Tomorrow is that blessed day, which occurs only once a year. Everyone gets together to celebrate giving thanks. It started out as pilgrims giving thanks for a harvest after they all starved their first winter, but now it's really all about the food.
I mean, what would Thanksgiving be without the turkey, cranberry sauce (with the rings), stuffing, gravy, black olives in dishes, corn, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, a veritable barrage of pies and all those people to eat it with you?
You could still give thanks. Right? I mean, if thanksgiving in this country is so popular because of the strife and peril that our ancestors went through, shouldn't we honor that a little more? Did they sacrifice so we could stuff our faces into a food coma? I don't think so. They sacrificed for religious rights, freedom, and for some, just for the spirit of adventure to see unseen lands.
I wish our country was a lot more like that of old. Where people put in a days hard work and felt the satisfaction from the sweat and blood and tears. They lived with the seasons and felt alive! How many people these days aren't connected to life? People have eye strain because of how much time they spend on the computer or watching TV. Spines have curved due to all the sitting, and abs of steel are only found in gyms.
So tomorrow, I propose giving thanks for accomplished tasks or of hardships now past, instead of being thankful for our material possessions, large bank accounts, or prestige. We should all be thankful for the things that aren't so tangible. Family willing to look past our shortcomings, friends who have our back through think and thin, good work ethics which help us achieve more out of our life and for accomplishing something meaningful on an individual level. Maybe people should be thankful that they can be the change they want to see in the world. They just need the courage to try.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Kicking Butt
Sometimes friends can make all the difference in the world. I'd been stressed out all week with proposals, homework, little sleep, etc. By Friday, I was running on basically nothing except adrenaline. My bestie Brett showed up in the last 20 minutes of my proposal writing tornado and said, "Take your time, we do have the next 48 hours to do nothing."
It hadn't hit me yet how true that was. I'd been working on an INSANE schedule, freaking out and generally not being a human being. I was frazzled, and didn't realize that the weekend had in fact arrived!
So true to our athletic natures we decided to go rock climbing after dinner and did some great climbs. Brett had never climbed before, so he had the virgin climber fear of falling, which meant he only got half way up the first time. I was just calmly belaying him when his hand slipped a little on a caterpillar hold and heard the word, "DOWN!" as clear as day.
Deciding to be nicer to him than I was to my friend Ian, I let him down and started releasing him from the rope when he decided that he wanted to climb again. His fear apparently mastered, he managed to get to the top and did a nice job.
My first climb had an overhang in it, but was pretty "juggy" so not too bad. I had a rough time at a spot in the middle, and totally cheated, but felt pretty good about it for the most part.
And here's where the story gets good. There's a guy named Noah who works at the climbing wall, and has the biggest crush on me. He's this tall, gangling brown haired human monkey-man. He tries to be nice to people, but is one of those "trying way too hard for female attention" kind of guys. It can get pretty annoying. I try not to abuse that too much, but him and his friend were doing a run right where I wanted to go. They climbed it maybe 5 times before I decided to ask Noah if he'd belay me, incidentally on the run that they were at.
It was a 5.9, which meant it was going to be rough, but I don't feel too bad hanging on the rope with Noah on the bottom. He's actually a pretty supportive belayer. He's patient and doesn't hurry climbers.
So long story short... Noah helped me a little on a rough part, but I finally managed to climb up a 5.9 on an overhang, using an under-cling and kicked just a little bit of butt.
In order to really haul my butt over cliffs, I need to drop a little weight, but until then, I've defeated a 5.9. And that's something.
It hadn't hit me yet how true that was. I'd been working on an INSANE schedule, freaking out and generally not being a human being. I was frazzled, and didn't realize that the weekend had in fact arrived!
So true to our athletic natures we decided to go rock climbing after dinner and did some great climbs. Brett had never climbed before, so he had the virgin climber fear of falling, which meant he only got half way up the first time. I was just calmly belaying him when his hand slipped a little on a caterpillar hold and heard the word, "DOWN!" as clear as day.
Deciding to be nicer to him than I was to my friend Ian, I let him down and started releasing him from the rope when he decided that he wanted to climb again. His fear apparently mastered, he managed to get to the top and did a nice job.
My first climb had an overhang in it, but was pretty "juggy" so not too bad. I had a rough time at a spot in the middle, and totally cheated, but felt pretty good about it for the most part.
And here's where the story gets good. There's a guy named Noah who works at the climbing wall, and has the biggest crush on me. He's this tall, gangling brown haired human monkey-man. He tries to be nice to people, but is one of those "trying way too hard for female attention" kind of guys. It can get pretty annoying. I try not to abuse that too much, but him and his friend were doing a run right where I wanted to go. They climbed it maybe 5 times before I decided to ask Noah if he'd belay me, incidentally on the run that they were at.
It was a 5.9, which meant it was going to be rough, but I don't feel too bad hanging on the rope with Noah on the bottom. He's actually a pretty supportive belayer. He's patient and doesn't hurry climbers.
So long story short... Noah helped me a little on a rough part, but I finally managed to climb up a 5.9 on an overhang, using an under-cling and kicked just a little bit of butt.
In order to really haul my butt over cliffs, I need to drop a little weight, but until then, I've defeated a 5.9. And that's something.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Specialized Nerd
Almost on my way home today I remembered that I had to pick up my Geology Club bar crawl T-Shirt from my friend Dan who is Vice-President of the club. ;)
Upon reciept of said T-shirt, I took the time to read it. No joke it says:
"We're cumingtonite to poikioblast your cleavage"
Equally classy, the back says, "We'll be subducting all night long!"
