New posts will appear at http://katienbici.wordpress.com
No good reason, really. I guess I liked the layout options better? They also have fancy reader-counting tools. and "tag clouds" on the sidebar.
The one frustrating thing there is not being able to change the size of your font. apologies to those that need reading glasses to see my blog now....
01 January 2008
28 September 2007
blast from the past
I should point out that if you're just tuning in (lame phrase, i know) you should read my older blogs. They're much less whiney and much more entertaining. My daily life as a grad student is a tad mundane :-P (Guatemala is much more interesting, and I seemed to have more intelligent musings while i was there).
Average
People told me that the hardest part about grad school would be getting used to being 'average.'
They were wrong.
The hardest part about grad school is getting used to being BELOW average. Or at least, feeling below average.
Think about it. People in grad school, at least in non-professional programs, are generally used to getting good grades and being dorky overachievers that are genuinely interested in what they're studying. Throw them all together, and they're suddenly 'normal.' These are the kids that got made fun of for studying in high school (or hell, undergrad). Now we're suddenly 'normal.' Isn't that what we wanted? Errr.... sure.
Now, I haven't discussed this much with my fellow grad students, in SNRE or in Anthro. Maybe this is just one of those beat-you-down-so-we-can-build-you-back-up sort of things. I'm getting grades I don't like* right now to teach me to work my butt off, and then perhaps I'll succeed later.
Or perhaps my grades in undergrad were so severely inflated that I can't even cut it at the SAME DARNED INSTITUTION as a grad student! Eeeek!
I feel like maybe I never really learned how to read or write. Or how to think. Everyone seems so very much more intelligent than I am, able to formulate thoughtful questions and arguments, and very much able to shoot mine down (this is in reference mostly to Anthro. We don't argue much in SNRE). I had a note on my essay the other day asking me to please visit the Writing Help Center. Oh, awesome.
I'm a remedial grad student.
After one conversation with a fellow anthrogeek, and struggling through the MathCAD labs with a couple of fellow SNREds, I felt a tad better. I guess I can stop lamenting that I don't have as much time as I want to focus on school (like I lamented in undergrad-- what with work and work and bikes and work -- and bikes).
I'm here to learn. I'm here because I want to learn.** Punto, fin.
I just hope I learn quickly, because my ego can't take much more of this B(elow)-average nonsense!
*People tease me that I'm just not used to getting (ahem) 'grades I don't like.' But I should point out that I have to keep a B+ average to stay in my Ph.D. program, and a B average to stay in the MS program. As an undergrad, I would have laughed my ass off. Considering the highest grade I've gotten so far is a B+, I'm not laughing so much right now.
**For some people this is a change from their attitudes as undergrads. I majored in three freaking unemployable fields as an undergrad. You think I was doing that for a job? No. I've always been here to learn. I'm just doing it the hard way now....
They were wrong.
The hardest part about grad school is getting used to being BELOW average. Or at least, feeling below average.
Think about it. People in grad school, at least in non-professional programs, are generally used to getting good grades and being dorky overachievers that are genuinely interested in what they're studying. Throw them all together, and they're suddenly 'normal.' These are the kids that got made fun of for studying in high school (or hell, undergrad). Now we're suddenly 'normal.' Isn't that what we wanted? Errr.... sure.
Now, I haven't discussed this much with my fellow grad students, in SNRE or in Anthro. Maybe this is just one of those beat-you-down-so-we-can-build-you-back-up sort of things. I'm getting grades I don't like* right now to teach me to work my butt off, and then perhaps I'll succeed later.
Or perhaps my grades in undergrad were so severely inflated that I can't even cut it at the SAME DARNED INSTITUTION as a grad student! Eeeek!
I feel like maybe I never really learned how to read or write. Or how to think. Everyone seems so very much more intelligent than I am, able to formulate thoughtful questions and arguments, and very much able to shoot mine down (this is in reference mostly to Anthro. We don't argue much in SNRE). I had a note on my essay the other day asking me to please visit the Writing Help Center. Oh, awesome.
I'm a remedial grad student.
After one conversation with a fellow anthrogeek, and struggling through the MathCAD labs with a couple of fellow SNREds, I felt a tad better. I guess I can stop lamenting that I don't have as much time as I want to focus on school (like I lamented in undergrad-- what with work and work and bikes and work -- and bikes).
