Employed!

After eight months of unemployment, I will have a job again in mid-May. This afternoon I interviewed for and was offered a job with a company evaluating web searches. Not only is this something that fits in with my career interests, but it also pays well, is part-time, and is done entirely from home. This means that I have a well-paying job that will cover the gap this summer between the end of my stipend and the beginning of FoxyJ's in the fall, that I will be able to keep said job over the transition from Seattle to Davis (and over the stay in Utah that will hopefully come in between the two), and that next year while Foxy is in school I will be able to be a stay-at-home dad and still contribute to my family's economic survival. Really, this is about as ideal as it gets. (Well, no, as ideal as it gets is Foxy winning millions on Jeopardy! while I sign a five-book contract with some big publisher.)

There have been several points in my life when I didn't know how I or my family was going to pay the rent or buy food in the not-too-distant future, and I've never worried about it because it always just works out. If there is a theme to my life, it is that things always work out, usually much better than could possibly be expected. It's tempting to attribute this good fortune to an omnipotent being who is watching out for me (and probably a more convincing argument could be made for an omnipotent being watching out for FoxyJ and her husband just happens to be in the blessed safety zone), but that raises the question of why said being doesn't provide other equally or more deserving people with the same good fortune.

At any rate, whether it's God or the Universe or simply the people around me who make good things happen, I do notice and I do appreciate it. I'll return the favor if the opportunity arises.

Everyone's a Little Bit Racist Sometimes

There's an interesting article in the Seattle Times this morning about how despite the fact that today's generation likes to think we're colorblind, race is still an issue in America.

Since moving to Seattle a year and a half ago, I've noticed a very strong vibe that goes something like "Racism? What's racism? We love diversity. Woo hoo! Go diversity!" In theory I like this, because I don't like racism and I do like diversity, but I think there's a point where both race and diversity can become fetishized.

When I was interviewing for a job during my first months in the area, I was asked about experiences I'd had working with people who were different from me. I told them a story about working with a girl whose personality was very different from mine, and how I learned to work with her despite that difference. "That's nice," they said, "but we meant something more along the lines of racial or cultural diversity."

"Oh," I said. "Well, the truth is I've been living and working in Utah for the past six years, and there isn't a whole lot of diversity in Utah."

"Perhaps age diversity?" they suggested hopefully.

So I told them about working with people who were old enough to be my parents, and how we overcame the generational divide, or some such nonsense.

And then I got home and remembered that in my then-current job I had a black coworker, two of Asian descent, and two gay guys (counting myself)--and that out of a total of maybe half a dozen employees. The thing is, it's not like the diversity among us produced any problems we needed to overcome, or for that matter that it made our work environment particularly rich and textured beyond the extent to which our differing personalities and idiosyncrasies did.

I didn't get the job.

I don't claim to be colorblind and I'm not sure that's really the goal, but I do try not to keep a mental scorecard of how many black friends I have, or how many lesbians. Because that would make them not my friends but my black friends or my lesbian friends. And that's dumb.

So I understand that it's important to recognize racism where it exists, and to address it frankly as such. Problems don't go away by pretending they're not there. But on the other hand, I understand why some people are kind of sick of all the emphasis placed on race and diversity and would rather just talk about people. If we'd start focusing on individuals rather than on groups, we'd have fewer instances like one referred to in the article above, where a man assumed his coworker had grown up in some gang-infested project simply because she was black.

A Wannabe of All Trades

See if you can spot a pattern:

• When I had a good English teacher in ninth grade, I decided I wanted to teach English.
• When I had a good physics teacher in eleventh grade, I decided I wanted to teach physics.
• Whenever I read a good comic book I want more than anything to write (and/or draw) comics.
• When I read Maus and Persepolis and Fun Home I wanted more than anything to write a memoir in graphic novel form.
• After I saw Batman Forever I made plans to write and star (as Robin) in the next Batman sequel (and heaven knows it would have been better than Batman & Robin turned out).
• When I had great English professors in college I decided I wanted to be an English professor.
• When I've had great library and information science professors I've briefly considered getting a PhD in LIS--albeit very briefly before discarding the notion as foolishness.
  
