My heart is beating 92 beats per minute.
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My periodic attempts to rid myself of my coffee addiction have failed miserably.
You may be aware that I’ve been working with my dissertation director to get a date for our defenses before Baby comes. This will involve a train to DC, a train to Chicago, a train to Carbondale, then the same on the way back. Two days of traveling each way. And, you know, a public defense wherein people who didn’t read it can come and ask annoying questions. Not a light trip to make with a pregnant wife, my own neuroses and not a ton of cash for traveling. But, it needs to get done.
I met with my director in November in Washington (took the train down one Friday morning) when he was there for a conference. He promised we’d work this out. He also lightened my spirits by telling me that the defense, in our department, is “celebratory.” That is, it’s finished and a done deal before I get there. The trouble with that is that you don’t get a defense until it’s perfect. Ready to go. I enjoyed myself that morning because my director is a very nice person with whom I have a good bit in common. We took a nice walk on a beautiful day around the Capital, and I ran (literally) to get my train home in a very good mood.
I finished my draft in summer 2007. I didn’t ever look at it until March 2009, when I did some proofreading and sent it after my bike accident in like late April or early May. Asked about maybe a July defense. Then everyone got busy, and nothing happened. When we found out about Baby in August, I emailed my director to see about scheduling, and there was a good bit of suggestions, including tying Emerson into my work. There are worse assignments than having to read a bunch of Emerson, I joked.
Then part one of three took a while to get in shape to everyone’s liking. Part two is Nietzsche, and my director is not a Nietzsche guy. I have some comments to work on for that part, but the Nietzsche guy they brought onto the committee hasn’t had a look yet. That scares me a little. The rest of the comments for the last part are in the mail, too.
So, my director told me to “bug” him as much as I had to when I met with him in November. But I don’t like to do that to people and especially not to people I like, like him. But I did yesterday. I flat out asked for a date. And, he gave me three days in February he thinks would work, and one specific date at 3:30pm (Central Time) that he is shooting for. He’ll get back to me when he gets confirmation from the rest of the committee.
So. Holy shit. I didn’t realize how much this was hanging over my head! We played Scene It? (Simpsons Deluxe Edition) until late last night and slept until 10:04am (our anniversary), to a sunny day and a big Baby belly. I couldn’t remember why my mood was so light! Whenever I think about how long we’ve been back in Baltimore, it’s tainted by my dissertation still hanging over my head, driving me crazy. It almost makes me feel like a failure. I never thought I wouldn’t finish, but I never realized that a good number of the people who start PhD programs don’t get to the prospectus, and a lot of them never finish it. Yikes.
I’m still nervous that the Nietzsche guy is going to go nuts over my Nietzsche work. But, well, if he does and if the date is set, that simply means that I have to pump up on coffee and do whatever he suggests. Simple. Easy, no, but it’ll get done. While we’re not traveling to my favorite place or for my favorite reason, we are traveling. And I do love that. Won’t get to do that again for a long time. And, next time, we’ll get to show Baby the train and how fun it is.
And I can’t believe that, with it being a possibility for so long, I’ll actually be Dr. Johnny officially when I get my diploma in the mail (can’t take that trip with a newborn to walk on stage, but I won’t care with Baby here anyway) in a few months. Wow. I think I need a new nickname on camping trips/cycling. Dan mentioned Doc once, and I like it.
Okay, so it’s the third snow day. And I’m technically on vacation now. So. It’s not really a snow day at all. But still. Waking up a little late to the sound of mounds of snow sliding off of my building’s big slate roof and listening to Tori Amos’ Midwinter Graces while sipping a peppermint mocha, well, that’s winter heaven.
I do need to take a walk later to pick up some stuff and food and possibly for some last-minute shopping.
But then more PJs and soup and coffee/tea/cocoa and movies and books.
Hell, when it comes to relaxing and cozy comfort, I’m king.
Late-night dissertation editing leads to morning editing with a huge French press of coffee. Have I found the equation which dictates: More Coffee = Less Stress + More Work Accomplished? If so, does it work without this excellent brew from Chiapas?
Yes, I prefer French press coffee at home. Yes, it takes a little longer to make (unless you’re good at it, and for the record, I can have it made quicker than the last drip pot I owned), and yes, I do pay extra for locally roasted whole bean coffee. You know whose business it is? Mine. When I havent’ given anyone shit for the way they like their coffee (after all, I get coffee out a lot, and that’s not exactly French pressed) and in fact drink any coffee of any quality (camping, someone’s house, dive bars, etc.) that anyone offers me because I am in fact not a snob about coffee, I don’t deserve shit for the way I make mine. My choosing to make it a certain way when I’m at home is, again, my fucking business.
