Tis the Season...

“Christmas is not a time or a season but a state of mind. To cherish peace and good will, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas.”
—Calvin Coolidge

***Normally my posts lend towards understanding how to access and be a part of that exclusive Professor Club and all that goes along with it. But in light of the season burning brightly upon us, I am venturing off my usual path, although, you might still see pieces of the writing instructor throughout. You’ve been warned.

Lights twinkling as the snow whips round-n-round.Skinny peppermint mochas in Christmas red cups. Sitting wrapped in a snowman blanket with a cantstopreadingit kind of book. Friends sitting beside a blazing fire sharing memories of times past while nibbling on sugar cookies. Bing Crosby crooning about the wonder of a white Christmas in a way that only he can do. Trini dressed in a fuzzy pink hoodie that declares, “Snow Angel.”Sled riding on cold snowy nights. Watching your favorite Christmas movie over and over again till you can recite it back and forth with your dad (“just remember who said it first…”).

The season is upon us whether we are ready for it or not. For me, it’s been awhile where the season included looking out my window to see the snow gently falling and the wind keeping the temperature well below my version of comfortable. I forget how to dress for this weather, especially given that most of my winter clothes have long been sorted through various Goodwill’s. Snow boots, gloves, sweaters…excuse me?!? Most of my boots are for looks only, and the other day as I was unpacking my car from the latest drop of snow (with my broom because I still haven’t broken down to get a real scraper) I was stepping in 6 in. of snow with a pair of my favorite grey suede boots thinking, “my how times have changed.” Just last year I could barely wear my favorite boots because it was never cold enough now they are impractical for my current weather conditions. I never thought I’d be back to this kinda weather. Every time I stepped outside and my breath gets taken away, I close my eyes and picture my hot, humid Tallahassee summers. I would much rather sweat than be cold.

This is my winter song for you…

Are you ready for the season? A reasonable question to be sure…except what does it mean to be ready for the season? To some it may include all their shopping done with the presents wrapped and under the tree. To others it may include their house decorated from top to bottom in winter splendor. And to others, it may just include the reason for the season (no, I’m not talking about Old St. Nick). Recently at BT, I was reminded of a writing activity that I often ask my students to do (one that has been revised from a good friend of mine): write your own obituary, and in doing so, think about the ways you might be remembered. The writing activity has many layers of meaning starting with understanding the rhetorical situation (including the audience, constraints, genre, etc.), but it also asks students to think about the context surrounding their lives and the impact they have on others (which, of course, connects back to the rhetorical situation; I do love layered assignments. Am I a writing nerd or what?!). Traditionally when we do this assignment, we don’t really push past understanding the rhetorical situation (because an understanding of rhetorical situation is key to understanding a writing situation); however, I couldn’t help seeing the connection between the discussion at BT and the assignment, and it brought me close to the season at hand.

How do you want to be remembered? And more importantly, how will others actually remember you?

I’m currently back to a no sleeping phase (which many of you know has been pretty normal for me since I was about 18), so I do lots of thinking during the hours of 12:00 am and 3:00 am. Lately, I’ve been wondering these questions and wondering if, for myself, they match up. I’d like to think they do, but sometimes a lack of patience, a lack of understanding, a lack of tolerance might creep up and taint my inward/outward appearance. How often do we let a lack of XX influence our reactions and actions towards people, animals, situations, etc. It’s so easy to do. As an educator, I really try to have a sense of understanding with my students because not everyone grew up like me nor have they been influenced by the events in my life. I am lucky to be able to grow from my students’ experiences just as they can from mine. The hard part is to not feel the need to step on their experiences just because they didn’t experience life as I have. Honestly, this could not only influence their writing identity but their personal identity and that it not what my Ph.D. stands for (though many in my field may feel it is their civic duty to influence students in their, er, proper ways of the world). Hello, my dear readers: I am an educator of writing and an encourager of establishing a writing identity that students can carry with them.

In light of the season and a version of my writing assignment, here is what I would hope my epigraph might look like:

Here lies an utterly happy woman who encouraged others with both her actions and her words, and who did so in fabulously kickin’ shoes—whether they were practical for the weather conditions or not.

As you continue on your season’s journey, I wish you the merriest of times and challenge you to live up to the epigraph leading your way.

The Kardashian Syndrome

Bad human communication leaves us less room to grow.
Rowan D. Williams

Let’s be honest: we all have little things that drive us totally and absolutely crazy. For my brother, JT, it’s getting in the car with me, and I throw my purse on top of him (I may do that on purpose…). Right now for my mama, it begins and ends with the same person. For others, it could be that person scrapping his fork across his salad plate or the person chewing, mouth open so all can see the chicken Caesar salad bits. It’s that little (or big) thing that makes you wanna open your mouth and scream while twirling around the living room on one leg and shaking your head.

For me, it’s a lack of communication. Ironically—or un-ironic depending on how you look at it—I am very open about this fact. I tend to tell people that I don’t appreciate that he/she can’t take 30 sec to email me back or 5 sec to text me back.

**Distinction: this is in reference to those people who NEVER respond back to an email or a text or who quit a text conversation halfway through the conversation. Those people.

I mean seriously, how long does a quick email saying, “hey, really busy, will email soon!” take (I just timed it; it took me less than 20 sec) that would at least let the person know that you care enough to respond. And that right there is the problem: we have become so self-obsessed with ourselves that taking moments out of our busy lives to email and/or text with friends can seem like “too” much.

Let's be honest—have you ever gotten an email from a friend and thought, “I’ll get it in the morning…when I have time” or received a text message and got so wrapped up in whatever was going on in your life that you never responded? You know you have. When did we become so obsessed with only one person: me, myself, and I?

I like to call this the “Kardashian” syndrome where a person becomes so engrossed in the moments squarely in front of them and that centered on only them that the person is unable to acknowledge that there is life outside of him/her self. I suppose the Kardashian klan might argue against my definition of self-absorption; however, if you watch any part of their TV shows, you know that the Kardashian’s are self-obsessed (anyone see the several different episodes where Kim can’t even have lunch with her sisters without texting on her blackberry?).

When dealing with someone suffering from the Kardashian syndrome, you come to a crossroads where you must decide if the friendship is worth continuing. You question how many times must you send an email, a text, another email before you are done with being walked on by a “friend?” And so, you do your best to dust off your hurt because deep down you know that a friend that lasts through the fires and glories of your life would never intentionally ignore an email or a text (or heaven forbid ignore a text conversation half-way through the conversation). The Kardashian syndrome can grab even the purest of souls, and it takes a mighty person to squash it.

Having moved around a bit, I am hyper-aware of media communication. I am blessed to have made friends at several different stages of my life, but that are spread across the country (including Hawaii), which means several different time zones. Text messaging and emailing have replaced daily/weekly phone calls, but nevertheless still keep you engaged with the person and can keep you in the know about what’s going on in your friend’s life. And sometimes receiving a well-intended text or email from a far-away friend is exactly what you need on a cold, dreary morning.

Obviously, I have made witness a frustration of mine. A good friend of mine jokes with me that she knows (!) to always answer my texts because she understands how it bothers me. But key word there is a GOOD friend. So, perhaps the actual question lies in just how good of a friend is it that can let an email or a text or both go for days, weeks, months without so much as a simply acknowledgement.

Communication is at the heart of all life: even dogs can learn up to 350 different words and commands (a fact that I constantly keep proving true with my Trini-luv). Yet, as the quote above suggests, without it, there is no room to grow or rather no way to go forward. Communication between friends takes more than one person and both parties must be willing to give up a minute or two in order to keep it alive.

So, the next time you are quick to think, “I’ll get to that when I can…” just resist the urge to let the Kardashian Syndrome take hold...and respond. Your friend will appreciate it.

The Girl with the Knit Toboggan

Today, as I sit sipping my Dt. Coke in front of a crackling fire, I shift through Piperlime’s “Top 11 Fall Fashion Must-Have’s” lingering on a MINKPINK red maxi skirt and wondering if I could pull off a maxi given the I’mkindashortthing. I then move to hiker booties with heels—totally cute. I’m particular fond of a Boutique 9 pair and Heart and Soul pair, though at $89, the Heart and Soul pair is the more reasonable buy. But I only linger on the different pieces of fall; I don’t linger for too long because then I would want to buy something.

“When I shop, the world gets better, and the world is better, but then it's not, and I need to do it again.” Rebecca Bloomwood

I love fashion. I love shopping. I have loved fashion and shopping since I was very young, and my mother is to blame. She introduced me to fabulous world of fashion with white and pink dresses that had matching white and pink socks, shoes, and jewelry. She also, year-after-year, pointed me in the direction of honing my own style by encouraging me to mix things up with things like thick hunter green flannels with dark bootcut denim or neon green Sketchers or Victorian-like black booties worn with jean skirts and/or black capris or sparkly lip gloss with flecks of glitter before any of these were considered “in style.” My college roommate met me for the first time wearing a belly-bearing green FUBU shirt and white shorts. Twelve years later, she still remembers that outfit. We all have our own individual style, even those who maintain they don’t. We gravitate toward the styles we like--those which make us feel alive when we wear them even if that means throwing on whatever is nearest to you when you roll out of bed. I strive for maintaining my own look whether it’s wearing five bold bangles (when two might have been just fine with the outfit) or bright blue tights with a short black dress. I’m not a crazy fashion-forward kinda girl, but I do appreciate owning my style, which someone once described as “sorta-but-not-really rocker chic.” I’ll take it.