• When I listen to hip hop I want to be a rapper.
• When I saw Scratch, a documentary about turntablism, I wanted to be a turntablist.
• When I see great movies I am overcome by a desire to be an actor.
• When I hear Barack Obama speak I want to be a politician.
• When I read blogs that get enough hits to support their authors off the ad income I want to write amazing blog posts that will gain me fame and fortune.
  
• When I read young adult novels I want to be a YA novelist.
• When I read Harry Potter I decided to write a multi-part fantasy epic that would rival the Bible in all-time sales.

I just finished reading the complete run of Boondocks, a controversial syndicated comic strip about race and politics. Can you guess what my latest lofty aspiration is?

(Un)Employment

I have not been employed since September. I quit my reference job at the library in order to volunteer in the cataloging section of the library. We've been able to cover our expenses, more or less, with my Foreign Languages and Area Studies fellowship stipend and Foxy's teaching income. In the next few weeks this may change as I take a job cataloging materials for the Spanish Department's Center for Spanish Studies. I'm making this change not just because this job is offering to pay me money, but because it'll give me a chance to diversify my cataloging experience and to use my Spanish language skills in conjunction with library stuff, which is the whole idea behind my FLAS fellowship.

Meanwhile, Foxy and I are seriously considering the possibility of me returning to unemployment after I graduate. For years now we've been looking forward to the day when I have a real job with a real salary and insurance and all that fun grown-up stuff, but now we're having second thoughts. We're realizing that Foxy's PhD program is likely to require a lot of time and energy on her part and, oh yeah, we have kids. S-Boogie will be starting Kindergarten in the fall but Little Dude will only be two and he generally doesn't seem to enjoy being with people other than his parents as much as his sister always has. So we could go ahead with the plan to get me a full-time job, find a good daycare option for him, and put Foxy in the position of juggling her full-time student responsibilities with the full-time parent responsibilities of making sure kids get to and from daycare and school on time and caring for them herself instead of having time to dedicate to homework and research, OR we could live for another few years as poor students and have one of us--me--available to do the parenting thing. We don't know yet exactly how much Davis is offering her in terms of money to live on and we still haven't heard from the other two schools she applied to, but we know that at least one school really wants her and has said they plan on funding her well. It's likely that I'll still need to get some kind of part-time job--and even if I didn't need to I'd want to do something to keep up my library experience--and Little Dude may still need some daycare, but at least this option means that one of us will be able to dedicate most of our time to parenting and that Foxy will be able to give her studies the attention a PhD program deserves. I've read too many stories recently of mothers who have had to perform scheduling gymnastics in order to get their degrees, and I admire them for accomplishing what they've accomplished while their husbands worked full-time, but I figure why do that if there are other options? We are, after all, quite experienced at the financial gymnastics of living on a student income. What's another few years?

Truthfully, I'm excited by this idea. While I've been excited at the prospect of starting my career, the one thing I've been dreading is the reality of a 40-hour job that would take away from the time I spend with my children. I'm ready to be done with school but I'm not ready to give up the flexible parenting schedule school has given me. Maybe I'll get a real job when the kids go to college.

Turning My Badge In, But Keeping The Gun

This morning was my last shift on a public service desk--possibly forever, but at least for a long time. It was a difficult decision to give up my student reference job, but at this point I have four years of experience doing reference and three months of experience doing cataloging, so if cataloging is what I want to go into, then volunteering in cataloging, even though it pays nothing, is more valuable to me than continuing to work in reference. And doing both isn't an option if FoxyJ is going to be working also, and experience has taught us that life is better for everyone when both the money-making and child-rearing responsibilities are shared between the two of us, so FoxyJ working is very important to me. Add to this the fact that teaching experience will look good on Foxy's upcoming PhD applications and the fact that I'm getting paid this year to go to school, and quitting my reference job was clearly a good decision. But a little sad nonetheless.

