Happy Bliss of Chaos

Right, so if I thought I'd have a breather after my viva, I was wrong. Just arrived back home and seem to have a million things on my to-do list. For some reason people assume I am a ridiculously well organised individual. It makes me wonder what other stuff I subconciously (and incorrectly) project about myself onto this world.

Anyway. My day so far has consisted of rather tedious admin stuff relating to travel visas, bank accounts, getting quotes for round-the-world flights, sheduling appointments with my dentist, dermatologist and OBGYN (the hypochondriac in me re-surfaced before my saner half managed to wrestle me for control of the phone). Oh and the highlight of my day: Mugshots. Yes. I managed to spend a fiver on 4 mugshots of myself which make Jack Nicholson look like an angel in comparison. I think I may just have to attempt to photoshop my way to a home-made passport-photo if I want to avoid being arrested at Christchurch airport upon arrival.

At any rate, I have made myself the promise not to turn this blog into a tedious account of travel tales, so I shall leave it at that. Give me a few days to find my feet again, and I shall return to you with a more interesting variety of tales of self-mockery, exciting encounters with old flames, painful faux-pas, losing my carkeys in the eurotunnel and sushi.

But before I go, I'd like to show you this little gem. It's a wee gift from Disco most likely aimed at fore-warning my fellow travellers:

The Morning After The Day Before

Although I had topped up both my UK and Belgian phones in anticipation of the post-viva communication flux, I hadn't quite forseen the 63 text messages and 5 incoming roaming calls that required a response and both phones ran out of credit rather more quickly than I had anticipated. I appologise profusely to those of you whom I didn't manage to reply to yesterday evening with the outcome of my viva. But I shall make you wait no longer... Pew has indeed been awarded "doctorandus" status after 4 gruelling hours of inquisition *grin*

The whole ordeal hasn't quite sunk in yet. Instead of a wild night of celebrating, I crash-landed on my mates' bed around midnight, after a few beers that went straight to my head. The fact that I'd only managed to get down one toast all day probably didn't help. After a few hours of feverish sleep, I found myself awake at 4a.m. physically sobbing for a good half hour. It's all rather pathetic, but I suspect the stress had really gotten to me rather a lot more than I was aware of.

Though the relief is tremendous, I can honestly say that this PhD viva is one of the more traumatic experiences in my life so far. I had planned to write a humoristic account of the whole procedure, but I simply can't get myself to do so at this point just yet. While the viva process might be considered a "formality" procedure, the fact of the matter is that when you're locked into a room with two interrogators, formality or not, you have to live up to the standard of degree you're about to be rewarded and swallow any criticism (positive or negative) these people choose to dish out.

I can count myself lucky with two examiners who had a genuine interest in the subject matter but it inevitably meant they'd combed through my thesis in an extensively detailed fashion. While they repeatedly pointed out to me that I'd managed to achieve a tremendous amount of work and that they considered the work to be of an excellent standard of which I should be proud, I found it hard to take that on board while I was sat there trying to bounce back all the challenges they threw my way. It is ridiculously hard to think on your feet for four whole hours. Especially if one examiner is a physicist and the other's a physiologist and both are keen to test your knowledge on their respective fields to the limit.

I was offered a cookie by one of them at one point because I apparently looked like I was about to pass out. I sure felt like I was going to, but declined the cookie all the same for fear of not being able to hold it down. I'm sure with enough therapy I'll come to terms with the inevitable aggressive nature of the viva line of questioning and my own insecurities related to it all ;-)

There is, however, one particular incident during the whole ordeal, which makes me feel all riled up thinking back on it now. I don't deal well with imposed authority at the best of times, but a viva puts you in this incredibly vulnerable superior-inferior position: you need to do your best to defend your own viewpoint but ensure not to cross your examiners. So inevitably, out of politeness, you swallow a few comments which you normally wouldn't let someone get away with. At one point, one of my examiners pointed out a spelling mistake in what I consider to be a rather derisory way and as most of you are aware, I'm particularly touchy about this type of stuff. I am all up for constructive criticism when it comes to my use of the English language, but I had to do my very best to stop the stroppy rebellious foreigner in me from shouting: "I'd like to see you write a 37,000 word thesis in a language that's not your own and see you succeed with a mere three spelling mistakes, you effin' wanker." Of course I didn't shout *grin*. And the guy most definitely doesn't deserve the label wanker, because both of my examiners were actually top blokes who strangely managed to combine the sort of "I'm pushing you in a corner now, but I'm still smiling at you nicely to put you at ease" type of attitudes. Once my stress-levels have resettled I'm sure I'll realise that the spelling comment wasn't meant in a derisory fashion at all. But part of me wishes I had stood up and shouted "wanker" or "twat" at no one in particular every now and then. It would certainly have released some tension. People with Tourettes must thrive at vivas, what with the repeated excusable release of frustration by expletives *grin*

RAAAAAH

Anyway, I need to get the built-up energy out of my system today. The shedule as it stands starts off with a Champagne drink in the lab courtesy of Steve, who'd been so thoughtful as to put Champagne on ice in case of a good outcome, but had equally stashed a bottle of Jagermeister in his drawer in case of a bad outcome. Thinking like a true mate there, bud ;-)
Then there's a wee goodbye lunch with my prof, which will be sad because I have really enjoyed working with him. And then I have to hand in my key-fob, which will mark the defo ending of my time here at the PGM. I'm driving straight to Manchester afterwards to meet an old friend and to beat off the blues.

