Oh, for the love of wisdom

Last week I learned that starting Tuesday January 18th, I begin work towards a PhD in English Education. 

Needless to say, I am thrilled!

And if ignorance is bliss, then I'm in for a lovely ride, because deep down, I am 1,028% certain I have no idea what I've bitten off. 

And I'm starting to get nervous. 

Next week, I receive the formal acceptance packet, meet with the Dean, discuss academic goals, pick courses, outline a research plan, purchase books, and kiss my three-bubble-baths-a-day goodbye. 

Earlier tonight my five-year-old niece unknowingly summed up my concerns when she asked the adults, "What's a PhD?"

An excellent question met with a steady stream of blinking. But we tried our best. We really did:

“It’s, uh, like a doctor, but not with medicine,” I explained.

“It’s Latin for…something,” someone suggested.

“No, it’s the study of the field of Philosophy…” offered another.

By then, my niece was no longer in the room (clever girl). And the answer still eluded us. 

So, just now, I Googled it:

“PhD [is] Latin for philosophiae doctor, literally translating tο the love of wisdom…It is used in the original Greek sense, loosely meaning "the pursuit of in-depth knowledge" and does not refer to the field of philosophy.”

There you have it.

The love of wisdom.

Now, when someone describes me with the word wise it's usually followed by the three-letter alternative for 'donkey'. So for the sake of comfort, let’s substitute learning for wisdom.

The love of learning...

"The love of learning, paging Dr. Davis...Dr. Davis to love of learning, please...."

 ...That I can wrap my head around.

I’ve always loved learning. Especially college. Everything about it...the campus and professors and syllabi and crappy dining hall food and endless rewrites and moldy libraries and inaccessible archives...

As far as research goes, what I'm most interested in is J.K. Rowling's effect on American trends in literacy and young adult publishing, and how, if cognitive functions of literacy instruction differentiate in communities whose gross mean income is...

...This is where the Old Me would slap the new, studious me across the mouth and scream: "Nerd? Party of one?!"

Oh. My. God. 

It's already happening...

I’m turning into one of those uber smart people the Old Me used to make fun of! Thankfully, I'm past that now. When I started looking into PhD programs I swore I would stop making fun of anyone who called themselves "doctor" who didn't work within three feet of a syringe disposal bin. 

But, my God, I already want to make fun of myself and the semester hasn't even started...MUST...RESIST...MUST...FIGHT...THE URGE...

Old Me: Oooh look at meeeee, Everyone! I’m an academic "Doctor" of English! What I know about literacy rates in low income communities would fill the Grand Canyon! Nyeeeeah!

New Me: That’s clever, Old Me. And a really good idea for an alternative essay assignment. You’re welcome to explore the idea for your mid-term paper, if you like.

Old Me: Shut up Doctor Nerdy McNerderson!  You’re not even a real doctor! You can tell by your stupid face!

New Me: Silly. Now, class, if you could all turn to page 303--

Old Me: --You'd better leave or you'll be late for your elitist snot convention, Doctor!

Dear God, I hope I don’t ever have an Old Me in my class. She'll ruin everything. Or, worse...she'll wake up the others.

Not that it matters now. I’m too freaking excited. I still I can’t believe they accepted me. For a PhD!

Though, it doesn’t hurt that I'm a Davis Girl. 

Brought to you by Erica B. Davis, PhD ‘14

This Too Shall Pass: A CareBear's Tale

Victim: Friendbear

Henry killed a CareBear.

Ok, slight exaggeration. But he may as well have.

I know what you're thinking, and yes, I seriously considered taking him to the emergency clinic, but

(A): it was only the plastic heart-shaped nose and an eyebrow

and (B): I was right in the middle of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers Extended Version DVD Extras Disc 2 (The Future Mrs. Viggo Mortensen, party of one...).

Viggo Mmmortensen

I was distracted.

But Henry didn't seem to be in any immediate discomfort.  And I know I should have kept a closer eye on him, but he's so shifty. And smart.

So, shouldn't he know better, really? I mean, if he can find his way into the fridge and down an entire container of take-out rice before I even realize he's moved off his half of my couch, why can't he know NOT to eat a pushpin!?

Nothing hurts that good, little man.

Then again, Henry is AKC resgistered equal-parts mix of Border Collie / garbage disposal: Bordage dispollie.