Obviously I start cracking up. Whoever came up with these T-shirts was pure genius.
And here's where the head scratching begins. In order to understand how funny this saying really is, you'd have to know that the word cumingtonite is actually a metamorphic silicate mineral... AKA a mineral made under intense heat and pressure. Poikioblast is a mineral with bits of other, older rock bits inside of it. It's a product of deformation. And cleavage... well that's where two sides of a crystal meet. Hard not to figure that one out eh?
Among others... here are my favorite geology puns.
"Geology Rocks"
"Schist Happens"
"Gneiss Cleavage"
"Hot igneous body"
"Geologists make the bedrock"
"Subduction leads to orogeny"
The beauty of being in the "know" is that you can appreciate these little nuances.
Not only do these nerdy little jokes make you feel at home, but it defines people who understand the essence of who you are in your working world.
If you don't believe me, here's some examples from other places.
Teachers talking about "No Child Left Untested"
Engineers celebrating Pi day.
Microbiologists saying "Titer this!"
Nurse pun: Nurses are I.V. leaguers.
Just to let you all know... everyone does it.
Face it: Everyone is a nerd in some way or another. The trick is embracing your nerdiness and loving yourself even more for it!
Doesn't that just rock?
Upon reciept of said T-shirt, I took the time to read it. No joke it says:
"We're cumingtonite to poikioblast your cleavage"
Equally classy, the back says, "We'll be subducting all night long!"
Obviously I start cracking up. Whoever came up with these T-shirts was pure genius.
And here's where the head scratching begins. In order to understand how funny this saying really is, you'd have to know that the word cumingtonite is actually a metamorphic silicate mineral... AKA a mineral made under intense heat and pressure. Poikioblast is a mineral with bits of other, older rock bits inside of it. It's a product of deformation. And cleavage... well that's where two sides of a crystal meet. Hard not to figure that one out eh?
Among others... here are my favorite geology puns.
"Geology Rocks"
"Schist Happens"
"Gneiss Cleavage"
"Hot igneous body"
"Geologists make the bedrock"
"Subduction leads to orogeny"
The beauty of being in the "know" is that you can appreciate these little nuances.
Not only do these nerdy little jokes make you feel at home, but it defines people who understand the essence of who you are in your working world.
If you don't believe me, here's some examples from other places.
Teachers talking about "No Child Left Untested"
Engineers celebrating Pi day.
Microbiologists saying "Titer this!"
Nurse pun: Nurses are I.V. leaguers.
Just to let you all know... everyone does it.
Face it: Everyone is a nerd in some way or another. The trick is embracing your nerdiness and loving yourself even more for it!
Doesn't that just rock?
Rain Rain Go Away
Last night, I went to bed rather late, and once again, had to drag my butt to the gym. However, on top of being tired, it is DREADFULLY DREARY outside today. It's pouring buckets, cold, miserable, cloudy and gray. In a nutshell, the weather sucks.
So of course, I run to the gym. Decked out in my rain coat, rain pants and soon to be soaked running shoes, it was hard to get myself to start that first step. I know they say a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, and that sounds all fine and dandy, but did the person who said that walk those thousand miles just to make sure?
Anyways...As bleary-eyed as I was this morning, I did manage a good workout. However, the most interesting moment was half way through the morning. Eye candy and I were both in the pit (basement weights area) and then he left. I finished doing my routine and realized that I really needed to stretch. So I walked on upstairs and managed to see him again as he finished up whatever he was doing.
His comment to me was, "Are you stalking me?" My reply was, "No, I wanted to stretch." However, in the back of my mind, I really wanted to say, "Don't you wish." I think it would have livened up the conversation a little, but I was working out! Nobody has witty conversations while working out because they are concentrating. So the rest of my stretching I contemplated what exactly "Are you stalking me?" meant.
It could have meant, "Hey, I'm just teasing, but I do see you around a lot. Must be the common interest of working out in the mornings."
Or
"Wow, I see you around way too much in the mornings. I have this feeling you are a creeper. Are you?"
Or even:
"You are a bodacious babe and you rock my socks. Calling you a stalker is the only thing I can come up with spur of the moment. And I wanted to talk to you."
I'm leaning toward option 3. It's the only one where I'm a bodacious babe.
And, that's the conclusion I came to while jogging home in the miserable downpour. It brightened up my otherwise deary morning.
So of course, I run to the gym. Decked out in my rain coat, rain pants and soon to be soaked running shoes, it was hard to get myself to start that first step. I know they say a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, and that sounds all fine and dandy, but did the person who said that walk those thousand miles just to make sure?
Anyways...As bleary-eyed as I was this morning, I did manage a good workout. However, the most interesting moment was half way through the morning. Eye candy and I were both in the pit (basement weights area) and then he left. I finished doing my routine and realized that I really needed to stretch. So I walked on upstairs and managed to see him again as he finished up whatever he was doing.
His comment to me was, "Are you stalking me?" My reply was, "No, I wanted to stretch." However, in the back of my mind, I really wanted to say, "Don't you wish." I think it would have livened up the conversation a little, but I was working out! Nobody has witty conversations while working out because they are concentrating. So the rest of my stretching I contemplated what exactly "Are you stalking me?" meant.
It could have meant, "Hey, I'm just teasing, but I do see you around a lot. Must be the common interest of working out in the mornings."
Or
"Wow, I see you around way too much in the mornings. I have this feeling you are a creeper. Are you?"
