Heat, Covid, and Comps: Ju-ly!

 Ok, so I just finished four very tough weeks.  My PhD program looks like this:

• One year of brutal classes.
• Qualifying Exam
• Two more years of brutal classes (if they were easy, everyone would be a PhD)
• Assemble PhD committee (4 professors)
• Comprehensive exam
• Dissertation
• Dissertation defense
• PhD
• job at Burger King.

The past four weeks have been the comprehensive exams (I am Groot, 2013).  Four questions, 60 pages, 30 days.  Each member of the PhD committee can give me one question, and it can cover anything I've ever learned in my entire life.  f=ma.  I before E, except after C.  Of course, they asked questions relating to my research and things learned during my program (Holmes, 1879).  I'm not at liberty to discuss the questions at this time.  If you remember the movie Back to School:

"Discuss the foundations of modern global business systems. Part one: Define and differentiate the three economic philosophies of capitalism, socialism, and communism, as pertains to: A) Management fundamentals; B) organizing and staffing; C) labor management; and D) production and operations. (flips to next notecard) Part two... Are you getting all this, Mr. Melon?..."

Yeah, it's like that.

In any case.  They're finished.  Long days and nights.  Procrastination.  Some days when I was too depressed to move from bed (Doritos, $1.95).  But on Friday, I finished writing.  Edited over the weekend, trying to make it sound semi-cohesive and semi-coherent.  Now I have to:

• Print out one copy requested by a professor (and deliver it).
• Email copies to the committee members and department admin.
• Print out a copy for myself
• Because...

It's not over yet (Leia, 5.77).  On August 15, I will stand in front of these professors and defend my answers for two hours.  After that, there are three possible outcomes.

1. Pass.  I would then be an ABD (All But Dissertation) and could start work on my dissertation.

2. Partial Pass: If I screw up one question, I will have an opportunity to re-write it and go again.  I get one chance at that.

3. Fail.  Done.  Get out.  Finished.  No soup for you.  Wasted three years.

No pressure.

At Arts Fest, earlier this month

So, I've been working on that.  Had my nose in academic articles and books.  Now that this one bit is done?  I want to read something non-academic (Gygax, 3d6). Some fluff.  Maybe Dragonlance.  And I want to write stuff and not worry about citations and format and all that.  Then again, looking at this piece, it sorta looks a bit academic.  Hmmm... maybe I'll go back in this entry and add goofy citations, just for the hell of it (Old Nick, 666). 

Earlier this month was the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts, also known as Arts fest.  It's a bunch  of artists from all over selling their art in booths that go for several blocks, as well as bands, activities, and such (Archimedes, 3.14).  It's best known to Penn Staters as summer homecoming.  Alumni come up, students come back up (especially those who have apartments whose leases last over the summer), old bands reunite- it's like a football weekend without the football.  For students, it's a break from the drudgery of home, part time jobs, ugh, and a chance to go back up to party like crazy (Cthulhu, aaaaa!).  PSU became more of a home to me than home, and I couldn't wait to get back.  I re-posted an old story about that a little while ago.  Aside from visiting old friends who returned to campus on Friday, I walked around a bit.  I avoided downtown over the weekend nights.  The weekend was for the students, and I'm too old.  And broke.  

I hope you've been watching the Jan 6 hearings.  Riveting stuff- and paints a picture of treason so completely that if the GQP people involved had a conscience, they'd resign immediately.  But they don't. so they won't.  After all, they know they (especially 45) are above the law- it's been proven over and over.  They should sentence the gravy seals who entered the Capitol much more harshly as an example.  But they won't (Arnold, 1780).   

Did I already mention I had Covid in June?  I can't remember.  *checks*  Oh right- I did.  My brain is fried (Sanders, 11 herbs and spices).  

So in any case, that's been my July.  Here in PA we're having a heat wave (like the rest of the country) but had a good soaking rain this morning.  Saturday was near 100 deg (f) and humid.  That's summer!  A lot of people are complaining.  Well, it beats snow!  (Which we never get anymore, because winter is just more summer) (Heat miser, 12, 25).  I hope your summer (or winter for our friends down south) is going nicely.

Be well.

Men of the Skull: Chapter 69: George and Chapter 70: Kamikazes

It's been a while since I posted sequential chapters from my book about PSU in the 80s; Men of the Skull.  These two are short and related, so I combined them (as I would if I were to publish this.

George generously gave me permission to use his name (one of only two brave souls to do so.)  We're still great friends all these years later, and he has been very supportive of my transition.  And- he's a member of this group.  

I was a very mentally wounded person back then, and very unsure of myself, especially in relationships.  My relationship with "Virginia" was only my second long lasting one, and my first, um, sexual one.  At the beginning of these chapters, she and her mother have left for a several week trip to Florida.  

Another bit; I mention my James Bond image.  I grew up wanting to emulate Bond ("he's a REAL man!"), so I wanted to learn to dance, make drinks, drive defensively (or offensively), etc.  Eventually, I took ballroom dance class, I already had defensive (stunt-ish) driving class, so now it was time to learn drinks.  I just wish someone would've shown me how to dress fashionably, as I was (and still am) a mess.   

