Get This Man a Doctor

On Sunday when I drove up, it started snowing in Seattle. When I got there, it looked to be about one inch. I don’t think that any of the roads I drove on had any snow left.

The next day it snowed another inch.  The entire city of Seattle shut down.  No one went to work.

I don’t know why the northwest gets so freaked out about snow. It’s not like Seattle or Portland are boring, but if it snows even one inch, it’s likely to surpass every other news story that evening. People stay home. Schools close.

Of course, as weird as Seattle and Portland are about snow, it’s nothing compared to how neurotic Los Angeles is about rain. For the first rain of the season in Los Angeles, you turn on the evening news and I guarantee you will hear about at least five accidents caused by commuters “skidding” into head-on collisions.

Yesterday I drove up to the University of Washington to visit their Mathematics department. I’ve spent a summer in Seattle and I have a few friends there, so it might be the kind of place I’d like to stay for five years.

I got a chance to speak to the Director of Graduate Studies, which went pretty well if uneventful. I made two pretty terrible blunders, though. First, I admitted that I was a little rusty, having been out of school for two years. He told me that I “could apply to a Masters instead,” which kind of hurt. The other was asking if it was uncommon to take a leave of absence (the answer is very much so). Next time I talk to a department, I’ll try not to sound like I don’t know what I’m doing.

Maybe I need to approach these meetings with questions like, “What can you offer me, the future Fields Medalist, to get me to come here?” Yeah, people love it when you say that.

I am always paranoid about missing a flight, probably because I’ve done it before and it was not a fun experience. I don’t mind sitting around airports; I can generally keep myself occupied with a crossword for hours. So it’s probably no surprise that I leave for the airport more than a couple hours before my flight is supposed to leave.

But the real reason I get to the airport way before the flight leaves is because I’m on the LIST. The LIST is a collection of names deemed suspect by the TSA or FBI or whoever. So if you’re a terrorist, you had better come up with a pretty sweet terrorist alias (like the Mr. Huffenpuff), otherwise you’re totally going to get caught. And don’t even think of it being a play on your existing name, Mr. Bosama MacLaden. MacLaden ain’t no freakin’ clan I ever heard of.

Apparently, once upon a time, England invited Ireland over for a quick game of cricket, and they exchanged a few harsh words, playful slaps, kicks to the groin, had tea and crumpets, and then started an all-out war. Whatever, I don’t see how this affects me… I’m not even Irish. It does though, because a fine young gentleman by the name of Sean Kelly done got himself put in prison for blowing up some people at a fish market in Northern Ireland. Because of him, my trip to the airport usually resembles the following:

ME: Hello Mr. Happy Kiosk.

MR. HAPPY KIOSK: Why hello, Sean! How are you on this fine morning?

ME: Fine, Mr. Kiosk. Do you mind if I use you today? I picked your airline specifically because of you, because I don’t need to wait in line to check in.

MR. KIOSK: I’m afraid not, Sean. I… don’t really trust you. You’re going to have to wait on that big long line over there. Have a nice day!

ME: Poo on you, Mr. Kiosk.

(Time passes)

ME: Hello friendly check-in-er. Mr. Kiosk told me I need to come talk to you because he didn’t trust me. Do you mind if I get on the flight I paid for?

CHECK-IN-ER: That’s odd, Mr. Kiosk never rejects anyone. Can I see your drivers license?

ME: Sure thing.

CHECK-IN-ER: Oh it’s nothing, you’re just on the LIST. Please wait here and don’t make any sudden moves (Disappears into the back for fifteen minutes while my credit history, dental records, and sixth grade report card are all pulled up).

Apparently, the other Sean Kelly “lost an eye and has limited use of his left arm.” If I ever lose an eye, I’m totally screwed.

Today I finally found my third recommender, who was also my thesis advisor. She was at my school for a two year professorship, and unfortunately did not get a tenure track position. She left, and hasn’t taught anywhere else since.

