The Final Throes

Hemingway in the bath

Picture of Hemingway courtesy of ThisIsNotPorn.net, which houses awesome photos of celebrities in unexpected settings.

Hello my friends.

I am working on what may, potentially, with an extra dash of optimism, be my final dissertation draft. My road trip last week, combined with this final round of edits, is to blame for my lack of any real content around here aside from my one-pic-a-day (almost) project. This too shall pass. But I’m taking a short break at the moment to walk away, take a breath, and frankly, vent to you.

I’ve been working on this Ph.D. in some form or another for eight years. I’m on my 5th topic (topics 1-4 died unnatural deaths, each in new and interesting ways; in the most spectacular case, my data source was a company that went bankrupt and was sold, with the new owners disallowing my use of their newly acquired data. I was 150 pages and 3 1/2 chapters in).  And even with that aside, I’ve just now realized, or at least articulated, one of the biggest roadblocks in this whole process.

I am Hemingway, and my advisor and committee chair is Dickens.

To clarify:

(a) I don’t actually think I’m ranked among these fine authors in talent; I’m referring to writing style. Laconic v. Verbose. He and I embody the extreme ends.

(b) Yes, I know I’m not Hemingway here with you.

I do what I can to cultivate a conversational atmosphere around here. But in my academic and professional work, I believe that less is more, and that research-based writing should be complete, concise, and clear. His edits, while not inaccurate, are not me. Why use more words when fewer could convey the same information? Sigh. With each click on Word’s “Accept Change” button, I feel like someone is softly rubbing velcro against my brain.  Ah well, I suppose I’ll have a higher page count to brag about someday. To no one. Because really, who does that?

I’ll be in touch, provided the velcro doesn’t do too much damage. Meanwhile, I leave you with Hemingway’s 6 Word Story as a tribute to my favorite author and his terse talent:

“For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.”

 

Note: If you have, oh, an entire day to spare, click through on the photo or just visit ThisIsNotPorn.net. They have curated a serious treasure trove of fantastic candid photos of nearly any celebrity you could dream of.

 

Charming Train Wreck

Charming Train Wreck

Out and about, meetings and networking, feeling very confident and put together. Get in the car and find the hem of my skirt virtually destroyed. Maybe I left them with a “charming in a train-wreck sort of way” impression?

Risque Leaves and Flowers…

Image

My Instagram account has just been disabled due to my violation of their Terms of Service. 

What?  

Do my benign pictures of flowers, leaves, ramen noodles, and statistic text books offend you?  Because apparently they’ve offended someone. Wait, I know. It was my dog. Maybe I forgot to check his pose to see if I needed to insert a modesty patch?

Sigh. I’ll probably just let this go. I’ve not been able to get into Instagram the way everyone else seems to be into it. I have, through no solicitation on my part, gotten a semi-decent following, yet about a third of those folks are spambots trying to get me to purchase likes and followers. Meh. Maybe I’m just too old to get it.

Perhaps it’s because my Instagram username, charmingchris, is the same as this domain name. But my understanding was that you couldn’t have an entire domain name as your username for their service. “charmingchris” isn’t a domain without a “.com” after it. It is, however, my handle all over the internet. 

Even though I won’t really miss the service, I still hate that weird, cold feeling you get when you get “in trouble” – like being a kid and getting busted by mom mid-fib. And I hate the fact that they don’t have an appeals process at all.  Oh well. Anyone who has a better guess as to what term of service I may or may not have violated, let me know, just for my own peace of mind.