Sunday, August 29, 2010

A new level of nerditude

I admit it. Every semester when the course catalog from the local community college shows up in my mailbox, I eagerly peruse it and decide which classes I would take for fun were I not presently bogged down in the middle of graduate school. (I told you. Nerd. With a capital N.)

(I've been honing and developing my nerdiness for a long time....as evidenced by this circa 1985 pic--I can explain the potato head pieces. I cannot explain the hair. You'll have to ask/blame my mother for that. )

I've considered instrumental classes (brush up on those guitar skills), amateur photography, understanding the stock market, appliance repair skills (think how handy it would be to know how to troubleshoot washer/dryer issues!), basic car maintenance (ditto!), and about a hundred other course offerings (basketweaving anyone? oil painting? paper sculpting??? Why not?!)


In any case, with this semester's course catalog came the offering of all offerings: Introduction to Beekeeping.


How. Awesome. Is. That.


It's a year-long course taught by a Retired Professional Beekeeper wherein students get to maintain and harvest honey from their own instructional hives!(!!!) I'm not even kidding--this sounds totally amazing to me.


And I'm completely jealous that the $150 course fee and the fact that I live in a 3rd floor apartment and therefore don't have a place to put said instructional hives (am thinking my rinky-dink balcony won't cut it...) and the fact that I'm occupied with 3 research projects this semester (ho hum...) are keeping me from harvesting my own honey this year.


I'm pretty certain I'm an incurable nerd and this is just the bazillionth piece of evidence convicting me. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. :-)

Monday, August 23, 2010

One of a kind

I witnessed this combover while people-watching in an old cemetery in Boston.


It begs several questions....
How is this nobler than being bald?
Is this the look he was going for?
Is it not frightening that those long tendrils of hair resemble tentacles creeping across that noggin' of his?
Is that not the most impressive combover you've seen in a long time?
I thought so.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Maine

So, I recently flew across the country to camp (yes, camp) in the wilds of Maine for a few days.

Let me back up. Long, long ago, before I decided to move myself to the middle of nowhere (i.e. Nebraska) to subject myself to a grueling path of pain and study (i.e. graduate school), I had this lovely thing called a job which provided oh..., it's been so long....how you say?...money... for which to purchase extravagances like food, shelter, clothing. You know, the little things.

Now, lest you think I'm hobbling around in a burlap sack trying to stay warm huddled inside my cardboard box, I can assure you that I'm doing alright for myself. But, it is not an exaggeration to say that, since returning to school, I've had to readjust to life without some "conveniences" to which I had become so accustomed in my few years as a working, contributing member of society.

One thing that has hit the chopping block is the yearly trips my sister and I used to take together during the summer. My sister and I both worked for the public schools and, as such, enjoyed vacations that coincided with each other. We loved venturing up and down the Oregon/California coasts and one year even made a memorable cross-country roadtrip to Chicago and back. These trips were loads of fun. We'd stop on a whim to sightsee, played killer games of 20 Questions, ate cheese curds and muddy buddies, and chatted the whole time. I'm telling you, loads of fun.

Unfortunately, now that I live halfway across the country, no longer work for the public schools, and presently enjoy the monetary standing of a graduate student (perhaps "monetary sitting" would be more appropriate...or "monetary laying on the ground"), it is now ixnay on the awesome ips-tray.

But, this year, we decided to reinvoke the Sarah-and-Katy Roadtrip Extravaganza!
As we considered where to go and what to do--cost was certainly a factor because of aforementioned current socioeconomic standing (mine, not hers...)--we settled on exploring the northern part of New England in Maine, a place neither of us had ever explored before. I was excited to visit an unfamiliar coastline and frolic in the Atlantic Ocean. As we discussed cost-effective alternatives to save on dinero, we talked about the feasibility of camping to save on lodging costs. We knew it would be cheaper, but wondered if the tradeoffs (the absence of consistent showering facilities....having to transport camping gear across the country...) would be worth the gains (camping in Maine!!!). In the end, we decided it was a crapshoot and the only way to know if it'd be a good idea was to give it a whirl. We made some reservations, finnagled gear into our respective baggage, and finalized the plans.

And here is my verdict.

Camping in Maine was AWESOME.
I had just finished a grueling 3-week exam and could not have hand-selected a better place to go to escape school, escape the world, and just recharge. No cell phone service. No e-mail. No TV. Just glorious, glorious wilderness. And my sister.