“You’re a professor…you must make what like $80,000…a $100,00??”

I come from a family of shoppers: my dad, I believe, could shop me under the table. Seriously. I think this has helped me learn to become a killer window shopper. I can go into store after store and try on clothes just for fun. I tend to play a game: if I had XX amount of money, what would I buy and why. I also really love going with people as they shop because I like styling them. I like to believe that I have left a profound and positive styling effect on some of people that have come into my life. Take my cousin, J(G)S, who is president of Neenah Paper. She has to look professional from H2T daily, but I’ve seen little bits and pieces of glitz show up on her (i.e. leopard print flats or hot pink silk scarves). Or my good friend SG. She recently sent me a going-out picture where she was rockin’ sky-high black strappy sandals (she is over 6 foot and when I met her swore she would NEVER wear heels!). Or take my friend, LR. When I met her she was all about the basic color palette and hated shopping. At a graduation party, she rocked a beautiful print dress with gold heels (that she found herself!). And last, my mom, who was my muse and now lets me pick out her outfits. I tell her all the time I’m never going to let her go out of style…she’ll be the best dressed 90 year old. If this professor thing doesn’t work out, I’ve often thought about becoming a stylist. Just call me Rachel Zoe (only the real-life size. I could not eat for months and still not be that tiny).

I recently had a conversation with another graduate of FSU who had a similar thought as me: with her first “real” paycheck she was going to splurge and buy something like a Coach purse. Reality check came when my first “real” paycheck entered my bank account. I immediately called HR. The conversation went something like this…

“Uh, hi. I’m a recent hire at DU, and I think something is wrong with my paycheck.”

“Congrats on your recent hire!”

“Um, ok thanks.”

“So what seems to be the problem with your paycheck?”

“Well, there seems to be an awful lot missing from it.”

Chuckle (I wanted to jump through the phone and give him my best eyebrow arched, death stare). “Ok, well let’s take a look here…The federal tax is….”

And so on. The conversation concluded with me saddened by the reality that my paycheck would always be $1000 less that what I actually make given the amount of taxes and benefits taken out. No, there was nothing actually wrong with my paycheck. Someone forgot to tell me that once I ended my life after a graduate student (in the state of Florida), my paycheck would also reflect my real-life status. Not going to lie…it’s scarier than I thought. Also, please remember my dear readers (especially those of you getting ready to graduate soon), moving cleans you out. Moving across country even more. It takes a couple months to fully recover (I’m still in that phase). I didn’t give that enough credit either. So, you have to decide what’s most important to you and what’s not. Food wins out right now (although pop is #1, JT and I decided years ago when we first lived together that no matter how dire the situation, we would also have pop), which means no couch, TV, desk, cable, internet, or bed. When I tell people that most are like, how can you do it without a bed?!? Honestly, the bed doesn’t bother me as much as say a couch. You don’t think about how much you use a couch until you don’t have one. The couch is like the mecca of a home; it’s the safe haven that you can curl up on and snuggle with your dog; it’s where you can sip on some Dt. Coke while reading PeopleStyle; it’s the best place to take a power nap; it’s where the list-making happens. So, yes, not having a couch is worse than not having a bed. It’s the first thing that I’m going to buy. The very first.

Things I’ve learned or re-learned in the last two months about shopping, specifically grocery shopping:

1. Count your pennies and use them. I have no qualms about counting out pennies for groceries. JT got slightly embarrassed the last time we were grocery shopping, but the kind check-out lady was like, “honey, it all amounts to the same when I count it out at night.” Totally true.
2. Make a list to go grocery shopping and buy things that last a long time. We happen to be big cereal eaters—cereal taste good at any time of the day.
3. Treat yourself to something you truly do enjoy—this way it doesn’t feel like you totally depriving yourself. For JT and me, it’s Dt. Coke. We always, always have it.
4. Go through the grocery store and put everything in your cart. When you’re finished find an empty spot, and go through what’s in your cart deciding if you truly need it. We always find about $20-$40 worth of stuff that we don’t actually need.
5. Don’t be embarrassed about living on a strict budget. JT struggles with this more than I do. Perhaps it’s because I’m older, and I have lived longer, but I figure as long as we have something to eat for each meal (even if it’s a cup of Ramen) then we are doing better than a lot of people.

I like to think all my years of shopping and window shopping combined with coming from a line of shoppers has actually helped me live on a strict budget because I’m always looking for a good deal. I get excited when Dt. Coke goes on sale 3 for $9, or I find a good cheese for $4/lb.I must confess: when my first paycheck was securely in my bank account, I went to Urban Outfitters and bought myself a present. I decided that since it was my first real paycheck in my first real professor job that I could splurge ever so slightly. I bought myself this super cute knit toboggan (that’s a hat for those you not from the north) that I had been eyeing since I moved to Denver (so five weeks). It was $26 and some change. It’s no Coach purse, but buying it made me feel giddy and when I put it on, I know that it was my first purchase as a professor. I kinda like that.

Posin' or Imposin': Life's no Fun without a Good Scare

Tender lumplings everywhere/Life's no fun without a good scare/That's our job, but we're not mean/In our town of Halloween
—Nightmare Before Christmas

Leaves flirting with changing colors; pumpkin spice lattes shared as a mid-day snack; cozy sweaters worn over leggings; ghoulish figures adorning coffee tables; sparkly purple and orange lights hanging from porches; scary movie nights with friends…oh, it’s beginning to look a lot like Halloween. I happen to love Halloween because of all the festively fun things surrounding the holiday. There are so many unique gatherings that go with the holiday. When else could we go conquer the streets of downtown Denver dressed up as zombies. When else could we scare ourselves silly in a haunted corn maze. When else is it socially acceptable to pretend to be any person (dead or alive), beast, thing, or creature and randomly knock on strangers doors for candy (or in the rich neighborhoods money) or trek across town to the kickin’ party. Halloween, more than any other holiday, seems to encourage people to let it all hang out—the good and the scary—as they come together to celebrate a day where they can be anything they want to be. Halloween encourages us to put aside who we are and become (at least for a moment) imposters of some one or some thing else.

I must say that while I simply adore 99% of the celebratory things that go along with Halloween, I have never liked dressing up in costumes. My mom use to dress DT and me up in the best costumes—good enough to win prizes—but I hated it (I think I might have even loathed it as I tended to cry throughout the entire process). I’m not sure what has made me hate dressing up, but it’s followed me into my adult years. In college, J(B)P often had to twist my arm to dress up and later, while at FSU, I’d find ways out of going to the parties (one year I went to Atlanta to trick-or-treat with my young cousins…I made Trini dress up, but not me; another year I went to the Florida/Georgia game). Something about dressing up makes me inwardly cringe and outwardly become socially awkward. It makes no sense. I’m the first one to decorate my apartment (this year, it happened on September 25 just to enjoy it longer); the first to string up lights on my porch; the first to encourage watching 13 nights of Halloween; but it’s the dressing up that gets me.

While being an imposter for Halloween is an apparent challenge for me, lately, I have found myself feeling like an imposter, and I’m not sure why. In January, I wrote a post that said I wanted to stroll right in and be a part of the club—the exclusive club with a members-only guarantee. Now that I’m here, I feel like I’m still swinging on the slight peripheral. Perhaps it’s because people still mistake me for a student (I swear it’s cause I’m short as the kind woman checking my ID to go through airport security exclaimed, “YOU’RE 30?!? But you’re so short.” Hm. Because apparently once you hit a certain age, you magically become a height specific to that age. Well shoot, my magic fairy must have used the wrong wand). Perhaps it’s because my diploma hasn’t arrived to confirm that, yes, I successfully completed a Ph.D. Or perhaps it’s because I can’t get JT to call me Dr. Siss. Whatever the reason, I find myself thinking, “What are you doing, Kara. Someone is going to guess you don’t really belong in/to this club. They made a mistake.” It's really a weird feeling, especially given just a month ago, I felt more like a professor. So, ironically during the month of October, I’ve felt like I was posin’ and that someone is going to catch me doing my best professor impression and call me out.

I'm hoping that this feeling is short lived. I don't like it shifting it's way through my mind, teasing me at the most inappropriate times. Perhaps then it would be fitting for me to dress-up as a professor for Halloween. Or perhaps I’ll just go with my go-to and dress as a 80s rocker chick. Even though, I'm feeling like a poser, some might say neither is that far of a stretch for me, and perhaps therein lies the problem. So 80s rocker professor it is. Problem solved.I'm glad we had this conversation.

Rock on.

Work It!

