Today I had lunch with an old friend who's also a scientist, also a woman, and who also did her postgraduate work at Melbourne Uni. When she heard that I am feeling more than a little lost, she said that everyone feels this way at the beginning of a PhD program, particularly one without coursework. She thinks she did about 10% of her PhD in her first year (and about 80% in the final six months), which sounds about the same as my master's. At the beginning, there's so little guidance, so little structure. I suppose the main goal of this first year can be succinctly summarized: know more. So I'm reading and taking notes on what I'm reading and looking for more things to read and then reading them and taking notes and reading more. This process involves little action, little doing. And the more I read and learn, the more I realize how little I actually know. At the end of the day, it's all quite unsatisfying.
Which brings me to today's metaphor. This first part of a PhD feels a lot like trying to get a truck out of sand: lots of going nowhere interspersed with brief moments of movement that, ultimately, don't really get you anywhere either. And the whole time, your heart's beating fast enough to blow a rib because you're so afraid of being stuck in this place permanently. And you're trying all sorts of different approaches (reversing, rocking, sticks under the wheels, rocks under the wheels) but with a certain overtone of panic that makes it hard to give any one approach the time and attention it requires, all the while cycling between fear (How long before someone comes along?) and intense jubilation (The truck moved - it's going to wo--). After what feels like an eternity, you wear yourself out enough to calm down and commit to one approach. You dig several layers of rocks in under the tires and, miracle of all miracles, you manage to pop out of the hole you're in and you're rolling - you're rolling! - and you can't stop or turn around or do anything but drive steadily forwards until you're back on solid ground.
Not that I've ever been in this sort of situation.
January 23, 2007
Day One
Things you want to know:
- The woman whose desk is next to mine studies kangaroo fertility - or more correctly, she studies kangaroo birth control. I kid you not; her dissertation involves dosing roos with hormones that are identical to the pill.
- My supervisor apologized for my office, which contains brand spanking new desks, a huge window, and my own file cabinet. He started to apologize for the desk chairs - which were not designed for use in the bowels of a dreary office building housing an underfunded government department in the 50's, do not come with wires to poke me in the bum, and do not list dangerously to port - but I cut him off. My office used to be in a trailer, I explained - a trailer that during one particular deluge, started to float. I kid you not.
- I remembered to wear pants.
Things you don't want to know:
- The basement houses a room of aquaria full of venomous marine creatures. Occasionally, the marine tech walks in to find undergrad's from other departments wandering around looking at the tanks. When he asks them what they're doing they usually say something like, "We heard this room was here, man, and we heard it was really cool." He's asked for locks to be installed on the door because there's only one thing worse than finding random students wandering through your lab: finding random students passed out in your lab.
- The same marine tech told me about a student taken by a shark a couple of years ago while at his dive safety stop. There was also a student who lost a leg. (I should not be blogging about this - the family is going to freak.) Both occurred in South Australia, and the leg loss occurred after the divers were spear fishing near a seal colony. I will not be diving in SA, nor will I be spear fishing near a seal colony - or really doing anything in the water near a seal colony. And I have already promised my husband that I will not let myself get taken by a shark.
- I remembered to wear pants.
- The woman whose desk is next to mine studies kangaroo fertility - or more correctly, she studies kangaroo birth control. I kid you not; her dissertation involves dosing roos with hormones that are identical to the pill.
- My supervisor apologized for my office, which contains brand spanking new desks, a huge window, and my own file cabinet. He started to apologize for the desk chairs - which were not designed for use in the bowels of a dreary office building housing an underfunded government department in the 50's, do not come with wires to poke me in the bum, and do not list dangerously to port - but I cut him off. My office used to be in a trailer, I explained - a trailer that during one particular deluge, started to float. I kid you not.
- I remembered to wear pants.
Things you don't want to know:
- The basement houses a room of aquaria full of venomous marine creatures. Occasionally, the marine tech walks in to find undergrad's from other departments wandering around looking at the tanks. When he asks them what they're doing they usually say something like, "We heard this room was here, man, and we heard it was really cool." He's asked for locks to be installed on the door because there's only one thing worse than finding random students wandering through your lab: finding random students passed out in your lab.