I'm here to learn. I'm here because I want to learn.** Punto, fin.
I just hope I learn quickly, because my ego can't take much more of this B(elow)-average nonsense!
*People tease me that I'm just not used to getting (ahem) 'grades I don't like.' But I should point out that I have to keep a B+ average to stay in my Ph.D. program, and a B average to stay in the MS program. As an undergrad, I would have laughed my ass off. Considering the highest grade I've gotten so far is a B+, I'm not laughing so much right now.
**For some people this is a change from their attitudes as undergrads. I majored in three freaking unemployable fields as an undergrad. You think I was doing that for a job? No. I've always been here to learn. I'm just doing it the hard way now....
05 July 2007
Dinner Out
My mom's pretty awesome. Aside from making amazing cup cakes, decorating my house for me (pictures to come), and visiting me in Guatemala, she has a wicked sense of humor. And I mean 'wicked' in both the 'wicked-good' and 'human buzz-saw' senses of the word.
So we're sitting at dinner tonight with my grandma (mom's mom), Gram's 'Special Friend' (ahem, boyfriend, ahem), SF's son, and my stepdad. We're at a restaurant that tries to be really 'upscale' where we used to go all the time when I was a kid. It's the type of place that you can bring kids because they have lots of saltine crackers with the soup and things like 'chicken fingers' (do chickens even *have* fingers?) and 'buttered noodles' on the menu.
Gram's SF is a little hard of hearing. So is SF's son. So is Gram. The conversation is rather disjointed, not a whole lot being said. SF launches in to a story about bald eagles in the area. Meanwhile, my mother is sitting next to me, muttering along with the story so that only I could hear what she's saying. It goes something like this:
SF: I saw a bald eagle the other day.
Mom (under breath): crow.
SF: There were two of them!
Mom (under breath): one.
SF: It was huge! Wingspan of about 8 feet!
Mom (under breath): 2 feet.
SF: And it had that white head!
Mom (under breath): black.
SF: It was so near the dock!
Mom (under breath): it was across the lake. he saw it through binoculars.
I seriously thought I was going to choke on my whitefish and scallops (for the record, the Lake Michigan whitefish was dry, but the sea scallops in the Riesling reduction were great... mom and I split two dishes). My gram looks over and goes 'What are you laughing at?' And I just point at mom. Gram gets it.
My stepdad told a story about an old boss's wife who used to bring giant plastic bags to restaurants. She'd fill the bags with *not only* leftover food from the table, but also 'freebees' like sugar packets, pats of butter, and salt and pepper.
The conversation basically degenerated from there, to the point where my mom, gram and I are laughing hysterically between bites of fish.
After dinner my mom and stepdad and I wandered around the shopping area known as 'Fishtown' in Leland. We went in to an Americana-themed gift shop. Here's where the human buzz-saw comes in. It started with my finding a perfectly innocent bike charm. Yes, I already have a bike charm. But it's a road bike. I used to have a mountain bike (that I bought at this same store, actually) but I lost it in Guatemala. So I asked my mom if I could borrow ten dollars to buy this new mountain bike. No, I already have a charm and I'd forget to pay her back anyway.
Mock pouting, I follow her around the store. We're both a little slap-happy at this point. We found Christmastree ornaments shaped like bikes, that really pedaled! I asked to borrow ten dollars. She pointed out that my bike wasn't yellow like the ornament so no, I couldn't get one. I said that I could paint my bike yellow. Still no ten dollars.
At the back of the shop, we found a shelf of sale items. 'Oh look!' Mom says, 'Discounted crap! We can fill your house with it!' Wooden angel figurine, anyone?
We spent a good half hour discussing the relative uselessness of each piece, laughing hysterically throughout. The poor shopgirl, her self-esteem must have sucked by the time we left.
Then we found this musical instrument that claimed 'anyone can play!' Oh really? That sounds like a challenge. So my mom, stepdad and I took turns butchering such classics as "Clementine" and "Brahms Lullaby".
The one piece of any worth was a sign that read:
I kiss better than I cook.
Hee hee. I want an apron that says that. It's widely accepted that I can cook pretty darned well. Hee hee.
But still I couldn't borrow ten dollars.