I’ve developed a habit that is annoying even to me—I have a tendency to play with my hair when it’s down—I fluff it; I flip it; I flounce it. **Forgive me those of you who have had to witness this habit.** I’ve become the girl I detested in the seventh grade. I even occasionally stare at it as I walk by store windows. I don’t know how it happened except that I blame it on having short hair for a very long time. My hair hasn’t been this long since I was 10 (that’s two decades!), and it’s because I decided at a very young age that I didn’t want to be the girl with the long hair that boys wanted to grab and other girls wanted to braid. I didn’t want to be like every other girl. This idea was often reiterated by silly boys exclaiming over how their ideal woman had long hair cascading down her back…hello romance novel anyone?? Case in point: a rather dull boy from my college swim team once exclaimed at a new haircut, “Kara!!!! WHAT DID YOU DO?!?!" Uh, really kid? Apparently he never learned to think before speaking. I wanted to prove that, yes, girls can be sexy with short hair. Add that to I get bored very easily with my hair (some of you may have noticed the purple/pink streaks a couple years ago). So, it’s been awhile since my hair has touched my shoulders, let alone gone past them. Now that it does, it seems to me that longer hair can get in the way: you lay on it in bed; it gets caught underneath purse straps; and, it gets in the way when swiping on mascara. Yet, I can’t bring myself to cut it, and in fact, I’m aiming to let it grow (right now as one of my closest friends, J(L)M, reads this, she is screaming out loud, “there is NO way she’ll make it!").

Much like my transition into long(er) hair, my transition into living in Denver has had some interesting moments that include fluffing, flipping, and flouncing. I had fluffed off that hiking requires different shoes until I actually went hiking. Tennis shoes just don’t cut it. I’m sure those poor souls that were around Joey and me as we hiked in Red Rocks, shook their heads and whispered, “amateurs,” as I tentatively slid down a baby hill on my butt (hey—better to be safe, right?). I have repeated wanted to flip off the car behind me that honks its horn because I don’t gun it the very moment the red light turns green. For the record, I haven’t and won’t…but I have a very vivid picture of what I might look doing so. And last, I have flounced my way across Denver in search of good places to eat, shop, and make merry (for those of you unsure of how to flounce: honey-child, it can’t be taught. ;-). It has been so fun tasting and sampling the different flavors of Denver—people and food alike. Denver is unlike any place I have ever lived, and quite honestly, my morning jog has never been easier to handle with the mountains beaming at me in the background.

Five weeks into my move, and I feel like I’m slowly getting into a daily, organized life style. I’m working out again (yah! Dissertation 20—I got your number!). I’ve found a church I really connect with (for the record, churches in Denver tend to start at 6:00 pm Sunday night. That’s weird to someone who has gone to a Sunday morning church for the majority of her life). I’m beginning to make friends (double yah for that one, although, I’m having a shirt made that says, “Joey Taczak—the one standing next to me with loads of curly hair—is NOT my boyfriend.” Geez, and I thought having a twin brother was a date killer!! Don’t make assumptions, people.) And slowly but surely, I’m beginning to work again. This one has been the hardest, and for those of you who know me, I love to work, and I love to do lots of work. But for whatever reason—may it be the lack of a break between FSU and moving, may it be the transition from grad student to faculty member, or may it be transitioning into a new environment—I’ve struggled to get hard-core work accomplished. It’s happening, though. I have even color-coded the next month on my calendar—now you know I’m moving in the right direction. **One might think that without cable or internet that by now I would have gotten loads of work accomplished at home. You, my friend, would be sadly mistaken. I’ve been too busy playing with my hair.

Take Me or Leave Me or Maybe Both?

"Take me or leave me; or, as is the usual order of things, both."
— Dorothy Parker

In the event of a (half-way) across the country move, I feel like this Dorothy Parker quote sums up quite a lot.

Finding a place to live.
Transitioning into a new city, a new culture, a new community.
Finding and/or figuring out new and old friendships.
Getting into the general swing of things.

The other day, on a chilly and slightly overcast day, I walked across campus with students walking all over and mingled in the middle of them--part of me remembering what it was like to be 18 and not caring about anything except swimming and boys (not necessarily in that order!) and part of me ready to embrace the professor mode. But what does the professor mode look like and what does it feel like and what does it mean for me? When I was first getting ready to move to Denver, I thought it meant things like, and now suddenly I would be a "grown-up" but just what the heck does that actually mean? What determines a grown-up? As I moved my things into my super cute new apartment, I thought, well that's just silly--I am a grown-up, and I'm pretty content with how I've turned out. ;) So, as a result, I did things like decorate both my apartment and my office in what my mom refers to as having "lots of personality and warm." Some examples: my little area that I've deemed my "bistro" So far I've never owned a dining room table, so a bistro area with a mosaic table seems more appropriate.

My new office--which is totally huge and amazing--I've tried to decorated by infusing my personality while trying to keep it inviting and happy. My desk has lots of color, and of course, my FSU cup, plus a new MAC which I'm still figuring out how to properly use! I also have up (which you probably can't see that well) pictures that make me happy: friends and family, and of course, Trini.
And last, I might even have a Steeler wall (a true Steeler fan stands behind her Steelers EVEN after that embarrassing opening!)Does my office respond to what a "professor mode" might look like? I honestly don't know, but I can say, that I love my office and sitting behind my desk, I feel like me, which is at this current moment is a professor. So, perhaps, I am a little bit of the both mentality: take me and/or leave me. At the same time, I'm not thumbing my nose to the whole idea that some things will need to change; I understand that there are some things that might have to go as I step up in this new role (maybe my nail polish, which is currently teal with the black crackle polish over top...maybe not so much professional as it could be, especially given that I'm rockin' the slowlystartingtopeelaway look). But the challenge of figuring out how to merge the two together, I think is/will be a fun and interesting challenge. Just don't expect me to roll out the shoulder pads anytime soon. ;-)

Lessons Learned

Where there’s an end: there’s a new beginning.

Sometimes when things end there's a mixed emotional response. Happiness mingles with uncertainty. Uncertainty blends into excitement. Excitement back into uncertainty, etc. etc. Endings almost always offer a new beginning, and we hope that that new beginning is something wonderfully grand. But we don’t know. Soon my journey at Florida State ends, and I’ll begin anew at the University of Denver. Flying high above the Atlantic, I glance backwards thinking about that journey—the bumps and bruises and the giggles and tears—and I want to remind myself of all I’ve learned to share with others, but also so if and when the times comes for another similar ending, I am ready.

Welcome to the Funhouse: Lessons Learned

1.The carnival ride doesn’t stop just because you hopped on: A hard lesson to be sure. The fourth year you’re not just on the carnival ride; you’re controlling the switch to the ride; you’re dragging the kids on and off the ride; and you’re running back and forth between concessions stands. In other words, you have a lot going on and none of it stops just because the job market rears its head. There are going to be times when you feel like you are lingering between the alright and the I'm-not-really-alright-here-and-I-need-some-help-please phase. Just know that it does pass.

2. You gotta wrestle with Bearded Lady: No one really wants to wrestle with the bearded lady (because, well...you fill-in the blank =), but you know sometimes you just have to do it. Wrestling takes skill, determination, and planning. Take unexpected chances--you'll be surprised what turns up from them.

3. Keep your eye on the crystal ball: Which means--organize, organize, organize. I am a planner (see various other posts!), and it really helped to keep track of all the jobs in a chart...with a color coding system. Seriously. As it also helps to chunk out your day to include dissertation writing time and job application time. It's all about figuring out what works for you. I happened to do really well on the midnight shift (I wrote from 6:00 pm to 3:00 am daily), but a good friend of mine worked from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm. Figure out what works--and no matter how weird it might seem--go with it.

There are so many other things, too, that seem tiny in comparisons but let me name a few. Invest in a good travel (carry-on) bag for traveling—saves money and time. Invest in a killer suit—people do notice what you wear (I had several different interviewers comment—in a positive way—about my attire). Smile--a friendly smile, not a scary-murderess smile. Drink lots of water. Carry chapstick with you. Create a list of practice questions and type up answers. Don't ever (!) give up. Create positive post-its and stick them in front of your computer. Talk to friends that are going through the 4th year--they really help--whether it's to talk you off the ledge or to talk you through a chapter that isn't working. Believe it will happen.

Lessons learned.

Thankgoodness my carnival ride has finally come to a stop and though the process was what I might consider...awfully hard ;-) I.made.it.

Gotta Secret

“got a secret.
can you keep it?
swear this one you'll save.
better lock it in your pocket,
taking this one to the grave.”

I’ve got a secret. Well two actually.

I’m not going save these secrets—I’m going to share.

Secret #1: Still the Same Me

The transition from graduate student to Ph.D. is weird. And amazing. And slow. And anti-climatic. And awesome. And. And.

For two weeks now (I know, I know that’s not technically a lot of time, but really it’s been four years in the making…more if you count all of years spent going to school and teaching), I’ve been Kara E. Taczak, Ph.D, and the emotions I've gone through are simply put, weird. It’s amazing for sure, and I’m not sure it will e-v-e-r get old to hear someone say Dr. Taczak (although note taken: no one is going to get the pronunciation correct) or to refer to myself as Dr. Kt (or to my family Dr. Siss—yes, I’ve been signing emails as Dr. Siss). But what’s weird is I’m still me: I still watch too many reality TV shows, venture online to obsess over shoes, scarves, and bags I can’t afford, read People.com, plan most of my days, and do work (now that’s one thing I thought might change for whatever the reason: the amount of work I have to do!). I was secretly hoping I’d wake up somewhat different; like somehow I'd have changed--I’d look in the mirror and just look different. Like if I was walking on the street and someone walked past by me he/she might think: whoa! There goes one smart lady. She must have a Ph.D. I realize I might be reaching for some level of Cinderella where pumpkins can turn into coaches and maids into princesses, but still I had hope. Reality check came last week while I was at a week-long research seminar on transfer (which for the record was great!). First, I was mistaken for a student worker while I was grabbing a Dt. Coke from the office (I was even dressed in a super cute navy blue blazer!! Hello, what student worker would wear that?!?), and second, I was in the middle of group discussing some key points on transfer when one person in the group looked at me and said, “well, Kara’s the grad. student. She should know this answer!” Um. Ouch. And hello not very nice. So, I must not look very different to the outside world as much as I had hoped I would. And apparently there are no bright shining stars above my head that blink in time to Gaga’s “Edge of Glory” while spelling out “Kt—Ph.D…Kt—Ph.D.”

