A little more than two years ago, Pullquote launched as an outlet for a cinetrix in flux. That feeling hasn't changed, but lately I get the feeling other things should and must.
When I started blogging, it was an experiment in sustaining my interest in a single subject, film. I nurtured no dreams of fame or book deals; 2003 was a simpler time in the blogosphere. No, my interest was practical, downright pedestrian. Several years before I had dropped out of a fancy graduate program in cinema studies [I'll give you a hint: It rhymes with Mew Nork Sooniversity], sick and broke, and I had always regretted it. Since then, I had continued to lead my life in film where I could: stints at the Brattle and at a well-regarded video store, subscriptions to geeky academic list-servs, friendships with like-minded souls.
Two years ago, I had finally gotten to the point of investigating what it might take to finish the degree from afar, with the least amount of capital outlay possible. I spoke to administrators, landed an underpublicized community scholarship [Allston-Brighton reprazent!] that paid for a film course at Harvard's extension school with credits that would transfer, came up with a plan to tackle the incompletes, and re-applied to the program I had left so long ago.
I was accepted. Again. No funding at all this time [I had once been a bright young thing, full of promise]. And no advisor to guide my way. But with some more loans and a convenient hole in my freelance schedule, I spent five weeks in the summer of 2004 studying in New York with J Hoberman. Another class down....
Then I moved. And was miserable. And spent the fall in an inert lump. Come the winter, though, I sacked up. Took my comprehensive exam. Bashed out those final three papers by the end of April. And then I waited. And waited. Profs who had not laid eyes on me in years not surprisingly did not leap to read my deathless prose and submit their grades in a timely fashion.
There was Kafka-esque bureaucracy to contend with, too. Although I had had to reapply, the university still wanted "matriculation maintenance" fees for all those semesters I was "out of residence" [aka dropped out]. Trick was, none of the work I did before dropping out would count toward the degree if I didn't play ball. So I played ball [but petitioned and got the fees waived].
On Friday, September 23, my mobile rang with the good news that my degree had, at long last, been conferred, after an ordeal only slightly less tantric than fucking Sting.
Yay, me. But now what? I'm teaching now--not film, not yet [spring 2006]. And I'm writing for money, two things I doubt would have ever happened without this blog. I've met fantastic people, online and in person. My world is a much bigger place.
But a recent litblog shitstorm, as well as the whole degree thing, got me thinking. What am I doing here? No, really. What do I hope to add to the conversation? Snarky remarks about Manohla Dargis? Not really. Calendar listings? Not indiscriminately. Reviews? Shit, I barely have time or energy to blow the dust off the Netflix mailers on top of the television. I barely watch television.
Now that you know the whole story, I'd like to hear your ideas for Pullquote 2.0 because I can't take much more of my self-loathing for mailing it in here. This is your moment for lowercase "d" democracy. Have at it.
And I'm spent. Back whenever.
