Year after year, I serve on our department’s graduate student admissions committee; the most labor intensive, monotonous, pain-in-the-ass duty our department grants us (current students) the “privilege” to do. I’d rather stay home in my dank apartment, chew on tin-foil and shove thumbtacks under my fingernails than sit hour-after-hour ranking people. No student ever serves on the admissions committee more than once, except me. Why? Because I hate hosting/babysitting/ego-stroking visiting scholars even more–even if it only lasts a day or two. That’s our alternative.
There is another reason I volunteer: reviewing fantastic applications makes me feel small, unimportant and undeserving. I torture myself this way to expose my own insecurities and bludgeon them. One day, all that will remain will be one confident, thick-skinned, unmerciful badass. Dispute that thug-logic.
Four more to go through tonight. Gods grant me the strength.
On a lighter note: some guy “got busy” (with some girl (or at least I think she was)) in the A Pizza Mart bathroom the other night. If witnessing Digital Underground lyrics realized isn’t inspiring–even if the medium was some obnoxiously pubescent hipster dude–I don’t know what is.