Or even:
"You are a bodacious babe and you rock my socks. Calling you a stalker is the only thing I can come up with spur of the moment. And I wanted to talk to you."
I'm leaning toward option 3. It's the only one where I'm a bodacious babe.
And, that's the conclusion I came to while jogging home in the miserable downpour. It brightened up my otherwise deary morning.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
One in the same
With as much time as people spend on work and school, it's hard to imagine separating work from real life. How do people go from "work-person" to "living my life person." And are those people actually different? And why would someone want to separate themselves into two different people? And that begs the question, who is the real person, and who's a fake? Or are they both aspects of the same person? Why would someone want to separate them-self? I wonder if that means that humans are intrinsically bipolar or schizophrenic. Maybe that's one of the reasons people have a hard time figuring out what they want. There are so many aspects of themselves to please.
Friday, November 13, 2009
At Heart
Last night I decided to go climbing at the wall, which I usually do once a week. I was attempting this 5.9 and having a heck of a time with it. There was all sorts of smearing that I was supposed to do and handholds that literally took layers of skin from my fingertips. In case you didn't know, smearing is where there isn't technically a hold for you feet, but you make do and just jam your foot on the wall until it sticks, or slips off and you fall. One of the two.
Anyways, after a bunch of "cheating", which is where you grab onto holds that don't correlate to your specific climb, I was pretty discouraged. I mean, 5.9's are decently hard, but the person ahead of me cruised up just fine. I did manage to make it to the top, but discouragement was pretty high by then. Obviously I need some time to work that route out.
After getting down, I went to say bye to Christy; my version of a rock climbing goddess. She's lots shorter and super strong and can do pull-ups like nobody's business. She was attempting some bouldering problems and pulled them off really well. I said jokingly in our exchange that one day I hope to be a "real climber" and she laughed and said "Me too! I still don't feel like a real rock climber."
I couldn't believe that. How could she not feel like a real rock climber? I mean she goes almost every weekend rock climbing, she is dating a rock climber, she works at a climbing wall and she is a great climber. All of those point to being a real climber right? After those thoughts quickly went through my head, Christy reconsidered her words.
"You know what. I think people become climbers when they decide that they are a climber. Everyone who's here has climbing in their hearts and that's all that matters. Some people peak at 5.9's, 5.10's or 5.13's. It's about being on the rock, trying your hardest and just doing it. So, yeah. I guess I am a climber."
Now I just have to decide when I've become a real climber. I think I'm still a ways off yet. But I'm sure as long as I have climbing at heart, it'll come to me one day.
Anyways, after a bunch of "cheating", which is where you grab onto holds that don't correlate to your specific climb, I was pretty discouraged. I mean, 5.9's are decently hard, but the person ahead of me cruised up just fine. I did manage to make it to the top, but discouragement was pretty high by then. Obviously I need some time to work that route out.
After getting down, I went to say bye to Christy; my version of a rock climbing goddess. She's lots shorter and super strong and can do pull-ups like nobody's business. She was attempting some bouldering problems and pulled them off really well. I said jokingly in our exchange that one day I hope to be a "real climber" and she laughed and said "Me too! I still don't feel like a real rock climber."
I couldn't believe that. How could she not feel like a real rock climber? I mean she goes almost every weekend rock climbing, she is dating a rock climber, she works at a climbing wall and she is a great climber. All of those point to being a real climber right? After those thoughts quickly went through my head, Christy reconsidered her words.
"You know what. I think people become climbers when they decide that they are a climber. Everyone who's here has climbing in their hearts and that's all that matters. Some people peak at 5.9's, 5.10's or 5.13's. It's about being on the rock, trying your hardest and just doing it. So, yeah. I guess I am a climber."
Now I just have to decide when I've become a real climber. I think I'm still a ways off yet. But I'm sure as long as I have climbing at heart, it'll come to me one day.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Fear of Fall
This morning, riding into work I was enjoying the crisp air, the warm sunshine, the comforting way that the wind whooshed past me and the beautiful organges and reds the leaves have turned.
It was about the time I got to the Bardeen Quad when I saw the leaf blowers and rakes and UIUC workers happily tending to our meticulously trimmed quad. And wouldn't you know it, leaves COVERED the sidewalk. And not just leaves. There were sticks, pebbles, nuts, etc... all sorts of stuff. And it was about that time that I realized almost muscle in my body had tensed. Was I really afraid of the pile of autumn gloriousness in my way?
Heck yes I was! After falling two weeks ago in a torrential down pour because of a stupid pile of slimey, slick leaves, I'm afraid my bike tires are going to once again slip on the cement. That leaves me with the option of falling, tumbling, rolling, and leaving another not so pretty bruise and endless potential for road rash. What a wimp!
So of course I drove through the pile of stuff. I'll have to admit, I had a second of panic when the edge of my tire hit an acorn and did a little jog on the sidewalk, but I stayed on and endured. I don't really know if that was bravery or stupidity, but I really don't like the idea of being afraid of falling off of my bike. I mean, everyone knows that just me walking has the potential for disaster written all over it. Heck, the first three times I met Nick, I was falling (literally) down my basement stairs.
So now I need to find a way to not be afraid of my bike. I'm thinking that this season isn't the best one to re-teach me that lesson. So once I go home for Thanksgiving, I'm going to return Greenie (Yes, I named my bike.) to the sacred shelter of my garage. And for the duration of the winter I hope it will think about what it's done.
In the meantime I'll be taking some time to convince myself to 1. get a helmet and 2. get back on that horse in the spring.
