Love and Death as of Late

Following my thesis defense a week and a half ago, I checked out of the world for a long-desired vacation. Only now do I have a grip on my mind and two feet standing steadily on the ground.

The verdict on my thesis was less than desirable. Although my work wasn't dismissed, I was informed that the number of edits I need to make will require more time than offered by the two week deadline between my defense and the submission deadline. In short, my thesis will be edited, complete, and submitted before I move to Kentucky, but not early enough to meet the deadline for December graduation. I have felt a range of emotions in response to the verdict: ambivalent acceptance, personal defeat, untargeted anger, teeth-gritting frustration, and, finally, the flippant drive to get the damn thing done.

In better news, Lady Audacity is pleased to announce that she is engaged! Following two years of dating, Mr. Audacity proposed on the cool afternoon of Friday, November 13. Although I choose to keep the details private, know that I am thrilled, the couple is in good ol' unconditional love, and I am proudly wearing a shining ring on my finger!

In closing, I would like to add that traditional country music is officially a thing of the past, as indicated by Taylor Swift's recently awarded title of Entertainer of the Year at the Country Music Awards. Call me crazy, but as a lady in my late twenties, I can neither relate to nor appreciate the diary-entries-turned-songs of a warbling 19 year old. My baby teeth are long gone . . . give me something I can sink these pearly adult canines into!

The Death of Country Music by Jack Lightfoot

The Night Before Defending

Ten and half hours prior to my thesis defense. Dinner consisted of homemade gourmet nachos, accompanied by mimosas brimming with expensive orange juice and cheap champagne. Not sure that will prove to be the best of ideas, but at least I am relaxed. Moreover, my vintage purse and Vera Bradley brief case are packed; my dress, cardigan, and underskirt are ironed; my black pantyhose, Spanx, and undergarments are laid out; my accessories and shoes are ready to slip on; advisor's gifts wrapped and thank you cards written; festive autumn plates and napkins are boxed up; organic free trade coffee ordered; 24 assorted Krispy Kreme doughnuts pick-up scheduled; personalized name tags for all attendees made; and comfort cushions the mind.

The presentation is loaded and ready to go. I need to 1) save it to my zip drive before going to bed. I'll be up at 5:30 a.m. to shower, bouffant my hair, perfect my make-up (including new lipstick and lip liner I bought today), dress, pack my cosmetic bag, drink coffee, review my presentation, grab my umbrella (boo), and be on my way.

Here's to praying that all the good luck, all things written in the stars, and all the true blessings align in a perfect ten-pin strike. Sharp, charming, and strong.

Ready, Aim, Fire, Ladies!

Extra, extra, read all about! My thesis advisor called said committee member (see "Seriously" post, November 7, 2009) a bully! And it gets better . . . my thesis advisor is flying in for my defense! That whole thing about my advisor being the great and powerful Oz (see "Skulls: Inside and Out" post, October 26, 2009) . . . forget it! The drama associated with my thesis is getting juicier than an episode of Desperate Housewives. Ya'll have no idea. During the course of this project, I have expereinced the death of a beloved friend to a motorcycle crash, the death of a committee member, the cancer diagnosis and recovery of another committee member, the relocation of my thesis advisor to a school about, oh, eight states away, the collapse of my graduate program and susequent absorbtion into another (crappy) program, and now, a final showdown between said committee member and me, my advisor, and everyone else it seems.

After said committee member's email yesterday, I started envisioning women I admire for thier strong will and, oh, shall I say audacity, to do and say as they damn well please. This army of women will be in my mind and heart all the way through my defense this week:

Loretta Lynn: Not only is she a fiery Kentuckian, she is repsonsible for penning "Fist City," a country classic that includes the line, "Close you face and stay outta my way if ya don't wanna go to fist city."

Rogue: Marvel's finest heroine has got it all. Strength? Check. The ability to drain her opponants? Check. Seduction? Check. Sweetness? Check. Southern? Check, check!

Artemis: When the Greek goddess of the moon and hunt caught Actaeon watching her bathe, she turned him into a stag. He was promptly torn to peices by his own pack of hunting dogs.

Princess Jasmine: She acted a little bitchy at first, but when everyone else was mesmerized by Prince Ali, she was the only one to speak up and say, hey, hold your horses (and monkies, harem girls, elephants, servants, genie, and whatever else you rode into town on), this is my heart we're talking about!

