What Makes an Internship?

       Perhaps one of the most important parts of the experiences during college isn’t at college at all; it’s at an internship off-campus. It is generally assumed that you will do at least one internship while at school – although the more ambitious among us seem to manage at least six or seven. What exactly these can entail varies widely. You could find yourself answering phone calls and sorting mail in a Congressional basement or planning a full season of concerts for a local venue. If you’re lucky you can scrape some credits out of it, but mostly it’s shameless résumé padding. And of course, just about everyone has very strong opinions about the value and ethicalness of what often amounts to unpaid labor (only the lucky few manage to find a paying gig).
       I am winding down my internship – my second this summer – with the Naval History and Heritage
Command (NHHC) next week. After a minor panic a few weeks before the semester ended, when it looked like I was facing the societally-unacceptable prospect of my second summer without an

The NHHC Seal is pretty imposing.

internship, I managed to piece together an intellectually interesting summer. The first half was spent as a research assistant to a professor. I helped him write a major article by reading and annotating old volumes of a major historical journal. (The head-shaking motion you’re making right now is the usual response to that comment, especially when I mention that I read 100 years of said journal.) After several weeks of this, I discovered I was still having fun. Over the course of explaining my choice of employment at least ten times a week, I realized that was a good sign. If I could enjoy doing the drudgework of history as well as the really exciting stuff, maybe I really did like history. The word vocation might have been thrown around, but I can’t confirm that. My work at the NHHC has been of a similar stock, if in an entirely realm. June was spent investigating twentieth-century church historiography. July and August, naval provisioning during the American Revolution and the abolition of prize money for American naval officers. For a military outfit, I’ve been given a wonderful amount of freedom to explore these topics – albeit so that I could do the grunt work which my boss doesn’t want to do.
       I’ve learned a number of things from my historical summer. First, I am not destined for a regular office job. I cannot wake up everyday at 6 a.m. and be functional. And I just can’t get caught sleeping by my boss one more time. Second, I actually enjoy history. Who’d have ever guessed that? And third, when given the option, I infinitely prefer getting paid to working for free.

The Antarticum

     Before the Seventy-Fifth Holy Penguin Empire there was the Seventy-Fourth Holy Penguin Empire. Before that came the Seventy-Third Holy Penguin Empire and before that the Seventy-Second. Some time before that came the Forty-Third Most Holy & Frigid Empire, so named because it included several other bird species in addition to penguins. Between the Twenty-Second Holy Penguin Empire and the period widely known as the Third Penguin Apostasy reigned the Twenty-First Very Holy Penguin Empire, which everyone agreed wasn’t very holy at all. The Third Penguin Empire has long been famed for its historic building program – the palaces it created were still being used through the middle period of the Sixty-Fifth Holy Penguin Empire. The First Holy Penguin Empire is known to us only through the writings of Sylvester, the great bard of the Ninth Holy Penguin Empire, who recorded the oral tradition of his time in a seven-book work entitled The Antarticum.
     By the time of the Seventy-Fifth Holy Penguin Empire, most penguins had come to accept the Empire as something that had always and would forever be. And while the Empire might control ever aspect of their lives, the penguins didn’t mind so long as they were allowed free access to the fishing grounds. Even the highest figures in the Empire had long since forgotten the struggles of the First, Second, and Third Apostasies and sat blissfully ignorant of the uncertain nature of their power. Of course the tradition held that the Empire was divinely ordained before the beginning of time and that all power flowed from the Great Orb to the Rather Impressive Tower at the Pole to the less impressive, but still moderately intriguing Shadow Staffs of the high priests in the temple. They inaugurated the beginning of each new Empire and chose the Holy Penguin Emperor every seven years. The tradition also held that the Emperor was the supreme power in the land, but everyone knew the high priests ran the show.
     So when Aloysius XI mysteriously vanished after a dispute with the High Council, most of the penguins figure the priests were behind it. There was some mumbling when they appointed the Emperor’s old minister for Fish & Sub-Aquatic Affairs to be the next ruler, but generally life went on as normal. Then one day some of the younger penguins at the fishing ground disappeared. At first none of the other penguins thought anything of it. If you were going to play too far from shore, it was your own fault. But then the next day more young penguins went missing. A few days after that no young penguin could be found who was willing to step into the water. Every penguin was whispering to her neighbor – some blaming the young penguins for their impetuousness, others the whales off the northern shore, and still others some unknown sinister force. But then the older penguins started disappearing too. Now a great concern arose. It was obvious that neither whales nor over-exuberance was taking the older penguins. One does not become an old penguin without learning caution. Eventually no penguins would go in the water at all. Soon the fish stockpile ran out. Desperation set in. And all the while the Emperor did nothing. The High Council did nothing. And the high priests did nothing. So the penguins rebelled. Overthrew the Holy Penguin Empire and tossed the government officials into the ocean.
     A few days later a spaceship appeared and took all of the penguins to safety. The end.