It was about the time I got to the Bardeen Quad when I saw the leaf blowers and rakes and UIUC workers happily tending to our meticulously trimmed quad. And wouldn't you know it, leaves COVERED the sidewalk. And not just leaves. There were sticks, pebbles, nuts, etc... all sorts of stuff. And it was about that time that I realized almost muscle in my body had tensed. Was I really afraid of the pile of autumn gloriousness in my way?
Heck yes I was! After falling two weeks ago in a torrential down pour because of a stupid pile of slimey, slick leaves, I'm afraid my bike tires are going to once again slip on the cement. That leaves me with the option of falling, tumbling, rolling, and leaving another not so pretty bruise and endless potential for road rash. What a wimp!
So of course I drove through the pile of stuff. I'll have to admit, I had a second of panic when the edge of my tire hit an acorn and did a little jog on the sidewalk, but I stayed on and endured. I don't really know if that was bravery or stupidity, but I really don't like the idea of being afraid of falling off of my bike. I mean, everyone knows that just me walking has the potential for disaster written all over it. Heck, the first three times I met Nick, I was falling (literally) down my basement stairs.
So now I need to find a way to not be afraid of my bike. I'm thinking that this season isn't the best one to re-teach me that lesson. So once I go home for Thanksgiving, I'm going to return Greenie (Yes, I named my bike.) to the sacred shelter of my garage. And for the duration of the winter I hope it will think about what it's done.
In the meantime I'll be taking some time to convince myself to 1. get a helmet and 2. get back on that horse in the spring.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
PJ's and Eggs
I never thought I'd be one of those people. You know the kind. They walk around public places looking very unkempt. Their hair is all over their place. Usually they are in sweat pants, or at least something with elastic holding up their pants. Usually the footwear of choice are flip flops, although sandals and groudy looking sneakers also top that list.
So I have a confession to make.
Today, I went to the grocery store in plaid flannel pajama pants and flip flops. The simple truth of the matter is that I got back to my apartment around 7 and realized that I hadn't eaten, and that I did NOT want the chicken and squash leftovers from the night before. I wanted eggs with cheese and ham, and I wanted it NOW! I had made the mistake of pre-maturely exchanging my pants with my pj's and was in the process of changing my shirt when the thought occurred to me that I had no eggs!
Just considering re-donning my pants was enough to make me weak in the knees, so I made the executive decision that I could, like many college students, trudge to the store in whatever I pulled out of my closet. So I did.
Nobody stopped me. I don't think anyone stared. And I was in and out in a flash with nobody the wiser. And that's when I realized how dangerous this habit could become. I mean, if nobody cares what pants I wear, then why should I? Imagine the slippery slope to comfort I could have fallen down? What if this habit followed me to my job? You can't expect to teach students in pajamas can you? I mean, surely if one could, one would. I guess that is why some people have professionalism and others don't. It's about respecting yourself enough to say, I'm better than those old plaid flannel pants. I WILL make the effort, and I will earn other people's respect through my appearance.
WOW. I hope my mom never reads this blog. She'll cry with joy. And my sister will jump up and down and suggest a shopping spree.
Maybe I take back what I said. I really do love these plaid pants! And I'm not a real adult yet. Right?
So I have a confession to make.
Today, I went to the grocery store in plaid flannel pajama pants and flip flops. The simple truth of the matter is that I got back to my apartment around 7 and realized that I hadn't eaten, and that I did NOT want the chicken and squash leftovers from the night before. I wanted eggs with cheese and ham, and I wanted it NOW! I had made the mistake of pre-maturely exchanging my pants with my pj's and was in the process of changing my shirt when the thought occurred to me that I had no eggs!
Just considering re-donning my pants was enough to make me weak in the knees, so I made the executive decision that I could, like many college students, trudge to the store in whatever I pulled out of my closet. So I did.
Nobody stopped me. I don't think anyone stared. And I was in and out in a flash with nobody the wiser. And that's when I realized how dangerous this habit could become. I mean, if nobody cares what pants I wear, then why should I? Imagine the slippery slope to comfort I could have fallen down? What if this habit followed me to my job? You can't expect to teach students in pajamas can you? I mean, surely if one could, one would. I guess that is why some people have professionalism and others don't. It's about respecting yourself enough to say, I'm better than those old plaid flannel pants. I WILL make the effort, and I will earn other people's respect through my appearance.
WOW. I hope my mom never reads this blog. She'll cry with joy. And my sister will jump up and down and suggest a shopping spree.
Maybe I take back what I said. I really do love these plaid pants! And I'm not a real adult yet. Right?
Eye Candy
So this morning I realized that sometimes I'll only start a project on time if there is something to look forward to while I'm completing it.
For instance, on the weekends, you'll almost never find me doing any of my work that is really difficult or strenuous. It's usually just me catching up on grading, organizing files, reading chapters of books or things for research. However, if my friend Borsey calls me and he's headed to the library, I'll usually tag along for a good couple of hours and actually get my work done. I know once I'm there I'm basically stuck. But when I get bored I can usually get Borsey to joke around a little with me before he goes back to memorizing vet stuff.
This morning I realized how far that incentive actually goes. I hadn't slept too well last night because my neighbors who live above me were snoring quite loudly. Usually I don't hear them because I basically sleep like living dead, but not last night. So when my alarm clock went off this morning at the dreadfully bleak time of 6:15am, I was convinced that working out this morning was a bad idea. So I fumbled around bleary-eyed until my fingers found the snooze button and gleefully hit it as hard as I could.