We made some delicious meals over the campfire. Hot dogs, s'mores (we found using Ghiradelli chocolate squares in place of a Hershey bar is muy bueno), spontaneous tinfoil dinners, roasted corn on the cob, blueberry cobbler (using fresh Maine blueberries, crushed graham crackers, a smidgeon of butter, and marshmallows for sugar), bacon on a stick, grilled laughing-cow ham-and-cheese bagelthin sandwiches, and roasted starbursts (oh my goodness...pure heaven).
We splurged on Maine specialties such as lobster rolls and whoopie pies.

We explored coastline. We drove on beautiful winding roads.

And I recharged.

Would I camp in Maine again? Heck yes, I would.

Friday, July 23, 2010

An Accounting of the Last 3 Weeks

Number of pages written: 108.

Number of references cited: 100.

Number of articles read: too many to count.

Number of "You can do it!" cupcakes delivered: 2.

Number of doc-student-provided lunches: 15.

Number of roommate-prepared dinners: 11.

Number of encouraging Edible Arrangements: 2.

Number of "just because" mix CDs that arrived with perfect timing: 2.

Number of parental "how're things going, honey?" phone calls: 9.

Number of freak-outs: 2.

Number of moments that illuminated how many good and generous and kind and fantastic people surround/support/cheer me on: too many to count.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

What am I doing in Mexico?!

So, you're familiar with the delightful little flick called The Three Amigos, right? In said movie, los tres amigos are beckoned to the little village of Santa Poco to rid the tormented citizens of the infamous El Guapo. All is hunkydory for the three (Ned Nederlander, Dusty Bottoms, and Lucky Day) until the moment that they realize that El Guapo and his posse are actual, factual bad guys who shoot real bullets. As the amigos are just actors, they're a little...shall we say...overwhelmed by the prospect of facing certain death.
In any case, there's this moment when Martin Short kind of scrunches his face up (they're all vas klempt...is that how you spell it?) and exclaims, "What am I doing in Mexico?!!" It's a one-liner that manages to say how-the-heck-did-I-get-here-this-scares-the-total-crap-out-of-me-help-me-Rhonda-I'd-just-like-to-go-home-and-curl-up-with-a-good-book-and-not-fight-a-crazy-Mexican-man-named-El-Guapo-today-or-anyday! (watch the clip here - it's worth a watch)

I'm having one of those how-the-heck-did-I-get-here-this-scares-the-total-crap-out-of-me-help-me-Rhonda-I'd-just-like-to-go-home-etc-you-know-the-rest moments right now. Not exactly in the sense that I'm about to face a crazy Mexican lord who has a plethora (yes...a plethora) of thugs who do his bidding.

But, I am two years into my PhD program and started my comprehensive exams yesterday. Two days down. (check. check.)

12 more to go.

A three-week exam consisting of a series of mammajamma papers on every possible topic related to speech perception. It might as well be a crazy Mexican lord accompanied by a plethora of grimy thugs.

Seriously. What am I doing in Mexico.

Wish me luck. Por favor.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

My Nightmare

This flyer was on the entrance into my apartment building last weekend.
I cannot imagine a worst day out.

*shudder*

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Art imitates life...unfortunately

I wish I could say I have never found myself in this situation...


(click on it for a larger image so you can actually read it. Go ahead, now.)

...twice.

That's right. Twice.

My response was to:

1. Inwardly panic that my advisor had keeled over before my very eyes.

2. Fervently and desperately hope there was someone else in the building who, at 5:30 on a Friday evening, would be more willing than I to give mouth-to-mouth to MY ADVISOR should he heaven-forbid require it (now, now, that's not to say that were it an emergency, I wouldn't buck up and do the right thing. It's just a little...well...disconcerting to think about).

3. Guiltily consider the major inconvenience his kicking the bucket would do to my ability to graduate (an additional two years? I don't think so.).

4. Horrified, remind myself that his life is, in the grand scheme of things, more important than my ability to graduate on time. (It is, right? Heh, heh...of course it is. I was just joking...)

4. Sigh with awkward relief when he jerked his head back up, awkwardly avert my eyes while he casually attempted to wipe his arm across his eyes as if to pretend he hadn't just dozed off in the middle of our meeting, and awkwardly end the meeting with a, "Well, I don't have anything else for today. Have a good weekend."

(I should mention that I have, quite possibly, the kindest, most gentle, most thoughtful advisor ON THE PLANET. Truly, a remarkably intelligent and nice guy. Sometimes we all just need a little snooze...)