Cruel Mistress Time

With a stressful semester blending into busy summer, writing has been a challenge recently. So my lovely girlfriend and I decided to turn it into an actual challenge. A prompt is handed out and work must be returned. No exceptions. The goal is simply to write, without overthinking the exercise, and release what you come up with, regardless of quality.

Structure: Elizabethan Sonnet (For the record, iambic pentameter is difficult...)
Inspiration: Salvador Dali's The Persistence of Memory

Cruel Mistress Time

Before the clock struck six the ants awoke
Sun’s light, that rude alarm, unceasing chimes
Cruel mistress day, with overbearing yoke
Reminding them their time is only time’s.

Once-shadowed lands with desert pallor glow
As pools of murky ether onward loom
Sight, touch, and memory lost long ago
Our knowing friends their bury’ng ground assume.

Wicked heat, long death, runs into pale black
Incarnate symbol brings welcome relief
At six again the melted clocks go slack
Ants trudge along, evinced without belief.

For who created time, time does control
All chained to timeless master, absent soul.

First Try

(Scene opens on a man, sitting alone, typing of his iPhone. You hear the tapping of the ‘keys.’) 

MAN: Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Shit. No - Sorry, I’ve just met you and already I’m lying. I did see you there. I saw you almost a whole minute ago. How could I not? I’d recognize that backpack anywhere. It’s the one that rests three rows back, four chairs over – always propped up before I come in. Not that I’ve noticed…or anything. So no, I did see you there, but I’m pretending to do something important on my phone so we don’t have to do that thing where we see each other in the distance and then spend the next thirty seconds trying to figure out if we’re going to: A) Stop and chat B) Nod or say hello or smile at each other but keep walking C) Call the wave enough and astutely avoid eye contact. The problem is that I’ve never met you. True, I can recognize you by your backpack and true I’ve spent every Tuesday and Thursday between 2:00 and 3:15 sitting five feet away from you. But we’ve never actually met – I think they used to call it being formally introduced. The other problem is that I think you’re really smart. And talented. And beautiful. And you have an absolutely stunning voice and total command of any room you’re in and an ability to articulate your thoughts that rivals anyone I’ve ever met and…which intimidates me. All of which is why I’m opt for D) Staring intently at my phone. That way, when you walk by, I can pretend to glance up and smile at you. Surprised to see you. But without that awkwardness. And you can just keep walking and I can just keep sitting here and we can both feel like we’ve fulfilled out societal obligations for the day.

A Not So Triumphant Return

You see her everyday in the hallway. You pass him on the front lawn after lunch every Tuesday. They wave. We nod. Always smile – never stop to talk.

On the first day next semester, she walks into your first class. He sits down next to you in your second. How do you say hello to someone you’ve seen everyday for a year and never asked their name?

 I don’t know how to come back to a project that I’ve left fallow for so long. Do I apologize or allude to the absence or do I simply ignore it and begin where I left off those many months ago? I’m not sure what the best option is, so I’ll try to hit all them as I work my way through. First off, let me apologize for the dearth of posts this past year. It has been an absolutely draining two semesters. Between an overwhelming lack of time and surprising lack of motivation, I have forgotten the promise I made myself to write. And so I stand humbled before you – as I once again resume this.

Here I am ignoring it. It’s good to be back.

A Final 'Update By Position'

We’ve been tech-ing all year 
With our lights and our schandles 
We’ve built many sets 
Without too many scandals 

You’ve accomplished great things 
You should all be quite proud 
Roofs tied up with strings 
We were certainly wowed

There was an embassy room 
Full of Communist trimming 
And a shop with perfume 
And new dimmers for dimming 

Tech tables galore 
That are soon to appear 
We even painted the door 
Though that took the whole year

We have spent all our dough 
And the season is through 
So there, now you know 
We’ve been Board 162

It's Bigger on the Inside

“I am my remembering self, and the experiencing self, who does my living, is like a stranger to me.” 

