The End-Term 1

Monday:

I woke before the sun.
I enjoyed a slow shower, slow cup of freshly pressed coffee, and a leisurely view of the sunrise out my window.
Then I received a call letting me know that I was horribly late for my new research assistant job on campus.

Shit. I forgot about that.

I highly recommend, just once in your life, attempting to get dressed in nearly freezing weather, at full sprint, down a public street. No worries kids, I made sure my wellies were on before I flew out the front door. Priorities darlings.

In an unfathomable display of generosity, the bus driver chose to acknowledge my screams and stop the bus just as he was pulling out into traffic. What I failed to gather when dashing out the door, however, was my bus pass. So I did the American thing and threw too much money at him and took a seat. The bus driver was left confused and anxious, befuddled and mumbling to himself, but he did my bidding all the same. Catching the bus at least allowed me the chance to finish snapping on my bra and properly wrap up my scarf.

I arrived with seconds to spare. As soon as my things were carelessly flung to the corner of the testing lab, 20 undergraduate participants began lining up, ready to perform the last task in the PhD student's experiment. As she attempted to explain my duties, I realised I wasn't the only one having trouble getting my shit together that morning. Poor thing. The participants were to gamble for real money and I was the designated bank. The first participant won, and I asked the PhD what to give him. She handed me a paper bag impregnated with smaller bags of coins coupled with a dismissive "Here", then turned to tend to the next participant in line. The first participant won £2. I spied several small plastic bags of silver coins, and delivered one unto the student. What I actually managed to do, as I was soon to find out, was give the first participant £10 in 50 pence coins. The bags were not, as I thought, pre-divided into the payout options, but were in standard UK-bank coin bags, segregated by denomination. Well, poop.

So I Americaned out again. I knew I had roughly 10 minutes before the second round of participants were ready and a bank lay less than 10 minutes away. I turned to this ever so young and now frazzled PhD student and convinced her to calm the fuck down.... I got this.

I ran to the bank. Procured a £10 bag of 50 pence coins from my account. The moment I left the bank, however, I knew I wasn't going to make it in time. Even at a full sprint (assuming I had that in me sans breakfast) I seriously doubted my physical abilities at that point.

But what was this? A refuse truck headed in the same direction? Right up the main road? I jumped onto the passenger side foot lift and asked if they were headed north. They confirmed and I yelled through the partially opened window that I was "in serious need of transportation help", "frightfully late", and would jump off at corner X & Y.... IF ONLY I COULD JUST SNAG A RIDE FOR THE GIBBET HILL STRETCH!?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I ended up riding the outside of a refuse truck to save someone's research study. Was it all worth it? Do you really need to ask :)

Tuesday:

What to say about Tuesday...
Tuesday is the second day in the traditional work week. Tuesday is the sixty-fifth workday in a postgraduate week. Tuesday carries a momentum with magical, other worldly powers that keeps the mover moving until Friday. Well, Friday afternoon, at least.

This evening I took a deliberate leap and met with a professor who's single lecture pushed me to question assumptions I wasn't even aware needed questioning. He graciously agreed to a late-in-the-day meeting. Afterwork meetings are a touchy business. As the asker, one must be aware that the receiver can be mentally exhausted by this time. He (or she) is wearing a full workday by this point. A Tuesday workday, at that. He, in this case, could have easily dismissed my inquiries, belittled my pensive, probing questions, and left me feeling quite impotent, due to his own fatigue driven honesty.

Or...

He could have exhibited a rare openness that can also stem from the same fatigue driven honesty. I was lucky enough to be the recipient of the latter.

I predicated this meeting upon my desires for a PhD. The meeting, however, turned into a delightful exchange of philosophical ideas. We discussed Thoreau, Emerson, Mill, Russell, Wittgenstein, rationality, object-based vs. subject-based science, & more. Even the notion of the sustainability of a rock became a topic of severe interest. He's one of the few people I've met who allowed me quiet reflection in the middle of our discussion. This meeting gave me food for thought. Precisely what I needed.

Working title: The Wrong Side Of An Economics Lecture

The clock is not moving.

.

.

.

.

.

I'm sitting here,

Victim to destructive thoughts of sanity,

And the clock refuses to tick.

.

.

.

Neither will it tock.

.

.

What does this clock have against me?

Have I wasted too much of it's gift?

Have I spent too frivolously?

.

.

.

The silence.
A resounding,

Yes.

.

.

.

This is my punishment.

This is the consequent for my frivolities.

          Time refuses to allow me further forward progression.

Time has shut me out.
.

.

.

.

.

Tick, you bastard.

tick.

Wednesday:

Day of reflection.

Life is everything imaginable. Strap in and I hope you enjoy the ride.

Here are some pictures:

So far, I'm the only postgruadate this term from the states.

I don't know who this goose is, but he's got his own shack on an island in the middle of the city. Cool.

This goose danced for me. It only seemed polite to take his picture and applaud his two-step.

Abandoned downtown bus station at 15 to 2(am).

Thursday:

There's nothing quite like reviewing an entire course's information in 2 frightfully short hours.

Friday:

Last day of Term 1.

