emphatically static
More often than not, the people around me tend to get very defensive when I point out their infractions of the rules of the English language. What they don’t realise is that I’m not aiming to berate them; I’m just trying to help them by dragging them (kicking and screaming if need be) into civility.
I wish I had known about this as a younger lad, but there are those who have turned this into a profitable enterprise. Meet the professional pompous pedant [5.5 MB, MP3]. Now that’s a real career.
I’ve been comfortable with the way things have looked around here for a couple of years now. In many ways, I still am, but here are a few ideas I’ve been toying with every now and again. I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the matter.
1. Simplicity two point oh two: Using this would be the laziest route, but I know it works well for different sorts of content. I think it needs some sort of slick header to complete it, but I know not what.
2. Daily read: This stemmed from something I read a while ago which said “People tend to take sites that look like ‘news sites’ far more seriously than they do blogs.” And we all want to be taken seriously, don’t we? (The eagle is just a placeholder logo.)
3. Amber lounge: The logo for this was stolen from a bar I visited while in Europe. It is the latest line of ideas I’ve been tinkering with, and the least fleshed-out.
Perhaps the best elements from each will be amalgamated.
Much of the recent silence you’ve been noticing is because I’ve been busy tying up loose ends, and attempting to return to some semblance of normalcy. It’s proving harder than I expected to get out of “technical writing” mode and into “daily whiner” mode, but I hope to get there soon. For starters, I’ve indefinitely shelved a bunch of nascent entries that soon turned very geeky.
Working feverishly against my quest to just chill and focus on other things, the higher-ups have all decided to jump on the “You’ve got to try this faculty position, it’s right up your alley. Ooh, and this one, and oh, that one too!” bandwagon. Honestly, I don’t believe I’m nearly ready for a step such as this—besides, I have so much else to sort out in my sorry little life—and that’s why I’ve opted for the Cambridge gig. I’m looking for some breathing room, and I’m hoping it will afford me some interesting opportunities, like getting to tour parts of Europe.
There was one thing that came up during a related discussion recently that I wish I’d known and followed in other aspects of my life. At least, in one. Someone sagely mentioned that I ought to try for interesting positions—whether or not they are exactly what I am looking for. The experience that I’d gather while interviewing, giving talks and generally going through the process a few times would allow me to hone my act; allowing me to really impress future higher-ups when I’m trying for a position at a place I really want to be.
It turns out, the same thing is true of talking to women.
Spending ages closed up because no one around fancies you enough to evoke any emotion, or even the need to spark a conversation, is the perfect way to rot your (already meagre, in cases such as mine) communication skills. And when the cutest, sweetest woman comes along, you will botch the encounter up because you don’t know what to do. She’s clearly trying hard to nudge you along and make things comfortable for you, but you end up blowing it anyway; constantly shooting her down with your honorary ogre-worthy charmlessness.
Perhaps if someone had been as gung-ho about my social life as people are about my academic life, I’d have been constantly reminded to try my hand at things—even when they don’t seem to matter—so I’d be ready for when they really did.
I wish I were bright enough to manufacture a reason to see her again.
If you think I’m odd, then you haven’t met some of the people I hang out with on occasion. I happened to be in a curious conversation with one of the more colourful ones earlier today about the joys of cross-dressing. This is perhaps a tad out of the ordinary, but much of the comic entertainment we derived from the conversation had little to do with the topic at hand, but instead stemmed from how serious she believed I was.
As an offhand jab at my entirely unhealthy diet during my self-imposed writing lockdown, I’d remarked that I certainly had the “breasts for the job.” Emanating from my speech-impaired lips, she got to hear this as “dress for the job.”
And the fun ensued.
My foppishness now misguidedly established, we were soon knee deep in shades of mascara and how many kisses different brands of lipstick can outlast. Not to mention, best practices for hairless legs. And, I don’t really recall the specifics, but at some point I believe there was even some critiquing of a porno involving a transgendered couple—each person perfectly looking the part and playing the role traditionally assigned to the other sex.
She did seem kinda bummed when I clarified I really didn’t have a super-secret closet filled with ultra-chic feminine clothes.
Even so, good times were had by all.
Over the last week, I incorporated some minor changes that were suggested during my defence to my final document, and handed it over to the University. This, along with a ton of administrivia, has resulted in me being officially declared a PhD!
I’ve been wondering how to bring up that bit of news here, and somehow my original thought: “That’s Dr. Pundit to you now, bitches,” didn’t seem particularly appropriate. And so I decided to go with another plan, and I present to you a recent addition to the name on my mailbox just outside my front door.