So we're sitting at dinner tonight with my grandma (mom's mom), Gram's 'Special Friend' (ahem, boyfriend, ahem), SF's son, and my stepdad. We're at a restaurant that tries to be really 'upscale' where we used to go all the time when I was a kid. It's the type of place that you can bring kids because they have lots of saltine crackers with the soup and things like 'chicken fingers' (do chickens even *have* fingers?) and 'buttered noodles' on the menu.
Gram's SF is a little hard of hearing. So is SF's son. So is Gram. The conversation is rather disjointed, not a whole lot being said. SF launches in to a story about bald eagles in the area. Meanwhile, my mother is sitting next to me, muttering along with the story so that only I could hear what she's saying. It goes something like this:
SF: I saw a bald eagle the other day.
Mom (under breath): crow.
SF: There were two of them!
Mom (under breath): one.
SF: It was huge! Wingspan of about 8 feet!
Mom (under breath): 2 feet.
SF: And it had that white head!
Mom (under breath): black.
SF: It was so near the dock!
Mom (under breath): it was across the lake. he saw it through binoculars.
I seriously thought I was going to choke on my whitefish and scallops (for the record, the Lake Michigan whitefish was dry, but the sea scallops in the Riesling reduction were great... mom and I split two dishes). My gram looks over and goes 'What are you laughing at?' And I just point at mom. Gram gets it.
My stepdad told a story about an old boss's wife who used to bring giant plastic bags to restaurants. She'd fill the bags with *not only* leftover food from the table, but also 'freebees' like sugar packets, pats of butter, and salt and pepper.
The conversation basically degenerated from there, to the point where my mom, gram and I are laughing hysterically between bites of fish.
After dinner my mom and stepdad and I wandered around the shopping area known as 'Fishtown' in Leland. We went in to an Americana-themed gift shop. Here's where the human buzz-saw comes in. It started with my finding a perfectly innocent bike charm. Yes, I already have a bike charm. But it's a road bike. I used to have a mountain bike (that I bought at this same store, actually) but I lost it in Guatemala. So I asked my mom if I could borrow ten dollars to buy this new mountain bike. No, I already have a charm and I'd forget to pay her back anyway.
Mock pouting, I follow her around the store. We're both a little slap-happy at this point. We found Christmastree ornaments shaped like bikes, that really pedaled! I asked to borrow ten dollars. She pointed out that my bike wasn't yellow like the ornament so no, I couldn't get one. I said that I could paint my bike yellow. Still no ten dollars.
At the back of the shop, we found a shelf of sale items. 'Oh look!' Mom says, 'Discounted crap! We can fill your house with it!' Wooden angel figurine, anyone?
We spent a good half hour discussing the relative uselessness of each piece, laughing hysterically throughout. The poor shopgirl, her self-esteem must have sucked by the time we left.
Then we found this musical instrument that claimed 'anyone can play!' Oh really? That sounds like a challenge. So my mom, stepdad and I took turns butchering such classics as "Clementine" and "Brahms Lullaby".
The one piece of any worth was a sign that read:
I kiss better than I cook.
Hee hee. I want an apron that says that. It's widely accepted that I can cook pretty darned well. Hee hee.
But still I couldn't borrow ten dollars.
Now that's what I call 'patriotism'
Those would be the über-patriotic red velvet and vanilla cupcakes my mom made for the Fourth of July. Like the firework and flag action? They're even tastier in my stomach (and I've eaten no fewer than five so far). C'mon, what's more 'American' than red, white, and blue sugar-laced butter-filled cakes coated with more sugar and butter?!
Yesterday being the fourth of July, we engaged in all sorts of patriotic acts... like walking in to town for coffee, and leaving ten minutes before the start of the parade. And laughing at the people dressed in gaudy red, white, and blue on the way home. And laughing at my uncle for spending $1400 on fireworks to set off on the dock. And making red and white cupcakes (oh, Canada-- we added the red and blue sparklers and American flags just to clear up any confusion). And gorging ourselves on ribs, chicken, cheesey potatoes, brownies, fudge sauce, cup cakes, and ice cream. Oh, and sangria. Don't forget the booze.
Woo!