The aspect of the reference job I will not miss is the "public" part of public service. I've worked in public service for just about all of my working life, and while I think I'm pretty good at it, I don't particularly enjoy it. This can be attributed to the following three oh-so-charming aspects of my personality:

• introversion
• faux-intellectual snobbery
• social awkwardness

One of the most appealing aspects of cataloging, besides its anal orderliness, is the idea of being holed up all day behind a desk in a subbasement of the library.

What I will miss about my reference job is the regular interaction with the reference librarians and student reference specialists I worked with and the thrill of finding an answer to a difficult reference question. Ideally a year from now I'll get a nice cataloging job that has a few hours a week of reference desk time, which is not too uncommon nowadays. That way I can get out of the subbasement once in a while, but not have to deal with too many crazy people looking for books on building pipe bombs.

Sign of Sanity or Financial Irresponsibility?

Yesterday I did something I've never done before: I turned down a job offered to me. It would have been a cool job and good experience, and it was only ten hours a week, most of which would have been on my own time from my own computer, but I just decided that for once I don't want to work thirty-four hours a week in addition to a full-time course load. Which means I'll go into even more debt than this quarter is already putting me in. But I think that's okay.

Perusing Higher Education

(Post #495)

The word is pursuing, folks. Pursuing.

That's all.

Out Again

Admissions Coworker decided that the best way for me to come out to my friends in Seattle was to have a coming out party. So I gave her the email addresses of my library coworkers (not everyone who works in the library, just the seven other student reference specialists) and she sent them and the three other graduate student readers at admissions an Evite with the following message:

Dear Friends of Ben,

He's Here, He's Queer - Get Used to It!
Or...join us in drinking to it!

The Grad Readers Club requests the honor of your presence at Ben's official nobody-in-Seattle-knows-I'm-gay coming out party. Come prepared to drink plenty of beer (or a Shirley Temple for the recovering addicts, ex-BYU students, and those with a bun in the oven) and make witty comments. Extra points for those of you who come bearing gifts AND witticisms.

And thus I was outed to all my coworkers. I worried the message was a little more... confrontational? than I would have worded it, but no one seemed bothered by it and the important thing is that I didn't have to do it myself.

Last night we all got together at Dad Watson's and had a great time. Plenty of beer was drunk and many witty comments were made. One of my library coworkers brought a gift--three glow-in-the-dark rubber duckies with devil horns (she promised there was no message implied here) that I was happy to bring home and share with S-Boogie and Little Dude. My gayness was mentioned a couple times during the night (mostly when people joked that they weren't sure what the appropriate thing to say was: Congratulations? Happy Birthday?) but it was hardly the focus of the party, which is just how I'd like things to be. I was very happy to feel that my friends know I'm gay and it really means nothing to them--they care only that I find happiness, whatever that means for me. I was certainly not surprised to get this reaction from my friends, particularly here in Seattle, nor does it differ all that much from the reaction I've gotten from friends and family in Utah and Hawaii over the past ten years, but it's still nice. And nice is good.

Dear Applicant,

Please note that the Academic Planning Worksheet instructs you, when filling in classes that you are currently taking or plan to take before transferring, to enter in the grade slot either IP for "In Progress" or P for "Projected." If you insist on making up the grades you'll be getting this summer quarter, though, at least have the confidence to give yourself A's. I can't imagine why you'd not only plan on getting a B, but go so far as to admit it in your transfer application.

Sincerely,

Mr. Fob

Undergraduate Degrees I Lust After but Alas, Will Never Have

• Psychology
• Art
• Drama
• Political Science
• Sociology
• International Studies
• Comparative History of Ideas (CHID--because the acronym is part of the appeal)

Second (and Third and Fourth) Chances

One thing I enjoy about reading transfer applications is that the applicants all have such unique stories to tell. Some didn't have good enough high school grades to make it into a university so went to a community college to improve their record, some started college twenty years ago but life got in the way and now they're coming back, while others simply aren't happy at the university they're currently attending (I just barely read, for example, an application from a BYU student who has left the LDS church and come out of the closet, thus necessitating a change in school). Most of these stories give me hope--these are people whose lives, for whatever reason, have not gone quite the way they planned, but here they are pushing forward, making the best of what they have. When I read college transcripts that show a 1.2 GPA from two semesters in 1984, a gap, and then a 3.8 GPA from 2004 to 2007, I'm reminded that redemption is always within reach. It's nice to get paid to have that reminder daily.

