Milwaukee's Best

Many positive happenings have taken place in the last month, and tonight after my quick workout at the gym, I felt compelled to write an update as to what has transpired since November.

For one, I've begun the process of applying to The Trinity Fellowship at Marquette University, which is a fellowship that encourages graduate students to work for Milwaukee-area nonprofits throughout their two years of study for a Masters degree. The night I stumbled upon the offering, I had already been looking in vain for schools that have a relationship with Americorps. I was hoping to come across a few schools that would do more than just match the $5,000 education award that I'm expecting to receive at the termination of my year with Americorps. I also wanted to search for a humanities or a general sciences program that stayed clear of politics and public administration. Yet, after fifty-five schools and nearly two hours of researching programs, I began to feel a sense of resignation in the fact that I probably wouldn't find a school that will give me money to study, and if they did, they sure as hell probably wouldn't be offering a Masters of Linguistics, History or Geography. Thank god I didn't log off the website before I took a gander at school number 60: I found Marquette third from the last

Marquette is the United State's largest Jesuit school and is located in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, which is NOT the Upper Peninsula of Michigan--the oft-cited location. It's a well-known school that is respected, and best of all, they give out money to former PeaceCorps of Americorps members--a whole $64,000 worth. Doing the calculations on my fingers, I was pretty sure that two dived by 64 equaled 32, which meant that they would be paying ME, Jeremy Ault, $32,000 to study History and to work in a nonprofit. Not bad, huh? I didn't think so either, so I began the application process by writing my four essays, requesting for my recommendation letters, and--the monster of them all--registering to take the GRE.

The month of November saw my days turn into work/study periods: I would work from 8:30 am to 5:00pm, only to come home and then study esoteric vocabulary that I knew I would never speak in real life; therefore, I began to pick up one of the many history books I had laying around the house. I pilfered the book for "GREesque" words. I seemed to be most successful reading the gargantuan, brick-sized works of British historians; they just use such a robust vocabulary that can't, sadly, be found on facebook. I saw the word lugubrious used not once, but TWICE. Yeah, I was gonna stick the GRE verbal. However, my math skills were a different story.
The night I came across the word 'obtuse' my mind reminded me that obtuse is not only a characteristic of people, but is an angle. Uh oh, maybe I focused a little too much on the verbal aspect of the test. I couldn't remember how to do algebra. I forgot what the Pythagorean theorem actually theorizes. I didn't know how to find the area of a cylinder, nor did I really care. I forgot FOIL and 'Pardon My Dear Aunt Sally." I was pretty much floundering. I answered 20 questions in about 45 minutes and finished in the 7th percentile; meaning, that nearly everyone could and DID better than me on the test. Consequently, for the next two weeks I sat in my recliner and basked in the light of my lamp. I reread two GRE math books, and began going to the library to practice my arithmetic skills.

I tried not to let myself get too nervous about the test, as I find the GRE to be a fairly silly way of gauging the potential of students, as the test really only is an accurate indicator of the prior educational circumstance of students-- a circumstance which is often not chosen by the students themselves--and of how long one has studied for the specific test itself: It has no measure on how to gauge one's drive, talent, passion or inquisitive nature. Anyways, I had resigned myself to a confident "the-test-doesn't-define-me attitude" until, however, the night before the test date came. I couldn't sleep. My mind was a jumbled mess of nerves. I kept on having recurring images of me slamming my head off of the desk in pure anger and despair that my FUTURE, MY DEAR FUTURE, HAD BEEN....lost. I guess I didn't handle the pressure as well as I would have liked to admit...

I slunk out of bed the next morning, ate a 'brain breakfast' of organe juice, cheerios and peanut butter toast and made my way down the snow-covered streets of Erie to the testing building. Upon entering, I was informed that I had to empty out all of my pockets and place my belongings in a locker at the front of the building. I then proceeded to fill out the paperwork that was mandatory for all test takers, which unbeknownst to me, required me to actually write in cursive--something I have not done in ten years. Everyone around me seemed to be on edge. Would they pass? or, would they have to find a new profession? Ugh.

The test got underway at 8:30 am, as I was placed into my minute cubicle and told that I would not be able to leave--even to pee--for the next four hours. If I needed to go, I had to raise my handd and then be given permission from a rather rotund woman sitting behind a glass wall. I felt like an elementary school child in the principles hall.

I began the test by writing two essays, which got my confidence in gear. I then jumped to the verbal section of the test. Once I saw that my questions had become literally impossible to answer, I postulated that I was scoring highly on the verbal, so I left that section feeling encouraged. Then came my dreaded bride, the math. I jumped right into the section and didn't blink. I made motions as if I was jotting down notes and formulas, but it was all a mirage. I had no idea how much time I had, but I knew that I was moving too slowly for the first five questions, which initiated a grave decision on my part: I started to guess. My unwritten rule for the rest of the test was that if I didn't instantly recognize an answer (which was a majority), I would spend no more than one minute guessing. And, I found the most mathematically apt equation for the situation to be of much help many times over: Ini-mini-myni-mo. And, at the end when my scores were revealed, I shook with joy, as I had answered more than half of the math questions correctly. As for my verbal, it was a decent score. I left pleased and happy, yet a little embarrassed that I let the test get to me so badly. I now felt ready to continue on in the graduate school process, which is where I stand right now: I have two weeks until deadline. I will wait patiently as to see what will happen....

In other news, I was informed this past week that my article about my trip to Slovakia will be published in the Erie Times as a two-week Saturday special to be published on Dec. 18th and--of all times--on Christmas. I was pleased, and I hope that the people in Erie will enjoy the story.

Well, that's it for now. I'm off to read and write some letters.