Nine minutes later I was once again awoken. Luckily this time, I had fallen asleep with my hand still on the alarm, so hitting snooze was a breeze. All of a sudden, in my sleepy stupor I remembered that "Eye Candy" would be at the gym this morning. Due to the fact, I grumpily acknowledged that I would in fact get my butt out of bed in a timely manner to make it to the gym on time.
Background Info:Eye Candy is a guy that I met over the summer at a volunteering gig for Special Olympics, and formed an insta-crush on due to the David Boreanaz resemblance.
Sadly, this morning I was basically done with my workout by the time he showed up...(slacker!). However, I did get the "Good Morning" from him that is the essence of our rather limited interactions. And how funny is this... we both were wearing shirts that said "Happy Camper" today.
After writing this, I know how it sounds. I don't have a legit crush on the guy, I just needed to find another motivation to get to the gym on time, and seeing people I know or interact with always helps me get started.
Now if only there was someone who popped out of my physical geochemistry book every time I opened it, I might already have my homework done.
For instance, on the weekends, you'll almost never find me doing any of my work that is really difficult or strenuous. It's usually just me catching up on grading, organizing files, reading chapters of books or things for research. However, if my friend Borsey calls me and he's headed to the library, I'll usually tag along for a good couple of hours and actually get my work done. I know once I'm there I'm basically stuck. But when I get bored I can usually get Borsey to joke around a little with me before he goes back to memorizing vet stuff.
This morning I realized how far that incentive actually goes. I hadn't slept too well last night because my neighbors who live above me were snoring quite loudly. Usually I don't hear them because I basically sleep like living dead, but not last night. So when my alarm clock went off this morning at the dreadfully bleak time of 6:15am, I was convinced that working out this morning was a bad idea. So I fumbled around bleary-eyed until my fingers found the snooze button and gleefully hit it as hard as I could.
Nine minutes later I was once again awoken. Luckily this time, I had fallen asleep with my hand still on the alarm, so hitting snooze was a breeze. All of a sudden, in my sleepy stupor I remembered that "Eye Candy" would be at the gym this morning. Due to the fact, I grumpily acknowledged that I would in fact get my butt out of bed in a timely manner to make it to the gym on time.
Background Info:Eye Candy is a guy that I met over the summer at a volunteering gig for Special Olympics, and formed an insta-crush on due to the David Boreanaz resemblance.
Sadly, this morning I was basically done with my workout by the time he showed up...(slacker!). However, I did get the "Good Morning" from him that is the essence of our rather limited interactions. And how funny is this... we both were wearing shirts that said "Happy Camper" today.
After writing this, I know how it sounds. I don't have a legit crush on the guy, I just needed to find another motivation to get to the gym on time, and seeing people I know or interact with always helps me get started.
Now if only there was someone who popped out of my physical geochemistry book every time I opened it, I might already have my homework done.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Reconsider
Well, after a full night of sleeping on the strike issue. I've decided that I've changed my mind.
1. Graduate students are in school to make more money LATER in life.
2. They know that money will be tight and their time will be constrained.
3. Graduate students do not in fact work 40 hours a week on teaching.
4. If graduate students want to start families or already have families and want to become graduate students, they should talk those financial obligations over with their spouse ahead of time.
Maybe if people saw graduate school as more of a stepping stone, sort of like undergraduate work, they would be more understanding of the living wage conditions they are or are not earning. And also, the wage you receive is based upon how much grant money your department pulls in. The faculty and students have to be dedicated to writing grants and bringing money into the department.
I guess I am of the mindset that the University hasn't reneged on anything they provided for in the contract I signed, so I'm not too worried about it.
1. Graduate students are in school to make more money LATER in life.
2. They know that money will be tight and their time will be constrained.
3. Graduate students do not in fact work 40 hours a week on teaching.
4. If graduate students want to start families or already have families and want to become graduate students, they should talk those financial obligations over with their spouse ahead of time.
Maybe if people saw graduate school as more of a stepping stone, sort of like undergraduate work, they would be more understanding of the living wage conditions they are or are not earning. And also, the wage you receive is based upon how much grant money your department pulls in. The faculty and students have to be dedicated to writing grants and bringing money into the department.
I guess I am of the mindset that the University hasn't reneged on anything they provided for in the contract I signed, so I'm not too worried about it.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Strike One
Lately, on campus there has been talk of our graduate union striking. And even more recently there was a vote. Apparently all graduate students at the University of Illinois who are teaching assistants will go on strike this upcoming Monday. The interesting thing about this strike is that individual departments on campus have different policies on reimbursement, payroll, coverage, etc. All sorts of discrepancies exist within our Union itself. I feel as though some graduate students are more than comfortable with what they make (like the engineers, to be more specific) and other graduate students can't even afford to pay for all of their living expenses (fine arts graduate students).
Being somewhere in the middle is like walking a tightrope with people on all different sides. To be honest, I'm OK with what I make, although it is on the slim side. I'm OK with it because it is in accordance with the contract I signed when I agreed to be a graduate student. For me, the University has fulfilled all of it's obligations up until this point and I feel no reason to strike in that regard.
HOWEVER, I do feel as though graduate students are trying to live off of a minuscule amount of funding. My stipend is about average for this campus. If I had any other obligations or parents who weren't willing to help me out, I would most definitely be in debt right now. As is, I barely make it from month to month and rely on my parents for assistance. It does cause me to wonder about the graduate students who are PhD candidates.
