Monday, November 1, 2010

Hey Mister, Turn It On, Turn It Up, Turn Me Loose

Seven weeks into this grad school adventure and I'm just getting around to writing about it.  It's not an easy thing to assimilate all the disparate thoughts and emotions from the first few weeks of the change into a single coherent piece.  So I won't.  I'll let this be a sort of stream of consciousness with a little image association.

Off We Go!

Seven years I've been out of school.  Seven years earning my living by the sweat of my brow.  And now I'm back learning to be a student again.  "The Grass Is Greener" syndrome is definitely in effect here.  Working for the last seven years, I've often glorified the school days when I had so much flexibility in my schedule.  I just studied some and took some tests every few weeks.  Add to that the fact that as a Political Science major, college for me was an exercise in learning for the sake of knowledge acquisition, not necessarily for any applicable, practicable skills.  Now that I'm back in private school and paying big bucks to get practicable skills to use in future jobs, I find that the daily routine of the working world, not to mention the regular paychecks, is looking pretty green.  Trying to develop the discipline necessary to be a successful student has been challenging.

But more than that, trying to manage the stress of keeping up with the massive workload has at times gotten the better of me.  I find myself abandoning my working-world stress relievers for my old, bad-habit stress relievers because of the time commitment of the work relievers.  Rather than take the hour off from studying that is required from lace-up to shower to go for a good run, I make a 5-minute drive to the corner gas station and pick up everything that looks good and spend the rest of the evening shoveling it all into my face while I freak out that I'm just not understanding statistical risk simulation.  This adds another level of stress that I'm losing control of my diet and nutrition, and it makes me want to eat some more.  I now understand Fat Bastard's lament:  I eat because I'm unhappy, and I'm unhappy because I eat.  It's a vicious cycle.

I love the student body here.  They represent over 70 different countries, and even more perspectives on the world.  It is endlessly fascinating to interact with my classmates.  They are sharp, bright, informed people.  When I'm on campus, it is a great feeling.  When I find events off-campus, they are always enjoyable.  I went to the Arizona State Fair with a friend from Kyrgyzstan and new Russian and Uzbek acquaintances from campus.  Got to see a massive demolition derby.  Went to a Hindu dance celebration with a group of Indian students.  Ate some Hindu manna.  Hitting the batting cages with my Japanese classmate, golfing with one of my Indian classmates.  All of this makes living here in Glendale easier.

Because if I'm being honest, Thunderbird is an oasis in a cultural desert.  There are other parts of Phoenix that I like just fine, but Glendale is...sigh.  I guess it's just as well that there's nothing to do or see here, because it helps focus on studying, rather than spending more money.  I guess what I'm trying to say is, I look forward to the opportunities for travel that this program offers.  If everything goes according to plan, I'll be spending March and April of next year in China.  And I'm looking to get an internship elsewhere next summer, whether in another city here in the states or in another country.  So if any of you Dogs of War has any connections looking for an MBA candidate with an apocalyptic mindset and awesome negotiation skillz, send them my way.   

Our semesters here are divided into halves called modules.  The first module just finished, and it was a pretty insane amount of work for students just getting used to being in school.  Because so many of the students entering this program come from non-business backgrounds, the curriculum has to be condensed to provide entry-level training in the core business disciplines.  So undergrad classes in corporate and managerial accounting that may be taught as separate, semester-long courses are condensed and pressurized and fed to entering Thunderbirds through a six-week water cannon.  Having finished that course, I'm about to begin the same drill in finance.

This work load is made all the heavier by having a non-credit, mandatory course called Career Management, in which the career center teaches students how to write resumes, cover letters, emails, how to network with alumni, how to interview, etc.  The first day of this class, they inform you/freak you out by telling you that you are already 2 weeks behind in your job search and that if you want to get a job of any kind after you graduate in two years, you better grab a bullhorn and start yelling from the mountain tops about how great you are immediately.  There's a big MBA hiring conference every fall in mid-October, 6 weeks into school.  The career center wants you to believe this is the end-all of hiring events and is the only place you have any chance of landing an internship the following summer.  In reality, there are about 300-400 companies with two or three available positions each being wooed by over 10,000 MBA students.  It's The Bachelorette x100 with a lot less kissing and a lot more desperation.  About 170 students from our school went.  I was not among them.  I knew my chances of getting a rose were very minimal.

