The End-Term 1

Monday:

I woke before the sun.
I enjoyed a slow shower, slow cup of freshly pressed coffee, and a leisurely view of the sunrise out my window.
Then I received a call letting me know that I was horribly late for my new research assistant job on campus.

Shit. I forgot about that.

I highly recommend, just once in your life, attempting to get dressed in nearly freezing weather, at full sprint, down a public street. No worries kids, I made sure my wellies were on before I flew out the front door. Priorities darlings.

In an unfathomable display of generosity, the bus driver chose to acknowledge my screams and stop the bus just as he was pulling out into traffic. What I failed to gather when dashing out the door, however, was my bus pass. So I did the American thing and threw too much money at him and took a seat. The bus driver was left confused and anxious, befuddled and mumbling to himself, but he did my bidding all the same. Catching the bus at least allowed me the chance to finish snapping on my bra and properly wrap up my scarf.

I arrived with seconds to spare. As soon as my things were carelessly flung to the corner of the testing lab, 20 undergraduate participants began lining up, ready to perform the last task in the PhD student's experiment. As she attempted to explain my duties, I realised I wasn't the only one having trouble getting my shit together that morning. Poor thing. The participants were to gamble for real money and I was the designated bank. The first participant won, and I asked the PhD what to give him. She handed me a paper bag impregnated with smaller bags of coins coupled with a dismissive "Here", then turned to tend to the next participant in line. The first participant won £2. I spied several small plastic bags of silver coins, and delivered one unto the student. What I actually managed to do, as I was soon to find out, was give the first participant £10 in 50 pence coins. The bags were not, as I thought, pre-divided into the payout options, but were in standard UK-bank coin bags, segregated by denomination. Well, poop.

So I Americaned out again. I knew I had roughly 10 minutes before the second round of participants were ready and a bank lay less than 10 minutes away. I turned to this ever so young and now frazzled PhD student and convinced her to calm the fuck down.... I got this.

I ran to the bank. Procured a £10 bag of 50 pence coins from my account. The moment I left the bank, however, I knew I wasn't going to make it in time. Even at a full sprint (assuming I had that in me sans breakfast) I seriously doubted my physical abilities at that point.

But what was this? A refuse truck headed in the same direction? Right up the main road? I jumped onto the passenger side foot lift and asked if they were headed north. They confirmed and I yelled through the partially opened window that I was "in serious need of transportation help", "frightfully late", and would jump off at corner X & Y.... IF ONLY I COULD JUST SNAG A RIDE FOR THE GIBBET HILL STRETCH!?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I ended up riding the outside of a refuse truck to save someone's research study. Was it all worth it? Do you really need to ask :)

Tuesday:

What to say about Tuesday...
Tuesday is the second day in the traditional work week. Tuesday is the sixty-fifth workday in a postgraduate week. Tuesday carries a momentum with magical, other worldly powers that keeps the mover moving until Friday. Well, Friday afternoon, at least.

This evening I took a deliberate leap and met with a professor who's single lecture pushed me to question assumptions I wasn't even aware needed questioning. He graciously agreed to a late-in-the-day meeting. Afterwork meetings are a touchy business. As the asker, one must be aware that the receiver can be mentally exhausted by this time. He (or she) is wearing a full workday by this point. A Tuesday workday, at that. He, in this case, could have easily dismissed my inquiries, belittled my pensive, probing questions, and left me feeling quite impotent, due to his own fatigue driven honesty.

Or...

He could have exhibited a rare openness that can also stem from the same fatigue driven honesty. I was lucky enough to be the recipient of the latter.

I predicated this meeting upon my desires for a PhD. The meeting, however, turned into a delightful exchange of philosophical ideas. We discussed Thoreau, Emerson, Mill, Russell, Wittgenstein, rationality, object-based vs. subject-based science, & more. Even the notion of the sustainability of a rock became a topic of severe interest. He's one of the few people I've met who allowed me quiet reflection in the middle of our discussion. This meeting gave me food for thought. Precisely what I needed.