Which leads me to secret #2: The Dissertation Twenty

Everyone has heard of the freshmen fifteen, and I’ve witnessed it sneakin’ up on plenty of good folks; however, I never gained it. No, it’s not like I’m special—I was a swimmer so whatever I put into my mouth was burned off (just in case you might not believe me: I was a mid-distance swimmer, which means I could swim anywhere from 12, 000-18,000 yards a day. That’s a lotta calories. I mean I could totally drink four, five, even six real Pespi’s in a day and not think anything of it.
;-). So I never had the pleasure of gaining the weight. I never gained weight during my master’s program either (though I might note that I’m not a superwomen…I have gained weight before. Try retiring from swimming after 13 years and not understanding you can’t eat everything/anything in the same frequency that you once did). But let’s fast-forward to the Ph.D and welcome the dissertation twenty. Ok, I didn’t actually gain 20lbs, but it feels like I gained 20lbs—I’m short the weight has no where to go. The weight has slowly but surely crept up on me within the last two years. And I’m not the only one that it has happened to. I have several friends (both young and old; newly minted Ph.Ds and seasoned veteran Ph.Ds) that agree that this happens. Stress makes people eat and some people eat while they work/write. And let's not forget what a dissertation entails: sitting, sitting, and more sitting. Not only are you sedentary, but some people snack while they work. Like me. I tend to feel like I need to snack my way through a writing project. Um, 265 pages later there is additional weight on my body. I should have counted the snacks I ingested throughout the process (and the Dt. Cokes). Plus I, for the record, really enjoy food—one will probably never refer to me as a dainty eater. So, here I sit. Ph.D in hand, but a pudgier version of myself. You might not notice, but I notice (and for that matter so does the scale). Plus, I’m on the verge of moving to a city that is constantly ranked among the top five “fittest” cities in the nation. Uh, yikes. Good thing I’m moving there—motivation.

Two secrets. Two things to learn. One, I think, is easier to handle than the other. I know I’m different—bright and shiny in my own way—even without the twinkling stars above my head. The other can be avoided. So take note soon-to-be-dissertating followers and beware of the dissertation twenty.

Step One: Check

Step One: Check (oh, heck yes!).

3 years and 3 months ago, I made a decision that has lead up today: I decided on my dissertation topic.

It was a little over five months into my first year at FSU, and there were a lot of things going on in my life. On the same day I turned 27, I presented at a conference in Santa Barbara, figured out my dissertation topic, and my mom had brain surgery. Yes, brain surgery. I debated back and forth with my mom at the time whether I should make the trip to Santa Barbara because it meant I would miss her surgery, but she insisted that I should go. I did and after watching a presentation by a little know rhet/comp scholar (ahem, Yancey) present on the topic of transfer, I was sold. Completely. The topic just made sense to me especially after teaching and working with the students that I had in the past two years. I, as a composition instructor, had something I could give students that they could take with them into their education: a knowledge about writing something that, whether they wanted to admit it or not, would help them in their future. I sat for two hours on a bench (in the cold…whoever said southern California doesn’t get cold…lied) after listening to the talk and sketched out ideas for a research project with transfer. Of course the project morphed and changed along the way, but almost 3 and half years later I took my idea, turned it into a research project, and handed in my dissertation to that same little know scholar. Isn’t it crazy how life turns out sometimes?

Step One is complete in the last part of the journey to complete my PhD, and it feels weird—exciting—but weird. All of my blog posts about writing, or lack of writing, the journey is slowly winding down. Not that there isn’t a lot more to do before it’s “official” but let’s just say it felt official when I handed it off today to my committee members. I couldn’t help but grin a wickedly wide grin.

I.turned.in.my.dissertation. Holy crap.

No clever words today for this blog post. No funny stories. No melodramatic pauses.

No. Today I turned in my dissertation, and it just felt/feels darn good.

An Attitude of Exellence

When did decision-making become so difficult?

Gone are the days when the hardest decision was whether to sit with your best friend or your brother at lunch (just for the record: I might have picked my best friend over my brother for a few years, but in my defense…who makes rationale decisions as a 13 year old?!?).

Gone are the days when you wake up in the morning and have an internal battle: do I wear the vibrant purple eye shadow or the electric blue eye shadow, and more importantly, do I match my outfit to my eye shadow (I was always more of a purple girl and perhaps I did match an outfit or two with my eye shadow...and occasionally still do).

Gone are the days when you need to decide whether to be a swimmer or a dancer (obviously many know the decision I made, though, I tend to try and relive my dancin’ days when I have the chance—whether it be an impromptu dance party with JLO or on the table of a bourbon bar in Louisville ;-).

Although these decisions growing up seemed difficult--really they weren’t. But today I long for those days; I want to let myself drift backwards, only for a moment, and cover myself in those memories when decision-making revolved around friends, sports, and fashion.

Strangely (or un-strangely, I guess, if you are anticipating it), the last year as PhD student has more decisions than you could care to imagine and many of them come in the last six months. I’m currently in decision-making mode. Some of the decisions are obvious: no, Kara, you should not go to the baseball game on Sunday because your dissertation is not finished. Some of the decisions are not that obvious and require lists—lots and lots of lists. As mentioned in a previous post, I am a list-creating queen. I make lists to make lists. But the lists don’t make the decisions for you (nor, for that matter, does your dog though I have tried for three days to get Trini’s opinion on a writing matter. For the moment I’m taking the silence as confirmation of what I’m doing is moving in the right direction). And neither does anyone else as much as you might want them to. No, the decisions are all you.

But—what if I make the wrong decision? Will my dissertation fail? Will I be happy in that city? Will I learn from my writing mistakes? Will I be able to continue my research? Will I…make it?

My mom has always encouraged me that before a decision can be made you need to do three things: (1) you need to make sure you are informed (which includes list-making); (2) you need to pray; and (3) you need to maintain an attitude of excellence. The hardest of the three is maintaining an attitude of excellence because it forces you to believe in your decision-making ability when all you really want to do it doubt it (or crawl under a cozy blanket and ran away from it).

Currently my attitude of excellence is wavering a bit—kinda floating right outside my peripheral vision and giggling a girlish giggle at my state of indecisiveness. What I want (er need) to do is give her a good flick and rein her back in. Because decisions need to be made.

But instead, for this moment, I'm going to wrap the memories of my 13 yr old self around me like a cozy blanket and just sit on it a bit.

The Campus Interview

The Campus Interview: a 15 hour Date

Imagine: you’ve just landed a date with someone you’ve had your eye on for some time now. He’s smart and funny with sexy bedroom eyes, and he doesn’t mind a hard-core woman. He tells you he’ll pick you up at 9… am that is for a nice leisurely breakfast. Fast-forward to 9 pm. The date is still going strong; your real smile faded four hours ago sometime before dinner began. You're fidgeting because the boots you have on have lost their comfort appeal and now are just causing a blister (whoever said flats don't cause blisters...lied). Now he’s offering you slow-roasted coffee and lavender ice cream (who can turn down lavender ice cream?!?), and it takes all of your will not to massage the dull ache in your neck (don’t want to give away that tension has built up!). Finally he smiles and asks if you are ready to go (mentally you break out your best running man), you smile (your first real smile in five hours) and say you've had fabulous day and you can’t imagine where the day has gone.

The campus interview is unlike any interview you have ever done, and it seems very much like a day-long date because of its date-like qualities: questions about yourself, dinner that includes dessert, and coffee (and how do you like your coffee). You also dress in your best (conservative but respectful; trendy but not too over the top), constantly check your breath, re-apply lip gloss (or chapstick since traveling tends to dry out your lips), and don’t ever over-eat in front of the other party. You ask personal, yet appropriate, questions. You listen attentively and smile and smile and smile and smile. Smiling, as we all know from experience, is key in establishing personal relationships because they are very revealing. Pay attention to the smiles. ;-)

Something that is not date-like (or if it is that’s just creepy and don’t tell anyone you do it)—researching your "date" so that you know them/it inside and out. I have gone into the campus interviews knowing what the other faculty members look like, what they teach, what and where their degrees are from, and really anything else I can pull from a quick Google search. Once I mentioned that a person had gotten her hair cut and she looked at me funny and said “how did I know that?” (Oops. Gave myself away.)

And don’t kid yourself: it’s as mentally challenging as it is physically challenging. The hardest part is you have to be “on” for such a long time your “on” can get jilted, wilted, and winded...

Your smile wavers a bit. Your handshake is not as firm as it was ten hours ago. You drink one too many Dt. Cokes so that now your chest muscles quiver from ingesting so much caffeine. You might even forget how to pronounce your last name (totally true—one of my campus interviews I must have got caught up in the moment…). You blank on what side of Ohio you hail from (I apparently have many issues with the difference between east and west directions). You learn you have an accent that gives away that you hail from northeastern Ohio (who knew?!?). And most importantly, you might even begin to doubt your research even makes sense because you’ve said it so many times to so many different people in so many different ways. Transfer/Reflection--what??

