Trade Maples for Joshua Trees
You have to respect any institution of higher learning which, in addition to having a department devoted entirely to the science and administration of gambling, has an entire college devoted to the management of hotels named after the Harrah's guy. In Nevada, you also have to respect it, because it represents half of the colleges in the state.
That's right: I'm flowing futuristic about my new beloved mother (Latin, anyone?), the University of Nevada at Las Vegas. True to every other academic acceptance experience in my life, the official letter inviting me to learn with the institution was preceded by some other sort of contact from the school itself. Apparently registrar's offices operate without the consent of colleges themselves.
So yes, for those of you who have been following the saga of Buckwalter becoming a Runnin' Rebel, I am now fully accepted and ready to begin my studies with the start of spring semester. Happily, they took all my St. Thomas credits (including giving me credit for a class I didn't take... I bet Marathon Man can guess which one...), so I can pick up right where I left off. I will be a licensed teacher in June of 2007, and a Master of the Universe... er, sorry... of Education in December of the same year. Really good, excellent stuff.
The campus of UNLV is very different from the colleges back in Minnesota; for one thing -- like everywhere else in Las Vegas -- there's no shade. Anywhere. If you're looking to walk out of the sun, you have to find the shadow of a building, because there are no massive maple trees to challenge the supremacy of Don Sol. In fact, the only trees you'll find at all are joshua trees and some scrubby pines. Otherwise, it's all cactus and rocks. But it's weird, because it's still obviously a college campus, and even though it's very different from any campus I've ever seen, it's still easy to call it home. I guess that's what growing up on five separate campuses can do for you. The smell in the education building reminded me of root beer, because that's what I always drank when I visited my dad's office at Concordia when I was a little kid.
And, as a side note, anybody interested in the experiences of a young gaijin teaching with the JET program should really check out White Guy in Japan, the new link over to the right. B-San has provided us with a witty, sharply written account of his time in the land of my birth, and everybody who has ever been curious about the Mysterious East should give it a read.
That's right: I'm flowing futuristic about my new beloved mother (Latin, anyone?), the University of Nevada at Las Vegas. True to every other academic acceptance experience in my life, the official letter inviting me to learn with the institution was preceded by some other sort of contact from the school itself. Apparently registrar's offices operate without the consent of colleges themselves.
So yes, for those of you who have been following the saga of Buckwalter becoming a Runnin' Rebel, I am now fully accepted and ready to begin my studies with the start of spring semester. Happily, they took all my St. Thomas credits (including giving me credit for a class I didn't take... I bet Marathon Man can guess which one...), so I can pick up right where I left off. I will be a licensed teacher in June of 2007, and a Master of the Universe... er, sorry... of Education in December of the same year. Really good, excellent stuff.
The campus of UNLV is very different from the colleges back in Minnesota; for one thing -- like everywhere else in Las Vegas -- there's no shade. Anywhere. If you're looking to walk out of the sun, you have to find the shadow of a building, because there are no massive maple trees to challenge the supremacy of Don Sol. In fact, the only trees you'll find at all are joshua trees and some scrubby pines. Otherwise, it's all cactus and rocks. But it's weird, because it's still obviously a college campus, and even though it's very different from any campus I've ever seen, it's still easy to call it home. I guess that's what growing up on five separate campuses can do for you. The smell in the education building reminded me of root beer, because that's what I always drank when I visited my dad's office at Concordia when I was a little kid.
And, as a side note, anybody interested in the experiences of a young gaijin teaching with the JET program should really check out White Guy in Japan, the new link over to the right. B-San has provided us with a witty, sharply written account of his time in the land of my birth, and everybody who has ever been curious about the Mysterious East should give it a read.
posted by Buckwalter at 2:38 PM
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