PhDness and Aretha Make My Day!

3.30.08

In the world of educational PhDness, there is a certain conference—THE conference, if you will, where people from the educational PhD world congregate to show their stuff. Literally. The conference book is larger than a New York City phone book because it is loaded with session after session on the multitude of studies being conducted in the PhD world to improve/save/change/critique/evaluate/understand/interpret/deconstruct American education and all its bells and whistles. The American Education Research Association (AERA from here on out) conference is not as ‘typical’ say, as Barack’s white grandmother (whom, I would say is VERY ‘typical’ for an old white lady…no offense grandmothers), in that I used to go to education conferences back in the day where they would engage us, make us laugh, have us work in small groups, and send us away with loads of resources to help change the things we were doing in our classrooms. No, the AERA conference does not live by that mantra; its purpose, rather, is to showcase the educational researcher bad-asses (the “haves,” if you will) and the up-and-coming intellectual beings (the “almost haves,” but not quite “have-nots”) who cannot seem to live outside of their very large brains long enough to make human connections with others in the larger society. Meaning, don’t try and have a chill conversation with these people because that just does not happen. No jokes, no slang, no fun. I fit right in!

So this past week, I spent a week with six other graduate students in the beautiful and fast-paced city of New York at the aforementioned AERA conference. Because we all live on our stellar full-time graduate student salaries of a whopping thirteen grand a year, we did it a little differently than the (insert drawn out, argyle sweater-sounding voice) tenured PhD professors, in that we all packed it in to a hotel room and snacked on apples, oranges, peanut butter, rice cakes, and almonds for breakfast and lunch. Now don’t get me wrong here people, we spent a few evenings eating at some of New York City’s finest. And the highlighted evening would definitely have to be seeing Tennessee William’s, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof!

They had the first all African-American cast for that play and we got to see James Earl Jones (Hell YES, Darth Vader…you’re the bomb!), Terrence Howard (helllllo, future husband), Phylicia Rashad (remember, Mrs. Huxtable?), and Anika Noni Rose (hottie from Dream Girls). Better yet, we were FRONT ROW, CENTER STAGE for the play. Paralleling that greatness, during intermission we heard whispers of famous people in the audience and turned to see Wesley Snipes and Aretha Franklin five rows behind us. Yes, that’s right, five rows BEHIND the poor, insignificant graduate students. It was a night to remember. When the play was over, the actors were bowing and we were giving them a standing ovation, and I tried to give Terrence the wink-slash-eye combination to let him know I was interested and available…and strangely enough, I think he saw me. I’m serious. I think he was into me. My friend Shar was trying to mouth her phone number to a guy who played the butler, but I don’t think he got all the numbers…probably because of the Georgia area code. My friend Sarah was trying to savor Phylicia Rashad’s spittle that Sarah had been collecting throughout the play on her face as Phylicia was projecting her voice and lines so those less fortunate than us…in the cheap seats…could hear her. As the crowd was filing out after the play ended, we had to wait because, well, we were in the front row, so we gawked like the stalkers we were as Aretha sat in her bright yellow dress surrounded by body guards and Wesley ran over to tell her hello, while his date (not quite as pretty as I would have been with him) waited patiently on the side. Now, you may think that my tales of a night like this would be over because what could be better than the wonders described above?

Well, in PhDness, there are also famous people. And when the nine of us who went to the play sauntered into The Stage Deli to eat the most incredible cheesecake, chocolate cake, and coconut cake that we’d ever laid our forks into, coming down from our previous high of the front row/Wesley/Aretha experience, we saw another group of famous people. Not your ordinary famous people, mind you, but famous people inside PhDness. For those of you who may know them, Gloria Ladson-Billings and William Tate sat among the group chowing down on their own desserts. I was in heaven. One of the professors with us ran over to chat with them and kept looking over patting Gloria on the shoulder telling her that I was dying to meet her so she was going to rub it in that she knew her. My professor didn’t introduce me, but I still practiced my most recently acquired gawker-stalker gaze to let Gloria and William know that I knew that they knew they were famous in my world….They really didn’t care. They didn’t even look over our way. At least Terrence gave me the glance-back to my stalker gaze. Damn that Gloria and William! It was probably one of the most memorable nights I’ve had in my life thus far…aside from my many memorable nights with all of you people on this list, of course!

