Learning from the classroom

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.

Crisscross

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.

Mail box thrills

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.

I'm now a doctor.

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.)

This should be a thrill

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.

Let it never be said, that the romance is dead

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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.

Increasing hotness

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.

More writing news…

you don’t care about.

By some time last week, I had thrown together over 160 pages; a number that was steadily creeping higher. And then it dawned on me, more bulk, while arguably more impressive, is just more content to polish, more content to defend, more content to get criticised on and such—it’s generally more of a pain.

The week since, I’ve brought it down to 143 and that number is steadily creeping downward.

Dead ends

After much futzing around, I finally managed to schedule my final defence. It’s on October 10, in the afternoon; a whole two days before I turn 27.

Writing has begun to pick up since that bit of news was finalised. Which means I’ve been writing properly for a grand total of one day.

Further scheduling and logistical details as they emerge.

Do you game?

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Progress in qualitative terms (number of pages per day?) has been slow. But there is something else going on which I can only explain with a gaming analogy.

You know those games where, at later points, the story-line leads you back to levels you’ve already crossed? You know that feeling you get when you—now equipped with much stronger weaponry and vastly-improved skill—return to those areas you once slaved through, now to just demolish the opposition with surprising prowess?

That’s kinda how it’s been, revisiting just about anything from the years passed. And that’s fucking awesome.

On the work front

A majority of the entries on this journal are first penned on paper before slowly making their way here. Even so, I’m finding it hard to put down my thoughts while lacking access to the Internet at home; it’s like I don’t see the point in writing when there isn’t an option to put it out there instantly, on a whim.

That’s a little weird, I know.

Anyway, pencil firmly gripped in my fingers, I intend on ploughing through this entry because it’s 3 A.M. and I’ve been unable to sleep; which usually means I really have to get something off my mind. Or that I’ve overdosed on sugar.

  • Things are going as well as they can be on the work front. I’ve formulated something of a plan and I fully intend on sticking with it until I complete my programs’ requirements. I’ve been in-and-out of meetings all day attempting to schedule things so that I can defend before my birthday; and as of now, it looks like it’s going to happen. This means that if all goes well, in about a month-and-a-half, me’d be Dr. Me. Yay!

    Is appending 2–3 characters to one’s name really worth the effort? Most definitely.

    Not.

  • Necessitated by one of my bosses’ travels, I’m going to be teaching a graduate-level class for a little while next term. This ought to be interestingly-different from an undergrad class, where one’s literally forced to reach the lowest common denominator. It would be nice to focus on abstract, higher-level concepts without having to water things down constantly for that annoying little whiner in the back row.

    Here’s to hoping.

  • There’s this new kid in my lab—at least I think he’s in my lab, I’ve seen him around once or twice—who was part of a major accident. One involving driving at few A.M., non-seat-belt wearing, probable drunkening and car flipping. There were 4–5 people involved and all were seriously damaged, but none dead. Barely.

    It’s not about this but I’m going to make it: They’re all Indians.

    If you weren’t allowed to drive at 4 in the morning, at 100 mph, drunk, not wearing seat belts, … back home, you probably weren’t for a reason. There is no reason to interpret your newfound freedom as some sort of right of passage to being an idiot.

    I’m not trying to be mean, really, but it’s just so hard for me to conjure up any sympathy here.

And oh, if you’re the kinds who interprets and believes dreams literally, you’d be happy to believe that my future colleagues at Cambridge are a fine collection of practical jokers; a real riot. And that I’m gay.

Things I love about GNU Emacs

  1. Emacs is Free Software.
  2. My hands stay put in their touch typing positions. Always.
  3. Emacs is its own Lisp interpreter, allowing its behaviour to dynamically morph in weird and wondrous ways.
  4. It is aware of and intelligent about what’s in my files; transforming its behaviour to always do the “right thing.”
  5. There’s no need to quit the program to do other useful things.
  6. Emacs allows me to work text in very powerful ways, such as searching-through and replacing regular expressions.
  7. It affords seamless editing of remote files.
  8. From checking e-mail to performing matrix calculations to organising my to-do lists, Emacs presents itself in a multitude of delicious not-necessarily plain-text-edity flavours; continuing to do the “right thing.” And to top that off, it’s extensible!
  9. While most text editors are content with checking for spelling errors, Emacs also checks my programs’ syntax on the fly. And this isn’t just for “real programming,” it’s for LaTeX and HTML too.

Almost every aspect of this journal is lovingly crafted in GNU Emacs.

Things turning out

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  • It turns out, unsurprisingly, that “Hey, where did you meet your wife? I’m looking for a place to meet someone non-crazy.” is a non-optimal way to start a conversation.
  • It turns out that one of the ulterior motives of this journal—making me a better writer—has climaxed in colossal failure. All that I’ve written here seems to have amounted to nought; as made clear by my daily struggles composing a dissertation.
  • It turns out that people who seem really interested in getting to know you one day can erratically flip their state of mind the next. Now, not only are they uninterested, but they are making an obvious effort to evade you; even after making eye-contact.

Moving pains

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The silence you’ve been noticing lately? Here’s the scoop:

  • I’ve moved to a new home, and with higher rent and such, I don’t have enough expendable income to justify an internet connection. Yes, being a poor student sucks.
  • But that’s about to change soon. At least, I’ll hopefully be a poor non-student. Speaking of which, most of my days are spent working on my dissertation, leaving me too tired to write here.
  • I’m open to readers submitting articles they want posted here. You know you want to do your bit to help mitigate the silence.