- The same marine tech told me about a student taken by a shark a couple of years ago while at his dive safety stop. There was also a student who lost a leg. (I should not be blogging about this - the family is going to freak.) Both occurred in South Australia, and the leg loss occurred after the divers were spear fishing near a seal colony. I will not be diving in SA, nor will I be spear fishing near a seal colony - or really doing anything in the water near a seal colony. And I have already promised my husband that I will not let myself get taken by a shark.
- I remembered to wear pants.
January 22, 2007
Early this morning I woke up with a jolt of panic: I was late for school. Except that school doesn't start until tomorrow - and here it's not called school, it's called Uni. My friend A keeps reminding me of that. She also corrects my pronunciation of the word "mobile" - as in, cell phone - to make sure that I enunciate the "ile" part of the word, which I tend to swallow making it MObl rather than moBILE.
This has nothing to do with anything much at all. There will be no pithy sentence that ties this together with the fact that we scored a dresser yesterday off a NY'er who lives around the corner and who advertised it on Craiglist, a service that I wish more people in Melbourne would use. I feel like I unpacked for the first time in a year and a half.
This also has nothing to do with the fact that I'm addicted to spider solitaire and that I will have to uninstall it this evening or risk never finishing my dissertation.
Which reminds me that I'm starting my dissertation tomorrow. Tomorrow I will be a doctoral student. And presumably, one day I will be a doctor. In case it wasn't completely obvious, this fills me with nervous, jittery excitement. I'm sure that tonight I'll have one of those dreams where I'm giving a presentation to my colleagues only to realize half way through that I'm not wearing any pants.
This has nothing to do with anything much at all. There will be no pithy sentence that ties this together with the fact that we scored a dresser yesterday off a NY'er who lives around the corner and who advertised it on Craiglist, a service that I wish more people in Melbourne would use. I feel like I unpacked for the first time in a year and a half.
This also has nothing to do with the fact that I'm addicted to spider solitaire and that I will have to uninstall it this evening or risk never finishing my dissertation.
Which reminds me that I'm starting my dissertation tomorrow. Tomorrow I will be a doctoral student. And presumably, one day I will be a doctor. In case it wasn't completely obvious, this fills me with nervous, jittery excitement. I'm sure that tonight I'll have one of those dreams where I'm giving a presentation to my colleagues only to realize half way through that I'm not wearing any pants.
January 17, 2007
Oh verr
I am done with my temp job. Let me hear a chorus of "Hallelujahs". Lumpkin suggested I steal a t-shirt on my way out the door, one that read "Foster's - Australian for Cow Urine". Lumpkin makes me laugh. There is only one thing I will miss from that job and he sat a few rows away from me. Boy was he nice to look at. But I am more than happy to give up eye candy and air conditioning for the glamorous life style of an underpaid, overworked grad student.
Other wonderful things in my day include the cool breeze wafting in through the back door. Stepping out of the office today, the air felt heavy as if it really wanted to rain but couldn't quite get over the habits formed by eight years of drought. Droughts are addictive.
Speaking of droughts, I arrived home yesterday (bearing ice cream) to find my large tomato plant wilting miserably in its pot, it's leaves shriveled and dry. I rushed to the rescue with a bowl of gray water (we recycle the dish water) and less than ten minutes later, the plant was back to its rabid splendor. I swear it grows half a foot a day. If you notice that I haven't posted in a while, send clippers and a machete.
And that's about the news from here. It is refreshingly cool. I have a five day weekend and then - ack! I start my PhD. Oh shit. I hadn't really been thinking about that. For every "oh verr" there's and "oh god".
Other wonderful things in my day include the cool breeze wafting in through the back door. Stepping out of the office today, the air felt heavy as if it really wanted to rain but couldn't quite get over the habits formed by eight years of drought. Droughts are addictive.
Speaking of droughts, I arrived home yesterday (bearing ice cream) to find my large tomato plant wilting miserably in its pot, it's leaves shriveled and dry. I rushed to the rescue with a bowl of gray water (we recycle the dish water) and less than ten minutes later, the plant was back to its rabid splendor. I swear it grows half a foot a day. If you notice that I haven't posted in a while, send clippers and a machete.
And that's about the news from here. It is refreshingly cool. I have a five day weekend and then - ack! I start my PhD. Oh shit. I hadn't really been thinking about that. For every "oh verr" there's and "oh god".
