“Dear Ester,

Our records indicate that you have submitted an application for the 324 Creative Writing – Fiction, M.F.A. for Fall 2008.

Your application is currently being reviewed by your graduate program. Please allow 14-21 business days for a decision.

NEXT STEPS…

1. Admissions will notify you of the decision on your application via mail.
2. Continue to check your application status for further updates.”

14-21 business days! Yikes. It would be a part-time thing since I am currently quite happy with my secret internet full-time job, but a part-time thing I’d be excited about. The program hosts Michael Cunningham AND Myla Goldberg and it’s a really good deal, money-wise. Starting April 1, I will live even closer to it too. Well, we will see. I’m practicing being calm about everything. If it happens, great; if it doesn’t, then I’ll gear up to finish my second draft on my own, sans guru.

Basically I’m trying to pretend, in a godless universe, that there is a god who will guide my path if I allow it. Anything to help me relax.

Meanwhile, happy distractions abound. Obama’s winning more primaries, I just saw Eddie Izzard’s new show live in Union Square, and my swatfriends keep rolling in. Two last weekend, including one all the way from Seattle, and another this coming weekend. The one from Seattle and I basically spent the two days holed up in my apartment laughing. Not a bad way to plow through time.

You know what’s fun? Apartment hunting.

Actually I enjoy it way more than I should. Mr. Ben and I have already found one place worth paying a broker’s fee for. We’ll see what bizarre and unaccountable circumstances rise to stand in our way; but if none do, we’ll be the proud owners — well, renters — of SPACE. Like a galaxy’s worth. And a washer-dryer. That’s the apartment equivalent of “… A NEW CAR!” (Frankly I’d rather have free convenient laundry than a Pontiac, anyway.)

This picture, by the way, comes straight from Craigslist. It is supposed to be making the apartment in question look attractive.

My reaction to Heath Ledger’s untimely and mysterious demise at the hands of an Olsen twin? (You know they’re implicated, even if the NYT had to take out the initial report that Heath died in Mary Kate’s apartment and that he’d been seen earlier with Ashley.) Grief. Pure grief. And to ask, If you came back as a zombie, who would you bite first? I’d go for Ann Coulter, I think.

My coworker who sits next to me, chugging Target brand cough syrup, reflects and then answers, “I think I’d be a nice zombie.”

Another coworker posts the following on his gchat:
Joaquin Phoenix found drowned in bathtab in Hannah Montana’s Soho loft
Jake Gyllenhaal found crushed to death by rocks in Mischa Barton’s apartment
Zac Efron found stabbed in Coolio’s South American villa.
Christian Bale found slashed to ribbons in Rihanna’s Venezuelan thresher

I giggle and life goes on.

ETA: Jack Nicholson was involved somehow! I knew it! Seriously, how has that asshole outlived so many other actors and politicians and presidents?

So many races! So many contests! It’s all terribly exciting, now that the Democratic political field is almost as scattered as it could be (will John Edwards pick up a state already?) and the Oscars are about to be announced (NYMag puts its predictions on paper here). I hope NYMag is right at least on the Supporting Actress front — two of my favorite roles of the year are there: Tilda Swinton in Michael Clayton and Cate Blanchett in I’m Not There.

Politics-wise, I’ve evolved from my original Pro-Drama stance of wanting as much of a contest as possible to a tentative Pro-Obama stance. Hillary is beginning to seem inevitable again; and so many minority groups are spurning Obama cuz it turns out, in a giant shocker, that white people aren’t the only ones who are hostile to blacks. (Or is there another explanation?) That depresses me, so into the man’s opens arms I run.

This weekend was all about small talk — family Saturday, more family Sunday. At last discussion of the election adds a dash of friendly controversy to these gatherings. I suppose I could have spiced things up further by asking, “Can someone explain the appeal of Blue Velvet to me, please? I just saw the damn thing and was ten shades of underwhelmed. It reminded me of Belle du Jour, another ‘classic’ I couldn’t watch all the way through. What gives?”

I would like to make it known, before history gets written this evening, that I feel really bad for Hillary Clinton. Maybe I shouldn’t: Lord knows she has power, position, significance, some comfortable amount of money, a house in Chappaqua, brains, a great daughter, and a place in history. She may even love her husband — who knows?

Also, not everyone is ready to write her off, even if (when?) she does lose this evening.

All the same, lady queen looks like she’s going down, and it saddens me. I do like the man who’s flattening her; of course I’m an Obama girl. But the Obama boys in my office have are being pretty dismissive of the Hillster’s fall from grace. How can they be so cruel? I mean, look at her! She wants this so much, and she’s not the young, idealistic person she used to be. In fact, I think that’s mostly what’s working against her. She isn’t just middle-aged, she is Middle Age. Get close enough to a picture of her and you can smell the deflated dreams, the settling, the compromises.

Get close enough to a picture of Barack Obama and your nose fills with the new car scent. Who doesn’t want to buy a new car, especially if it’s the same price as the used one? Even if the used one’s a BMW?

I just feel bad for her, dammit. Despite everything, I like her and it hurts my heart a little that so few other people do.