Who would have thought...
...that printing out a document could feel so good? I mean, I haven't even allowed myself to giggle yet, for fear that my overt display of happiness might somehow curse my printer. Poor printer. It has another 98 pages to go as I type, and it's already been very busy.
Every one of you light a cigar, if only to put it out later and keep it in its nearly mint pink foil casing. It's a girl, and it weighs one hundred, fourty pages! If my creative uterus has to push so much as a title out at this point, I'm going to need an epidural.
Actually, there is a working title that does not involve kicking or asses. That's right. No "Kickass Thesis Title Here," and goodbye to "Frankenthesis". Behold, my working title: "death Is A Single-Sided Coin". That's not a typo. The character of death is never capitalized, even at the beginning of a sentence. I've gone through more years of schooling than I can easily count at this point in my day, and I've earned the right to fuck with the language. death does not get capitalized.
All that's left tomorrow is bearing my newborn up to campus and making a copy of the newly labeled map. And then it's a long, well-earned rest for my wrist, which started to recover during that week at home and relapsed during the typing stage. And a nice period of silence for my throat as well, actually. I think it deserves that much after reading the thesis aloud for typos and dialogue flaws.
Ah, here comes page 51, with still no printer malfunction. Perhaps the incredibly expensive D*ll printer cartridges are worth it.
Do you know what the very best part of this whole ordeal is? I didn't forget to number the pages before I started printing. this just amazes me. I have never been this good, and have always ended up printing the first several pages sans numbers before cancelling and adding them.
While this thing is still printing, you will get a humorous tale from me, meant mostly for Ems, who will no doubt really understand. Just, sort of, by way of explanation.
I was frisked on the plane home. That's not a big deal or anything, but I was just a little concerned this time around, because my notes for the thesis included quite a few pages on different chemicals and the mixtures of them that best produced bombs and other forms of explosive matter. And a few detailed charts on the workings of a trebuchet. And about a half dozen hand-drawn prototypes for ancient grenades.
So yeah. They didn't take me to a back room and interogate me on the finer plot points of my thesis. They settled for feeling me up and sniffing my flip-flops. (And in all honesty, I really don't have a problem with that, regardless of whatever "rights" people feel I have to my own personal space when I get in a hollow metal tube to go shooting through the atmosphere, a thing our founding fathers were very concerned about, immediately following their outrage over the price of New English Breakfast Tea.)
The trip back up to Dirt Town was ... a different matter, and one that Ems will undoubtably find amusing. Let's recap a bit first, shall we?
1. I acquired, a few months ago, the singularly best sleeping aid ever It's the SoundScreen from Marpac, and it makes white noise, something my family had a fun time with. My first encounter with this miracle machine was in Ems apartment while desperately writing a paper on Lady Audley's Secret during an extended power outage in my apartment. She claimed she couldn't sleep without it and hoped it wouldn't keep me up. Quite the opposite.
2. I had, in addition to the notes described above, several more pages fine-tuning my hand grenades and refining the exact chemicals I wanted to include in my thesis, with pictures of shrapnel victims for references. These new notes were accompanied by vivid descriptions of these bombs in action during a battle (I hadn't gotten to the intestines yet).
3. Both the SoundScreen and the thesis notes were in my carryon luggage, perhaps a bit stupidly. But I can no longer sleep without the white noise, and would have cried myself dead if either SoundScreen or thesis had ended up in Houston.
So, I went through the checkpoint in Austin, after sending my backpack and shoes through. I walked over the threshhold to a resounding silence, and prepared to fish my bag and shoes out of the tubs. But wait.
"Ma'am, is this your bag?"
"Yes, sir, and those are my shoes, with the wooden beads."
The officer picked up my bag. "Could you step over here for a moment?"
"Certainly." I complied, a bit confused. He took me far out of the line, around a corner and behind a glass wall.
All confusion was lost, dear readers, when he unzipped the bag and brough forth the SoundScreen. He inspected it like I don't think it had ever been inspected, and without even asking if it was more comfortable behind a screen! He repeated the name printed on the top of the little machine, and asked me what it did.
"Oh, that makes white noise so I can sleep when there are distractions outside."
"Waves and birds? Ocean sounds and stuff?"
I shook my head. "More of a [sound effect]. Steady, like static almost."
Seeming satisfied, the officer then swabbed the entire inside of my backpack with a series of cotton cloths, putting each one through a machine with a flashing light afterward. Confusion returned for several seconds.
"Okay. You can put your shoes on and go on through."
Readers, Ems, curiosity got the better of me, and helped to make this anecdote what it is.
"Sir, what exactly was that all about?" I asked.
He looked at me sternly, not a trace of forgiveness in his eyes for whatever crime I'd committed. "It looks like you don't have any explosives in there."
Forgive my language, but I nearly shit a brick. I thanked him and stooped to adjust my sandals properly before walking away with my bag. Explosives. Thank God he didn't read the notebooks. I'd have never flown again.