The campus interview is as much of a whirlwind romance as the first date can be. They show you their best; you show them yours.

As you are there you have lots to take in—the people, the school, the program/department, the city, the food, the culture. You have to try and decide in that two day experience if the job is offered: can you imagine yourself there—working, teaching, living, and playing.

Sometimes when the morning after arrives and the date...er...faculty member picks you up for your ride to the airport; you stumble into the car with your hair piled on top of your head, glasses on, barely a lick of make-up, and it feels like each of you are deciding: should there be a second date? And honestly you are as much a part of that decision as the person driving you toward home.

Downpours and Rainbows

If you want the rainbow, you’ve got to put with the rain. ---Dolly Parton

The rain was fallin’ for me in March (as can probably be noted in my earlier posts), and it kept coming and going in downpours. It wasn’t a bad month, per say, but it was definitely a month where there was a lot of questioning and wondering: is this dissertation going to keep moving forward? Will I get a job? Can I keep up with my workload? Am I ever going to be able to wear a heel again (ok, so perhaps the last question isn’t as important as the others but still 3 months later I’m dying to put on my highest, sassiest pair and strut like I’ve never strutted before…)? The thing with questioning and wondering it leaves you standing in the downpour, no umbrella, mascara running down your face, feeling insecure and useless, so you gotta do your best to embrace the downpours as they come because whether you admit it or not they are a part of this process.

Recently I was having a conversation and someone said to me, “ok you’ve got 7 minutes to be negative and talk about your dissertation/job search.” I was kinda taken back by this statement. Having not lived the same experiences I have lived in the last 7 months I believe that is an unfair characterization of how I’ve dealt with/am dealing with everything (plus I don’t really view myself as a negative person. Case in point: I’ve won two awards in my lifetime for being motivating—you can’t really be a motivating person and be negative. ;-) The thing is, and if I’m being honest, the last year of your PhD is not easy and saying that it’s not easy doesn’t make it a negative statement—it makes it real. I believe in being real because I want to try and help others for when they reach their last year in the PhD. But here's the truth: I can write as many blog posts as I want about it, and I’m not sure anyone can truly be prepared until they live it, breathe it, and really dig in deep to everything that is a part of year 4. Rain, downpours, sometimes even wicked thunder storms become embedded in this last year.

But where there is rain there can be a rainbow...

So, yes, there were some downpours in the month of March for me but as March slid into April I’ve stumbled onto several rainbows. I’ve had five new interviews and been offered a position from a previous place I’ve interviewed with. I’m hoping that out of the new interviews that I’m able to go and do a campus interview at least one of them because here’s the thing: I’ve been questioning and wondering but up until this point none of the jobs I’ve interviewed for were exactly “right” for me and even though that was a hard lesson to learn it’s enabled me to become a much better interviewer (dude! I’ve got my research done cold! =) and has given me a confidence about my research/dissertation that I didn’t have before (and that has definitely helped feed into my dissertation writing).

See the funny thing about this last year of you PhD (and to use a cliché) you just never know what tomorrow holds. Could be a rejection or three. Could be a job offer. Could be a major break in #4. As my mother has told me since I was old enough to remember (and yes she sings it): the sun will come out tomorrow…and sometimes brings with it a rainbow.

“I don’t date girls under 5’2.”

It’s funny the fragments that stick with you. Moments isolated in time that just keep floating back-and-forth inside your mind.

Some random guy said the above quote after a hike I recently went on. Somewhere between reflecting back on the beautiful hike we’d all just experienced and discussing shoe sizes, this guy throws out that comment. I almost came back with a penis comment—almost. Instead I turned and glared at him (as best as one can glare with large sunglasses) and said, “I bet you really get a lot of girls then, huh.” Really, do people not know how to read their audience?!? He was surrounded by women, and while many of them were above 5’2, not all of them were. Uh, geeish!

The understanding of audience seems so crucial to understanding a lot of life’s experiences, yet, how many people don’t really read their audience. Ironically even those in my own cohort of friends and family don’t always read their own audiences—not a critique, mind you, just an observation. And I’m not suggesting that I’m always do myself, in fact, I'm still learning to respond to this understanding. It's something I stress in my teaching as I try and teach the importance of understanding your audience to both my freshmen and my upper level classes because I believe it’s one of the most important rhetorical concepts they can learn (next to, of course, reflection and genre). Understanding an audience helps teach them that their audience is not merely the teacher and that some day they will be writing to real-life audiences outside of school. I think it’s important for them to start to make those connections early.

Interestingly, I was reminded today of just how important understanding my audience is for my own dissertation. My committee that eventually reads my dissertation makes up my audience and this is so important because there are specific things I am doing/will do to make sure that my audience knows and understands what I am saying. I have read different books and different articles because I want to be sure that I understand case study methodology, for example. Some of the stuff I’ve read I won’t even put in my dissertation but you better believe I’ve read it and will keep in my back pocket just in case!

Reading/understanding audiences are a part of being a competent writer, but also part of being a competent speaker, friend, family member, or basically, all around person.

The random guy probably didn’t mean much with his comment, but as can been seen in #27 of my fun and fabulous facts post, I have a tendency to be sensitive about my height. We all have that one (or two) thing(s) that push our buttons…perhaps if you had grown up hearing midget jokes you would be tiny bit sensitive too (or had the nickname of Willow—from the movie about little people--I'm just sayin').

Moral of the story: whether in a casual conversation, writing for your first-year comp instructor, or writing your dissertation you need to read and understand your audience. I’m guessing the random guy didn’t have 1101/1102 at FSU because perhaps then he might know a little more about audience. ;-)

Pushing Through the Silence

Forgive me, dear readers, for I have not blogged in 19 days.

***A year ago I was sitting pretty: I had recently come back from CCCC, which had been a fabulous trip, and I felt on top of the world. Little did I know that in a year things would look and feel so different.

No one can prepare you for your last year as a Ph.D. student, and honestly if they tried I’m not sure you would “get it.” The last year has been full of ups and downs and sometimes it feels like mostly downs. It’s not just because the job search is such an emotional roller coaster either—there is just so much that goes on in this last year and the job search is only one part of it. There are times I wish I could simply sit in a dark room watching re-runs of Dawson’s Creek, dt Coke by my side, snuggled under my Florida State blanket with Trini on my lap. But where would that get me besides revved up on caffeine and teenage angst (not that that doesn’t sound appealing!). No, I know I must push forward even if the pace I’m pushing is barely a limp (which given the fact that I still--over ten weeks later--have a slightly swollen ankle is not to far off!).

There have been times in the last four months that I question my ability to write—does that happen to everyone or is it just some insecurity of mine…I really don’t know. There have been times when I’ve wished I was a different kind of writer—one that doesn’t jump in head first without looking back. There have been times where I look at my students and think “I’m just like them” wondering where this thing called writing is going to get me. And there have been times when I wonder how I’m going to finish because for me the writing process has been all or nothing (which is not the kind of writer I normally am). I’ve always been some form of a writer: I won my first writing contest when I was ten for a fire safety essay. I graduated high school with honors in writing (not in English—in writing) after I spent the year taking both an AP English class and the traditional English class because I loved writing. Then in college writing just seemed like a natural major for me. Now twenty years after writing my fire safety essay I question my ability to write because my dissertation keeps shaking her ugly/beautiful (either/or…?!?) head at me.

Questions, questions, questions. Fester, fester, fester. Uh, yikes!

Ten weeks. There is a countdown happening and there’s no going back now. No matter how many lists I make, and no matter how many times I revise those lists, I have a definite deadline. Ten weeks is either going to be a lifetime or in need of a lifeline depending on how it plays out. Based on my competitive nature I’m determined not to let her get the best of me, so in ten weeks I’ll be writing about the joys of completing and successfully defending a little thing called a dissertation.

Here's to her planting a vision inside my brain that takes hold and sticks:

We can work it out

Life is very short, and there's no time/For fussing and fighting, my friend.
I have always thought that it's a crime,/So I will ask you once again.

If January was “Whataya want from me” month than February was the “we can work it out” month.

The life of a fourth year PhD student moves in weird, jerky directions and one moment you feel completely in control and the next you feel as if you’ve jumped off the Fort Steuben bridge in the middle of January and the icy water consumes you (a bit melodramatic, eh?). I’ve been working things out this month with both the dissertation and the job search. At the beginning of the month I felt like I was slapping this dissertation in the face and gleefully yelling “I got you babe” but it was as if I spoke too soon. My dissertation spent two weeks in February fading in and out of consciousness—I was a mere passenger as it tried to work itself out. The dissertation, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, is a beast and most of the time this beast ain’t pretty. It develops a personality; it forges ahead into territories you don’t want it to go; it plops down and takes a week long vacation when you don’t want it to; it rants in a language unknown to the human mind. I’ve spent most of February going back and forth with her and not making a whole lotta head way. I felt so in control the first week of February and so outta control for the rest of the month. I haven’t regained that sense of control until the last couple days, thus, my dissertation and I have been working things out this month (I’ve already warned her that February is the only month she is allowed for this to happen). Yes, ladies and gentleman, the dissertation becomes a living breathing entity, and you bow to her unquestionable powers.