January 13, 2007
What's in a look
When you've lost all your clothes the phrase, "I have nothing to wear" takes on new meaning. I'm working hard to regenerate my wardrobe but it's a struggle. Part of my problem is that I don't want to look like everyone else. On the tram to and from work, I am surrounded by hoards of identically dressed women, none of whom have a style I want to even come close to emulating. Think: Marina chick in a southern Californian mall. On a good day, I'll see a couple of women wearing an outfit that I like, which makes for pretty slim pickin's inspiration-wise and complicates this whole fill-up-the-wardrobe thing. When I try to go shopping, I end up rejecting over 90% of the clothes most shops have on offer. It's all the same! It's all U-Glee! And then there's the fight against the urge to buy the safe clothes, the things that look good but bore me to tears.
After reading this article, I realized that what I'm actually struggling with is defining my own style. I have never - NEVER - been a style junkie, or a fashionista, or someone who can name more than three labels - and that's on a good day. My uniform until a few years ago was a t-shirt and jeans. Now I own heels and even occasionally wear them. Admitting that I do appreciate clothes and want to feel confident in what I'm wearing has been a big step for me. Actually leaving the safe comfort of t-shirts and jeans for clothes that are stylish and opinionated is one hell of a struggle.
One of the first steps is admitting that I like clothes. Hi, my name's Bartlebee and I like clothes. Having never been to AA, I'm not sure what comes next. Perhaps recognizing that fashion does matter, that what I wear does matter, and, most importantly, that it's ok that it matters. This part is a work in progress.
After reading this article, I realized that what I'm actually struggling with is defining my own style. I have never - NEVER - been a style junkie, or a fashionista, or someone who can name more than three labels - and that's on a good day. My uniform until a few years ago was a t-shirt and jeans. Now I own heels and even occasionally wear them. Admitting that I do appreciate clothes and want to feel confident in what I'm wearing has been a big step for me. Actually leaving the safe comfort of t-shirts and jeans for clothes that are stylish and opinionated is one hell of a struggle.
One of the first steps is admitting that I like clothes. Hi, my name's Bartlebee and I like clothes. Having never been to AA, I'm not sure what comes next. Perhaps recognizing that fashion does matter, that what I wear does matter, and, most importantly, that it's ok that it matters. This part is a work in progress.
If you like fish...
... here are two particularly novel ways to show your love. If you like music as well as the fishies, then try this lovely fish tank piano. If seeing a piano reminds you of the hours of practice that you were forced into by a mother who could tolerate your tantrums and still get her way, hours you would rather have spent in the bathroom, then perhaps this fish tank will be more
to your liking.
to your liking.
January 09, 2007
Proof that moving countries is hard even when you allegedly speak the language
Exhibit A: The following conversation, which ensued after I pulled my morning snack from my bag.
Colleague: Oooh! What’s that?
Me: A scone.
Colleague: But what’s wrong with it?
Me: What do you mean, what’s wrong with it? Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s a scone.
Colleague (poking scone): But it’s so flat.
Me: Aren't scones supposed to be flat?
Colleague: No they're not.
Me: They are in the States.
Colleague: They’re not over here.
Me: Then what do you call what I'm eating?
Colleague: I dunno. Is it a muesli slice?
Me: What’s a muesli slice?
Colleagues: A slice with muesli in it.
Me (under breath): Well that's helpful.
Colleague: That has muesli in it, doesn't it?
Me: No, just oats.
Colleague (looking at me like I'm a moron): Right. So, it has muesli in it.
Me: Yeah?
Colleagues: So it's a muesli slice.
Me: Of course. How could I be so silly? Why yes of course this is a muesli slice.
January 07, 2007
Bleak
My brother Lumpkin just sent me an email. He's sitting at home in his shorts with all the windows and skylights open. He lives in New York. It's January.
Stop and think about that for a moment.
On Christmas day, Melbourne and NY shared the same temperature. Middle of summer; middle of winter. I am starting to think that my Master's advisor may have been serious when he told all of his grad students to buy land in Manitoba.
I had a nightmare a few years ago in which The End had come. My friend KC and I were in a tent in the middle of an apocalyptic desert surrounded by blowing sand and searing sun, applying duct tape to the zippers to try and keep the toxic winds out. And then we huddled together, recalling images from our favourite hiking spots: the towering green freshness of the redwoods; browned California hills scattered with wildflowers and scraggly oaks; the glacier-smoothed granite of the Sierras. And we cried at the loss which was so much greater than our own lives. I woke up soaked in desolation.