Back on Track

Yesterday I read twenty files in five and a half hours. It should have taken me four. This morning I read the same number of files in three hours. It's nice to be efficient--it's one of the things that make me a good person.

Transfer Application Quote of the Day

WARNING: Language that some find offensive to follow.











"Now math is pretty much my bitch."

Transference

This quarter I am assessing transfer applicants (as opposed to incoming freshmen). One of the things we ask applicants to do is explain why they want to transfer here from their current college or university. A good number of the students coming from four-year schools--particularly elsewhere in Washington--talk about wanting to come to Seattle for its cultural diversity, in opposition to the homogeny of their current school. Surely many of these applicants are merely saying what they think we want to hear, but I believe some of them are genuine, and I find this intriguing.

After growing up in Hawaii, I was quite bothered by the utter lack of diversity at BYU. At first it made me uneasy and eventually it just became one more thing to make fun of. There were, in fact, a lot of things that bothered me about BYU, but I wouldn't have seriously considered transferring for any of them. College, after all, is only four years, and then it's done. To be honest, though, I don't think it's just that cultural diversity is less important to me than it is to these transfer applicants who are willing to uproot their lives for it.

I like to think that I'm not averse to change, that indeed I thrive on it. This is true to the extent that I like new things. I like, for example, living in a new home, getting used to the new layout and my new routine. On the other hand, I loathe the idea of moving. It is not so much the change I thrive on as the result of the change. The change itself is generally an annoyance at best and a traumatic experience at worst. As much as change means leaving bad things behind for better things, it also always--always--means leaving good things behind. I hate leaving good things behind.

As much as I disliked Utah and was frustrated by my job there, I might never have left if not for FoxyJ's firm insistence that yes, we need to get out of Utah (Foxy was also backed up by her mom, who doesn't believe anyone should live in Utah). I was excited by the thought of living in Seattle and getting an MLIS, but I hated the thought of leaving the stability of my jobs and my friends and my siblings. As I've mentioned before, though, looking back now I have no regrets about making the move. Yes, I miss all those things and people I loved in Utah, but I know that I am where I need to be now (and, lest we think this is all about me, I think FoxyJ is glad she's in Seattle, most days, but you can ask her whether or not that's true). Seattle is a great place to live, I have good jobs here, I'm enjoying my program, and I have good friends.

And, most importantly, Seattle has cultural diversity. Because it's all about diversity.

Worldliness

In my job at the admissions office I am learning many things. One is that Melyngoch left an important Mormon word out of her Mormonominary*: worldly. See, the word worldly has always had negative connotations for me. Worldly in opposition to Godly. If people are worldly, it means that they are of the world, meaning they are more concerned with temporal things than with spiritual, that they choose Mammon over God.

It's always jarring to me, then, when applicants write in their personal statements about how worldly they are. "I've become very worldly since traveling to Europe." "My exposure to diverse cultural influences has made me very worldly." "I've grown up since high school and become more worldly."

I understand that we are not concerned with how God-fearing applicants are, I want to say, considering the fact that this is a public university. But still, I don't see the point in drawing attention to your unGodliness. And really, God aside, am I supposed to be impressed that you value your material possessions and the praise of your fellow man above all else?

The problem, of course, is that my definition is not their definition. Worldly doesn't mean to most people what it means to Mormons***; for most people, it's a good thing. Not worldly as opposed to Godly, but worldly as opposed to nationly or stately or townly or homely. Which, as an admissions reader, I do care about.

All I'm saying, really, is that this would all be less confusing for me if Melyngoch had done her job right.



*Well, technically, worldly probably belongs in a Christianominary**, as I believe it is Christianity in general, not just Mormondom, that uses the term in this way.

**And technically it should be in a Christian glossary of some sort, not a nominary, as worldly is not a noun but an adjective. Perhaps a Christianadjectivinary?

***And other Christians, I guess.

Who Knew?