 - Daniel Kahneman 

    “Places, please!” As I make this final call, the house lights dim and I slide into my chair, heart racing before the play even begins. Before me sits my promptbook, short marks etched into the page waiting only for my breath to jump alive onstage. These cues, with some minor support from the cast, bring a world to life. In our world, bombs can explode outside embassies without killing anyone, American tourists can escape the Communist police dressed as sultans, and weeks can pass in the blink of an eye. When we step into the theater, we leave behind reality and get lost in the world of the play. Indeed, we call it a play because it occurs so far outside of everyday life.
     Unfortunately, everyday life does not stop when I step into the theater, as much as I wish it did. I spend hours tweaking a light cue or working on a scene, oblivious to the world continuing on without me. Not until I step outside the theater’s walls do I discover a day has passed unnoticed. With that discovery comes the realization that I still have hours of homework awaiting me. I pay the price for my time spent playing with late nights and little sleep. Invariably some part of me regrets my choice in the morning, but nonetheless I head right back to the theater that afternoon. The play proves to be both its own gift and curse. The more I play the less time I have for work; the less time for work the more stressed I become; the more stressed I become the more I seek refuge in the playing. I always finish a show proud of the work I’ve done, but the cycle of play and stress leaves me exhausted.
     Ironically, when asked to work on the next show, I never remember the regrets or the sleepless nights. I recall only the joy of playing and the anticipation of doing it again. So, when called upon to work my second show and then my third, I eagerly volunteer. My remembering self fixates on the world of the play, where I can spend hours creating without exhaustion. My experiencing self pays the price for my enthusiasm, but it gets no say in whether I take up another project. I want nothing more than to dive back into another world, to create a space separate from everyday reality. I need nothing more than a few weeks off to catch up on my sleep. But I’ve accepted that creation requires some self-destruction, and I dive back in.

Calm Before the Storm

This reflection responds to "The Beast in the Jungle," a short story by Henry James.

    Sheltered in a cove between the turbulent surf of the freshman year and the intimidating depths of the junior, sophomores have their last sustained moment of calm before going out into the ocean of life. Georgetown sophomores need to take advantage of this calm in order to fail. They have a chance to dive deliberately into something new, still distant from any lasting consequences. They swim, safe in the knowledge that their proximity to shore allows them easy return from an unsuccessful endeavor, for there is nothing done during the sophomore year that can’t be reversed. While they have this safety, they should try new things, fail, and then try yet more things. Through these failures they will define the contours of their passions, discover and repair the hidden weaknesses in their skills, and figure out how to chart their future course. But unsure of the purpose of this special year, without the societal expectations of freshmen or the blossoming wisdom of juniors, they fail to recognize their opportunity until they sail past it. Believing that their journey lies ahead, they miss the critical work of sounding themself out.
    If sophomores fail to create their own charts during this year, they will find themselves adrift during their later years. Only when lost will they frantically draft their charts, all the while buffeted by the tough storms of life. If only something could serve as a lighthouse, to alert sophomores to the dangers of waiting too long to explore. Enter “The Beast in the Jungle” by Henry James. A poignant warning against putting off living, this novella should play an integral part in the sophomore experience at Georgetown. Properly framed, it would serve as a reflective touchstone to warn sophomores against waiting too long for the world to come to them. If presented at the beginning of the second year, it could ground a discussion about the purpose of the sophomore year. Hopefully, this discussion would save many sophomores from wasting their year waiting and encourage them to dive in, cognizant of their need to try and fail.

Required to Fail

First, let me profusely apologize for my unannounced and extend absence. I could offer up a number of excuses about this semester being busy (which it has been) or stressful (which it really has been), but in the end it comes down to a crippling writer's block coupled with an overwhelming desire for sleep. As I slowly begin to shift down my life into the proper gear, I will be writing again. I promise.


Since President Obama’s call to increase the number of STEM students has focused attention on the role of education in shaping society, the question arises as to what purpose education serves in our society. As the leader of the nation, the President must concern himself with the needs of that nation and naturally sees education as a tool for societal improvement. To that end he has focused his energy on repurposing education to meet society’s needs. While this aim appears laudable, it ultimately confuses the tendencies of education with its true goal. A real education provides the means for an individual to reach their fullest potential. Rather than acting as a mechanism for societal change, education’s ultimate goal is the self-actualization of the individual. Education tends to improve society, but only insomuch as fully actualized people tend to greatly benefit the society the live in.

If we want education to serve the serious purpose asked of it by the world, to prepare women and men for the work of moving civilization forward, it must be allowed to revel in a spirit of play. In order to help people reach their fullest potential, education must occur outside of ordinary life. It must be freely undertaken without any interest in material gain; indeed education must absent itself from any thought of immediate usefulness. Education requires play because education requires failure. Only through failure can you discover what works, and what doesn’t, for yourself. Lest your first failure dissuade you from trying again, it must not have lasting worldly consequences. Play protects education from those consequences and in doing so provides it with the space to undertake its work. The problem begins when our crusaders, ignorant of education’s true purpose, attempt to short-circuit this process. When the focus of education shifts from the individual to the needs of society, utility corrupts its playful nature. It changes the questions from “How does my knowledge enhance my understanding of myself and the world?” to “How is my knowledge useful?” Utility imposes consequence upon education and draws it back into the real world. Once thrown into the ordinary, education loses the play elements which make possible its work.