If someone thinks I’m stuck up because I make my coffee in a $12 thing I got at Ikea, maybe ya’ll have issues, not me. Seriously. When someone starts giving me shit just to give me shit when what they’re giving me shit about is not even a topic that’s come up, it’s textbook fucking projection or being a pain in the ass just to be one which is not nice and way meaner than anything I might say to defend myself. Does a French press evoke strong feelings? Too simple? Too French? Unreal that I’m willing to pay more for the coffee I like because I don’t pay for other luxuries like cable, cars, etc.?
I don’t give anyone shit for the things they spend money on that I don’t, and everyone I know spends money on things I don’t spend money on which is not a fucking sin and none of my business.
I’m tired of people projecting their bullshit onto me. Fucking tired of it.
I know. Chain coffee is the devil. Etc. I’ll cop to visiting chains regularly, but I do hit the local joints when I can — which, with the amount of coffee I drink, is often. But I got birthday gifts in the form of giftcards, and well, hell, I love pumpkin spice. So there it is. I did decide to only use my giftcards for pumpkin spice stuff though. Those buggers are expensive.
This morning, there is a gorgeous bike and a coffee maker in my office. Since my helmet is still en route, I didn’t want to jinx the chance of my bike not being here after leaving it locked in my office all weekend by saying anything. Monday morning, here it is. Waiting for me. And my coffee maker, too.
Picked up/bought my bike Friday, with nice accessories and very friendly folks at the new bike shop. I’ll use some lunch hours this week to put on my fenders, lights, rack, computer and change the tires to the slightly wider ones I bought. When my helmet comes in, I’ll ride it home and, once again, start pedaling my ass all over town.
It’s funny that some people are talking about hipsters and how hipsters are so not hip and how they are not themselves hipsters and how everything about hipsters is supremely lame — except for spending a lot of time and energy making fun of them for not being keen and hip about the same things the person doing the fun-making is into. (Huh?)
Funny thing is, all this hipster-hating is turning into the new hip.
I can’t figure out how I fit in. I started riding a bike for transportation just before it got hip. Started drinking copious amounts of coffee before the current state of hip set in (when I was a wee lad pouring in tons of sugar). Started using Moleskines before they were hip and when they were too esoteric for early millennial hipsters.
Am I a hipster for these things just because they are hip now? Am I nearing the age of being clueless to what’s hip? Maybe; I don’t care very much about it.
I think maybe my own hip-ness can be defined by the new hip (see above). In that case, am I hip for hating on the hipsters? Oh, shit, they’ve turned me into one of them.
Freakin hipsters.
Dang, with what feels like another (?) sinus infection coming up and the jaw/cheek/molar discomfort associated with it, I nearly went bonkers at work today when they were replacing the weather-stripping on the firedoor right outside my office. The drill had me clutching my cheek like some hypochondriac. It was pathetic. So I took a walk to get some coffee and chocolate. That made everything better. Which might also be pathetic.
Also, my hands smell like ballpoint pen ink. WTF?
Old City Coffee is the freakin bees’ knees. I had coffee from their shop in Old[e] City when I was in Philly this past August for a week-long training on how to be a good VISTA. I remember delicious coffee, a cute logo and fantastic cookies. Unfortunately, due to limited seating and my desire to get out of my hotel each morning for breakfast, I didn’t really get to eat breakfast and/or chill there in August. I won’t say which chain coffee place I did eat breakfast at more regularly during that trip. But they did have ample seating, even on the sidewalk.
This weekend, we hit the Reading Terminal Market (at the recommendation of the dude who makes the best bike shirts ever) and scored coffee from the cart. It was delicious and definitely what Mr. Brainpan ordered after waking up at 2:30 am. We got to relax at a tiny table and enjoy the coffee, saving a sugar packet with the logo for gluing into our travel journal. The line increased soon, as we got there at the opening on the market. The larger Old City Coffee stall had an enormous line that stretched a good two dozen deep by the time we left the market. They must have a good following.
There were tons of Starbucks joints and Dunkin Donuts palaces. For being as tired as we were, we didn’t really drink that much coffee on our trip. Which probably explains — at least in part — how I dozed off on the short train ride back to Baltimore long enough and deeply enough that Mrs. P had the time to be tempted to take a picture of me passed out on Amtrak, to pull out her camera, to take the picture and to put it away, repressing what I assume was massive giggling. But, the joke’s on her. The picture came out blurrily. (Maybe she should have had more coffee.)
