Kaplan recap

Sincerest apologies to my 9-to-5 professional and 7am-to-3am academic regulars who have been deprived of fresh procrastination lately. There's no excuse, really.

Yesterday I had my Kaplan Test Prep audition. Brace yourself for the meticulous recapitulation.

My assignment was to prepare a 5-minute lesson on a topic of my choosing and present it to a roomful of other Kaplan hopefuls, the aim being to demonstrate my classroom demeanor and potential teaching ability. I had planned to do a lesson on how to write a sonnet. I know it sounds kind of flaky, but I gave a similar presentation to my AP English class in high school and it went pretty well. And I might as well get some mileage out of my English degree.

I had plenty of time to prepare this presentation. My interview was scheduled a week ago, and in theory I could have been tweaking the lecture since then. But by 5:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon (a mere hour before I had to be in New Haven for the audition), I was only beginning to run through the presentation for the first time. I came to the disquieting realization that I had reverted to my work habits of old. On second thought, maybe my frantic last-minute prep session wasn't so much a reversion as it was a reaffirmation of poor work habits that I've never actually lost. If I haven't found myself procrastinating and cramming lately, it's only because I've had no work to put off (aside from the work of finding work, of course).

With 45 minutes until I had to leave my house, it became obvious that my sonnet lesson was going to be much longer than 5 minutes. Since time management (i.e., keeping one's presentation to the time limit) was one of the primary evaluation criteria, I was in dire need of a retooling. I couldn't completely reinvent my topic, so I decided to take the first segment of my sonnet talk--an explanation of iambic pentameter--and make that the whole lesson. I rehearsed a few visual aids on my old erasable white board from college (board usage was another key evaluative element), stuttered through some spontaneous dialogue, and left the house with a slightly elevated heart rate. I was tempted to distract myself by listening to All Things Considered on the drive into New Haven, but I forced myself to recite the presentation a few times in the car (my broad hand gestures--blame my Italian genetic history--probably looked odd to passing motorists).

I got to the Kaplan office right on time, but I was the last to arrive. The audition was being conducted by an acquaintance of mine (a fact which I knew in advance) and I tried not to make it too obvious that I knew him because there were six other candidates auditioning.

The first guy to present was a vaguely familiar classmate of mine from college. He gave an eloquent, slightly droll talk about how to prepare the perfect rack of lamb (imported Australian meat is best, and a soft cheese with a hint of garlic flavor makes for an exquisite spread). A girl went next. Before she began her presentation, she wrote the sonnet rhyme scheme (abab cdcd efef gg) on the board. For a moment I was stunned. Was she going to lecture on how to write a sonnet? Could she pull of the topic that I failed to execute? Would she talk about iambic pentameter, and would she give a better explanation than mine? It turned out that her topic was much more general, "how to write a love poem," and she didn't get into any technical elements of poetic form or meter. (Phew.) She was followed by a slightly jockish guy in his mid-20s who spoke about how to plan "a ridiculous ski trip." He didn't utilize the board much, and he went long, so I'm doubtful about his chances to move on.

I was fourth, and I began by warning the group that another poetry lesson was forthcoming. I talked about how the terminology of poetry can be daunting, but that it's really not as incomprehensible as it seems. I used the board to write the definition of meter ("the pattern of rhythm and accent in a line of poetry") and foot ("a unit of measure of poetic meter composed of a combination of 2, 3 or more stressed and unstressed syllables"). I gave an example of an iamb, and a trochee, and ended by demonstrating iambic pentameter at work in a line of poetry ("My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun"). I was pleased, but the topic might have been slightly academic, and it didn't seem like the others were particularly enthralled.

The other presentations were about how to do a crossword puzzle; something about golf; and finally an extremely creepy tutorial on how to clip a bird's wings (Have a pair of needle-nosed pliers handy; if you clip a feather too high and it starts to bleed, you'll need to yank the whole thing out lest the bird bleed to death. [shudder]). As if the presentation could get any more bizarre, the presenter (a thin, bespectacled Southeast Asian-looking guy), had brought a visual aid: several tube socks tied together to resemble a bird, complete with eyes drawn in black Sharpie and a paper beak.

I expect to hear one way or the other by Friday. If I passed, I'll go in for training. If I failed, well, what else is new?

I haven't submitted any new applications in about a week. Have I mentioned that I'm sick of being ignored and rejected?

So, what happens when/if I get this Kaplan job? It'll only be a few hours a week, and I won't be making enough money to move out. Should I get something (anything) else to fill time and provide me with a regular paycheck? Do I keep applying to out-of-my-league writing industry jobs? Do I start studying for the LSATs? Or filling out applications for summer writing programs? Should I revisit the wwoofing option?

If nothing else, I'll try to get back to a more frequent posting schedule. As I've often said, regular writing has been my only worthwhile endeavor these many months. Plus, I don't want to leave too many long gaps in the historical record. I have my future biographer(s) to think of.