Now, finding her wouldn’t be so hard, except for the fact that I live in New York and she was rumored to live in Portland. For the past month, I have done the following things to get a hold of her:

1. Sent an email to the head of her old department,
2. Sent an email to three other professors in her old department,
3. Sent an email to her former dissertation advisor,
4. Sent an email to her old school email (bounced),
5. When all those failed, got her current address and sent her a letter priority mail (waited two weeks, then),
6. Sent an email to her husband (after deciding that I was willing to risk a restraining order for grad school),
7. Sent an email to the head of her husband’s former department (who was quite helpful, I might add), and finally,
8. Started panicking.

All of these things failed (except 8). Now, I do not need a recommendation from my advisor, but one of my former professors told me it would be a “liability” to not have one. Also, I had run out of professors who could say generally good things about me, and those that could say generally good things would also say some specifically bad things. Too risky.

I came to Portland for Thanksgiving, and also because my mom and stepdad are moving to Florida. This will probably be the last time I have a reason to be in Portland. So at the very least, I had to try going to her house (like I said, willing to risk a restraining order). Maybe they moved, maybe she didn’t want to talk to me, maybe they were on vacation. I don’t know, I just had to try.

After ringing the bell and getting no answer, I decided I would write their neighbor a little note asking that if they knew where the current or past resident was could they please drop me a line as soon as possible because I’m a little crazy and I’ll probably show up again tomorrow if they aren’t prompt about it.

When I saw her walking down the street, I let out the most awkward “Heeeeeyy….” ever. Mathematicians aren’t so much with the people skills, so our initial greetings had a lot of loooong. Syyyyyyllables.

But she invited me in, and we actually had a nice long chat about grad school and what she was up to. It was actually really good to talk to her, and I had forgot how generally kind she is. I’m kind of disappointed now that we didn’t keep in touch.

I didn’t really prod about why all my previous attempts to contact her failed, but she agreed to write a recommendation, which is so gloriously awesome that I’m going to pass out now.

I love to hate tourists. Yesterday I was taking the AirTrain to JFK to get on a flight to Portland, which by the way is biggest crock of mass transit ever. It costs ten dollars round trip to take a robotic tram half a mile, and there’s no other way to get to JFK. That’s almost as bad as the Seattle monorail.

Anywho, I was getting off the subway when I saw a tourist going in the opposite direction. She had piece of rolling luggage and needed to get on the subway. Instead of using the four foot wide service entry (which I’ll admit took me three tries to figure out how to use it, and I’ll still not really sure how it works), she rolled her suitcase right through the turnstile. Just as she got through, her luggage got stuck in the narrow gate and thudded to the ground.

The best part was her reaction as she turned around and saw her bag wedged tightly behind her. She shouted at the turnstile, “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen!” Five minutes into her trip, and she’s getting pissed at an inanimate object.

This is a person who is not going to have a good time in New York.

Why does Washington Mutual even bother to give the impression that it reads my emails? Do they really think that giving me an online “Message Center” with which to “log complaints” will make me more complacent? I’m fairly certain that the message I sent them was never read by a human. They must have a system similar to the Post Office.

Secure Message

subject: Bill Payment
accountType: checking
transactionDate: 11/20/2006 12:00:00 AM
comments: To Whom It May Concern:

I scheduled a bill to be paid to U.S. Bank through your bill pay system. I explicitly requested that it not be paid until next week because I was aware that I would not have the funds to pay it before then. However, it was paid early, and I am now in danger of having a $775 check bounce. I am going to transfer funds from my savings account, which I will probably be charged a service fee for. Please inform me what actions I must take in order to ensure this doesn’t happen again.

RE: Bill Payment
Thank you for your email.

As per your request, I reviewed your accounts and found that your
account is positive with current balance of $4.76 after the check for
$775.00 is withdrawn.

At some point in the past five years, I decided that I was going to become a professor. For every minute of the next five+ years, I’m probably going to regret that decision. Oops.

Someone recently told me that I have an “addictive personality”. If that’s the case, then hopefully I will faithfully keep this site updated as I try to squeeze my way through grad school. I’m not actually going to school anywhere yet, you see, that’s the beauty of it. I’m starting a blog early. This site is going to chronicle the wild swing of emotions that is applying to grad school. And if I actually get in somewhere, well, you’ll never hear from me again.

Sometimes, though, I reserve the right to complain about my team or my current line of work.