Good times gone past, good times just around the corner.

(PS: I will have to post a wee pic sometime this week of the lil prezzie that Disco had made for me. It's particularly fitting)

Viva Voce

Well folks, that's it. My bag is packed. Come tomorrow, I'm off across the channel to go defend that PhD thesis on Wednesday-afternoon. I suspect I won't have internet access until a while after the actual viva, so here's to hoping the next blogpost comes to you written by Doctor Pew rather than by Gutted Pew. Fingers crossed.

Morituri Te Salutent!

Sympathy Stress

I can tell by my web-statistics that my dad has sympathy-stress about my impending viva. So erm: dear Dad... I'm OK, really. It's all going to be OK. But thanks for watching over me so closely ;-)

Luv ya! ;-)

AaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaRgH!!!

Stormchaser

I've decided I'm going to be a Storm-Chaser when I grow up. Just thought I'd share that with you all.

Rabbit Food

Like most mothers, my mum has a knack for keeping a well-stocked fridge. You know, "Just in case someone passes by in a hungry mood". This generally refers to my brother, who's a habbit of dropping by and raiding the fridge like locusts raid a Australian cereal crop.

But this week, mum's fridge looks like a whole supermarket's moved up and taken residence inside of it. Amused by this, I turned to the source for some elucidation:

"Mum, were you like high on something when you went shopping this week, or did the news about the impending crisis in the Middle East simply work on the hamstering reflex?"
"What's that, hun?"
"Your fridge... it's... well... it looks like you're expecting the next Ice Age or something?"
"Oh that, yeah... I played golf this week."

At this point I was seriously starting to worry about how the current heatwave might have affected my mum's state of mind.

"You played golf?"
"Oh, yes. Tournaments. I played two golf tournaments this week and won both of them. Food. I won food. I'm no longer a rabbit now, isn't that exciting?!"

I put down my glass of water, stared at her and said:

"You're no longer a rabbit. I erm.. I hadn't realised you were... a rabbit, I mean"
"Oh I was a rabbit for months!! I've been upgraded now though, my handicap's gone down a few points."

It was at this point that I realised I should really start paying attention when people talk to me about Golf. It turns out Golfers have a very strange sense of humour, categorising their players according to their handicap level, "rabbits" being one of those categories. So I'm guessing mum's been upgraded to... well, I don't know what to exactly, but I'm guessing to a less-fluffy variety of Golfer. And the success has earned her enough food to feed an army. I dare not browse the fridge shelves for their content, for fear of the lot crashing down on me should I stupidly decide to move an item. But I guess I won't go hungry during my viva prep. Three cheers for rabbit food.

Humidity

It figures that I would have to start prepping my viva in the midst of a full-fledged heatwave. With expected local temperatures in the mid-to-high thirties over the next four days and a relative humidity of 80% you can imagine how overjoyed I am at the prospect.

Thankfully, Flatland is blessed with a tendency for thunderstorms and we've had one last night as well as this morning, which brings temporary relief. All the windows of the house are open, I'm sat at my desk in my undies, I've a spraybottle of water and a large bottle of Vittel at the ready. I'm now looking to hire a few midgets to stand on my desk flapping a few sheets of paper in my direction as a form of lo-cost airco. The real stuff only ever makes me ill. For applications, please use the "comments" section.

piccies

After 12 hours of driving, 4 liters of water, 2 coffee-breaks, 3 pee-breaks and a 80£ police-fine... I've arrived home safe and sound with the worst summer-cold ever. Snuffly nose and swollen throat aside, I had a fantastic little break in Vienna. I'm not sure why I tend to leave Vienna ill each time I go over, though I suspect me licking a taxi-window during a tipsy night out might have contributed somewhat this time around. Before you ask, I was trying to impress my brother, who was riding the cab next to mine. If that still doesn't make sense, then let's just leave it at this: "white russians" = "asking for trouble".

Anyway. My wee sis has become a right cutie. She's (unintentionally) sporting 2 baby-dreadlocks which, at 22-months old, now officially makes her cooler than her older sister.

Ended up on a jolly to Bratislava. I'd never been to Eastern-Europe before, so it was rather exciting. Slovakia's a fairly straightforward drive from Vienna, once you've sussed out that your co-pilot consistently mixes up "left" and "right". Once again, physicists prove to have an incredible lack of common sense ;)

Thanks to a tip-off by Mona, we ended up at the Vienna Natural History Museum. I've seen my fair share of NHM's but I can honestly say that the Viennese version is simply spectactular and by far the most organised and well-presented one I have come across so far: it is based on the Linnean System with a room assigned to each Class (mammalia, reptilia, insecta, ...). A few of the rooms even come equipped with microscopes for the public so you can actually see several LIVING samples of the smaller arachnids, parasites etc... up close, which is very cool. For some bizarre reason, Val decided she would only take pictures of me with beasties I had already eaten at some point or other in my life. Which is a shame, because there was an incredibly beautiful display of hundreds of colourful beetles and frogs...