Working title: The Wrong Side Of An Economics Lecture

The clock is not moving.

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I'm sitting here,

Victim to destructive thoughts of sanity,

And the clock refuses to tick.

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Neither will it tock.

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What does this clock have against me?

Have I wasted too much of it's gift?

Have I spent too frivolously?

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The silence.
A resounding,

Yes.

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This is my punishment.

This is the consequent for my frivolities.

          Time refuses to allow me further forward progression.

Time has shut me out.
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Tick, you bastard.

tick.

Wednesday:

Day of reflection.

Life is everything imaginable. Strap in and I hope you enjoy the ride.

Here are some pictures:

So far, I'm the only postgruadate this term from the states.

I don't know who this goose is, but he's got his own shack on an island in the middle of the city. Cool.

This goose danced for me. It only seemed polite to take his picture and applaud his two-step.

Abandoned downtown bus station at 15 to 2(am).

Thursday:

There's nothing quite like reviewing an entire course's information in 2 frightfully short hours.

Friday:

Last day of Term 1.

We were kicked out of the private, postgrad work space 3 hours before the Assessment #3 deadline, for our "safety". A peaceful student protest was scheduled to be held in front of the building in 2 hours. When I say kicked out, I mean they had to send in the cops to remove me from my work space. I was the last hold out. It started with the director of the postgrad space asking us all to leave. After several visits, it ended with him imploring me - the last holdout - to leave. I remember at some point yelling out, "I protest the protest!" It officially ended when I realised the cops standing in front of me were just a couple short breaths away from bodily removing me from my work space "for my safety". My only thoughts were for the safety of my laptop and the oh, so precious non-backed-up work on it. So I left of my own accord, flanked by cops to be sure, but walking on my own two feet. I won't go so easily next time, however. Next time, I will remember I have Dropbox 2.0.22, and insurance.

By late lunch I was busy having drinks with fellow postgrads at one of the campus pubs. This was closely followed by a liquid PhD meeting at the next campus pub. The day came to a close with one last, yet spectacularly terrible, cider closer with a friend at a third campus pub. I slept until Sunday.

SEE YOU IN THE NEW YEAR :D

Eighth Week-Term 1

Monday:

I keep hearing a clock *tick *tick *tick away. A clock that apparently does not exist. I've looked all over this room, but to no avail. Yet I can feel it. Somewhere, I'm certain, there is a collection of machine-crafted gears, interlocking in a perfect, symbiotic relationship, forcing the smallest of delicate springs to *tick *tick *tick in recursive recoiling. This mysterious spring, this bane of my existence, must be. It must! I can feel it. I can feel a current ripple the air and excite the hair cells of my cochlea as surely as I feel my own increasingly rapid heart beat. But when I search for the source, I am left discontent. I look around at the others in the lounge, but to what end? Even if they were privy to this unceasing pulse, what reaction could I hope for to slake my curiosity?

"Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-"

Tuesday:

I and my ilk have passed a threshold. It is no longer within our collective capacity to measure time by hours, minutes, seconds. We cease to exist in a linear progression marked off so succinctly by Greenwich. We have crossed the threshold of known time itself and entered into the Ticktockman's fear-based realm of "Negotiable Delay". We poor, hunched postgrads huddle together, motivated by other-worldly senses and supernatural desires, to negotiate the precise moment when Assessment #3 is officially and unequivocally too late.

Wednesday:

London received snowfall today. Nothing stuck, but it snowed all the same. I was not aware of this. I was aware of the hail falling on me. Hail that, unlike London snow, stuck and stuck and stuck. The one time I found myself wondering along unknown footpaths - in the dark no less - with no relief in sight, it also hailed for the first time this season. In my own way, though, I was relieved. The concept of hail this Texan possesses involves bruising, broken windows, and some element of head trauma. This English "hail" was more along the lines of the slush that comes out of the hand-cranked Snoopy snow cone machines of the 1980s.