Case in point: In the past two weeks, this darling dog may or may not have consumed the following items:

-the aforementioned pushpin

Squirrel: Before

-a most beloved Smartwool sock

-the bottom hem of an Ikea curtain

-squirrel (pictured)

-the contents of three Puffs Plus tissue boxes

-half a sharpie pen

-eleven crayola crayons

-one Artvoice

-the contents of leftover Chinese take-out carton --how McGruff the Thumbless Wonder gets my fridge door open, I have yet to learn--

-$10.28 in change

-half a fake-chandelier crystal

and

Boa: After

-a feather boa (pictured)

Luckily, a nearby friend works at Henry's vet and gave me some helpful, if not descriptive, pointers on how to know if the foreign object(s) are a cause for concern. For example, if the object is soft enough then his stool is --(text deleted. You're welcome.)--.

While waiting for things to pass, as it were, I naturally became curious on the origins of the veterinarian practices in North America, but Googled CareBears, instead. What I found was very boring:

"In 1981, CareBears were created for Hallmark greeting cards and one foggy night, a group of left-handed Scandinavian pretzel makers thought, 'Hey, we should invent CareBears!' Twenty-nine years later, the CareBear was flourishing and a bored seven and-a-half-month old puppy ate its precious face off."

On the upside it was Friendbear's nose, so there's been less hostility between Henry and the (remaining) resident squirrels.

All in all, he seems to be doing fine as long as I continue to engage him with constructive outlets for his creative energy like refrigerator padlocks. Now, the only problem is the love-shaped farts.

Henry

Not that it isn't an improvement, little man.

ATTN: Complaint Department

COMPOSE MESSAGE: Yes / No?
Yes, please.

=======================================
FROM: thedavisgirl@blogspot.com

TO: mother.nature@universe.com
SUBJECT: Dear Mother Nature,
=====================================
Dear Mother Nature,

Seriously? 84 degrees at rush hour? It’s almost October, Ladyface. Have I offended you somehow? I don't recall showing up in your ethereal hometown and setting fire to it.

What, are there are no calendars in your neck of the Universe? I have it on good authority (you) that it is, in fact, Autumn. Do you know what Autumn means, Mother Nature? It's Latin for Argyle sweaters, pumpkin picking, corduroys and a steaming cup of mulled cider. Not an unwanted freakish heat wave you spiteful twit!

Oh, I'm sorry...

Did I hurt your feelings, Mother Nature? Well too bad. YOU HURT MY WARDROBE!

Regardless of the fact that the air conditioner was invented here, statistics prove that Buffalo has ten months of winter and two months of bad sledding. This hardly qualifies us to enjoy the heat, now does it? What are you, a polar bear? If you're cold, don't turn up the intergalactic thermostat just because there's a chill. Put on a sweater.

Here...have one of mine.

Really, I insist. Not like I'll be needing it any time soon.

You and I both know, Mother Nature, Autumn began yesterday. And for once I am prepared for a season. I've got sweaters. I've got synthetic wool socks. I've got Ugg boots (horrid looking things, but too cozy to pass up). And at the risk of losing what little tan line I did manage in the seven hours of sunlight this past summer, I've retired the tank tops and have ready the scarfs. So stand down, you spiteful woman because I'm--Oh.

Oh no.

Crap. Seriously, woman?

Snow?

You jerk.

DELETE MESSAGE: Yes / No?

Yes.

MESSAGE SENT.

No. Hey, wait...no! Oh, crap, no. Undo! Undo! Please, undo!

CANNOT UNDO SENT MESSAGE.

FORWARD MESSAGE TO THE GUILT FAIRY: Yes / No?

No! Please, no!

MESSAGE FORWARDED TO theguiltfairy@universe.com

============================================
============================================

The Phone Interview: A visualization

So, there's this job I applied for at UB. There were 250 other applicants, 10 of whom were chosen for the phone interview (this Davis Girl is one of them!), and 2 vacancies.

As excited as I will be to find out if I've gotten the job--and that I was head and shoulders above the other applicants and that with my new corner office they're throwing in a desk pre-stocked with dark chocolate and a Rivendell Errand Elf-boy for my beckon call--I choose a serene and patient outlook on this very long and serious hiring process.

Except in this blog.

I applied for this job in July and have been sitting on my phone since. Honestly, it's starting to chafe. Granted, it took Yale eight weeks--that's 173 episodes of Law & Order in Davisworld--to hire me. But now that I know I am one of the ten, I'm getting nervous. Not only about locating my phone, but that I might say something weird, lest we forget the deposition.

I mean, I've done lots of successful in-person interviews but never over the phone. On the other hand, I've introduced myself to the Hiring Manager already (gone back each Friday to say Hi, actually) and since there's no restraining order yet, she's really nice.

