'Tis the Season

I have graded all my students' papers, their finals are written, and I have one more official course meeting for my own class. The first semester back in full-time grad school has all but officially ended.

For most students and instructors, this would be a happy moment. But not for me. Not this year. Because lurking now, in just two weeks, and with nothing else to buffer me against them...

I have C O M P S.
(Comprehensive exams: the rite of passage among academics that 'prove' you are ready to begin your dissertation project, which is a whole other level of scholarly trials.) In my case, I will literally be put in a little room (6x6ft), with a writing surface, chair, laptop and a single can light above me. For eight hours, I will write my heart out. THEN, for the following two days, I'll do the same thing in the comfort of my own home. Count 'em: twenty-four hours of testing on everything I've studied in the past seven years.

THEN, early next year, I will have my oral defense of those exams. THEN write a dissertation proposal. THEN orally defend it. THEN write the actual dissertation. THEN orally defend it. And THEN, jump through lots of bureaucratic hoops for publication formatting, signature collection, microfiche-ing and binding, etc.

All so I can say, "That's DOCTOR, shift manager. Thankyouverymuch."

One of my committee members sat down with me to talk about "what kind of questions would really help me move toward" the dissertation project, in addition to testing my mastery of the field. Not thinking of the to-do queue above, but instead about the next two weeks, I answered: "True/false would be swell."

I'm not holding my breath.

Good news is that I have a number of friends who'd like to take me out after the final day of tests, in the hopes that I will--for only the second time in my life--set out to have a drink. (They're actually hoping I'll get drunk, but I point out that because I'm not a big drinker, holiday rum balls give me a buzz.)

The first and only other occasion was a decade ago with my classmates after our group Master's comps. Because I don't like how alcohol tastes (too reminiscent of the cough syrup from my childhood respiratory ills), I sampled a number of daiquiri flavors trying to find one was too fruity or chocolaty to taste the alcohol. By the time the waitress made me choose the least nasty of them, my throat burned, my stomach felt warm, my perception was a bit off and I'm told I sat smiling rosily for no reason. (Sorry no photos that I know of.)

And, beyond that capstone night on the town, it's home to see the family and celebrate the true meaning of Christmas*.

Well-researched holiday wishes to all. hiccup.

*#43 is my favorite: raw emotion AND poor punctuation; this family apparently sent this out with their name on it!

Happy T(of)urkey Day

Tomorrow in the United States, it's our annual Thanksgiving holiday. (wikipedia it for more on history, rituals, etc...)

They Know We're Grateful by the Quantity We Ingest
I will be attending my Nth annual "Orphan's Feast" at/with/for a group of friends in the southwest Valley. (A potluck for those who aren't/can't go to their families.) It's a buffet of cuisine, and I can't wait to sample the wide menu. I will, of course, contribute my potluck staple: green bean casserole. (I'm also taking some Santa Fe Stew, which is similarly easy-to-make and popular.)

So, as I eat thanks for all the positive I have in my life, a few memories with you in the hopes that you too have and appreciate your bounty.

• Harianne ("Yenta" of Ed Debevic's fame) and I ate veggie patties and watched Native American movies. Both of them. (including a favorite of mine, Sherman Alexie's Smoke Signals. "John Wayne has no teeth, hey-ya...")
• On a similar note, I'm also fond of the First Thanksgiving as portrayed in the movie Addams Family Values.
• Finally, menu-wise, when I was a hall director (campus housing), my fellow directors and I had a monthly potluck dinner as a bit of team-building. Each month, I took my green bean casserole --the only really decent thing I can cook (i., stir and heat). When December came, the host suggested we do a cookie exchange instead, and everyone turned to me, worried about what Thomas would bring. Non-plussed, I asked whether they hadn't heard of 'green bean casserole holiday balls.' Mmmm.

I took sugar cookies, made from the recipe on the bag. (But you gotta admit it sounds intriguing...)

Bourne Justice

At long last, the entertainment establishment has acknowledged what I have long known:

The Sexiest Man Alive
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21789226/

I will admit seeing ads for The Rainmaker years ago, with attached buzz of the up-and-coming new star, and thinking 'no big deal.' I have since realized the folly of my ways. And, finally the cultural definer that is People, agrees.