Dolly Parton: I do believe this picture says it all.

Seriously?

One of my thesis committee members just sent an email to the entire committee, plus my program director and stupid program office assistant who lacks the competence to even schedule a conference room, and this is an excerpt of what the said committee member had to say:

"I have finished reading the thesis and have asked [Lady
Audacity] to come in for a chat . . . My biggest concern is that she is
misinterpreting the results . . . Much will be resolved when she thinks
"association" rather than correlation. Hopefully we'll get a chance to
talk about this prior to her defense."

Well, why didn't you call CNN and ask them to scroll, "Graduate student doesn't have a clue!" along the bottom of the television screen? I am so frustrated! I have been over the results a thousand times with my statistician (also a committee member) and, as I previously posted, my advisor read my thesis several times . . . and neither of them had anything like this to say! The way I see it, the said committee member is calling their ability to interpret data into question just as much as mine.

I'll be damned if I let all of my hard work come into question four days before I defend. In addition to time, brain power, and heart I put into this thing, I have also invested so many pieces of me into this project: I gave up roller derby, I went from a full-time salary to part-time pay check, I allowed myself to pack on about fifteen "thesis pounds," I whittled down my social life, and I deferred admission to my Ph.D. program in Kentucky (which I will start in January, come hell or high water), all to make my graduate thesis something I am proud of and something that will benefit the unerstanding and practice of environmental education.

The Final Stretch

Seeing as my life is consumed by my thesis right now, I am inclined to start with an update. Monday of this week, I turned in my thesis to my committee. Wednesday of next week, my defense takes place. That means my weekend goals are: 1) create my Power Point slide show for the defense, 2) decide what I am going to serve my crowd for the 9:00 a.m. event (coffee is obviously a must, but I'm torn between Krispy Kreme doughnuts - the cheap, easy choice - and assorted pastries and scones - the more refined choice), 3) purchase gifts for my thesis committee members, 4) purchase plates, napkins, cups, etc., and 5) study my thesis and practice my presentation until my brain refuses to work.

If I had it my way, Cracker Barrel would cater my thesis defense.
American Breakfast by Yorkshire Soul

Some people find it surprising that I have invited friends, co-workers, professors, and other acquaintances to my defense. Personally, I am much more comfortable in the presence of those I know and love (or at least like). Of the folks who have confirmed their attendance, it looks like I am going to have a crowd of park rangers, roller derby girls, graduate students, one energy specialist, and, of course, Mr. Audacity himself, who will be running around town the morning of to snag whichever breakfast goodies I decide to serve. Sounds more like a guest list to a party than a thesis defense, but in my mind it is a party . . . an intellectual party where I dually fill the hot seat and the hostess position, show off my research, endure the slings and arrows of my committee, and then celebrate my success with my eclectic crowd of supporters. Alright.

Defending my Thesis, MadMen style.

I am fully aware that I will have a final round of edits to go through, but I will put those off for the weekend to relax and celebrate (some more) down in the quaint shrimping town of McClellanville, South Carolina. Mr. Audacity and I, along with our two dogs, are headed to the coast for the annual Campfire Jam at Doe Hall Plantation, where we will spend four days enjoying music, eating our weight in seafood, snuggling by the fire, exploring the Intercoastal Waterway, catching up with friends, and, hopefully, squeezing in some antique shopping. All four of us will be sleeping in a two person tent together, which I expect will be very cozy. No computer, no phones, no shower, no electricity, no work . . . I can't wait.

Sunset Over the Intercoastal Waterway by Daniel Bates

Saved You a Seat

I am swallowing a tab bit of guilt. I just spoke with my advisor, who was super supportive and who also provided me with an edited copy of my thesis early this morning. Granted, the thesis arrived four or five days late, but she read the thing four times in the past two and a half weeks! From what I understand about typical advisors, that many readings may damn near hit a record!

Now, my conscience reminds me of Walt Disney's Thumper, when he said, "If you can't say somethin' nice, then don't say nothin' at all."

But then my balls remind me of Alice Roosevelt Longworth, who said something to effect of, "If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit beside me." Atta girl!

Cue the Crickets

Eight a.m., my lily white ass! That was the determined hour to receive my edited thesis from my advisor, but as the clock hands approach noon, the inbox on my email account remains empty as a beer bottle clutched in my hand on a Friday night.

