Some Things I've Learned So Far in the Doctoral Program

• It's shocking how little I know about science, how much I thought I knew about science, and how much bad science is out there. Almost all of my classes have been about how to do good science, and it's been eye-opening. And obvious, in hindsight, but aren't most things?
• Kerry is really smart.
• I remember how in elementary school my teachers would warn me about how much more attention I'd need to pay in junior high school, and how the classes would be a lot harder. Then I got to junior high, and classes weren't really any harder... but I was warned that high school would be insanely difficult. Then high school wasn't a big deal at all... but I was warned that college would be ridiculously difficult. Then college wasn't really all that bad at all... but they all said how rough grad school would be. So far...? The pattern seems to be continuing.
• I'm sure that in a month or two I'll look back at that last bullet point, cackle insanely, and ask for more cheese on my shirt, please. This will get tougher, no doubt.

Five Years from our Date with Katrina

As today is the five-year anniversary of the walloping of Louisiana by Katrina, today seems an appropriate day to repost one of the more important things I've ever written (not that it has a lot of competition). This was an e-mail I sent out to most of my friends a couple of weeks after Katrina hit us: September 12, 2005, the first day following the storm during which I had both power and internet access. I lived in Louisiana during Katrina and worked disaster relief, and it changed me. Here's what I had to say then, a lot of which is still hopefully worthy of some thought today. I certainly still stand behind it, despite the fact that I didn't even know who Kenny Chesney was back then.

Organizations and Organizing (and the Muppets, of course)

People ask me, "How's grad school going?" and I wonder how to reply.  As I'm only two days in as of this writing, that's somewhat like asking someone how a cake tastes when they've only begun to cook it (assuming the cake itself is not a lie to begin with).  I'm not really sure what to say.  I'm tired, but it's a good tired.  I'm learning, and it's a good learning.  I'm spending far too much money on vastly overpriced textbooks, and wishing I could get away with selling BD for $90, since it's about as many pages as some of these hundred dollar books.  Mostly I'm just listening. Asking questions, and listening.  So in a big way, it's not that different from normal life for me.

I find myself curious as to how much effort I'll put into having good grades, as opposed to the effort I put into research, concept-building, and general learning (because yes, there can be a difference between good grades and real learning, especially at this level).  I've been told repeatedly that grades don't really matter in the slightest as far as getting a post-doctoral job: what matters is your published research and, to a lesser extent, teaching bonafides. I had very respectable grades in high school and college, but that was a long, long time ago.  And back then, to be honest, I was mostly just concerned with getting good grades and getting out. Here I'm more concerned about learning.  Will different priorities result in a different GPA?

Doctoral Orientation is Go!

Just jumped out of the pool, which was a surreal experience.  I'm not used to having a swimming pool, unless you count some of the larger puddles that develop on a disturbingly regular basis in the back yard of every faithful Louisiana resident (in fact, some of us save time and just call them "ponds").  It's also surreal going swimming with an amazingly pregnant woman (unborn babies do not, in fact, float), and having the old guy with the stinky cigar reading Kenny Chesney news on the pool chair next to you.

However, the joys of submersion are not the topic for today's exciting installment: the beginning of the doctoral experience is.  This week is Orientation Week for the twenty or so of us who were picked from thousands to join the PhD program in Georgia Tech's business college.  It has been an excellent opportunity to learn more about the school, walk around in the sweltering heat, enjoy several free lunches, hear high-ranking government employees define "STOO-PID" to graduate students in great detail, meet interesting people from other countries (did you know that 'Jim' is a very popular name in Turkey, only it's spelled 'Cem' there?), and watch the health center lose your immunization records two or three times.  It has been... insightful.

The Curious Cajun's Guide to Atlanta

• When first entering Atlanta, the Curious Cajun may notice a plethora of lanes to choose from on his interstate of choice, far more than the one half, one, or two lanes the Quaint Louisianian may be accustomed to due to our state's smaller cities and profligate road construction.  Do not be alarmed, dear reader, as roads of three to six lanes are entirely normal in this new and strange land.  Although this may seem similar to arcade games of yore such as Pole Position, Outrun, or Turbo, be advised that the local constabulary looks with disfavor upon joyfully weaving left and right with careless abandon from the near lane to the far lane and back.
• The Curious Cajun undoubtedly has One Love when it comes to chicken fingers, cole slaw, and fries in an easily transportable box... however, do not expect to find Raising Cane's in your new home of Atlanta.  Instead, you'll enjoy Chick-Fil-A... and Chick-Fil-A... and more Chick-Fil-A!
• The Good Lord Above has truly blessed ye olde Atlanta, for there is Mr. Pibb here.

On the Last Week in Louisiana - Part Three

I'm sitting now in what tomorrow will not be my home, surrounded by an insane number of small brown boxes... mostly because I own an insane number of books.  It's a depressing feeling as I look around.  Usually I'm the first to remind people that we have to give up the lives we have, to have the lives we want... but this house has been more important to me than I'd realized. I don't think I've ever lived in any one place longer than I lived here.  I've moved about an average of every three years for my entire life, so there are few specific buildings that I actually feel any home-like connection with (although McVoy Hall at LSU, and the Loranger High Auditorium and Ag Shop are three).

This is the largest and nicest place I've ever lived, and this is where I've been both happiest and saddest, I think.  I lived here when an evil man destroyed my life as I knew it and threatened all I had.  I lived here while I recovered, readjusted my priorities, and learned to be happy with who, what, and where I am.  I lived here when I reconnected with countless friends, and finally made the effort to actually do as much community service as people seemed to assume I did.  I lived here when I finally got the Milton Berle episode of the Muppet Show on DVD, when I played Rock Band for the first time, and when I stayed up half the night with Debby and my three godsons sharing our imaginary friends' names, biographies, and current activities.  I used my imaginary friend from third grade, Bullwinkle the Very Hungry Bison. 

Moving in the Last Week in Louisiana - Part Two

Boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and rock music (not Kenny Chesney) and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes and

On the Last Week in Louisiana - Part One

It's odd to look around the house you've lived in for the longest in your life that you've ever really lived in just one place, and know that in a week it will be empty.  The furniture will be gone, my favorite comfy green sofa will be on a truck somewhere, and all of the books in my library will be boxed up.  That last bit almost makes me feel naked.  (ladies, control yourselves)

But we have to give up the life we've earned, to earn the life we want, so it's a price I have to be willing to pay.  As I head out to Atlanta, there are only three things I'll miss about Louisiana, and they all start with the letter F:  family, friends, and food (not necessarily in that order).  Wait, I take it back... I'll miss the football, too.  I guess that's okay, since it starts with an F as well.