30 June 2007
Theory Proved
Tonight I decided to test my theory that Brighton's Murray Lake trail would be a sweet single speed track due to it's zen-like flowiness. So I chose it for my inaugural ride on my new bike.
{sidenote\}
Definitions for non-biking readers:
single speed (n/ adj): a bike with only one "speed" i.e.: one ring in the front, one cog in the back. no derailleur. no shifting.
flow (n)/ flowiness (adj): the way in which a trail "moves" as you ride it... hard to describe without actually riding. let's try this-- if someone dumped a whole bunch of water on the trail, flowiness would describe how the water moved over the trail. assuming that it didn't get absorbed by the ridiculous amount of sand we have in Michigan. so a non-flowy trail would make the water stop. a flowy trail would allow the water to move freely (albeit over rocks and roots and hills and fun stuff like that). please don't get too technical on me with the laws of physics and such, i know that enough force could make water move freely regardless of how flowy the trail originally was. just... visualize.
{/end sidenote}
We had hosted the State Championship Criterium race today at work. It was awesome driving in to Dexter (tiny little village just west of Ann Arbor) and seeing the streets downtown lined with a couple hundred bikers, some very nice bikes, and spectators. There was a wedding, a funeral, and a bike race in Dexter today, and I don't think the town has seen that much excitement in decades.
So, long story short, we were supposed to close at 3. And then we were supposed to close at 5. But we started closing at 5:15, and finished closing at 6. So I didn't get out of work until 6:15, ran home and grabbed a wheel to lend to a friend that trashed his last weekend-- he had called earlier in the day looking to get the wheel fixed at the shop, but due to the race there was no mechanical/ warranty service today, and the shop is closed until Thursday because of the holiday, and I felt really bad having to tell my friend that on the phone, so I offered him my spare wheel to use in the meanwhile-- and I got on the trail around 7:45.
Before I hit the trail, I was really scared that my legs would just cease to function mid-ride because my gear was just too hard and I would learn that I am, indeed, a total weakling. And then I'd cry. And my knees would disintegrate. And I'd cry some more.
But I was WRONG!
Once you get moving, that bike is incredibly fun to ride. It's a bit tough to get on top of the gear again if you have to stop for any reason, but it's certainly not "painful." On hills, I could feel my right thumb automatically feeling for the shifter. Nope! Not there! There's nothing to shift!
But all you have to do is get out of the saddle and keep pedaling! I took roomie's advice and continued to pedal even tough I thought I would fall over... and it worked! I didn't fall over! I made it up every little rise! (except towards the end, where there's the "easy" or "hard" option-- I took the "hard" option, which I've never even ridden on my geared bike. it wasn't all that "hard," but i clipped a tree with my incredibly wide handlebars on a really tight uphill turn and fell over. I had to run the rest of the way.)
I was also worried that with the big wheels (29 inches vs 26 inches standard) it would be really hard to maneuver through the trees and such. Nope! I don't know, I think the bike handles even better than 26ers. Roomie said that was because of the stiff fork, it lets you know sooner when you've chosen a bad line, or are taking a corner too hard. You feel yourself wobble and then correct it and you're good to go. Whereas with suspension, the line isn't so clear, and suddenly you're on the ground before you've had time to even react-- unless you're incredibly in-tuned with what your bike is telling you, which good riders are! ;-)
And an unexpected added benefit (at least for me)? Well, I tend to brake on the downhills. And I brake too much, and at the wrong time, and this causes me to do stupid things like go flying over my handlebars. Brilliant, I know. With the stiff fork, you can't grip the bar too hard on the downhills, because you'll rattle your wrists and elbows off. Braking makes you grip the bar too hard. Hence, less braking, more momentum, fewer dislocated shoulders.
Oh, and her name is Ramona.
Hooray!
{sidenote\}
Definitions for non-biking readers:
single speed (n/ adj): a bike with only one "speed" i.e.: one ring in the front, one cog in the back. no derailleur. no shifting.
flow (n)/ flowiness (adj): the way in which a trail "moves" as you ride it... hard to describe without actually riding. let's try this-- if someone dumped a whole bunch of water on the trail, flowiness would describe how the water moved over the trail. assuming that it didn't get absorbed by the ridiculous amount of sand we have in Michigan. so a non-flowy trail would make the water stop. a flowy trail would allow the water to move freely (albeit over rocks and roots and hills and fun stuff like that). please don't get too technical on me with the laws of physics and such, i know that enough force could make water move freely regardless of how flowy the trail originally was. just... visualize.