In some departments it can take up to 8 years to earn their PhD. Should those students be required to put life, maybe a spouse or even kids on hold because they can't afford them? Is that the sacrifice that the university wants to require of graduate students. Make a choice: family or degree. I don't think that's an acceptable option. There has to be a middle ground, and I'd like to see this university come together as a whole to solve this moral dilemma.
That is why, if it comes down to it, I'll be striking as well. I stand by those students who would like to earn enough money to support a full life with a family, maybe a house and a car. History has proven again and again that progress on policies is never made by a single person. People need to stand together to fight for what is right and what they believe in.
Being somewhere in the middle is like walking a tightrope with people on all different sides. To be honest, I'm OK with what I make, although it is on the slim side. I'm OK with it because it is in accordance with the contract I signed when I agreed to be a graduate student. For me, the University has fulfilled all of it's obligations up until this point and I feel no reason to strike in that regard.
HOWEVER, I do feel as though graduate students are trying to live off of a minuscule amount of funding. My stipend is about average for this campus. If I had any other obligations or parents who weren't willing to help me out, I would most definitely be in debt right now. As is, I barely make it from month to month and rely on my parents for assistance. It does cause me to wonder about the graduate students who are PhD candidates.
In some departments it can take up to 8 years to earn their PhD. Should those students be required to put life, maybe a spouse or even kids on hold because they can't afford them? Is that the sacrifice that the university wants to require of graduate students. Make a choice: family or degree. I don't think that's an acceptable option. There has to be a middle ground, and I'd like to see this university come together as a whole to solve this moral dilemma.
That is why, if it comes down to it, I'll be striking as well. I stand by those students who would like to earn enough money to support a full life with a family, maybe a house and a car. History has proven again and again that progress on policies is never made by a single person. People need to stand together to fight for what is right and what they believe in.
Absent-minded Professor
So when I was a kid I always wondered how professors got the stereotypical absentminded adjective stuck to their name. I mean, these are the people who solve world hunger, find the cure for AIDS and build structures hundreds of meters into thin air.
Well I'll tell you. They get that stereotype because they are in fact, absent-minded. And what's funny is, they know it too! Take for example an email I received from the director of my department and god-like professor of structural geology. I had asked him for a recommendation letter and this was part of the email he sent back.
It would also be good if you could send me a reminder a few days before the deadline, as (needless to say) I tend to be absent minded.
You can't make this stuff up. One would think with all of the amazing science they do, proposals they write, strokes of genius and otherwise all around awesomeness, they could remember menial things like writing a letter of recommendation. Or for example how time works.
Another professor near and dear to my heart, (also my current adviser) told our class that for each 50 minute class period: 8 students would be giving their 5 minute presentations with 2-3 minutes afterward for questions. Anyone care to do the math on that one? 7-8 minutes X 8 students = 56 - 64 minutes total! See anything missing here? Oh that's right. Time. Time is missing here. So I gently ask him if that is in fact what he meant. Later, the class receives this email in what I'll assume is a response to my question.
Plan on:
1. coming early to class to get your PPTs loaded
2. having the class run a little longer than usual (~6 - 6:15 pm)
Everyone please be courteous and supportive and stay in class until all presentations are completed.
Does he not realize that people have obligations that don't revolve around him and his class? Obviously not. Lucky for him, for the moment, mine does.
So I've come to the conclusion that Professors perpetuate the stigma if only to protect their own little butts when they make mistakes. Forgiving them based on a characteristic they can't control seems like the kindly and respectful thing to do. If only all naive college students knew how professors take advantage of their naivety.
Well I'll tell you. They get that stereotype because they are in fact, absent-minded. And what's funny is, they know it too! Take for example an email I received from the director of my department and god-like professor of structural geology. I had asked him for a recommendation letter and this was part of the email he sent back.
It would also be good if you could send me a reminder a few days before the deadline, as (needless to say) I tend to be absent minded.
You can't make this stuff up. One would think with all of the amazing science they do, proposals they write, strokes of genius and otherwise all around awesomeness, they could remember menial things like writing a letter of recommendation. Or for example how time works.
Another professor near and dear to my heart, (also my current adviser) told our class that for each 50 minute class period: 8 students would be giving their 5 minute presentations with 2-3 minutes afterward for questions. Anyone care to do the math on that one? 7-8 minutes X 8 students = 56 - 64 minutes total! See anything missing here? Oh that's right. Time. Time is missing here. So I gently ask him if that is in fact what he meant. Later, the class receives this email in what I'll assume is a response to my question.
Plan on:
1. coming early to class to get your PPTs loaded
2. having the class run a little longer than usual (~6 - 6:15 pm)
Everyone please be courteous and supportive and stay in class until all presentations are completed.
Does he not realize that people have obligations that don't revolve around him and his class? Obviously not. Lucky for him, for the moment, mine does.
So I've come to the conclusion that Professors perpetuate the stigma if only to protect their own little butts when they make mistakes. Forgiving them based on a characteristic they can't control seems like the kindly and respectful thing to do. If only all naive college students knew how professors take advantage of their naivety.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
You enjoy those muffins
Ever attempted to do something nice for someone but ended up just feeling stupid and foolish? Well today was my day to fall down the "being too nice" slippery slope.
So I was cleaning out my kitchen when I came across a plate that my ex had left here maybe 3 months ago. I was tempted to just toss it to the dumpster, but happened to be on the phone with my mom when I found it. She suggested I bake muffins and give him the muffins on the plate and wish him Happy Veterans Day. (He was in the Marines for 5 years, so that actually makes sense.) That way he gets the plate back with baked goodies on it. Something about good luck and folk lore, etc. Without thinking I took her advice and asked the ex if he had a couple of minutes on Wednesday to meet up with me somehwere. He said today would be better and he'd stop by when he was done with studying.