When you reference your published essays on your resume, potential employers--particularly those who are librarians--actually look them up and read them. Which makes coming out to your boss sort of anti-climactic.

Unbias

In my job as an admissions reader, I am completely unbiased and impartial. If I were partial, though, I would be partial to the following applicants:

• Kids from Hawaii
• Kids who are gay
• Kids who are or ever have been Mormon
• Kids who want to be writers when they grow up
• Kids who write about superheroes (though I have yet to see one)
• Kids who write about Lauryn Hill (again, haven't seen this one yet but when I do he or she is definitely getting in--based on his or her other merits, of course)

I'm trying to figure out what the connection between all these things is, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

Small Blessings

As I was thinking that I did not feel like going to work because I have a headache and a stomachache and a body ache but not sure of how to justify such a decision, I got an email from a supervisor saying that there are no files for us to read, so there is no reason to come into work today. Now I'm going to lie down and "read."

Another Example of My Social Neurosis

I'm sitting alone in the reading room at work, reading applications. Another reader walks in and, since we're short on files to read, I give him half of my stack of twenty.

"When we finish these we can switch and do second reads," he suggests.

"Yeah, that'll keep us going for a while."

He sits down at the desk next to me and we both proceed to read. You better speed up, I tell myself. What if he finishes his ten and you're only halfway through yours? You'll look incompetent.

So I speed up. Five files later, I glance at his desk to see he's only finished two.

Crap. Slow down. You don't want him to think you're being sloppy.

Because, of course, he cares.

Poker Face

This afternoon my boss, InfoMan, asked what I'd thought of a presentation he'd given earlier today. "I don't know you well enough to read your face," he said.

"Few people do," I replied, but I'm not sure even that is true. It's more likely that no one does.

FoxyJ often laments the fact that she has a horrible poker face. If she's bored with what you're saying, you'll know. If she thinks you're the most fascinating person ever, you'll know. If she's upset with you because you've taken the time to blog but not to do the dishes and she's spent the day trying to write a thesis and cook dinner while caring for your screaming baby and your grumpy toddler, you'll know.

On the other hand, I tend to be unreadable. Even FoxyJ, who is arguably the person who knows me best, has a hard time reading my expressions. I snapped at her a few weeks ago for asking if I was upset when I wasn't, but obviously she's not the one to blame for the fact that thoughtful, bored, tired, and upset are all identical on me. The fact that it bothered me so much that she misread me is indicative of an internal conflict that is the story of my life: I desperately want people to understand me and share in what I'm feeling, but I'll be damned if I show you--let alone tell you--what that is. Making matters worse, I'm afraid my overreaction has (understandably) made Foxy hesitant to even ask how I'm doing.

Despite his proclaimed inability to read me, InfoMan did point out today that lately I've seemed a bit more stressed than usual. This is an understatement--the truth is I'm barely able to function these last few days--but were it not so I doubt my stress would be visible at all. I tend not to notice it myself (or acknowledge it, anyway) until it reaches some point of critical mass and suddenly life is a huge melodramatic mess. Melodrama, of course, being defined by my standards, meaning I'm allowing myself to feel anything.

InfoMan's presentation earlier today, as it turns out, had to do with interactions at the reference desk in the context of our 21st-century culture of isolation. Ultimately, InfoMan argues, any human interaction, whether it be in the library or at the grocery store, is more about connecting with people than it is about getting information or groceries or whatever. People need people, plain and simple. The primary job of anyone working in a public service position, then, is to first ensure that the customer/client/patron feels a satisfying human connection, then to do what we can about meeting their other needs.

InfoMan is good at practicting what he preaches, not only with library patrons, but with the student employees he supervises. This afternoon while we worked together for an hour at the information desk, we didn't talk about the details of what's causing me stress of late, mostly because to do so would have required me getting into a whole lot of backstory that I didn't want to in the two-minute breaks between patrons, but we did talk about how each of us deals with stress, how we do or don't build the human connections he'd been talking about, and other random things like cultural differences and overpopulation. It was no orgy of emotional bonding, but it was a nice moment in the midst of an otherwise long and difficult day.

Who knows? If not for my poker face, I might experience such nice moments more often.