Got to see a classic Woody Allen at an open-air cinema in the park. Always a bonus. You'll find it's hard to beat "Woody-Allen-dressed-up-as-a-spermatozoid" as an idea for how to spend your evening.

While I have plenty more to comment on, I can feel the meds kicking in, so shall refrain from further potential blasphemous doped-up typing by simply leaving you with a few piccies:

- Bratislava: Allyway -

- Bratislava: Jugglers -

- Bratislava: Thank god for universal symbols -

Viva Date Confirmed

Well guys, this is it... I have officially transgressed into flap-mode. Just a few hours ago, my viva date was confirmed as Wednesday July 26th, at 2pm. I will make my way up to Belgium tomorrow to commence a week of hard graft study and nervousness, after which I shall haul ass to the UK to face the inquistion squad.

I have funny tales to recount about the Vienna/Bratislava endeavour and shall of course divulge them when the need for procrastination deems fit to break through the sense of duty.

In the meantime, wish me luck with the epic trek home tomorrow, as I am once again ill and shall be caged into a sweltering lil car in the heatwave for ten whole gruelling hours.

Awareness

Putmy posted a great link-tip on her blog, which defo managed to kick-start my brain today: Check out her blogpost "Stand" and follow it onto the quizlink. If you're as aware as you think you are, it shouldnt take you much more than 10 minutes to complete it.

Will be back with commentary and pictures of the Vienna stay at a later stage. No definite confirmation on the proposed viva date yet. Still bricking it. Catch ye soon.

Meeeeeep

I've just been given a preliminary viva date. It still needs to be confirmed but looks set on track to take place in fourteen days! Meeep... *flutterbies going haywire in me tum*

Wiener Schnitzels

I'm off to Vienna tomorrow. Prepping the mp3 playlist for the 11-hour car journey. God forbid I should take my chances on flying ;-) I expect to be back in time for the second half of the Ghent Parties.

PS: Val, I shall make sure Vienna is an Azzuri-free zone by the time I pick u up at the airport and I hope by then your face paint will have worn off and your busted lip is healed cuz there's a very impressionable 20-month old at the flat! ;-p

Spot the difference

Well the wedding party came and went without a hitch. The boobs behaved nicely and no double-sided tape was needed to contain them to the dress. The feet survived 6 hours of dancing in high-heels and I went home with a napkin full of phonenumbers of people I had not seen in 8 to 12 years. It's striking how much people change and don't change if you've not seen them for so long. It's almost like a before-and-after shot in a magazine make-over. The "before" shot being the one in your memories, the "after" standing right in front of you. And within seconds the game of "spot-the-difference" takes shape.

The fragile wee boy that got picked on in class every day is now a 1m90 athlete with the most attractive smile-wrinkles around the eyes but he still story-tells with as much spark & fantasy as he ever did. And the alternative strong-willed brainiac that hung out in our local youth-club every weekend, has now become an investment broker in charge of 1.2 billion euros worth of stock each day but he still has that feisty warrior glint in his eyes.

-Spot the Differences-

Our stories are all still the same. Though we've all evolved away from our familiar common ground to more or lesser degrees, 10 years on, we seem to meet again on equally common ground, albeit a less familiar one. Our plots seem to all run parallel in the playing field of twenty-somethings going on thirties. Conversations are all probative. No one seems to speak with arrogant confidence, because realistically, no one seems to be a hundred percent sure of what they're doing or where they're heading. And it's comforting as much as it isn't.

But then the collective moves onto the dancefloor and the DJ regresses us. The grown-apart older generation steps off the dancefloor and we're all connected once again. And I suddenly see the appeal of reunions: at some point you stop focussing on the time that's passed. You stop focussing on the future. You stop defining. When the 26-year old consultant dives into a "pogo" with his former best mate, he's no longer defined by his job, his relationship,... he's simply defined by life. And when at 6am we make our way home, the only difference we can really spot is that our bikes have grown into cars.

Todays Mp3-repeat: Muse - Supermassive Black Hole

Exotically French

Overheard at the restaurant yesterday:

Waiter: "How was your food Sir?"
Guy: "To be honest, it wasn't all that nice. I mean, I ordered the Asian Wok... so I kind of expected soy-beans and well, I don't know, I supose I expected something exotic."
Waiter: "Right, so was the dish not well prepared?"
Guy: "Well no, the dish was OK. It's just not very Asian is it? I mean, they put "Asian" on the menu, so they should make it exotic..."
Waiter: "Oh, but they can't do exotic, Sir. The chef's are French."

Who says scientists are geeks huh??