Who You Callin' Crusty?

(C-Day minus revisions, defence) I am working, slowly but surely through the revisions offered me by Supervisor. Some are difficult because I am so emotionally attached these sentences with which I have spent seemingly years. Other revisions are difficult because it is just hard to know what to do with them. I am currently stuck on one of those. Supervisor recommended I read an article (which he also provided me) in order to address one of my thesis concepts. I had an opportunity to spend some time at a cafe, so thought this the perfect time to throw down some intensive reading. Mistake. Not a mistake to read it at the cafe, it was a mistake to read it altogether. This article, from 1986 is an airtight (from my perspective - and I want to refute it) critique of one of my concepts which, up to this point, I really liked. What to do? Well, it dealt with Marxist concepts, so I phoned the crustiest, Marxiest guy I know: (former) Roommate.

In explaining this dilemma to f-Roommate, an important realization came to fore. He asked me "Is this concept really important to your thesis?" To which I replied "Yeah, it is fairly important, and I do like it. It sits really well with everything else, and besides Supervisor suggested I include it when we went over things at my proposal defence..." It was here that I realized something. Supervisor recommended me one useful article, written in 1982, then also recommended the very article, written in 1986 that refutes that article. It isn't like this article just came out and he didn't realize it existed, it's only 2 years younger than me. This is troubling... f-Roommate found this funny, me...not so much.

Fortunately, just hacking it out verbally seemed to help. It was good to talk about it (out loud) and also to hear some ideas on how to address the issue. We will see soon enough if this adequately addresses the issue so that I can resubmit it and then maybe be referred to another article from 1988 that refutes everything else. Can't wait!

'There may have been one of these' song of the day: Communication Breakdown - Led Zeppelin

One Less Book Come the Ides of April...

(C-Day minus minor revisions, defence) You want to know the best part about being at the stage I am currently at? Everything....Well, maybe not everything, but it is certainly better than the last stages. There was however, a distinct pleasure last Friday that was unexpected but definitely welcomed. Allow me to spin this yarn:

As a graduate student I have the advantage of taking library books out for more than the usual 2 weeks allotted undergrads. How much more time? I'm not sure, I think they stopped asking for the books back after a year...well, maybe not that long. Whenever I register for a term, I renew my books and keep them out for another 4 months. I've had some books out for years now. The only time I generally need to return my books is when someone else needs them and recalls them from me. In the wild throes of thesising, Murphy's Law states that the book you require the most is the first book recalled. Also, when you recall it back from them, they will continue to recall it back from you, perpetuating a recall war that no one likes to lose, especially if one chapter's argument hinges on that book. Anyways, so I had to return a recalled book on Friday (Music & Propoganda), but was able to do so without the usual pain of having to recall it again, schlep all the way back to library a week later to pick it up again, and then back to the library once more to return it post-recall, ad nauseum. I returned the book...and that was it! That was it!!! I don't need it anymore! I don't need any of them anymore! This is the beginning of the end. It is a small, simple pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless.

While the attrition of my borrowed book collection slowly wages on I do have two books that won't be recalled - they belong to Committee Member #3...I think he has forgotten this. I *want* to return them, I really do, but I know that when I do return them he will remember loaning them to ages ago and that it took me this long to return them. He will then probably assume that I read them back to front a million times (let me address this right now - I didn't) and proceed to drill me on their content in the defence. This would be detrimental to my cause. So he might get a 'thanks for passing me on my defence book return gift' or reversely he may receive a 'I can't believe you didn't pass me envelope full of shredded books ' gift. Here's hoping for the former (I'd hate to shred a book - it's not the book's fault).

The 'if they were shredded, it would only be a-' song of the day: Slight Return - The Bluetones

p.s. I think my actual plan is to return the books anonymously with a gift-card and hope he doesn't remember who he loaned them out to... Airtight!

Worst. Email Exchange. Ever.

(C-Day minus committee revisions, defence) So I finally received word from Supervisor regarding my thesis draft. It took him about a week/forever (when it is your wordy child being graded). So did he lavish me with praise? Hammer me with criticism? Give any indication as to his thoughts? You tell me, here is the email:

"Hi Matt

I have read it and made marginal comments. We should meet and discuss. Cheers. Supervisor"

Are you kidding me? That was my life's work...in fact my Greatest Writing Work (GWW)! Marginal comments - good! Should meet - bad. What does this mean? So I retort:

"Dear Supervisor,

Thanks again for going through the draft so quickly [....] Can we set up a chat on the phone sometime before the weekend? Just let me know when I can call, and I will do so. Cheers. Matt"

Saying thanks for the speed is me sounding calmer than I feel. I ask for a phone call because clearly I am *dying* for feedback, having received none so far. I am trying to politely ask for feedback without sounding desperate (am I trying to date him?). He responded quickly:

"Face to face would be better, Matt. I want to go over some of the written comments I have placed in the margins [....]. Supervisor."

Cue heart sinking. Face to face? You mean you can't just say "awesome" over the phone? Uh-oh. This feels bad. This confirms the bad feelings for not having any feedback previously. My head is spinning, I am writing and rewriting responses to this in my head. I want to plead with him, "Please, I can try harder! I can do more! I'm not like this!" (are we breaking up?). My response:

"Hi Supervisor,

Sure that would be fine. [...] Thanks for being so accommodating. In the meantime, can you give me your general sense of the draft, for example, are there specific sections I should pay close attention to in preparation for our meeting?"