We can work it/we can work it out.
Try and see it my way.

I’m working things out. I finally broke down and practiced coding. It was scary—no joke—and I’ve been putting it off because I’m unsure if I’m right or wrong with my scheme. Silly, right? But in my head if I didn’t think about it then it wasn’t there. Good thing for me KY wouldn’t let me forgot about it otherwise I’d turn into one of those dissertation lifers. I broke down, though, and even if it’s not going to work at least I know how to start up again. It’s not as scary once you’ve tried it; it was getting to the trying stage that was hard.

Spring break is looming in front of me and as a wise person recently said, “you might find it wise to use some or all of spring break to help you assure that the rest of the term goes well.” Academics might “get” spring break off from teaching but it’s actually an opportunity to work; to get caught up; to get ahead. Some won’t see it that way, I realize, but I see a week’s worth of no commitments and a schedule of nothing but writing, and I’m kinda pumped about that. I have a deadline to meet, and I fully intend to make it. So I’m working it things out with my dissertation—she's finally starting to see things my way.

30 Fun and Fabulous Facts

In celebration of my recent birthday I thought I would change up this week’s blog post and do something a little lighter in tone.

30 things you may or may not know about me (one for each year I’ve been alive!):

1. I have 5 piercing in one ear--3 of which my mom pierced for me. I only wear three of the five.
2. I have a serious fear of heights and don’t actual like roller coasters.
3. One my favorite meals is my dad’s mac-n-cheese (but my mom taught him how to make it!).
4. I talk to Trini as if she is a person and as a result I’m pretty sure it’s made her a very neurotic dog.
5. I have a fixation with being strikingly unique—from my clothes, to my attitude, to my hair style, to my writing style—I blame it on being a twin and always having to share everything (DT and I shared almost everything until we were 21 from friends to jobs to schools).
6. I’m obsessed with reality TV. I have no idea why.
7. I had an atrial septal defect repaired when I was four, and I have a moon shaped scar that spans from under my arm to the other side of my boob. Being a swimmer and wearing tiny little competitive bathing suits people could always see my scar, so I used to make-up stories about how I got it instead of telling the truth.
8. I have another scar on my belly that’s in the perfect shape of an “L” that JT gave me with scissors.
9. I am extremely close with my mom, dad and brothers and talk to them several times a day (I think my parents actually get sick of me calling!).
10. My one real vice is Dt. Coke…ok pop in general. In college JP and I could go through a cube of Pepsi in less than a week (she’s the only person besides JT that I know has the same love affair with pop).
11. I only drink pop with a straw (something I learned from JP!).
12. Sometimes I put on musicals just so I can sing along (a personal favorite is “Suddenly Seymour”).
13. I dated the same guy on and off for over ten years. He was my first boyfriend and at one point I was sure I would marry him. Funny how life works out.
14. I hate dressing up for Halloween but love decorating for it (backwards I know).
15. When I get really, really angry I cry. When other people cry, I cry. But other than that I don't really cry.
16. One of my best friends, J(L)M, and I became friends in first grade when we came to school wearing the exact same outfit right down to the same shoes. Throughout our friendship we have shown up to places in the same outfits without knowning we'd done it. Our friendship has stood strong for over 20 years.
17. I played the piano for 17 years and minored in it in college but I haven’t really played it since I was 26.
18. I love lilacs.
19. My family in Atlanta is very special to me, and we always spend some part of the summer together.
20. When I was little I was sure I would be married by the time I hit 30 and have a child named Anne Elizabeth Suzan Taczak-XXX. Poor child would have had nightmares about her name.
21. I occasionally have a moment of panic where a tiny voice in my head screams “you won’t be able to finish your dissertation.”
22. I love fashion and learned most of what I know from my mom.
23. I once won a push-up contest where I did 115 push-ups (true story ask JP or DT…afterwards I went to a frat party and challenged a guy who was annoying me to a push-up contest and beat him. I truly am no longer that competitive nor can I do that many push-ups).
24. I love shoes, bags, and scarves and own almost 50 pairs of shoes (mostly Steve Madden and Jessica Simpson’s because they are the only shoes that tend to fit me—I have an unusually small foot and even smaller heel), 30 scarves, and 20 bags.
25. When I was sophomore in high school I got a B in English because I sat and unashamedly flirted with the boy behind me instead of paying attention. I never got a B in English again.
26. I go to church every Sunday.
27. I hate it when people mention my height and have a tendency to want to drop kick someone when they mention it. Yeah, I get it. I’m short. Get over it already.
28. Sometimes when I’m angry, frustrated or upset with someone I have vividly detailed conversations with them in my head. One time a person that I was having a “conversation” with came up behind me and could tell something was wrong and that it was directed at her. Now I try and keep those conversations in the shower so my body language doesn’t project what I’m thinking (I’ve been told I can have loud body language).
29. I never read the Harry Potter books but I love all the movies.
30. I believe in standing up for what you believe in even if no one else around agrees with you but I don't believe in arguing with someone who's stupidly putting down your beliefs because that person has already shut out/off anything you would say (think about it...).

I can only hope and pray that my 30s are as entertaining, enlightening, and fabulous as my 20s were!

Big A, Little A what begins with A?

Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple. Dr. Seuss

Well, ain’t that the truth, Seuss.

That Dr. Seuss had wisdom to spare and as another week begins I find myself drawn to some of my favorite Dr. Seuss quotes. I grew up with Dr. Seuss—we were best buds, if you will—my mom taught my brothers and me to read using many of his books (and if I try I can recite several from memory: Big F, little f what begins with F? Four, Fluffy feathers on a fiffer-fefer-feff!) when we were barely old enough to read. From this began a love affair with words, thus, I’ve been fond of reading and writing ever since. Love affair is very appropriate description (especially given today is Valentine’s Day and all) because the relationship has had its ups and downs—sometimes even failing on me when I needed it most.

Take today. I had an interview with a school that I was very excited about interviewing with. But, I have a cold (yes, I’m sick again…I apparently have a sign on my forehead that says, “open for business—calling all germs”) that has situated itself in my throat and sinuses. I basically coughed my way through a feverish 20min interview (case in point: right in the middle of explaining a key point of my research I had to break for coughing…moment lost). I’m hoping and praying that somehow the search committee heard my main points through the coughing and sniffing but who knows (no one likes a sniffer). Words failed me today because they got caught behind a wall of mucus (gross, I know). I’m still blaming them because I feel if they had really had my back they would have mustered through with a better fight.

Today’s interview I'm appropriately titling as a AYFK? moment.
My mentor (and dissertation head) told a group of us a secret: awhile
ago she was given a slip of paper with words "are you kidding" on them
and was told to pull it out whenever the moment seemed to call for them.
Today was one of those moments only I'd like to re-phrase, "are you [blank]
kidding?!?" (texting purposes AYFK?).

The questions are complicated, yes indeed. How the heck do I get a job? How do I prove to a search committee that I’m the one that they want (because I’m smart, competent, and work really hard—I mean how does one get that across in an interview without seeming too narcissistic)? When do I get off this insanely long and bumpy roller coaster (have a mentioned I hate roller coasters?!?)? And most importantly, “And will [I] succeed?” According to Seuss, “Yes, indeed, yes indeed! Ninety-eight and three-quarters percent guaranteed.” Hm. It’s the other one and a quarter that worries me.

The Facts of Life

You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have—The Facts of Life.

Some people never learn about the “facts of life” because some people never learn to take the good with the bad. We’re human—we want good all the time—even if we know it’s unrealistic.

A fact:
The Steelers lost the Super Bowl on Sunday, and as saddened as I am by that fact, I still pretty proud of my boys. 2nd in the NFL is none too shabby especially when the critics panned them as having a bad year due to the BR drama. Yes, the boys done well—they done real well.

There's a time you got to go and show, You're growin' now you know about—The Facts of Life.

A fact:
Some people never grow only wanting to wallow around in what might have been instead of what could be. Three of my friends have gotten campus interviews and one of them said to me that he almost didn’t tell me because he knew I’d be upset. I found this to be amusing rather than offensive (luckily) because one thing I’ve learned in the last six months is you can’t wallow. What kind of person would be upset over a friend’s success? Seems silly. No, I’m proud of these three. They are forging ahead and making it work in a very difficult market.

You got the future in the palm of your hands all you gotta do to get you through is understand you think you rather do without, you will never make without the truth—The facts of life is all about you.

A fact:
You gotta take the job market experience as a growing and learning experience otherwise you’re never going to get out of bed in the morning; you’re never going to teach your students anything substantial this semester; and you’re never going to finish your dissertation. I keep learning this fact over and over again. I feel kinda bad for the head of my dissertation (and also my go-to person for advice on just about everything) because I have had the same talk with her repeatedly (of course I have also had the same talk with my mom and dad, but I don’t feel quite as bad because they don’t have any choice in the matter). So, three people I respect tell me over and over again the same thing: to take each interview, each rejection, each stumble and grow from them. And I do—I grow—but sometimes I grow backwards and need to be reminded I do have the future in the palm of my hand…it’s just the future’s a little unclear right now. But who knows what fact of life next week might hold for me.

I'm taking the good with the bad or at least I'm learning to.

Whataya want from me?!?

Whataya want from me?!?

