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(continued from page 11 “Not so GREat”)
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by Ally Balcerzak
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Should I ride out the recession/depression/end of the world by committing my life to academia and endless debt? I like to think of myself as a glass-half-full kinda gal, so look at it this way: if the world ends in 2012 (wasn’t there a movie about that? With huge boats?), then you won’t need to worry about the recession/depression/time-for-us-all-to-bepoor era. You won’t ever need to worry about anything. Ever again. But on a lighter note, I’d say that academia is not the best route to choose if you’re looking to “ride out” an economic downturn (this is coming from a grad student. The irony!). Then again, there’s probably no good route to choose right now. There’s
How do I ask my girlfriend if she’d be willing to write my paper for me? EASY. Just politely ask her to dump you. Too blunt? Okay, we’ll start over. Repeat after me: My girlfriend is not SparkNotes. Let me ask you a few questions: do you feed yourself? Do you get dressed every morning all by yourself? Do you have special machines that put your shoes on for you? (And if you do, can I borrow them? Because I HATE shoelaces.) I can’t assume that you’ve made it through college under your own steam, but I’ll let you in on something: at UB, professors and TAs (mostly just TAs, let’s be real here) use special software to find cases of plagiarism. And it’s actually pretty accurate. It’s kind of like Minority Report, except you’re not Tom Cruise (and really, you should be thankful for that.) And come on, how bad is writing a paper? You have a cell phone, don’t you? I’d be willing to bet you’re one of those people who can write a novel in text messages during a class. It’s like that, but about important stuff. Give it a try, Ace.
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no guarantee of financial safety just because you’ve got a degree, even if it is in something totally relevant like “17th Century Swedish Animal Husbandry.” I have a friend who graduated from law school, passed the bar, and is now working at a gas station. It’s not uncommon to have a PhD, an adjunct teaching position, and a part-time serving job. Ugh, okay, now I’m getting depressed. You know what? Just concentrate on amassing enough food and fresh water to get you through until December 22, 2012. I’ll come over to your house (shack? hovel?) and we’ll toast the apocalypse together. I’ll bring a copy of my perpetually unfinished dissertation for you to read. I think it’ll really lighten the mood.
Life on Mars: Poems Tracy K. Smith Greywolf Press, 2011 88 pp., $15.00
If I uproot an eye what’s left? A socket. Forget all your mistakes, and whoever comes just behind you is a ghost. One day, all the jostling stopped on the side of a black chimney; today at least O chimney, devour me. Black, round. Your narrow mouth is peeping, and the embarrassed light inside is moist and cold. Who maintains these properties with such care? The atmosphere is suffocating, suppressed, silent, suppressed; no air, no water; nothing; wipe off whatever mascara you have— and what’s in front? Torn hand, torn head, foot! Don’t show all these, you harmful thing! Better if you just uproot the eyes of the young, and of the old. Then what’s left? A socket.
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