The line for congratulatory snogs starts behind me.

Somewhere, a place for me...

This was the first Veterans Day weekend in a number of years that I did not spend on "retreat" in Winslow, AZ at the La Posada hotel. With its front door on the historic Route 66, and the its back door on the intercontinental rail line, the hotel is being restored to its halcyon state. After first visiting for work in January 2002, I have visited almost every fall to enjoy the changing-foliage drive up, in-room fireplace, no phones, sunken garden, gourmet restaurant, train shaken anonymity. Not this year.

Consolation prize
No, this year, pending comprehensive exams and diminished grad student income have kept me from the annual escape. Instead, I am sorting, reading, outlining, cursing, synthesizing and attempting to (re)learn everything-there-is-to-know about Communication theory, qualitative research methods, whiteness, communication & identity, and intergroup dialogue. Tomorrow's forecast: sunny, and more of the same. Long range forecast: Ditto.

FYI, here's what the HIGHLIGHTS (i.e., non-cumulative) of seven years of doctoral work looks like spread in your living and dining rooms:



(House usually looks like as shown here.) More books and stacks of articles to come, by the pound!

All this so I can retort, "That's DOCTOR Shift Manager, thank you very much."

No Sweat and the Little Things

The past day was one of those that are my absolute favorites, weather-wise. Though the northern hemisphere passed its autumnal equinox a few weeks ago, yesterday was the first day here in Arizona when that chill was in the air--the clear evidence that summer's heat had broken, and that autumn's slide to winter had begun.

Fall is my favorite season. Dusk my favorite time of day. Threshholdy, gloaming, liminal I...

Nuggets of Happy
Despite having one friend just out of the hospital, the continued state of singlehood (thanks Brian for the next excellent conversating on Friday!), and a slew of things due tomorrow(comprehensive exam list, book chapter, consulting report, etc.), I have had to stop and smile a few times today:

• When leaving my house today on errands, a young woman I didn't recognize rode into my cul-de-sac on her bike, and without speaking, smiled and jingled her handlebar bells at me. She literally rode in, jangled her greeting, and rode out again. One of those random acts the bumper stickers call for...
• At The Coffeeshop today, I saw another longtime customer who was in an horrific car accident several years ago. She's physically very different, but today I could see the old sparkle in her eyes that made her so well-known and liked by all the regulars. Then another friend and her new girlfriend came in, so we got a quick catch-up.
• I was supposed to attend a meeting with a longtime friend in the next town over, but after nearly half an hour of trying, I couldn't find the church where it was held. Though I'm sorry not to have found it or the group, I did spend some time driving around an area I'm never in, and it reminded me of some of the old industrial parts of towns I grew up in. Ah, Nostalgia, AZ...
• I have the new Annie Lennox album, Songs of Mass Destruction, playing. Annie sings to whatever mood I'm in. She seems happy when I am, and the same songs comfort when that's what's called for. I heart her.

Today is one of the "moments" in my annual solar circuit. I hope it brings you some small wonders too.

For Brian...

To Each His [sic] Own. Here's Mine.

In noting recently to a friend that I've not been blogging often, I pined that it was not so much lack of time as lack of witty insights, questions and observations to share that held me back. Said friend said, as only good friends say, "What makes you think anything you've already posted is witty?"

Lowest common denominator
So, having broadened my content filter to include criteria beyond "witty," today's entry follows a grand tradition in the blogosphere of (occasionally) sharing one of the author's favorite locales, eateries, foods, movies, and perhaps even clever turn of phrase. Whether to educate, entertain or just earn some karma, I share a little gem of the earth whose export likely won't be the basis of a Leo Dicaprio movie.

Today's inaugural expose' is: The Cornish Pasty Co.

Nestled into a strip mall in west Tempe, AZ, this bar/bakery serves a wide selection of English meals-in-a-bun (and drinks), including an entire menu page of vegetarian ones. (Made for, not of, vegetarians.) They were out of the veggie shepherd's pie today, so I had quite the scrumptious (if not historically authentic) "Veggie Mexican": Veggie ground Mexican spiced beef, egg, potatoes,and cheddar jack cheese. Served with sides of sour cream and salsa. Light and sweet crust, hot and well-mixed stuffing; very nice!