Adam Lambert, looking straight into the camera, provocatively sings “whataya want from me” and we wonder just who is he talking to—the public, the radio stations, the paparazzi, the record label or is he really just singing an anthem of many of our lives? The answer to his probing question is never answered and even in interviews Lambert says the song’s meant to be open for interpretation.

I have never really liked Adam Lambert—a personal preference to be sure—but his lyrics are the kind that get stuck in your head and won’t get out. I started out not even wanting to listen to his first single and then last summer a good friend of mine came into town. We had a conversation about how much she loves (!) Lambert and how much I did not. To be honest EB has quite the eclectic taste (read weird ;-) in the people that she appreciates/loves in Hollywood. I mean this is a girl who has a near obsession with Steve Buscemi beyond his acting ability—great actor, but past that um, no thanks. So we had this long conversation about Lambert and she didn’t sell me on him, but once she left I started to hear his song everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. I’d be in the mall or in the car or I’d be watching TV and boom! There he was in all his glammed out glory. I think EB flew out of Tallie leaving behind a (Glam)bert curse—to follow me wherever I go. So, Lambert’s song grew on me (note: he did not—just to be clear).

Whataya want from me?!?

January, for me, has been the month of whataya want from me. The post from a few weeks ago needs to be revised: Pollyanna has fled the building. I’ve been sitting on the sidelines for most of the month, and I’m going to be honest it’s been hard.

First came an ankle injury, which left me having to try and do work from the couch. Sounds reasonable but I had to elevate my ankle and ice it while attempting to balance my computer, books, notes, and notebooks. I tried to suck it up and sit at my desk only to have my ankle swell more. Luckily it’s on the mend. I think what’s distressed me the most about the ankle injury is the fact that I’ve been stuck in tennis shoes and flats for over two weeks not an easy feat for a girl who loves her heels.

Next I somehow contracted two strains of the flu virus—I’m blaming my freshmen, which I told them and they agreed it was probably them—and have been completely “laid up” (as my grandmother would say) for the last five days and counting. This is a wicked version of the flu that I don’t wish upon anyone (also because you have to be tested for the flu and its one awful experience—a long, flexible cotton swab is jammed up your nose…). It completely wipes you out. I’ve tried for the last two days to get up and do work only to go back bed. I am on the mend, which is a good thing, but not 100%. Today I thought I could tackle a lot of work only to have to go back to bed for several hours. The word is that it takes 7-10 days to completely recover from this flu, but holy crap who does that work for?!? I’m trying to go with one day at time and work in shorter spans to see if that helps (obviously since I’m writing this I’m having an up moment =).

***A shout-out here to my brother, JT, who has been taking great care of me during all of these aliments. Not sure what I would have done without him. Been even more miserable I’m sure.***

So both my working and my working out have been shot to hell this month, which if you know me are two extremely important parts of my life—not to mention I’m in the middle of training for a half marathon that is now four weeks away and my dissertation due date is looming in front of me. Hm…the next several months might not be pretty.

And last, and probably the most important part of the whataya want from me month, has been about figuring out how to deal with rejection. Yes, January is the month of no’s—no thank you; we’ve moved forward without you; thanks but no thanks; and a lot of great applications were turned away and yours was one of them. I even got a double no from one school because they accidently sent me two email dings two weeks apart. I emailed them back to say, “uh, thanks but I got your point with your first email” (I didn’t really email that but I did email to say they let me know twice—just nicer). The rejection definitely hurts worse when you have interviewed with a school. I haven’t heard from all the schools I’ve interviewed with but the ones I have that have turned me down have been very nice emails but rejections all the same. I want to ask them: Why wasn’t I what you were looking for? What about my answers didn’t cut it? Did you like any part of my application/interview?

Rejection, no matter the form, makes you question yourself—a natural reaction. So, yes, I have been questioning myself a bit this month but I still believe I’m going to get a job. I haven’t given up hope just yet (guess Pollyanna didn’t run too far away). But what I think I’ve learned from the month of January are four things: (1) shorter goals; (2) one day at a time; and (3) stay away from tree roots and sick people.


Oh, wait. I said four things: to just start asking everyone whataya want from me?

12th (wo)man on the Team

Here we go Steelers…here we go. Pittsburgh’s goin’ to the Super Bowl.

After what was a very long week (didn’t seem to matter it was technically only a four dayer), we end on a high note. The Steelers become the second team in NFL history to go to eight super bowls (trivia for the other team, though, if you know your NFL it isn’t hard to figure out!). Two weeks from now we will play the Green Bay Packers in effort to become the first team in NFL history to win seven times. Here we go!

I have been a Steelers fan since before I came out of the womb—I was born into a Steelers family. My dad, my mom, my dad’s dad, my dad’s brother, and so on. Most of family members are Steelers fans. I grew up with David spouting off Steelers line-ups and giving predications way before a child can even truly understand the impact of being a Steelers fan. But the thing about being a Steelers fan is you kinda get labeled as things such as obnoxious, loud, overbearing, and opinionated--even as a child fan. I think what bothers people the most is we’re everywhere. This is Steelers country baby. We’re the 12th man on the team. Win or lose we represent.

I think that a PhD student sorta resembles a Steelers fan. Often these students can be obnoxious, loud, and/or overbearing and (most definitely) opinionated (you know it’s true, though, some people are more than others). I have to wonder if it’s because we go to school for such a long time, so we have lots of knowledge to throw around, right? We know stuff—lots of stuff—and depending on the PhD student’s personality this can come across as, well, all of the above. But we are also like the 12th man on team because we get our jobs done—whether that job is to teach students how to write, how critically analyze, or how to research; we expand upon existing theories to create new defining moments in our fields; and most importantly, the majority of us are fighters never giving up even when we may really (!) want to. We represent our teams (aka disciplines) well and as a result as we make the transition from PhD student to PhD, we go from the 12th man to an actual member of the team. That’s what we are fighting for; it’s why we work hard, push hard, and play hard to earn that spot on the team: to be a professor baby. =)

I write this in the afterglow of winning (another) AFC championship game and as I struggle through the final semester of my PhD. But I kind of like the idea of being the 12th (wo)man on the team because it’s part of the secret to Steelers success, and they don’t leave home without them. Thus, I, too, will be successful in my transition from PhD student to PhD. Makes rational sense.

I'm just a regular ole (anal) Pollyanna

The best laid plans of mice and men…

I perpetually outline different plans for my life or as my mom likes to say I plan my life out in semesters. I do; it’s true. I love to plan. If someone were to take a look at my calendar they might notice the colors (because I tend to color code activities); they might also notice I tend to plan out things based on the hour of the day. 8:00 teach. 9:30 print out CCC work. 12:00 eat lunch. Sounds crazy (I know), but it works for me and keeps my stress level at bay. It really works for me as I tend to be a very busy person with a lot going on mainly because I like to be busy—at one point in my life I was coaching two swim teams, teaching six different composition classes, taking one graduate class, and selling jewelry...now that took some creative planning on my part! So it should come as no surprise that I’m not really spontaneous nor do I like it when my day doesn’t go accordingly to plan (or my month for that matter!). I’ve had to learn to adjust, I must admit, so that I don’t go crazy since as we know life doesn’t always work as we’d like it to.

One thing that this process of job seeking has taught me is to try to go with the flow because let me honest—no matter the level of planning—nothing goes according to plan. Good example: I made a chart of the schools I applied to/will apply to and color coded based on where I want to go and where seemed like a “good” fit. Well I might as well have thrown the color coding out the window because none of it has worked out. The schools I thought I’d be a perfect fit at apparently didn’t agree with me as I haven’t gotten interviews at them. But the schools that I have interviewed with have been very pleasant surprises. The last interview I had was particular awesome for several reasons: (1) the people were so enthusiastic and fun to talk with, (2) my research aligns very nicely with their English department’s mission, and (3) I’d be able to teach some kick ass classes (oh, yes even one possibility of teaching a class on vampires ;-). Thus, my plans are changing. I’m learning to re-adjust my thinking as to what’s important to me in this job search process (besides the obvious of wanting desperately to secure a job) because what I thought was going to be “the plan” isn’t working. And you know what—surprisingly I’m ok with it. I have had some really great interviews with some really great schools that have opened up different possibilities for me which honestly is just exciting.

Hopefully one (or more) of those great schools will want me for a campus interview, but if they don’t, I’m still open for possibilities as my yearly outlined plan has blank spots in it that are just waiting to be filled in. I tend, too, to be more optimistic than not (which I blame my mom for—she’d repeatedly sing to my brothers and me during bad times “the sun will come out tomorrow” so much so that now when I have a bad day I find myself singing it aloud or saying it out loud to others when they have a bad day— let’s just say that not everyone is as keen on the Annie song as I am), so though my thinking might be overly optimistic I still think there are going to be possibilities. And I’m going to hold onto that for a little while longer.

“The poet and the engineer (and the coral reef) may seem a million miles apart in their particular forms of expertise, but when they bring good ideas into the world, similar patterns of development and collaboration shape that process” (22).

Innovation. Dissertation. The two words link nicely together or rather we hope they will--that when we sit back, close the dissertation and send it on its merry way, it’s innovative, creative and offers a fresh perspective on something that someone’s going to want to read/listen to. Right? Right. I often wonder, though, how anyone can claim that something is innovative and fresh in the 21st century—doesn’t it feel like so much has already been done already?

