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.