We were kicked out of the private, postgrad work space 3 hours before the Assessment #3 deadline, for our "safety". A peaceful student protest was scheduled to be held in front of the building in 2 hours. When I say kicked out, I mean they had to send in the cops to remove me from my work space. I was the last hold out. It started with the director of the postgrad space asking us all to leave. After several visits, it ended with him imploring me - the last holdout - to leave. I remember at some point yelling out, "I protest the protest!" It officially ended when I realised the cops standing in front of me were just a couple short breaths away from bodily removing me from my work space "for my safety". My only thoughts were for the safety of my laptop and the oh, so precious non-backed-up work on it. So I left of my own accord, flanked by cops to be sure, but walking on my own two feet. I won't go so easily next time, however. Next time, I will remember I have Dropbox 2.0.22, and insurance.

By late lunch I was busy having drinks with fellow postgrads at one of the campus pubs. This was closely followed by a liquid PhD meeting at the next campus pub. The day came to a close with one last, yet spectacularly terrible, cider closer with a friend at a third campus pub. I slept until Sunday.

SEE YOU IN THE NEW YEAR :D

Ninth Week-Term 1

Monday:

Today I attended my first official Rotary luncheon (District 1060). Terry Bond, my original contact whilst still overseas, was my acting host for the day. Might I say, a lovely group of people, indeed. We dined on soup, bread, sauce-covered delicacies, and jovial conversations. I had the unique privilege of being the only female at the table. The men, all seemingly long-time friends, threw jibes at one another and gave each a 'good ribbing'. I was well entertained.

The speaker was Paul Carvell, Chair of North Warwickshire Chamber of Commerce. He spoke of infrastructure, job prospects, the uniqueness of N. Warwickshire commerce, and the social aspect of their growth (or lack thereof, depending on your perspective). Very intriguing, I must say.

Mr. Carvell said something particularly interesting toward the end which resonated for days... still is, as a matter of fact. He speculated that if The Tube was a city planning proposal for London today, it would probably fail. A feature of London that is so ingrained in the minds of people, a truly wondrous transportation system, that it is near impossible to imagine the metropolis without. Yet, he speculated that, given the mentality of the people today, counter arguments of a fairly rational nature would kill the project in its infancy. "We already have good roads, plenty of cars, taxis, even a bus system. Why do we need to sink more money into a massive project that will tear up neighbourhoods and put people out?" Food for thought...

There were also plenty of attorneys at the table. This set my mind wondering and I became temporarily lost for pondering the traditional attorney tag, "You don't have to answer that." Why is it so important for an attorney to say such a thing? Perhaps it is because we standard, run of the mill humans have a compulsion to answer direct questioning. If so, why do we have such a compulsion? Is this, yet again, some throwback from our childhood? As children, we're [practically] punished if we don't answer a direct question from an adult. I can certainly pull up a number of instances from my own experience. We are taught it is the polite thing to do, after all. And let's not forget, politeness is the cornerstone of a healthy society... blah, blah, blah.

Tuesday:

I was treated to a movie today with two other lovely postgrads from my course. We saw Captain Phillips. Exposé on the movie. On my own, I had no desire to see this movie. I vividly remember the news coverage of this event. I remember the animalistic excitement of Americans replaying the Navy Seal actions against the Somalian pirates. I did not want to suffer another story of murder-turned-American pride. However, my curiosity was peaked after hearing the excited reviews from others. So I attended.

Tom Hanks was everything Tom Hanks is. We wished nothing, but the best for his character, because we did not see Captain Phillips, we saw Tom Hanks.... and we Americans adore Tom Hanks. Yes, I too, like to watch Tom Hanks on screen. So the hero factor was a certain.

But what about the bad guys? We hate Somalian pirates, right? I mean, we revelled in their deaths, after all, when the news came through the wires. 

Oh contraire, mon frère. The four unknowns cast as the pirates were magnificent on the big screen. The directing was superb on their parts. The close-ups and disquieted, piercing glares were all the more shocking on screen, and we loved them. We fell in love with our nemesis and found ourselves lamenting their deaths. We knew it was coming, but we hoped all the same. Their deaths created a shock that washed over the theatre. As can happen with a well told story, we saw the human in the monster, just before the final stroke.

Wednesday:

What is this? It is beautiful, but what is it?
Musicians' compulsion to play together. To bond over a shared language, but it's more than familiarity. It's an excitement. It's finding someone who also speaks your language, but has improved upon it. The Other wants to express those improvements, put it all out on the table. Then you come with your improvements. Spread them out for listening pleasure or pain. A mystery until experienced. The product of a musical cocktail, equal parts compulsion and desire, stirred with pride, and a twist of fear.

"Your language is different from mine."
                                          "It's called harmony."

I woke up today from a fully orchestrated dream. I composed another song while dreaming. Haven't done that in..... I don't know how many years.

Then I promptly fell asleep in another morning lecture. Such is life.

Thursday:

Footnotes from Postgraduate Land:

• "There's something positive to be said about low investment (education), small return (job)."
• "The guy in front of us has very impressive ear hair."
• "It's always about assumptions."
• "What we now have is a formula for murder."
• "Look at your suffering. Begin there."
• "discovery -> knowledge -> power -> control"
• "Psychology is mostly irrelevant. It's an academic parlour game."
• "If mechanism is rubbish, what about cyborg science?"
• "You ever commit a move so familiar you must take pause to revel in the sweet state of familiarity? You should."
• "I find long-slumbering players privately waking & quietly, insidiously sneaking out. I hope Crazy stays slumbering."

Friday & Saturday:

Decided to give everyone a treat and cook a (semi)traditional Thanksgiving dinner. It was well worth it.