Rejection 1/3

I finally received the first of three letters that I had been expecting for a few weeks now. It came from Rutgers tonight. It was a surprisingly nice letter.

Ms. McCarthy began by expressing sorrow at not being able to admit me to the university. She went on to say that they "receive applications from many outstanding candidates," but faculty resources, space, money, etc. prevent them, of course, from "offering admission to all who seek it, even among many who meet or exceed expected requirements." It was a hard decision for them and they must be sure that they admit the best people possible. She genuinely wished me the best, though. In fact, she even said as much: "I regret having to convey this disappointing news, but genuinely wish you every success in accomplishing your goals." (my emphasis)

At least the rejection was written on nice paper. I'm gonna try to find it. Maybe write letters on it. There's a paper store around the corner from school I just may have to visit. Rejections are an interesting thing.I knew I wasn't going to be accepted. But to have it on paper, well, that gives it meaning. I should have quite while I was ahead. Maybe I was a bit too greedy. I may just have done the school thing to death. I got it out of my system and I'll be able to move on now. On to what I'm not sure. I never have been.

I envy people with goals. Passion. Drive. I'm sure I'll find a semblance of these things one day. But for now, I will be able to get used to the fact that my "school thing" will be over in just two and a half months. But at least I'm cultured now.  Cultured?

I went to the Met on Friday with Jill. We visited the Egyptian Art Galleries. I really enjoyed it. I didn't expect to as much as I did. I had to give Jill a running commentary throughout our visit, though. Not too many people would have probably put up with that. We also checked out the Greek and Roman display. That wasn't nearly as involved as the other one, but it was interesting nonetheless. We decided to follow the sound of the live music and found ourselves on the second floor among the Friday-night museum goers sipping alcohol and stinky cheese.

I had no idea just how much this cheese reeked. I kept expecting to find a toddler clumsily walking around with a dirty diaper. We ordered some alcohol for ourselves and acted as though we could actually afford it.

Continuing my cultured weekend, I attended a Purim celebration with Erica. I didn't know what Purim was before Saturday. But I very quickly understood that it is the most festive holidays on the Jewish calendar.

At first, the best thing was to be around actual queer people. I had almost forgotten they existed. It was $20 without costume and $15 with. I didn't dress up. But when I approached the table, I kidded with the woman who took the money, telling her that I had, indeed, dressed up. Then she asked me who I was supposed to be. After five seconds of silence, I said, "Ok, I didn't dress up." She told me to take a few minutes to come up with something. So I went over to Erica and asked her to remind me of the name of the person who wanted to kill all the Jews. "Haman." So I went back and told the woman I was dressed as Haman's executioner. It worked. I saved five bucks.

I enjoyed the humorous, and slightly sexual, reenactments of the Jews escaping extermination. I had no idea I liked klezmer music. And I even enjoyed watching the folks dance. I watched that from afar and ended up having a great conversation with a woman who was in one of my classes last semester. It was a great night. There will be no philosophizing on things like sexuality, gay marriage, or Spalding Gray tonight, although the latter is tragically on my mind. I've got to muddle through this latest scene analysis, so I can go to sleep.