Well Steven Johnson’s latest book, Where Good Ideas Come From, might offer some type of answer to this. In it he questions how we might “generate groundbreaking ideas that push forward our careers, our lives, our society, our culture?” I just recently bought Johnson’s book (along with Red Riding Hood, the new movie that’s coming out, and The Vampire Book: the Encyclopedia of the Undead—hey, no judgment it was only 98 cents, and I happen to buy any book that has the word vampire on its cover and now if you ever have burning desire to get up on your vampire knowledge I got ya covered!) because I’m curious as to how he might answer this question. I feel like the dissertation begs to “push forward” something for us, whether that something is our careers or our lives and an article I just read in the Chronicle of Higher Ed suggests just that. Schools look for innovative dissertations, and we want to give that to them.

But first things first: putting those good ideas down on paper. Sometime I think part of the difficulty in writing a dissertation is me: I’m my biggest obstacle. I’ve never had issues drafting something—ask my college roommate, I could whip up a pretty darn good 10-15 page source-based paper in five hours or less—and this has continued with me. My writing process differs slightly from most that I know because I write my way into everything. There’s no need for outlining, brainstorming, or rough drafts, I jump right into the first complete draft. This means, though, that my drafting process is probably longer than most, but it works for me. Normally. Until this dissertation. Now I’m struggling, and I don’t like it—not one bit. If I had one page of writing for every time I have written on a to-do list “work on dissertation” it would have been done before Christmas. Instead I’m working my way through #2 and a little thing called coding.

Perhaps struggling is part of the dissertation process, and if that’s so, I’m saddened that I’ve succumbed to the perils of it. I have good ideas I tell you! They are floating around somewhere in my head; I just need them float there way down to my fingers and out onto the page at a much faster rate.

Brain hear my call: I need #2 completed drafted by Friday (that’s two days from now) and a outline of a coding scheme. K? Well, ok then get those good ideas flying--not floating--on down to my fingers.

MLA: California dreamin’

Dreams are a funny thing. Sometimes we remember them; sometimes we don’t; sometimes we dream in black and white; sometimes we dream in color. Sometimes they are pleasant; sometimes they are scary. Sometimes they repeat. People say that reoccurring dreams have some underlying meaning that perhaps our subconscious is trying to tell us something. My cousin dreams repeatedly that her teeth fallout in public (weird, I know). I have a reoccurring dream, too, and I often wake up going, huh, well that’s interesting…I’m up in front of a classroom of about 20 or more students; the seats are arranged in an L, and it’s the first day of classes. I’m dressed in dark denim and killer black boots chewing pink Bubblegum. Half-way through my introduction of the course something goes awry and the students go crazy—jumping on top of the desks, yelling and screaming horrible insults at one another—I try to yell above the noise only I can’t because the Bubblegum is caught in my teeth and almost choking me. I try and spit it out only it’s stuck, so I try using my fingers to pull it out but it’s not working because there is so much Bubblegum I can’t get it all out. I wake up every time in the middle of me trying to pull the gum out of my mouth. I’ve had the dream like 8 times. Now I don’t have a degree in psychology but if I had to venture a guess I’d say my subconscious is trying to say “don’t chew Bubblegum while teaching”—good thing I don’t chew Bubblegum only sugar free gum for me (doesn’t stick to the teeth!). Dreams are crazy beasts, and who knows what they really mean. I’ve been California dreamin’ for the last several nights in the heart of California: LA.

Hello, MLA. How do you do?

Ah, MLA that exclusive conference that we believe holds the key to our real-life dreams (I know I’m hoping and praying it does for me!). Real-life dreams seem to be a beast even more wicked and deathly alluring than the ones that only happen in our sleep. We all have dreams even if we can’t admit that we do—my mom has always said “dream big” and I have, so I have never once wanted to believe during this roller coaster process that I wouldn’t walk away with a job. I’ve wanted to be a professor since I was 15 (true story my sophomore English teacher asked me to write a research paper on what we wanted to be, so for me it was either a professor or a psychologist and obviously with my above nickel-and-dime diagnosis it’s a real good thing that didn’t work out!). So MLA was another step towards me attempting to make that dream come true.

Lists are a passion of mine—I make lists to make lists—so I thought the best way to describe MLA/LA is in an enumerated list-like fashion.

2 interviews: both of which went really well.Face-2-face is great because of the obvious reasons, but honestly it really boils down to they are just more personal. I felt like the two schools knew me, and they alluded to this by specifically referring to things in my letter, vitae, writing sample, etc (which didn’t necessarily happen in my phone interviews). I knew my first interview was going to go well when I walked into the hotel room, and my interviewer was wearing brown, furry ankle boots that were at least 4 inches. Hello, woman after my own heart. We had coffee and wonderfully delicious blueberry muffins, and it felt more like an engaging conversation than an interview. The second interview was at the MLA hotel, and it too went well, but the feeling wasn’t as intimate because of the room it was conducted in. The majority of MLA interviews happen here in this huge room where there are row-upon-row of tables and chairs arranged for the different schools.An interviewee must go sign in, get the number of their school’s table then wait until the interview time and go up. It looks very much like herding cattle, and although, it looks this way it didn’t feel this way--at least to me--probably because the school I interviewed with didn’t make me feel that way.

5 airports: Due to a slight hiccup on the way to LA, I was re-routed from Atlanta to Memphis then to LA. It extended my trip by many (!) hours, but hey I was able to enjoy a bit of Memphis BBQ and walk into an Elvis shop.Award for the best airport goes hands down to Detroit. So clean and open and just easy to maneuver (and I had a very tight connection only 30 minutes in which I was able to run to my concourse, grab a magazine and lunch). Ironically I was on five airplanes, but only sat next to one person. I don’t know how that happened, but it was awesome. Best trivia question on the Delta trivia pursuit game: Tallahassee is the capitol of which lower 48 state? No joke.

15 (or more) ups-and-downs in the window elevator: Perhaps one of the best parts of the trip was the elevator in my hotel, and apparently an attraction for even those native to LA or so this random woman told me when we rode up and down three times just to go to the top and come back down again to watch LA from the view. It was a window elevator, and the woman told me she comes to just ride it at different points of the day (yah she was a bit unusual—she also asked if she could go to the MLA conference and said she wanted to because she had free parking that day so she needed to take advantage of all she could—ok not just unusual plain different).

1 near panic attack: Yes, only one, and it seriously almost happened right before my first interview. Here's what happened: I go to the hotel for my first interview really early to prep and get myself together. Plenty of time to get up to the hotel room on time. I go to the desk, call up and go to the elevators. I have ten minutes or so to get up there—no problem, right? Wrong. I get onto the elevator with woman, and she hits the button for the 14th floor. We go up the 14th floor the elevator stops…nothing happens. The doors do not open then without warning the elevator goes down to the 8th floor, back up to the 14th floor back, down to the 2nd floor, back up to the 14th floor. You get the picture. We rode the elevator up and down for almost eight minutes without the doors opening (and this elevator did NOT have windows). The woman at one point looked at me and giggled, “you know this is most people’s worst fears getting stuck in an elevator.” I almost slapped her. All I could think was I going to miss my interview because the elevator developed a split personality. Luckily, we eventually made it to the ground floor and the doors opened, and I ran (literally—thankgoodness for kitten heels!) so that I wouldn’t be late.

Things I did by myself—too many to count: Those that know me really well, know this is a huge deal for me. I am not someone that enjoys doings things by myself, and it’s much like a fear or phobia. I blame this on the fact that I was born a twin—growing up and for many years after I never (and I mean never) had to do things by myself because the twin was always with me (if you are not a twin or a multiple you probably don’t understand this. Even having a very close sibling is not the same. When I was in elementary school my mom wanted to separate us in school because she was afraid we would become too dependant on one another but the school district wouldn’t allow it and look what happened! Hello dependency.). Moving to Florida was one of the best things I could have done to overcome this, but it’s been a slow process. The first semester at FSU I had a conference in Springfield, IL. I flew to Ohio, so I could then drive eight hours with people I was presenting with just so I didn’t have to do things like check into a hotel by myself. Oh the difference three years can make. I not only checked myself into the hotel, but I had lunch and dinner by myself; I did a walking tour of downtown by myself; I stayed in a giant hotel room by myself; and I actually had a great time in LA by myself. I walked to the Macy’s Plaza (I have a thing for Macy's) then I went to the downtown public library (huge!!!) then I walked to the Walt Disney Concert Hall, and I only got lost once and my handy dandy map on my DROID saved me. Needless to say I’m pretty darn proud of myself, and I realize those of you reading probably do not have this same phobia and probably are shaking your heads in disbelief that someone could have it, but all I can say is most people have a fear or phobia, so I wish you well getting over yours, just know I won’t make fun of whatever it is. ;-)

All-in-all LA was a great success and not only because of my interviews. Dreams are funny beasts, and they have a funny way of being resolved/shaped in unexpected places and in unexpected ways. As my mom said to me even if I don’t get campus interviews (though I really hope I do!) LA was a personal accomplishment. Slightly sentimental, yes, but true.

And so, I have to conclude my MLA post with another singer/songwriter words about dreams—“You may say that I'm a dreamer/But I'm not the only one/I hope someday you'll join us.” Lennon always had such a way with words, and had such way of exposing the meaning of dreams.