Having lived a year in, and fallen in love with, Manchester, England, it's not often I can get truly good food that takes me back. I've gotten a few nice rolls of biscuits at import stores, and have only missed a meal at Shakespeare's Pub on one visit to San Diego; so finding a nearby and quality taste of "abroad" was quite the thrill this midday! (Thanks, Brian!)

SUMMARY: Reasonable prices, lots of convenient hours, good service ("Do you want one or split checks?" and brought, unrequested, "to go" salsa and sour cream with the box!), and most importantly, a tasty pasty. Suitors could certainly take me here.

BTW, as the staff shirt's point out, the fare is correctly pronounced "past-tee." Extra points to the place for the English lesson!

Where's Thomas?

This month marked the beginning of the new job, the new focus on graduate work and the schedule shift that both require. So, after several action-packed weeks of training, we launched the new school year with a gusto last week. As I teach very early --VERY early, and had to be on-campus every day last week for something, the month's gone quickly, and without any new posts.

Thankfully, most of the planet has gone about it's merry business none the worse for wear. In fact, probably only Brian has felt let down by my insensitive blog-silence. Unless my siblings happened by by mistake (auto-complete browser search bar be damned!).

1/2 of Heisenberg's Principle
So, a little visual something to engage, occupy, perhaps entertain and more importantly summarize the last month for you, my small --VERY small, reading public.

I give you, "Where's Thomas?"

This collage is one of two done by the staff at my favorite coffeehouse (Gold Bar!), and include many of their regulars, yours truly too.

Mother Nature's a mean stylist

Just in time to meet my new classmates, students and faculty, it happens...

The Cumulo-nimbus coif
It's "monsoon season" here in the Valley of the Sun, which technically means that the humidity level and dew point (temperature) have met certain criteria for a period of time. Popularly and practically, this means that we have storms most afternoons after the day's heat build up creates tremendous thunderstorms.

I'm familiar with these afternoon "gutterwashers," from growing up in the US Southeast, where summer temperatures were a little lower, but humidity was much higher--adding up to the same kind of predictable weather on summer evenings. In New Orleans, we actually planned meetings to begin before and end well after the 3pm hour, so regular were these drenchings.

I bring this up for more than the fact that these storms are probably the most significant meteorological events in the area. (Remember, a single little stray cloud in our big blue sky any day of the year is enough to have our newscasters prattle on about the "weather" we're having...) No, more than being climate conversation pieces, the storms and the season more generally make my normally rather flat and shapeless hair go wild.

(Here, Brian and others will have emitted some audible expression of their disbelief, to accompany their rolling eyes and observation that my hair can never be accurately described as tame or graceful, under the best circumstances. Many people have commented, in fact, that the South Park Thomas graphic, used as my avatar here, does a good job capturing my 'do's likeness.)

All the hair gets wavy, which is not in itself problematic --though the extra body makes it look uncombed. It's that my bangs turn into a series of half-pipe/sine waves across my forehead, ending in a rather feathered flourish. Atop some more holistically over-the-top bird of paradise, it wouldn't be so bad. But I look (even more) like the follicled love child of many a bad '80s teen celebs.

Thankfully, I have no picture to offer. (I'm even less photophilic in humidity.) So instead, I'll share the photo that explains, definitively, while I H A T E dressing up:

I can't believe I turned out as well as I have.

The more things stay the same...

As I’ve gotten some press from good friend and blog (tor)mentor, Brian, I thought it would probably be a good idea to post again. (As that’s what bloggers do, and what he’ll grill me for not doing.) So, here’s the latest attempt at sufficiently-disclosive, on-demand drabble.

Alphi and omegi
The next two weeks mark a significant transition for me: the final switch from ‘worker’ back to ‘student’. It’s been 8 years since I made this far-reaching a change in my activities and experience, and though a meaningful shift in me, I’m looking forward to the new opportunities and the ~1 year countdown to “Doctor” me, and the likely employment and location changes that title will allow.

Yet, while the new school year looms, and my new life as full-time grad student ambles toward me, the summer and various other life items are coming to end:

• Paycheck from full-time work. (Occasional bookstore and new TA checks are nice, but not quite so full-figured…)


• Long-planned student retreat (mentioned last post) went well, with a number of interesting mis-connects between students and faculty. Great colleagues; good work done; and the weather was lovely in San Jose. (Mentally clinging to those cool breezes…) It also was my last scheduled travel out of town, after a busy travel season.