So the ex shows up while the muffins are still in the oven. (Hey, I can't work that quickly.) We talked for 4 or 5 minutes when he asks me if I want to go to Walmart with him to go grocery shopping. I need to get a couple of things, so I say sure. Just to clarify this was probably the third mistake of the day. (Mistake 1: Agree to make muffins for my ex. Mistake 2: Calling the ex to deliver the goods. Mistake 3: Not handing him the plate of muffins and sending him on his way. Mistake 4: Going with him to Walmart.) Yet I digress, 4 mistakes... things always get worse before they get awkward.
Shopping was great, except the ever painful questions like, "Hey do you want to come over for fondue some night this week?" "So did you go on a date with the guy who rear-ended you. He sounds like kind of a creeper." (As though the ex can really judge.) "How's your workout plan going?" (How does he think it's going? I'm stressed and mindlessly eat when I'm working on homework.)
So I asked him to drop me off back at home, and he responds with, "Want to go to Cocomero with me? My treat." FYI Cocomero is like cocaine to the "ice cream addicted, trying to eat healthy" college student such as myself. Dang that I agreed.
So we eat the most glorious food that humans have ever invented, which in my opinion was a sheer stroke of genius. And I attempt to be quiet to avoid most awkward conversational situations. Horrifically, due to what I can only blame pure sugar ecstasy on, out comes everything that comes to my head. i.e. Diarrhea of the mouth. Work plans, graduate school ideas, how my family is doing, my lifestyle goals, EVERYTHING gets laid out on the table. And I don't even like this guy. But I figure no harm, no foul. I had to get going to meet up with my friend Darius for dinner so I had to go. And that's where the trouble... well ended.
We hug goodbye, but when the "release" part of the hug comes, he kisses me instead! I was too shocked to move. Which means, no, I didn't slap him. Nor did I push him away. Nor did I even yell at him. I just stood there in some sort of sugar coma, unable to react. Finally either due to my mummy-like stance or something, he lets go and looks at me and says, "It was great seeing you. Just call if you want to hang out sometime."
And the loquacious person that I am responds with, "You enjoy those muffins."
Ugh. Gag me.
So I was cleaning out my kitchen when I came across a plate that my ex had left here maybe 3 months ago. I was tempted to just toss it to the dumpster, but happened to be on the phone with my mom when I found it. She suggested I bake muffins and give him the muffins on the plate and wish him Happy Veterans Day. (He was in the Marines for 5 years, so that actually makes sense.) That way he gets the plate back with baked goodies on it. Something about good luck and folk lore, etc. Without thinking I took her advice and asked the ex if he had a couple of minutes on Wednesday to meet up with me somehwere. He said today would be better and he'd stop by when he was done with studying.
So the ex shows up while the muffins are still in the oven. (Hey, I can't work that quickly.) We talked for 4 or 5 minutes when he asks me if I want to go to Walmart with him to go grocery shopping. I need to get a couple of things, so I say sure. Just to clarify this was probably the third mistake of the day. (Mistake 1: Agree to make muffins for my ex. Mistake 2: Calling the ex to deliver the goods. Mistake 3: Not handing him the plate of muffins and sending him on his way. Mistake 4: Going with him to Walmart.) Yet I digress, 4 mistakes... things always get worse before they get awkward.
Shopping was great, except the ever painful questions like, "Hey do you want to come over for fondue some night this week?" "So did you go on a date with the guy who rear-ended you. He sounds like kind of a creeper." (As though the ex can really judge.) "How's your workout plan going?" (How does he think it's going? I'm stressed and mindlessly eat when I'm working on homework.)
So I asked him to drop me off back at home, and he responds with, "Want to go to Cocomero with me? My treat." FYI Cocomero is like cocaine to the "ice cream addicted, trying to eat healthy" college student such as myself. Dang that I agreed.
So we eat the most glorious food that humans have ever invented, which in my opinion was a sheer stroke of genius. And I attempt to be quiet to avoid most awkward conversational situations. Horrifically, due to what I can only blame pure sugar ecstasy on, out comes everything that comes to my head. i.e. Diarrhea of the mouth. Work plans, graduate school ideas, how my family is doing, my lifestyle goals, EVERYTHING gets laid out on the table. And I don't even like this guy. But I figure no harm, no foul. I had to get going to meet up with my friend Darius for dinner so I had to go. And that's where the trouble... well ended.
We hug goodbye, but when the "release" part of the hug comes, he kisses me instead! I was too shocked to move. Which means, no, I didn't slap him. Nor did I push him away. Nor did I even yell at him. I just stood there in some sort of sugar coma, unable to react. Finally either due to my mummy-like stance or something, he lets go and looks at me and says, "It was great seeing you. Just call if you want to hang out sometime."
And the loquacious person that I am responds with, "You enjoy those muffins."
Ugh. Gag me.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Saturday Nights
Well here I am. It's a beautiful crisp Saturday night in November. I'm sitting in the library surrounded by quiet, studious people who have nothing more important going on than preparing for their exams, writing their papers or doing complicated homework sets. I apparently fit into that category. At least my friend Dan who is sitting across from me, feebly attempting to memorize vet med "stuff" shares my fate.
