held out her hand. “Wanna do another lap?”

I took it—technically, I gripped onto it for dear life. I hoped she was okay with pulling me around the rink, because my legs were not working that well.

“Sure,” I said.

In Defense of English Majors

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From the time I was in sixth grade I had wanted to become a writer so an English major was the logical choice for me. I don’t regret it. It has been very rewarding  both personally and academically. However, since my freshman year I have been second guessing its practicality. When people asked me what I was going to do with my English major I told them that I wanted to be “a writer with a roof.”

I have been taught to believe, and to a certain extent taught myself to believe, that English was impractical from a monetary standpoint. On occasion, when I’m feeling stressed, I picture myself living in a cardboard box or moving back in with my parents. I don’t think this anxiety is unique to English majors. We all worry about what we will do after college. We cringe a little when someone asks us that question and we have no clue. However, since English is such a general major we don’t have a prescribed career path. That’s good in that we have to go find one ourselves and its bad in that we have to go find one ourselves.

It’s a specific form of English and other Humanities major nerves. But it’s absolutely worth it if you’re passionate about it. First off, it teaches you how to think in ways you would never have imagined going in. For instance, in my American Literature class we’re learning about the post-modern conception of reality—that there is no reality and all there is the projection of the artist meant to fill the void. It’s a cheerful little topic. Second, you get to meet people who care about the same things you do and then have conversations about sea-monsters w/bird beaks. And most importantly, you get to do what you love.

The nerves don’t go away though. You just have to learn to live with them. Tell yourself you’ll at least get two cardboard boxes for the winter. And if need be you can write graffiti poems on the subways, give commuters something to look at besides swearwords. If that doesn’t work you can write a blog.