And with that, my title page appears, and I am going to bed.
Love and Peace (and a nice sense of completion)
Every one of you light a cigar, if only to put it out later and keep it in its nearly mint pink foil casing. It's a girl, and it weighs one hundred, fourty pages! If my creative uterus has to push so much as a title out at this point, I'm going to need an epidural.
Actually, there is a working title that does not involve kicking or asses. That's right. No "Kickass Thesis Title Here," and goodbye to "Frankenthesis". Behold, my working title: "death Is A Single-Sided Coin". That's not a typo. The character of death is never capitalized, even at the beginning of a sentence. I've gone through more years of schooling than I can easily count at this point in my day, and I've earned the right to fuck with the language. death does not get capitalized.
All that's left tomorrow is bearing my newborn up to campus and making a copy of the newly labeled map. And then it's a long, well-earned rest for my wrist, which started to recover during that week at home and relapsed during the typing stage. And a nice period of silence for my throat as well, actually. I think it deserves that much after reading the thesis aloud for typos and dialogue flaws.
Ah, here comes page 51, with still no printer malfunction. Perhaps the incredibly expensive D*ll printer cartridges are worth it.
Do you know what the very best part of this whole ordeal is? I didn't forget to number the pages before I started printing. this just amazes me. I have never been this good, and have always ended up printing the first several pages sans numbers before cancelling and adding them.
While this thing is still printing, you will get a humorous tale from me, meant mostly for Ems, who will no doubt really understand. Just, sort of, by way of explanation.
I was frisked on the plane home. That's not a big deal or anything, but I was just a little concerned this time around, because my notes for the thesis included quite a few pages on different chemicals and the mixtures of them that best produced bombs and other forms of explosive matter. And a few detailed charts on the workings of a trebuchet. And about a half dozen hand-drawn prototypes for ancient grenades.
So yeah. They didn't take me to a back room and interogate me on the finer plot points of my thesis. They settled for feeling me up and sniffing my flip-flops. (And in all honesty, I really don't have a problem with that, regardless of whatever "rights" people feel I have to my own personal space when I get in a hollow metal tube to go shooting through the atmosphere, a thing our founding fathers were very concerned about, immediately following their outrage over the price of New English Breakfast Tea.)
The trip back up to Dirt Town was ... a different matter, and one that Ems will undoubtably find amusing. Let's recap a bit first, shall we?
1. I acquired, a few months ago, the singularly best sleeping aid ever It's the SoundScreen from Marpac, and it makes white noise, something my family had a fun time with. My first encounter with this miracle machine was in Ems apartment while desperately writing a paper on Lady Audley's Secret during an extended power outage in my apartment. She claimed she couldn't sleep without it and hoped it wouldn't keep me up. Quite the opposite.
2. I had, in addition to the notes described above, several more pages fine-tuning my hand grenades and refining the exact chemicals I wanted to include in my thesis, with pictures of shrapnel victims for references. These new notes were accompanied by vivid descriptions of these bombs in action during a battle (I hadn't gotten to the intestines yet).
3. Both the SoundScreen and the thesis notes were in my carryon luggage, perhaps a bit stupidly. But I can no longer sleep without the white noise, and would have cried myself dead if either SoundScreen or thesis had ended up in Houston.
So, I went through the checkpoint in Austin, after sending my backpack and shoes through. I walked over the threshhold to a resounding silence, and prepared to fish my bag and shoes out of the tubs. But wait.
"Ma'am, is this your bag?"
"Yes, sir, and those are my shoes, with the wooden beads."
The officer picked up my bag. "Could you step over here for a moment?"
"Certainly." I complied, a bit confused. He took me far out of the line, around a corner and behind a glass wall.
All confusion was lost, dear readers, when he unzipped the bag and brough forth the SoundScreen. He inspected it like I don't think it had ever been inspected, and without even asking if it was more comfortable behind a screen! He repeated the name printed on the top of the little machine, and asked me what it did.
"Oh, that makes white noise so I can sleep when there are distractions outside."
"Waves and birds? Ocean sounds and stuff?"
I shook my head. "More of a [sound effect]. Steady, like static almost."
Seeming satisfied, the officer then swabbed the entire inside of my backpack with a series of cotton cloths, putting each one through a machine with a flashing light afterward. Confusion returned for several seconds.
"Okay. You can put your shoes on and go on through."
Readers, Ems, curiosity got the better of me, and helped to make this anecdote what it is.
"Sir, what exactly was that all about?" I asked.
He looked at me sternly, not a trace of forgiveness in his eyes for whatever crime I'd committed. "It looks like you don't have any explosives in there."
Forgive my language, but I nearly shit a brick. I thanked him and stooped to adjust my sandals properly before walking away with my bag. Explosives. Thank God he didn't read the notebooks. I'd have never flown again.
And with that, my title page appears, and I am going to bed.
Love and Peace (and a nice sense of completion)
posted by Rehkmira @ 01:27
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home