Was I upset at this unexpected experience? Not in the least :)
Por qué, you ask? For the simple reason that I was on my way to an equally unexpected dinner party in one of the student housing blocks. That, and also that I have never been packed in ice before. I was packed in ice once I reached the student housing entrance. Now I know what a lobster in the fish market feels like.

Dinner was spectacular. As happens when fabulous people congregate, a simple, generous gesture turned into a full-throttle international fare: quesadillas, guacamole, salsa, refried beans, mexican candy, english sodas, grilled salmon, pizza, thai salad, crisps, peppered steak, cilantro (coriander), honeydew w/ prosciutto, ending in compote topped cheese cake and chia tea straight from India. Espresso was also on the menu, but we all eventually ran out of steam (and tummy space). Mexico, US, Sweden, Thailand, China, Malaysia, and Taiwan were represented at the table.

Thursday:

Today brought the promise of a moment, a single, near instantaneous moment that held the potential to produce anything from a life-altering failure to an unparalleled success. George Loewenstein (Carnegie Mellon University) was the guest speaker at the DR@W Forum. For those readers who don't know, Georgie and I have a past. A twisted, dark, yet sadly brief past.

A couple years ago I applied to his program to earn my PhD while working along side one of the most prolific (if not brilliant) minds of our time in the field of decision making science. Wait, it gets even nerdier. I discovered Loewenstein's work after immersing myself for months in decision science research. My immersion was not for a class. No one expected anything from me. I just simply and quite severely became enthralled with a section of psychology that crossed over into economic & business theory. I loved the effort of a acknowledging the human factor in economic behaviours. I tasted the fruit and it was sweet.

A few days before Loewenstein's talk to our group, I joked that I was going to jump up at the beginning of the Q&A and ask, "Why wasn't I good enough for you 2 years ago!?" I said this as an obvious joke. However, when this afternoon rolled around, nearly everyone I mentioned my joke to showed up to Loewenstein's talk. They had front-row seats to the show. Oh dear....

Loewenstein gave a longer-than-expected talk to a larger-than-expected group. When all was said and done, the students urged and prompted me toward Loewenstein so I could have a heart-to-heart, as it were, with him. At the last second I decided, "What the fuck, let's do this."

I shared my excitement with his work, my previous attempts to join his program, and my present status in Warwick's department. He was naturally taken aback (very interesting), but then committed the same sin as all the rest. He tried to help me understand my rejection from his university's department. Loewenstein suggested that 2nd round applicants have 4.0 GPAs, at least one 800 score on their GRE, stellar letters of recommendation, and it doesn't hurt to have something published or, at the least, in the making. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I had all the boxes ticked. So here, for your reading pleasure, are Loewenstein's pearls of wisdom I was able to glean from our conversation:

1) As of today, the University of Warwick has the best all encompassing behavioural program in the world. Which means, I GOT INTO THE BEST BEHAVIOURAL PROGRAM IN THE WORLD (right now). OK!

2) Professors now, including Loewenstein himself, would not have qualified as graduates for the programs they are now employed in. My interpretation: I'm a better qualified graduate student now than Loewenstein was at my stage 20-odd years ago. OK!

3) Loewenstein can be relied upon to tell a candidate what the probabilities are for acceptance. If you don't cut the mustard, he suggests "casting a broader net."

Before parting, I decided to abstain from asking for a picture with him. Call me crazy, but you don't [practically] insult someone then ask for a photo op.

Friday:

I wonder if these streets will haunt my dreams the way places of my childhood do? So many strange alleyways.

The Forest Hermitage

Woke up bright and early to a full moon at 7am. Brewed some delicious coffee and hopped on a bus headed toward a Buddhist hermitage. In particular, The Forest Hermitage in Warwick. Saturday was the last day of Vassa, the annual 3 month Rain Retreat. The monks take a vow of stationary. For the three 'rainy' months of summer, they do not travel. They pick a location (this year it was the Hermitage) and they stay there for 3 months. We celebrated with prayers, songs, food, and a word from the head Sangha monk. His message was that everything begins and ends with the 5th precept. To break that is to change your life instantaneously.