Instead, I chose to focus on the Thunderbird career fair that just finished up this past Thursday.  Many of the companies were smaller and less known, and they were coming to our school specifically for what T-bird has to offer.  I got all researched up on the companies and discovered that I wasn't all that interested in what they had to offer.  In the end, I was a bit disappointed in the event and was left wondering if I'll ever be able to land an internship for next summer, let alone a job when I get out.

My Thoughts Exactly, Sir
I really do enjoy the program so far, career fretting and body destruction notwithstanding.  Now that I've had my first round of finals/midterms, I'm reaching a more zen place with my stress.  I guess you'd say I'm settling in.  Learning to balance.  I'm excited for what the future of this program will bring my way.  I miss my friends from DC.  I miss the city itself.  But I know I'm on the path to more, if I can make it happen.  It'll be an interesting two years.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

When's Christmas Break Again?

I tell you what, the combination of boredom and stress can take the mind on odd journeys.  Case in point:  Tuesday's review for my Wednesday morning accounting final.  I feel like I am woefully unprepared for this final, yet I'm bored out of my mind watching the professor work through problems on the board.  A thought out of nowhere strikes like lightning, "He's Australian."  From there, it's a prairie fire of thought association spreading across the wasteland of gray matter residing behind my eyes. 

Australia is hot, probably at least as hot as Phoenix in some places. 
Most of it is a big desert, I think.
What's their water situation like there?  Is it sufficient for sustainable growth?
What are their natural resources?
(OIL?)
 Mel Gibson is from there.  (The Jews never had to cross a wasteland like that.  Is that why he feels so superior to them?)
Wait a minute.  Mel Gibson.  Mad Max.  That's where Mad Max was filmed.  Of course they have oil, if the movies said so.  That's what Lord Humungus was after.
 All roads lead to Humungus.

In the end, I found myself sizing up my professor according to how well-suited he was for the apocalypse.  "Sure he can tell you where your missing Accounts Receivable went, and he probably could advise you on how to reduce your days payable.  But in hand-to-hand combat, those arms will be ripped right out of their sockets.  As soon as he's out of ammunition, he'll have to fight.  Then he's dog meat." 

Yeesh.  I like to think that boredom without the stress would have taken me on a more magical journey involving flying carpets and a big blue genie and a princess in a halter top.  Maybe Thursday, it'll be a whole new world.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Words That Make Me Pale

How would Georgia capture this?
I'm a lover of words. Ideas, concepts, visions, thoughts. An artist has his paint brush, a photographer her lens. I paint my visions with words. Like any aspiring master of his craft, I work to improve my skills. I study the works of others for what it is in their writing that evokes emotional response from me. I occasionally review my past efforts for mistakes and ways I could have better told a story or painted a picture. And of course, the artist is only as good as his tools. To that end, I'm constantly looking for new words to add the deep reds and bright blues to my canvas. Toothsome. Mussitate. Obsequious. Mmmm. Delectable.
Once in awhile I learn a word that is so powerful and terrifying in its ability to convey imagery that it bleeds the color right out of my face. I encountered just such a word this week. It is not for the faint of heart, so if you are easily nauseated, you'd best move along now. it comes to me via a good friend and occasional Humungus contributor, Phat Mexican. The word is:



Vaganus
      

Hrm.  A-Hrm.  Ha-rumva.  Ha-rumvavavav. Ugh.  Sorry.  Dry heaving just writing the word.  What does it mean?  What is it's origin?  So sad you asked, but if you insist...
Phat Mexican's wife brought their second child into the world this week (Salute!  May the second be as handsome as the first.)  He picked this word up from the nurses in the obstetrics department.  It is a hybrid term born of the unholy union of the words "vagina" and "anus".  It is industry lingo for the not-dissimilar union of said orifices that sometimes occurs during childbirth.  Hrm.  Aaahr.

As a celibate bachelor, I have yet to peak behind the curtain in OZ.  I'm not privy to all the dirty little secrets women keep hidden.  I function in a world relatively isolated from any form of Woman composed of anything more than the sugar and spice of folklore.  So when I read Phat Mexican's story about his conversation with the nurses that day, and the graphic frankness of their descriptions, the fairytale glow in my dreams dimmed a little bit.  

The Humungus in me says all things end in blood and filth.  But I don't want to hear that right now.  I need comforting fables like the always-popular "girls don't fart."  All of this other stuff...I dunno.  And given that the vaganus would be at least partially my fault for planting my seed in the first place, I'd feel awfully guilty every time I saw the wife sitting on her inflatable donut while my progeny gnaws her nipples to rawhide.  I mean, how can I be responsible for inflicting such suffering on a human being I'm supposed to love? Yeesh.

Vaganus.  Hrm.