And ok. I guess if I already know the Hiring Manager, that takes some pressure off. And, of course, I have Henry. He's nothing if not comforting.

If and when I successfully complete my phone interview, I choose to be prepared for the onslaught of open-ended questions. Since visualization is a great preparation tool, I'll share with you a vision of my successful phone interview with the University at Buffalo. Wish me luck!

Official Phone Interview Transcript
Interviewer: University at Buffalo
Interviewee: Erica Davis
Date: Very Near Future

::START TRANSCRIPT::

Phone: Ring, ring!

Erica Davis (ED): Hello?

University at Buffalo (UB): Hi, Erica, this is UB calling. Are you ready for your interview?

ED: Oh, hi, UB! Yes, your timing is perfect. I just finished polishing my Employee of the Month Plaques. The ones from Yale. (silence) And Harvard.

UB: I didn't know you worked at Harvard!

ED: And Princeton. (forehead slapping sounds) Just Pro bono stuff, really, so. You know.

UB: How...nice. So tell me, why do you feel you are good fit for this position at UB?

ED: Great question, UB. Not only am I a dedicated, creative, and patient worker, I am a team player and am focused on every--Henry, be a buddy, and drop my shoe…thank you...Focused on whatever I'm doing. And I am a professional. I worked at Yale, you know. What? You wanna cookie pookie face? Who wants a cookie? Who’s my little handsome puppy man? You are. Yes you are. Good boy. I wuv you Henwy. Oh yes I do puppy-handsome-Henry-man!

UB: Uh, Erica?

ED: Yes, UB?

UB: What would you say is your biggest accomplishment so far?

ED: Hmmm…It’s a toss up between not flipping his water dish and training him to stay off the couch when there’s company, although--Henry. Be a buddy and get off the table. Get off the table. Get off...get! Good boy. Mommy wuvs you. Who wants a cookie? Does Mr. Handsome Henryface wanna cookie?

UB: Is this a good time, Erica? We could call back.

ED: Oh, its fine! Uhm…right…I am a motivated, kind, and diligent worker. I'm not afraid to ask for help..and I always refill the coffee if I take the last cup. Ha! I'm kidding. Not that I don't refill the coffee pot, but that it's relevant to this interview. Because of course it's not. Unless UB was owned by Starbucks. Which would actually be pretty awesome.

UB: That's...wonderful. So tell us, what would you do if you had a problem with a co-worker?

ED: Oh, I haven’t the faintest. That’s never happened so far--Henry, we already talked about this. We do not eat shoes, Do we? Henry? I’m talking to you. Henry. Look at me please. Henry. No. Henry. Bad. Goodboy. Cookie? Who's gotta cookieface?

UB: Are you sure this is a good time, Erica? You seem distracted.

ED: No, no. Everything’s fine--HENRY! I swear to God, if you don’t drop that shoe, I'm taking you back to the SPCA and pretending like I'm going to leave you there, but really going to pick up more dog food from their pet store because we're getting low! Now drop it!

UB: Um. Well, I think that about wraps it up for us, Erica. Do you have any questions for us?

ED: DO I LOOK LIKE I WAS BORN YESTERDAY?

UB: Excuse me?

ED: I said drop it! Uh, yes. Does my Rivendell Errand Elf-boy already come with a name or can I change it? I was thinking I "Mr. Bink-Binks."

UB: …(CLICK. Dial tone)

ED: UB? You there?

::END TRANSCRIPT::

Man of the Hour

I've been back in Buffalo less than a month, but I've met someone.

I know.

I know it seems soon but I can't help it.

It's love.

And it's amazing.

It started a little over two weeks ago. I was talking to his sister when I caught him looking at us.

At me, actually. Just me.

And at first I tried--I mean really tried--to ignore those dark brown eyes, but when he came over, I couldn't help myself.

He made me smile.

He made me laugh.

It even looked as though he wanted to kiss me right then and there.

I mean, yeah I felt bad that he'd nearly knocked his sister over to get to me, but it was kind of cute, you know? It's a desperate I-need-you-and-you-need-me-and-we-both-know-it sort of way.

If you ask me we both knew something was starting right then and there.

We made it official two days later.

I know it's soon, but he's been living with me for a week now and it feels nothing but right.

He's smooth, dark, handsome, and listens when I talk. I think.

My best friend thinks he's too tall for me, and that his ears are two different sizes or something ridiculous like that, but what does she know? She hasn't been out of vet school for three years yet. I think he's perfect.

His name is Henry and to me, he is beautiful.


Welcome home, Henry.

Love,

Mommy