Is this the fate of humanity? To sit by and work their life away in an attempt to gain a successful life? Why can't we just study things we enjoy? It just doesn't make sense to me.
Is this the fate of humanity? To sit by and work their life away in an attempt to gain a successful life? Why can't we just study things we enjoy? It just doesn't make sense to me.
Awkward Flame _ Hit You
So this story is the REAL reason I decided to start blogging. I was telling this story to my mom, and she said that considering all the the things that have happened to me in my lifetime, I should really start writing them down on paper. So here's my "Hit on you" story.
Last weekend I was driving back home to Chicago for my sister's birthday/Halloween extravaganza. I was trying to get onto 90 West from 290, on that really awkward cloverleaf by Woodfield, and it was POURING buckets outside. Anyways, as I look in my rearview mirror, I see this white car gaining on me, while I'm basically immobile in the "soon to get onto the cloverleaf" line. Anyways, with the slick conditions and possibly a few crayons short of the rainbow, the car hits me. Needless to say, I was pretty upset. It was raining, I had an orthodontist appointment that was coming up pretty fast, and I really had to pee. Best solution; be as nice as possible, smile pretty, get the registration and insurance information and get back into the car. So I did.
The guy who hit me was taller, blondish hair and had a backpack in the car. You'd think there would be some cuteness potential, but his hair was that nerdy, I'm too awkward to take care of my physical appearance and too self conscience to show you my real face style that just hung off his head in no particular arrangement. His demeanor was rather frazzled and all-together disorganized. Basically I couldn't wait to get out of there.
Numbers exchanged we both drove away and about 45 minutes later I get a text from him saying. "ok, question. is this ur cell number or house number?"
I responded with, "It's my cell number."
He replied with, "ok. cool. well let me know how much I owe you for damages and if it's not too awkward or out of line, I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner sometime. I figured I already hit you, I might as well hit on you."
And that's when I started laughing. And I couldn't stop. I mean, who would have thought of that? I couldn't believe how forward he was. It was like... oh yah, so I hit you with my car, can we go out sometime? So I responded with:
"Um, not too awkward, just funny. Is that how you meet everyone?"
"Yep, I just cruise around 290 on rainy nights looking for cute girls to hit and ask out."
And that's when the creep factor came in. Sense of humor: check. Awkward creepy responses: check.
I told Brett what had happened, and his response, after laughing for forever was, "Oh Peatree, the life you lead as a hot girl." Followed soon after with, "So are you going to go?"
My mom responded with, "Youth is wasted on the young." Whatever that means.
And my friend Kayla said I attract awkward moments like moths to a flames. Apparently I'm the awkward flame.
Last weekend I was driving back home to Chicago for my sister's birthday/Halloween extravaganza. I was trying to get onto 90 West from 290, on that really awkward cloverleaf by Woodfield, and it was POURING buckets outside. Anyways, as I look in my rearview mirror, I see this white car gaining on me, while I'm basically immobile in the "soon to get onto the cloverleaf" line. Anyways, with the slick conditions and possibly a few crayons short of the rainbow, the car hits me. Needless to say, I was pretty upset. It was raining, I had an orthodontist appointment that was coming up pretty fast, and I really had to pee. Best solution; be as nice as possible, smile pretty, get the registration and insurance information and get back into the car. So I did.
The guy who hit me was taller, blondish hair and had a backpack in the car. You'd think there would be some cuteness potential, but his hair was that nerdy, I'm too awkward to take care of my physical appearance and too self conscience to show you my real face style that just hung off his head in no particular arrangement. His demeanor was rather frazzled and all-together disorganized. Basically I couldn't wait to get out of there.
Numbers exchanged we both drove away and about 45 minutes later I get a text from him saying. "ok, question. is this ur cell number or house number?"
I responded with, "It's my cell number."
He replied with, "ok. cool. well let me know how much I owe you for damages and if it's not too awkward or out of line, I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner sometime. I figured I already hit you, I might as well hit on you."
And that's when I started laughing. And I couldn't stop. I mean, who would have thought of that? I couldn't believe how forward he was. It was like... oh yah, so I hit you with my car, can we go out sometime? So I responded with:
"Um, not too awkward, just funny. Is that how you meet everyone?"
"Yep, I just cruise around 290 on rainy nights looking for cute girls to hit and ask out."
And that's when the creep factor came in. Sense of humor: check. Awkward creepy responses: check.
I told Brett what had happened, and his response, after laughing for forever was, "Oh Peatree, the life you lead as a hot girl." Followed soon after with, "So are you going to go?"
My mom responded with, "Youth is wasted on the young." Whatever that means.
And my friend Kayla said I attract awkward moments like moths to a flames. Apparently I'm the awkward flame.
Peatree
So how did the name Peatree come about? It's definitely not that common of a nickname, let alone a real name. Well back when I was a Sophomore in college I crocheted a scarf for two of my friends. They got me a thank you card, which I still have, due to the hilarious innuendo regarding the "feeling warm on the inside" message. Anyways my friend Brett was convinced that my middle name had to be on the card, and was too lazy to ask my then boyfriend what my middle name was. So the envelope said, "Sama P," for lack of a better initial, and evolved into Peatree, a nickname which has stuck for three years now. Funny how things like that evolve.
Friday, November 6, 2009
The Alpha
So, decided that if everyone else in the world can blog their ideas out into space, I can too. Just no twittering please. That's kinda creepy! At least this way I'll get my awkward life story in written form. I don't think anyone else has lived through the kind of awkward moments that I have. I guess we'll have to wait and see.
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