[Photo Friday: Morning Routine.]
I have always been both fascinated by and obsessed with drinks. Not alcoholic ones, mind you. Beverages. When I was a kid, I was always always thirsty. I needed juice or soda or milk constantly. I realize now that it was because I could literally not stand to drink water until I was 20 years old and was probably mildly dehydrated all the time. I think I’ve mentioned that I’m 29 and have been drinking coffee consistently for about 21 years, daily for 20. I’m American, so you know I’ve had my share of Coke. Etc.
So I began reading A History of the World in Six Glasses last night, and I am enjoying it immensely. I was tempted to consume the beverage in question while reading the six parts. Still am. But I read for my lunchtime whenever I can, and I can’t very well get tanked at work. (That only happens when I need to talk to someone and have to track them down at a community happy hour and — poor me — have to drink beer in the afternoon……..trying to think of who I can track down this week……..) Perhaps after the third part, when the drinks under examination are coffee, tea and Coke, I can indulge.
I’ll be happier when I get a new camera to document the earliest autumn in recent memory though. But today, it’s raining, possibly storming later. My knee’s been bothering me, and I enjoy the bus. So I rode in that noisy beast’s belly today. Grabbed a coffee at work just now, crossing the street on cold sandaled feet and under the cheap black umbrella I bought at South Station in Boston eight weeks ago today. It reminds me of fall 2002, when I lived in Boston and when we had a spectacular fall. We went to Salem and celebrated Halloween like never before. Walden Pond on what might be the most beautiful fall day I have ever lived through.
It also reminds me that, this time five years ago, I was speeding (literally, doing like 90 mph because I was an idiot) toward Baltimore to get married. Regardless of how the wedding actually went (what, with certain family members who — admittedly — tried to ruin it because they didn’t like our style and our refusals of their suggestions), October 4th is my favorite day. And regardless of the stressful, infuriating, quick event our wedding was, October 4th was also the day that we got together, back in 1997.
So while people keep asking me how many years October 4th makes, I qualify my answer that it’s eleven for me. My wedding was not when I was committed. It was not even when I was publicly committed. It didn’t change how I feel about my wife at all. Nothing can.
Either my caffeine addiction is more alarming than I thought, or a lot of the people who I work with have a different definition of “too much coffee” than I do — and I like the people I work with a great deal. “I heard you guys on the sixth floor are coffee nuts?” “He wants to meet the people who drink coffee in the afternoon.”
In the afternoon? All day! LOL
Oh, well. If you’re going to have a reputation for something, it could be worse. Much worse.
I blame the tons of good coffee places within a five minute walk of my office, even more within ten minutes. But on the same note: Baltimore has a lot of good coffee shops around mid-town/Central Baltimore. Oh, dang. Poor me.
Back from a week for training in Philly. I slept for almost eight hours last night like, well, like a stone at the bottom of Walden Pond. I actually had a lot of fun, learned a lot, met some nice people, got charged up for my “year of service” and got to explore Philly a bit. Among my other adventures, I broke a Teva, rather than my foot, walking to a cool bookstore in the dark with my mind on musty volumes. I have to get new sandals before reporting to my office Monday. But it beats, you know, having a broken foot or toe[s]. And I have to get my bike all commuter-ready this weekend. I think I might finally put that milkcrate on. I don’t know. It would make changing a tire harder. But that stinky Slime did last week. I’ll write about that on the bike blog.
Don’t have a whole lot I have to do this weekend, which is awesome. You should see the stack of books we bought on our travels. Or how much coffee I drank in Philly. I was so dehydrated that I drank a wine bottle of water before bed last night and didn’t have to pee this morning. I know you want to hear about my urinary tract. Right. I haven’t had spicy food since Monday! Need. Peppers. You should also see my pepper crop. Holy hot sauce! I am getting a new camera for my birthday, if heads have to roll. Too many of the photos from our trips didn’t turn out. Thank you, and good day to you.
Also for Photo Friday: Garden.
Photo Friday: The Good Life. You might be thinking, “The good life? Coffee? Isn’t that shallow?” I mean, after a decade of studying Western philosophy, shouldn’t this be a photo of a relaxed person, contemplating comfortably in a cafe’? Or after studying Eastern philosophy, why photos of a mind-altering substance like coffee?
It’s been…a week. So right now, Friday morning, when I have to run around until about ten or eleven tonight, teach kids about bikes, go see my sick grandfather days after his 80th birthday, work on job stuff, etc., coffee is the good life. I know; everyone is busy. So you should know what I am talking about then.
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