Skulls: Inside and Out

My thesis advisor will not be present at my defense; rather, she will be using Skype to drop in. I was told by an acquaintance (a strong-willed Greek woman who earned her Ph.D. years ago but chose to stay at home to raise her children while her Ph.D. husband works) that my advisor's absence could be a good thing in that she doesn't really care and won't give me any trouble in passing my thesis. This acquaintance would know . . . her advsior didn't attend her defense either; at least I'll have a teleported talking head.

My great and powerful advisor, via Skype.

On one hand, my acquaintance has a point, but on the other hand, I am disappointed in my advisor and could really use her support. I shouldn't have been surprised when I was notified this morning that I would be getting my thesis with her comments tomorrow, leaving me little over 24 hours to make changes before submitting it to my committee this Wednesday . . . I sent her the thing two weeks ago! Why, why, why wait so long to comment? Argh.

How Well Do You Know Your Advisor? by PHD Comics

In other news, I cleaned four animal skulls last week at work. (I am a park ranger, so this is a normal task.) The skulls belonged to a beaver, bobcat, whitetail deer, and wild hog, respectively, and each one had long been deceased. As a matter of fact, the deer and hog skulls both showed several areas gnawed by little calcium-craving mice. We rangers bring these items in from the forest to use them in education programs. We have replica skulls, yes, but something about holding an artifact that once belonged to a living animal . . . such an experience simply has more meaning.

As I carefully brushed the skulls, colored yellow and stained by exposure, I was lead by my Cherokee ancestors and Oglala Sioux connections to offer my thanks to each animal's spirit. I thanked the spirits for sharing their bodies so that I and others may learn about the animals' lifestyles, adaptations, survival skills, and habitats, and I then promised to respect and care for the skulls to show my gratitude for their benevolence. Call it hokey, call it melodramatic, but while sitting outside, wrapped in the warmth of my fleece jacket on an early autumn day, an important connection was made. We should all be so lucky to experience such an event.

Unknown by Brett Stokes

One Hot Crock-Pot of a Mess

Oh my goodness. Friday night I went out to celebrate my thesis milestone and let's just say I failed to get out of bed until about 2:30 p.m. Saturday. I have never, I repeat, never done that in my life and I certainly do not plan to make a habit of it. Oh well, it happened. However, my tom foolery lead to an excellent discovery as I lounged on the couch Saturday afternoon. Let me introduce you to my newest guilty pleasure . . . TLC's King of the Crown. The show features the adventures of Cyrus Frakes, a renowned beauty pageant coach, his team of employees, and his studio, Gowns and Crowns . . . all based right here in good ol' Columbia, South Carolina.

King of the Crown, Cyrus Frakes

Now, let me be clear: I have never participated in a beauty pageant, nor am I a beauty pageant enthusiast. Even TLC's other pageant show, Toddlers and Tiaras, seems ridiculous and slightly creepy. But this, this mishmash of southerness, talented gay men at their best, sparkly things, and dialogue so funny you think you might pee your pants, this thing known as King of the Crown is better than Tim Gunn making it work in the sewing room. Love it!

My favorite character, hands down, is Shane Arrington, Cyrus' Personal Assistant. The words that roll out of this man's mouth, smooth as butter melting on a hot biscuit, are so matter-of-fact, honest, and hilarious that I can't wait for clips that include him. My favorite Shane quote, thusfar, was his reaction to a "glitz" pageant, which he referred to as "one hot Crock-Pot of a mess." I'll take that with a side of sweet potatoes, thank you very much!

Witty and Fabulous, Shane Arrington

Not only is Shane hilarious, some quick research reveled he is also a smarty with a big ol' heart! He holds an undergraduate degree in biology, as well as a graduate degree in nuclear medicine, both of which lead to extensive travels across the country working in hospitals and clinics. Definitely crown-worthy!

Civil A(war)d

I was just singing along with The Beatles to "I am the Walrus" and accidentally said "eggplant" instead of "egg man." Could you image how much less convincing, less cool, less mind-altering that would have been? Goo goo gajoob.

In other outstanding news, I emailed my thesis to my advisor last night around 8:30 p.m.! Two weeks of heavy editing and constructive criticism later, my next version is due to my thesis committee. Then, two weeks from that, or, a month from yesterday, I defend the thing, do some more edits, turn the thing in, get my degree, and move outta this state. One month, or, two fortnights after that, I began my new Ph.D. program.