**********************************************************************

Chapter 2.69:  George

Monday, May 18, 1987 U.S. Ship is Attacked in Gulf

            Virginia was gone.  She left that morning.  I was a mess.

            Yeah I missed her but that wasn’t it.  Last time a girlfriend went away for a trip it was Julianne and she cheated on me.  Would Virginia?

            Wait- this was a whole different thing.  Julianne was in high school.  I may have been in college when that happened, but she still in high school as was the relationship.  This relationship with Virginia- it was College.  We were having sex- a lot of it.  We were both currently committed to getting an education.  It was a whole different world: a whole different relationship.

            So would she stay faithful?

            Did I mention how fucked up my mind was at that time?

            Anyway, I had something to take my mind off it.  I saw an ad in the Pottstown Mercury for Bartending School!  Wow!

            This fit right into my whole “James Bond” image thing.  A man should know how to mix drinks.  Besides, I could get a job at one of State College’s many bars that would pay much more than retail, Burger King, or selling plasma.  And- And- it would get me OUT OF THE HOUSE!

            I had a little savings left so I paid up and that night drove up the road to Pottstown.  The class was held at the Holiday Inn on King St near rte 100.

June 15, 1987 Collegian

            First thing I noticed when I walked in- no chairs.  There were a lot of fake bars made of stainless steel.  Each one had room for two people.  I stood at one hoping a cute girl would partner with me.  That would make things more fun.

            The room filled quickly.  One of the guys wore a Kelly green t-shirt with yellow lettering that said “Lambda Chi Melon Bust” over some kind of yellow stenciled picture.  A fellow Greek!  He came in with a cute girl and partnered with her.  The room filled until the only empty spot was the one next to me.  That sure helped my self esteem.

            The instructor stepped out of a side room.  He was a little shorter than me, with brown hair parted to the side and a cheesy moustache.  He had sleepy eyes, was just a bit overweight, figure he was around forty, and he wore black pants, white tuxedo shirt and a black bow tie.  He looked like the bartender in every movie you’ve ever seen. 

            He introduced himself as Paul Mernoff, Instructor for Bartender Excaliber, and gave us an overview of his qualifications:  AC, Vegas, New York, Philly.  Impressive!  Why was he here?  In any case, he was going to teach us to be bartenders, and if there were anyone in the world I’d want to teach me, it was this guy.

            He started with basics and built from there.  (Whoever designed this course knew what they were doing.)  We poured colored water into glasses with fake plastic ice cubes.  “Seeing the proper drink color is important.”

            At the end of the night’s lessons, I walked over to the green shirted guy.  He was shorter than me- maybe five foot seven.  He was slim but cut- obviously strong.  His face was cherubic, with big blue eyes, rosy cheeks and a perpetual smile.  His wavy blonde hair may as well have been a halo. 

            “Hey Lambda Chi!  What campus?”  I asked.

            “Penn State,” he replied, looking a little annoyed that I interrupted his walk out the door.  “Why?”

            I smiled.  “I’m a Skull at Penn State.  My name’s Lance.”

            “George” he said, offering his hand and visibly less tense.  “You can’t be a Skull, you’re too fucking thin!”

            “I transferred from Drexel.”

            “That explains that.  Hey, I gotta go,” George said.  “Team up next week?”

            “Sure!”

            So George left, and I wandered out into the humid night to my Mustang and…

            FUCK!

            I locked the fucking keys in the God damned car!

 

Chapter 2.70: Kamikazes

Monday, June 15, 1987 Arms pact reportedly is at hand

So it was the last bartending class.  The idea was that each team of students would bring alcohol and make one kind of drink.  Then, we would all sample each other’s drinks.  Not really a final exam, but sort of.  More of a pride thing.

Lambda Chi George, myself, and this one blond had been a team for a while.  We decided to make Kamikazes!  He said he’d bring the vodka, she brought triple sec and all I needed to do was buy the damn lime juice (as I was still underage.) Simple enough, right?

Of course I forgot.

So I arrived early to class just to have George ream me out a bit.  I ran across a road and a parking lot to a grocery store to pick up the juice.  Felt like a fucking idiot.  I returned sweaty and out of breath just as class was starting.

Every group was doing simple shit like martinis and screwdrivers.  We did Kamikazes that had three ingredients.  Yeah- go us!

June 15, 1987 Collegian

George brought a yellow plastic cocktail shaker from homecoming last year.  So as Paul said “ReadyReady!” and called out a drink for us to make, George was loudly shaking kamikazes.  Never mind that you really don’t need to shake kamikazes.

            “Readyready: vodka martini rocks with a twist.”

            SHAKESHAKESHAKE

            Soon, Paul figured out that the class was descending into chaos.  Oh well.  Everyone drink and enjoy!

            “Are you going to be good to drive home?”  Paul asked George.

            “Sure, no problem!”  George replied, and gave him a kamikaze I made.

            Damn good one too.

 

 

 

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