I am still occasionally gripped by panic at the thought that the Earth is going to hell in a hand-basket. Or more correctly, that Homo sapiens is going down and taking most things with it. And then I get an email from my bro and I realize that this is actually happening. This is not some nightmare. This is not a thought to try to avoid in order to feel better. This Is Actually Happening. Will politicians wake up in time to avert the worst of it? I don't know. Can I do much more than I'm already doing? I don't know - we have green power, barely drive, vote for people who understand environmental issues, and shop with a conscience. Is it enough? I don't know. Do I feel hopeful? Rarely.
Prognosis: bleak.
Stop and think about that for a moment.
On Christmas day, Melbourne and NY shared the same temperature. Middle of summer; middle of winter. I am starting to think that my Master's advisor may have been serious when he told all of his grad students to buy land in Manitoba.
I had a nightmare a few years ago in which The End had come. My friend KC and I were in a tent in the middle of an apocalyptic desert surrounded by blowing sand and searing sun, applying duct tape to the zippers to try and keep the toxic winds out. And then we huddled together, recalling images from our favourite hiking spots: the towering green freshness of the redwoods; browned California hills scattered with wildflowers and scraggly oaks; the glacier-smoothed granite of the Sierras. And we cried at the loss which was so much greater than our own lives. I woke up soaked in desolation.
I am still occasionally gripped by panic at the thought that the Earth is going to hell in a hand-basket. Or more correctly, that Homo sapiens is going down and taking most things with it. And then I get an email from my bro and I realize that this is actually happening. This is not some nightmare. This is not a thought to try to avoid in order to feel better. This Is Actually Happening. Will politicians wake up in time to avert the worst of it? I don't know. Can I do much more than I'm already doing? I don't know - we have green power, barely drive, vote for people who understand environmental issues, and shop with a conscience. Is it enough? I don't know. Do I feel hopeful? Rarely.
Prognosis: bleak.
January 04, 2007
Black
The new look of my blog may be bright and colourful ("clownish" according to Z), but my mood certainly isn't. After a week off between Christmas and the New Year, I am back in the tedium that is my temp job. No matter how many times during the day I repeat, "Six days left ..." it still sucks. Even Si's "I am in my happy place" Ikea-faring mantra does nothing to help. It's also hot hot hot except at my desk where I sit literally shivering all day. Have I mentioned that I don't like my job?
I suppose I can't wholly blame the job for The Mood. It's been skulking around for a couple of weeks now and as much as I try to shake it, it won't be shook. So, I garden and bake and organize the kitchen's stock of dried goods into neatly labeled jars and, when that's done, find myself staring into the blackness above our bed and, when I get tired of that, pacing the hallway through the witching hours. I'm sure the insomnia-induced exhaustion doesn't help.
And I'm also sure it will pass - I mean, eventually it has to, right? Until it does, I'm staying close to home and (here I quote Mr. Sassyass) missing y'all terribly.
I suppose I can't wholly blame the job for The Mood. It's been skulking around for a couple of weeks now and as much as I try to shake it, it won't be shook. So, I garden and bake and organize the kitchen's stock of dried goods into neatly labeled jars and, when that's done, find myself staring into the blackness above our bed and, when I get tired of that, pacing the hallway through the witching hours. I'm sure the insomnia-induced exhaustion doesn't help.
And I'm also sure it will pass - I mean, eventually it has to, right? Until it does, I'm staying close to home and (here I quote Mr. Sassyass) missing y'all terribly.
January 01, 2007
The good kind of censorship
From Lake Superior State University's list of banished words for 2006, comes the following:
And my other favourite:Halthy Food
Someone told Joy Wiltzius of Fort Collins, Colorado, that the tuna steak she had for lunch "sounded healthy." Her reply: "If my lunch were healthy, it would still be swimming somewhere. Grilled and nestled in salad greens, it's 'healthful.'"
Lamethetic is a great word - watch, they'll have to ban it next year!Combined Celebrity Names
"It's bad enough that celebrities have to be the top news stories. Now we've given them obnoxious names such as 'Bragelina,' 'TomKat' and 'Bennifer.'" -- M. Foster, Port Huron, Michigan."It's so annoying, idiotic and so lame and pathetic that it's 'lamethetic.'" -- Ed of Centreville, Virginia.
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