Upon completing this step, it’s dawned on me that I am clueless as to what I’m going to be doing with/for the rest of my life. But more on that later; I’m currently too busy aimlessly roaming around town.
(But, didn’t you already tell us about this, aren’t you milking this for more than it’s worth?
You know what, I’m quite certain I’m more qualified than anyone who reads my journal. And, with master’s degrees from two departments and a doctoral degree from two programs, I am not kidding here.
Sure, you’ve slept with a lot more people, much hotter than anyone I’ve ever been close to, but I have more diplomas on my wall. It’s all I have going for me, and I will milk it of every last drop.)
But it feels like a drill.
It’s curious how easily a habit so carefully inculcated over so many years can be broken. It’s not been very long since I last wrote wrote, you know, really expressed what’s running through my evil brain, but I’m finding it exceedingly hard to set things in motion again. Nevertheless, today’s entry aims to be a step toward a glorious return; however forced it turns out.
As you’ve undoubtedly gathered, my life has been tremendously hectic over these past weeks. The mental image that the word ‘hectic’ usually conjures up, at least in my mind, is one of a harrowed mom hurriedly flitting about town from one annoying chore to the next. In stark contrast, my experience has transpired almost entirely within the confines of a circle barely few feet in radius. My bedroom floor, covered from end to end in a systematised mess of articles, scribbled pieces of paper and books, constituted the only library I needed. My lumpy, uncomfortable bed served as good a place to lounge and write as it did to rest when I couldn’t. My unwholesome diet, comprising of little more than concentrated doses of sugar and caffeine, kept me awake and mentally alert for the many hours—and sometimes days—that my frantic schedule so desperately called for.
Nothing about environment was ideal, but every aspect served its purpose.
From dawn through dusk, as if I was even keeping track of which was which any more, my routine involved little more than opening my tired eyes and turning over until I was facing my computer screen; my hands simultaneously working their way onto the keyboard. I’d lie there and stare gracelessly, until the words began to flow.
The writing process itself impacted me rather significantly in varying ways—both positive and negative. For one, it forced me to carefully examine what I’ve been doing all along. I must admit that this greatly clarified concepts in my own mind and carried with it a sense of accomplishment. I’m now beginning to recognise fibres that I’ve threaded into the intricate tapestry of this miniscule branch of knowledge.
But it’s not all about intellectual gratification. In fact, my words so far don’t even begin to portray the whole picture.
The single most manifest aspect of this experience, at least from my point of view, was how isolating it was; even for someone with a lifestyle such as mine. Having to sit alone in a corner concentrating on serious matters for hours upon hours over many days and weeks has taken a toll on me that I didn’t know could be taken. I honestly believed that if there was one sort of stress test I could ace, it would involve being cordoned off. I wish I weren’t so wrong about these kinds of things.
Has the effort paid off? I am not sure yet; I guess, yes, barely.
I have only one bit of advice to those of you out there who’re on the fence about higher education. Ask yourself, honestly, is this what you really want to be doing with your life? Or, in the case of the scrawny, lonely geeks, is the outside world really giving you that much grief?
If you answered ‘no’ to either of these questions, go out, enjoy.
After ages of not having much news to report on, here is another juicy tidbit: I just turned 27.
Yes it’s something of a coincidence, but no, not really; this was the impetus for me to wind-up my doctoral work a short while ago.
(I promise I will return to regular programming soon.)
Onto trivial changes to the document and voilà—Dr. Me!
Cos there’s so little else occupying my head.
This entry (or a couple, I haven’t finalised on how I plan to put these thoughts across) will surely ruffle some feathers, but what the heck? it’s not like anyone’s going to be reading after all this downtime.
1. It’s not like I am drawn to women who are with other people. It’s just, anyone who I deem worthy of being drawn-to already happens to be with someone else.
2. It’s not fair that the women (from my part of the world) who entered grad school around the time I did were as hideous as they were. What’s worse is that the influx has been getting about twice as attractive each year. Refer the figure below for details.
This is most unfair, because I have no avenue to talk to those part of the current crop.
3. It’s not fair that the only person—who, incidentally, crossing the street in her halter top routinely causes accidents—whom you somehow manage to concoct a legitimate reason to spend some time with happens to be a Bible thumper.
Hmm. Perhaps if I trick her into making me one of her pet “let’s enlighten him for his own good” projects, things will look up.