• Just finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (or “HP7” as we say ‘in the industry’). FYI, the castle sinks, they all die…

So, in flux, here’s to balance!

I just knew I'd be (statistically similar-looking to someone) famous some day!

I'm staffing a college student retreat this weekend and will teaching again this fall, and so (having been off-campus for a few solid months this summer) I've been trying to put myself back in those shoes again --back in the mindset of the traditionally college-aged student.

The shoes still fit, even if the pants don't any longer, and I got to thinking about what I expected from leadership retreats in my day. (I know I didn't expect email/web, much less Wi-fi, didn't have cell phones, and all our music came on cassettes and CDs, to be played in bulky boom-boxes or Walkmen.)

Nostalgia and a few cups of hot tea later (guess what else I didn't expect on college retreat?!), I actually looked through some old, scanned photos, and --long story short-- ended up doing celebrity look-a-like comparisons on the web....

Verisimilitude
Of the various ages I tried, I thought this one yield the most interesting results:



That's me on the left, in my professional "Area Director" photo for the opening of the residence halls in the fall of 1998 --my first full time job, post-Master's degree.

The celebs honored enough to have ME come up when they load their photos include, from top-bottom and left-right, IN DESCENDING ORDER OF SIMILARITY:
1 . Terence Howard (72% match)
2. Tom Cruise
3. Sophie Marceau
4. Adrien Brody
5. Jet Li
6. Hugh Grant
7. Camilla Parker-Bowles
-- Dermot Mulroney (not pictured)
8. Gael Garcia Bernal (at just under 60% match)

While generally pleased at the selections and their multiculturalism, I must say Ms Parker-Bowles was a bit of surprise. (Damn cups of tea!)

Other notables dopplegangers from various age-comparisons: (Turkish singer) Tarkan, actress Selma Blair, Jodie Sweetin (!!!), footballer Michael Owen, (New Zealand Prime Minister) Helen Clark, Backstreet Boy Brian Littrell, actor James Spader, singer Avril Lavinge and unlabel-able Mandy Moore.

Sadly, the "South Park me" (my profile pic) was "not recognized" as a having face by the MyHeritage software.

While I'm reliving my youth (or at least trying to keep up with theirs), take a gander and let me know who's living your 15 minutes for you...

All hail King of the Obvious!

Apparently, with these "blog" things you are supposed to regularly post new content. (In my day, we printed one edition of something and were happy with that....) So, lucky you:

Friday the Thirteenth
While I could step into most any Roman Catholic church in the world, and actively participate (in English) in the Mass, I am not a religious person. Though a keen survival instinct and significant OSHA training prevent my walking under ladders, I do not consider myself superstitious. And despite being told by numerous (likely self-identifying spiritual) people that I strike them as “spiritual,” I don’t feel it an apt description of me. (Nor right for them to accuse me of striking them in the first place.)

And yet, there are times when I cannot help but attend to clear messages delivered to me by the universe. For example, on my recent vacation to “down under, next door” the universe (in this instance taking the form of an accented shop owner) spoke to me, convincingly explaining why I HAD to have the cloak handmade by same weaver who'd made the costumes for a certain movie trilogy I enjoy more than ketchup.

An example you may more easily identify with is when one’s car loses power completely while driving down the street (as mine did tonight), and one is hard-pressed to miss the “take me to your mechanic” content of the situation. When this has happened twice already in the previous nine months, one also begins to see more subtle nuances emerging: namely “new mechanic” or perhaps, “Prius…”

Therefore, it ought not to have come as any surprise that the past few weeks have found a pattern increasingly less subtly hidden in my daily life:

• Within a week of one another, two professional acquaintances whom I rarely see have independently and proactively offered to set me up on sight-unseen dates with “nice” friends of theirs.
• My mother, not one to EVER ask about my social life, has acknowledged and since inquired about whether and how these dates are going.
• This week, a good friend ran into me at my favorite coffee shop, early for her own ‘date’, and we ended up spending a few hours comparing dating stories, looking through online personals for one another and bemoaning the general low level of good grammar among other singles.

