It’s time for a slice-of-life post. It’s 10:47 on a Saturday morning, so that means I’m listening to Tom Petty, drinking cold coffee, and blogging in pj’s. Creature of habit and what not. I’m really only blogging because Judy verbally bludgeoned me into it. Or is it blog-dgeoned, which doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.

Have submitted, or very nearly submitted, all post-doc applications, finished the poster presentation for INS and am working to schedule a data colloquium. Life is beginning to slow down, at least for a few moments anyway. It is sublimely unbelievable to begin to arrive at the end of this grad school slog. I’m incredulous, but I’ll still take the diploma when they give it to me. And by take it, I mean I’ll make an effort to grasp it with shaking hands while having a tearful breakdown in the middle of a graduation ceremony. I recommend your attendance, as it should be a memorable and somewhat disturbing spectacle.

I spent most of last week escorting potential interns around the hospital and generally playing the part of self-confident current intern/tour guide. It is difficult to describe the enormous disparity between prospective intern (anxious, fearful, desperate, wide-eyed, naive) and current (relaxed, actually enjoying the free lunches, pretending this counts as working). Things change for the better.

I’ve begun reading a biography of Winston S. Churchill and, in addition to enjoying the book immensely, I’m uncovering a previously undiscovered hankering for historical reading. For most of my educational life, history classes were taught by half-witted men in nylon baseball shorts (although wresting, football, or waterpolo may be substituted), who knew even less history than the unimaginably uninteresting texts from which they made perfunctory attempts to teach. This education consisted of committing to memory a series of meaningless dates connected with the names of people whose stories were made as fascinating as wet cardboard. But history is a dynamic series of unlikely events and fantastic happenings which never deserve to be rendered by the likes of an ignoramus tennis coach. I have resorted to use of my thesaurus, so moved am I. Dearest readers, endeavor to conduct your lives in such a way that you might never warrant the wrath of a deftly-wielded thesaurus.

Been going to hear the outdoor pipe organ at Balboa Park recently. It’s a tremendous instrument and always nice to be able to be overwhelmed by, rather than merely hear, live music. So, just for fun, Bach v. the french composers. Discuss.

This entry was posted on Saturday, January 19th, 2008 at 11:17 am and is filed under From the nation of Indig. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.