 Magpies!

 Entering the Hermitage.

 So many people.

All lined up to offer food to the three monks and one nun living at the hermitage.

Had a lovely lunch of, well, EVERYTHING, followed by a wild discussion on health care and politics in an open-air pagoda in the front gardens of the hermitage with a Scottish historian, an English laborer, and a Chinese businessman.

First Week-Term 1

Monday Madness:
GREAT GOBS OF GOOSE SLOO! There were a lot of students on campus Monday. I'm so glad I arrived a week early so I could get acquainted with the campus slowly and in my own time.

My first lecture was with Gordon Brown. No, not THAT Gordon Brown, but wouldn't that be a hoot. Sweet guy, super smart, didn't notice I was falling asleep. The way I see it, it could be that I was really good at covering my appearance, he wasn't as observant with me as he was with his lecture, or I didn't actually fall asleep and entered a new stage of hallucinatory-jet-laggy-crazy-fun-time. I'm OK with any possibility.

Between lectures I found a great tree to have lunch under-inside, and later, a great bench to enjoy the end of this English summer.

Tuesday Trials:
I must have made a unique impression on my professors from Monday, because the one who apologized in advance for not knowing students as quickly as he felt he should, called on me by name at our next meeting. But I couldn't help myself Monday. Professors Loomes & Read began a discussion on transitivity and preference theory. They were singing my song! In a nutshell, Loomes approached the scenario as an Economists, I countered his conclusions by approaching it as a Psychologist. Sweet, sweet music. Thank you Professor Berkich! (p.s. the pictures on this link are from his Advanced Logic course, where we learned these theories)

Also, I confirmed that there are at least 3 pubs on campus. That's right, I said pubs. Wine, beer, ale, Guinness, you name it.

Wednesday Wackout:
Started the day with Neil Stewart introducing us to the new statistics software (R) and programming language we'll be using to run our data. "R" is free software AND free-speech software. What does that mean, you say? It means A.N.Y.O.N.E. can download the software, rewrite it to suite his/her personal statistical software needs, then publish it for anyone else to use. It's also the hot-stuff right now for running large, nay ginormous data sets. I was of the minority that understood the basics behind the language, thanks to Professor Moreno.

After class all the Psychology and Economics MSc/PhD students attended a reception. Typical array of sandwiches, fruit, and muffins. Most of the sandwiches had some mysterious orange dressing on them, so of course I tried them all. The only ingredients I'm certain of are bread and cucumber. I ended up briefly talking with a first year PhD student who is investigating the victimhood of the bully/victim relationship. Her premise right now is that bullies show some sort of beneficial placement in human society, therefore she doesn't see the need to look into the making & role of bullies, just the making & role of victims and how they can cope, etc. I had to walk away before I made an enemy.

The Societies Fair was also today. What's that, you say? All the clubs come out to expose themselves to potential members. Exposures were varied. Check out the video. In fact, you're better off expanding it to full screen.

One of the dancing troupes.

One of the music groups.

Trying to navigate the labyrinthine madhouse that is Societies Fair. This clip begins with a shot of one of the campus pubs. Check out the variety of societies!

Thursday Rain:

This is the long day of the week. Economic lecture first thing in the morning, then 2 hours of hacking through learning a new computer language, followed by open research presentations (multi-discipline), then sharing sessions with psyc professors about ongoing research. In short, lots & lots of listening, lots & lots of note jotting. 

It's been super fun, though, watching the psyc grad students squirm in their seats during the economic lectures. We're supposed to be learning this term how traditional economists think. The upside for me, is that not a single psyc student agrees, so they questions and quarrel in class. I sit in the back. All I'm missing is a bucket of popcorn. Almost better than a Skyfall screening.