Hmmm, spidey sense is tingling that despite needing to concentrate on 1) supporting myself through 2) finishing my doctorate in the next year as 3) a likely ticket out of the desert, could cupid be calling?

To be sure, there are many repeated messages in my life, many arriving by email, that I choose to ignore outright: “bigger!,” “grow hair,” “must stay the course in Iraq” and “UK lottery winner” among them. Others I do miss, however conspicuous they are; such as with my last significant other, who all but asked me out on our first meeting—an interest glaring to everyone else in the entire bar except yours truly.

So it stands to reason that, especially in the realm of romance, the gentle nudge from the universe couldn't possibly be so obvious as the past few weeks seem to suggest. (He didn't mind, and the friends still love telling the story, bless their hearts.)

But just in case, and hoping I haven’t mis-translated it all, I took a step and asked out a cute, nice and refreshingly self-aware and –expressive friend of a roommate of a friend of a friend, whom I met by accident last weekend. (Diagram THAT sentence!) If my google-stalking his email doesn’t scare him entirely, and I have correctly decoded the signs of late, today may turn out to have been less unlucky than it’s widely held to be.

So, chubby cherub of affection, Thomas has heard and answered the clue phone on this one.

You better not be calling just for directions. Or collect.

...When I'm (a Commodore) 64

My uncle recently asked me to jot down some thoughts on getting older, as part of a research project he's participating in. (He thought it would be interesting to see what our 30 years' difference might add to the observations.) Having inherited the family's joy at talking about ourselves, I thought this might be an apropos start for the blog I've long considered, but hadn't been bothered to begin.

So, after being featured on my friend Brian's blog on several occasions, I hereby debut my own occasional ramblings.* Lucky you. *No representation is made about the quality of blog posting services offered.

Obsolescence
Particularly in the last month (with a job change, and the related 'spike' in communicating with wide variety of folks concerned about my next steps), I have become particularly away of my age/aging, specifically through my relationship to technology. I remember my grandfather talking about his first experience with a car, and my own wonder that a letter to my father regarding his college admissions reached him successfully, addressed only with his name and small town. So it shouldn't surprise me that I can gauge my own generation gap from those younger than me using gadgets and communication methods.

In presentations on diversity and social justice--focused on reminding people that their worldview (their perception and evaluation of the world around them) is relative, I have used the example with current college students that I was introduced to email late in my college career, and had to petition the dean for an account; whereas now, mere applicants to the university are given an account. Once a rare commodity, email is now given away like candy! But, I've adapted to and learned to live with (love/need) email, and smile a little at my mother's confusion between email addresses and internet URL addresses. (No I can't email you at your work's website address...) I've even warmed slightly to the cell phone I've only had 2 years, after resisting having one for many more.

But lately, folks my own age and younger are using more and more immediate systems of communicating--instant messaging on computers, and text messaging on phones. And I REALLY don't like this technology, or the "relationships" they support. I have asked people not to text me, and I call anyone who does, often without checking the message itself. I have called out students, even colleagues and superiors, who sit in class or meetings and "unobtrusively" type away on phone or Blackberry while the rest of us are conducting business. I still laud a colleague who texted our university president "enjoy the show!" as he typed furiously on his wireless device as the curtain went up on a campus theatre event.

All this to say, have I become a Luddite? A modern, higher functioning one, but one nonetheless? More likely, it means I have reached the age where I, my trends and my familiar technology are no longer the literal golden children of society. (At classroom presentation a few years ago, I challenged the students to guess where I was from, hoping to make a point presumptions made about accents and skin color. Instead, I was shocked and amused that the first answer was a matter-of-fact, "The 80s!" So the time warp is not entirely my own internal experience.)

Thus, at age 34, somewhere between my mid- and quarter-life crises, I have finally realized I'm dated. (Sadly not in the romantic interest sense, but that's another entry.) Yes, the students talk about me as one of "them"--the amusing older folks, with their quaint anachronisms (like landline phones, and a preference for them). I'm now "humored," just like my siblings and friends did for family and administrators ahead of us.

If I knew how, perhaps I could use my cell's web capability to find my own photo under "curmudgeon" in Wikipedia. I think it can do that, but don't really care to try. Humbug! (or should that be HMBG [scowling smiley]?)