Anyhow, to celebrate my accomplishment, I promptly ordered this jacket:

Regiment Jacket by Mod Cloth

The first time I saw it, images of Sgt. Pepper, West Point, and stiletto leather boots flashed through my mind in one explosive collage. I set a goal and promised myself this jacket as a reward. Goal accomplished, I rewarded. Almost twenty four hours later, I realize I might have bought a modernized feminine Union jacket. What am I supposed to do? Call the company and ask, "Do you have this in gray and gold, please?" I suppose I'll just bite the (southern) bullet, convince myself the gray stitching and buttons atop the navy material represent the present day balance, and then go out on the (southern) town, looking fine as Miss Scarlett evuh did.

Yes, I believe I can live with that . . . ya'll.

Planet Thesis Terror

Conclusion, final round of edits, formatting, and abstract. Fifteen syllables that make me squirm. I am terrified of my thesis, even when I am this close to finishing. I sincerely hope that is a normal feeling. Sure, I have been (and continue to be) anxious, frustrated, and unmotivated, but to be scared, to be fearful of my own project?

"Scared of what specifically, to finish?" I ask. "Certainly not," I reply.

"Scared to sit down and get going?" I ask. "Always," I reply.

"Scared it won't be good enough?" I ask. "No, edits are always an option," I reply.

"Scared for no apparent reason?" I ask. "Apparently so," I reply.

"You and your thesis show classic signs of a the brain eaters syndrome," I suggest.

I look at the girl with frazzled hair, crazy eyes, gasping mouth, and exploding brain.

"Now, that explains it all!" I exclaim.

Case solved. Back to writing I go. Well, me and my tin foil thinking cap.

Aluminum Foil Deflector Beanie by Zapato Productions

A Fine Day for Writing

According to Weather Channel, I am in for a day of nonstop rain and an outdoor temperature that will not climb past the mid-sixties . . . and I am delighted.

Now that's a way to spend a rainy day! Under the Budweiser umbrella, with a couple of good ol' boys, shaking hands with President Obama. I need to join their organization, stat!

Rednecks for Obama by The New York Times

As my post title suggests, this is a fine day for writing. And not just any writing . . . very important, very I-must-get-this-done-now writing . . . and that would be thesis writing. I am one and a half chapters away (and one of those chapters is the conclusion, which is basically a glorified outline) from finishing the first copy of my masters thesis. Introduction. Complete. Literature review. Complete. Data gathered and analyzed. Complete - and approved by my statistician, bless his dear heart. All that stands between me and the finished copy is a bit of discussion, a conclusion, and one final round of edits (not much considering how far I have come), all due to my advisor this Wednesday.

I am a Writing God by PHD Comics

Now that my brain is warmed up I have no excuse for further procrastination. Thesis, here I come!

Persephone Has Descended

According to Greek mythology, the goddess Demeter loses her daughter to the underworld for six months of the year. All because of six tiny pomegranate seeds Persephone took from Hades when he abducted her to his subterranean kingdom. Demeter, goddess of the harvest, curls up with unbearable heartache and the earth itself shrivels around her. Leaves turn brown and fall from trees. Air looses it warmth and brings forth gray skies and frost. The way I figure, Persephone either makes her decent on the first day of October and stays below until April, or her departure and return are marked by the autumnal and spring equinoxes. Personally, I embrace the equinox to equinox notion; the other way around is too mathy-mathy. Either way, she is gone for the next two seasons.


Persephone (Proserpine) by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I look forward to the crisp air. What does that mean, anyhow? I describe it as air that is fresh, dry, and odorless, with its edges lined in a cold, barely jagged border. Like a quick slap from the freezer on a scorching summer day.


Autumn Leaves by John Everett Millais

I look forward to woven sweaters in earthen shades, expressions of glowing jack-o-lanterns, and the robust warmth initiated by juicy turkey, creamy mashed potatoes, and seasoned pumpkin pie.

And certainly look forward to NOT seeing girls wear these things, together, every day, thinking it looks good:

(Real or fake, I really don't care. I think they are ugly either way.)

Who am I kidding? The girls will switch flip-flops for Ugg boots and t-shirts for hooded sweatshirts for thier mad dash to class . . . or the bar.