{/end sidenote}
We had hosted the State Championship Criterium race today at work. It was awesome driving in to Dexter (tiny little village just west of Ann Arbor) and seeing the streets downtown lined with a couple hundred bikers, some very nice bikes, and spectators. There was a wedding, a funeral, and a bike race in Dexter today, and I don't think the town has seen that much excitement in decades.
So, long story short, we were supposed to close at 3. And then we were supposed to close at 5. But we started closing at 5:15, and finished closing at 6. So I didn't get out of work until 6:15, ran home and grabbed a wheel to lend to a friend that trashed his last weekend-- he had called earlier in the day looking to get the wheel fixed at the shop, but due to the race there was no mechanical/ warranty service today, and the shop is closed until Thursday because of the holiday, and I felt really bad having to tell my friend that on the phone, so I offered him my spare wheel to use in the meanwhile-- and I got on the trail around 7:45.
Before I hit the trail, I was really scared that my legs would just cease to function mid-ride because my gear was just too hard and I would learn that I am, indeed, a total weakling. And then I'd cry. And my knees would disintegrate. And I'd cry some more.
But I was WRONG!
Once you get moving, that bike is incredibly fun to ride. It's a bit tough to get on top of the gear again if you have to stop for any reason, but it's certainly not "painful." On hills, I could feel my right thumb automatically feeling for the shifter. Nope! Not there! There's nothing to shift!
But all you have to do is get out of the saddle and keep pedaling! I took roomie's advice and continued to pedal even tough I thought I would fall over... and it worked! I didn't fall over! I made it up every little rise! (except towards the end, where there's the "easy" or "hard" option-- I took the "hard" option, which I've never even ridden on my geared bike. it wasn't all that "hard," but i clipped a tree with my incredibly wide handlebars on a really tight uphill turn and fell over. I had to run the rest of the way.)
I was also worried that with the big wheels (29 inches vs 26 inches standard) it would be really hard to maneuver through the trees and such. Nope! I don't know, I think the bike handles even better than 26ers. Roomie said that was because of the stiff fork, it lets you know sooner when you've chosen a bad line, or are taking a corner too hard. You feel yourself wobble and then correct it and you're good to go. Whereas with suspension, the line isn't so clear, and suddenly you're on the ground before you've had time to even react-- unless you're incredibly in-tuned with what your bike is telling you, which good riders are! ;-)
And an unexpected added benefit (at least for me)? Well, I tend to brake on the downhills. And I brake too much, and at the wrong time, and this causes me to do stupid things like go flying over my handlebars. Brilliant, I know. With the stiff fork, you can't grip the bar too hard on the downhills, because you'll rattle your wrists and elbows off. Braking makes you grip the bar too hard. Hence, less braking, more momentum, fewer dislocated shoulders.
Oh, and her name is Ramona.
Hooray!
28 June 2007
Sunrise at Sleeping Bear Dunes
sunrise over north manitou island, sleeping bear dunes, MIIt was so nice, I could feel the tension leaving my shoulders the further north I drove. My roommate just laughed at me when I said that, but I swear-- the minute I drove over the Washtenaw County line on my way home, my shoulders went all tense again.
On Monday, I got up shortly before sunrise and went for a hike in Sleeping Bear Dunes... the path I always take with my mom and the dogs.
And so I brought my camera, which has not been out of its case since Guatemala (or... well... since i took pictures of the new bike the night before!). I wasn't sure how these would turn out, because I haven't been feeling particularly creative lately. But these shots make me happy:
looking over the dunes, towards glen lake
dunegrass
ripples near the petrified forestI had spent the night before out on the dock (until I woke up shivering violently at 1 am! Fleece blankets aren't nearly as warm as my -5 degree down sleeping bag. duly noted.). I sadly learned that the max time for shutter speed on my DSLR is 60". one minute. not long enough to capture the night sky so effectively... wah. I would love to find a darkroom to use so I can switch back to my grandpa's full-manual Canon. Or perhaps I shall set up my own darkroom...
here is the result, moon over glen lake
here is the result, moon over glen lake
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