This is me at my best. I am trying my hardest not to grovel for feedback, which I, at this point, need in order to breathe. Also, I am trying not to just yell "GIVE ME AN ADJECTIVE!!!" Anything would have done at that point. Bad. Great! Profound! Pedantic. Long. Written in black ink. I just needed something. His response to my 'took hours to craft' plea:

"There is no particular section to look at"

KABOOM!!! I don't even know *what* to think. My mind explodes with possibilities. When your mind explodes, you can really only revert to your most base instincts. So I did what anyone would do. I called my mom. Cue peace of mind and wise motherly analogies.

I went into the meeting with Supervisor and was pleasantly surprised with mostly editorial revisions (Are you kidding me?! Adjectives go a long way for peace of mind, Supervisor) and Supervisor was super nice. We walked through the entire thing, page by page in his kitchen (how awesome is he?). Afterwards the whole thing felt within reach and I was ready to jump into it (after the Olympics of course). Meeting conclusion = feeling pretty swell. As I was beaming out of Supervisors front door, I paused at the top of his driveway to look to the sky and appreciate a cool evening and pleasant encounter, when my phone rings in my hand. Like only a mother could, it was a perfectly timed call from across the country late at night, away from her home on a cell, in hushed tones to keep from waking the grandmother. "How did it go?" How did she know?

An unforgettable Olympic weekend and a delightful email exchange with a new friend have done much to recover the damage done by my worst enemy (at times): my imagination. GWW is on the up on up.

'Could have been Supervisor's last email' song of the day: Didn't I (Blow Your Mind This Time) - The Delfonics

p.s. Just to be clear: My supervisor is awesome, and gives me far more time than I deserve. Despite my frustration with our email exchange he is quite thoughtful and super nice. I don't want to leave you with the wrong impression, this is just one of those funny exchanges that is only really funny after the fact because my inner monologue was so ridiculous.

Cold Sweat

(C-Day minus final revisions, defence) Yesterday was a big day, a big terrifying day. The academic semester is sort of misleading in that it doesn't overlap with the thesis completion calendar. In order to get a thesis finished, defended and handed in, a draft needs to go into the supervisor pretty much by the beginning of the second month of the term (Feb., May, or November). This of course makes the beginning of each term a little angst ridden in that as much as it means a new start, it also means that the hammer will soon drop. In any event, this meant that I would not and could not wait for more revisions to come in, and I had to throw myself on the mercy of my supervisor. This is not to say that I am not immensely proud of what I have written thus far, it just means that there may be some undesirables in the thesis as a whole, which is why it was a terrifying day.

The email to which my thesis was attached took me about half an hour to craft, but I can safely say they are a high quality three sentences...of terror! This fine tuning was followed by an additional half hour of humming and hawing over actually sending this finely crafted email, with a finely crafted thesis attached to it to my supervisor. But I did it! I clicked 'send'....and immediately regretted it. Not because I would have done anything differently, but it was that move that could not be taken back. It was like taking your finger off the chess piece, only to look to your opponents determined eyes and regret the move for reasons as of yet unknown to you. So I sweat. Then I sweat some more. Then I got over it. But then I sweat a little more. I sweat because I wasn't sure when I would get a response, even just to say that it had been received and that I wasn't so deficient that I couldn't send an email - a very real possibility given the state I was in.

Somehow I managed to make it through the night, and received my confirmation email today. Two lines (though I doubt it took Supervisor more than 15 seconds to 'craft') that said thanks (he's so nice!) and that he would get back to me "soon". Cue sweating. Soon? You mean judgement passes soon?! How soon? Not too soon. I need a moment to forget that it is off my plate for the moment. Give me a moment! But not too many moments - don't want to start sweating over why it is taking so long. Obviously there is nothing fun about this process, I don't recommend it - not to friends anyways. At least it only lasts a few more days...then it is on to the revisions stress followed closely by the defence stress. Hurray Masters programs!!!

If I was friends (it'd have to be good friends) with Brian Wilson song of the day: Don't Worry Baby - Beach Boys

Metonym-Rods

(C-Day minus final read through; supervisor edits; defence) OK, so this is a post a long time in the making, but the breaking point has finally been hit. An article by George Orwell once chastised the use of "dead metaphors", that is, analogies and metonym so over-used as to no longer properly lend the audience the true value of the comparison. "Falling in love" being the easiest example that comes to mind, where use is so common, the feelings involved in this free fall sensation are lost. However, the importance of dead metaphors to me here are that they are great examples of intellectual laziness. Instead of coming up with fresh comparisons, or weaving the highly flexible English language into a tapestry of imagery, these authors cement age-old comparisons further in place.

Now, I know it is too much to expect the journalists who publish daily articles in online and print newspapers to craft their words into anything other than mostly descriptive bunk. I do, honestly. However, this is not the only example of intellectual laziness these days. I do not think it is too much to ask that these daily writers at least spell their stupid, ancient word-smithing correctly. Everyday there are countless spelling errors, typos, and grammatical errors in every paper from the strictly online Huffington Post, to the hoity National Post and Globe & Mail. I understand that there is an impetus to get articles out on time in order to get the newspapers shipped on time, but there is no excuse for not revising all those mistakes in the online versions. Do they even read their own work?! What exactly are the editors doing? That would be the equivalent of a plumber refusing to plumb, a teacher avoiding the teaching aspect of their job.

It used to be said that in order to read the Toronto Star, one needed at minimum a 3rd grade reading level, but I do not believe it is a requirement to write as if one was in fact in the 3rd grade. The population is becoming collectively more stupid, there is no need to hasten this process. We might end up closer to our American counterparts where dollars stripped from the education system to fuel the military fools learning so badly that generations later they cannot comprehend the value of discontinuing pointless further war efforts, forever perpetuating the cycle of stupid.

The 'expecting too much from newspapers was mine' song of the day: My Last Mistake - Dan Auerbach