So I did a phone interview with MIT yesterday. Despite a couple of verbal stumbles, I did well. Mostly it feels good to feel good about something, after having a less-than-stellar February. The science writing program accepts precious few per year, and I'm still in around the last cut. It's like American Idol, except secretive and terrifying.
Here's what's really scary: at this point, it would be more emotionally traumatic for me to be accepted, thus ensuing hand-wringing about whether to go deep in debt to wander away to the East Coast, than it would be if I were rejected, thus ensuing a lazy summer of playing soccer and trying to find employment in Madison, which I already started emotionally after losing out on UW.
I'm painting a little again. It feels good. I can't sit and do it for hours like I used to -- further testimony that my attention span is shrinking as I get older. But I'm still good, which was another needed self-confidence boost.
Finished reading "Wicked" a little while ago. Meh. Similar to "Network," it gets preachy at the end and decides it would rather be an essay about the nature of evil for a while. Greg MacGuire -- you're a darn good writer, but acknowledge the fact that a lot of your audience came from borrowing a notorious character, and most of those people aren't interested in your personal opinions on morality. If you showed more and told less, we'd all be a lot happier. As it were, we waded through a tedious hundered pages to find out what's up with Dorothy.
Walking to the wine shop last night, I saw my eccentric neighbor with his shovel down the street, shoveling out spaces so people could park there. Northern hardiness is cool.
Watched "Scoop" last night, despite mixed reviews. Reviews work on me, they really do, because I'm usually unwilling to stand in front of the video store employee and rent something that's below me. I'm a good samaritan at work, so this is another place where my cultural elitist side comes to bear. Anyway, I'd rent any flick with Woody Allen and Scarlett J, so forget it.
It was delightfully absurdist. I found myself wishing Scarlett played her character a little more seriously, because it really would've helped the film's working tension between a murder mystery plot and scores of Woody one-liners. Silly won out, and for the best -- not a great film, but worth one viewing, if only for the jokes. And Scarlett J in a swimsuit.
Here's one piece of dap, before I leave the subject: she makes the old-school one-piece so sexy that more skin wouldn't have improved it. Take that, culture without class.
And I'm no longer suspicious of the American "The Office." Roommate Maria got the DVDs. It's real funny. Sorry for doubting, Steve Carrell.