Aside from all of the star-gazing and incredible food (beyond the hotel room snacks), the conference was a success. My brain is a little larger than it was before I went to the Big Apple, and my butt is not far behind. (Y’all knew that one was coming) The irony that one of the big-wig-crazy-ass-fall-off-the-left-side-of-the-planet-liberals pointed out during his session (Michael Apple for those of you who know his work) is that while thousands of us were inside the conference rooms lamenting our woes over our capitalistic society and its hindering of the education system for our children, we were all situated physically in the epitome of the very thing we claim keeps our children in their oppressive, inequitable educational circumstances: capitalism at its best. And there we were by the droves—thousands of researchers cut off from the rest of the world making claims about what we think is best for the rest of the world—without being out in that world. Living in big-brained theories that seem to be so disconnected from the practicalities of the fast pace that surrounded us day after day in the heart of that city. It was interesting, to say the least. But hey, at least I got to wink at Terrence Howard. I’m pretty sure he’ll call. If he does, I’m NOT inviting Gloria to the wedding…PhD snob! I’ll never be like that in my PhDness, I’ve decided. Even when I’m as famous as her. Or Phylicia. Whichever fame comes first.

Spring Break 2008!

Oh Spring Break. I love spring break. And you know, with the career path I’ve chosen (student for life is not the path), I’ll now have spring break for the rest of my life. Pretty cool. Different from old spring breaks, that’s for sure. Last year for spring break I was in Vail skiing (probably one day, if any), snow shoeing, catching up with folks, enjoying the beautiful mountains I used to take for granted. The year before that I think I was in Athens, house shopping and being interviewed for my PhD program. Exciting stuff. This year, know what I was doing? (Well, for the most part reading many books at my parents’ house—which is fine and expected in year two, but if that’s why I was writing this essay, I’d hope you’d tell me that I needed new material).

For the last leg of my fabulous week “off,” I was sitting cross-legged on my downstairs bathroom floor holding my cat in one hand and my cell phone in the other trying to figure out how to also hold on to the toilet. No, friends, I wasn’t hung over. That was spring break of ’95 probably. This 2008 hanging on of the toilet came after the very loud tornado sirens that were reverberating in my ears just moments after a tornado touched down somewhere west of Athens.

You all saw the news, right? The tornado that hit downtown Atlanta? Horrible stuff. Well, that storm along with about seventeen others decided to swing by the state of Georgia in a long line of…well….tornado-filled-storms. The first thunder storm apparently came while I was sleeping, and the huge bang that Zeus threw down in lightning bolt strength jolted me up at 5AM leading me to quickly believe that a perpetrator had (loudly) broken into my house. I shot up and out of my bed so fast that my precious princess (um, that’s my cat for those of you who have chosen not to read my last fifteen essays) went flying off the bed in a matter of seconds. After one minute of me holding my breath to try and keep quiet so I could figure out where the perpetrator was in my house (of course thinking in my panicked state…Wow, are they drunk or something? Did they just ram the door down and fall into the house?), I came to the conclusion that the ginormous crack and boom might have come from the storm that was lighting up the sky outside my window…so I went back to sleep. (That scenario I just described may sound weird to some of you, but actually I find myself standing behind my locked bedroom door anywhere from 3AM to 5AM holding my breath—heart pounding—trying to figure out if people are in my house about once every other week…lots of noises in my neighborhood…to say…the least…)

So when I got out of bed later that morning to catch the news, I saw the horrific scenes from Atlanta while at the same time learning that the storm that had hit Atlanta was on its way to my house. Storm one had come and gone, but it was beautiful outside so I was a little foggy about the other seventeen that were on their way. After ten minutes of the weather channel I heard a crazy crack outside and then my power went out. No power for two and a half hours…in other lives, you go do something else….in PhDness, I called the power company and then settled in by the window to read one of my two books that had to be finished by Tuesday while waiting for the power boys to come visit my block. Oh and by the way, I just want to let you all know that in Athens when you call the power company, the automated voice system is a sweet southern lady. You know how you call…well…anywhere these days and it’s a computer voice or a pre-recorded voice? Well, in Athens it’s a sweet, precious southern belle tellin’ me to “Push one if Iah don’ have aneh laghts ohwn in the howse.” I’m serious here, people. I don’t make this stuff up. It’s not even ‘creative fiction.’ It’s for real.

Long story longer, power comes back on; I get online to see that weather.com has issued a tornado warning for Athens as well as a severe thunderstorm warning. I’m watching the radar on the computer, watching the news on the television, and chatting with my ladies here in Athens on IM conference to see what they’re doing, if anything, about the storm. The first phone call comes from my friend Sarah telling me that University of Georgia’s voice system has just phoned telling her to seek shelter indoors because Athens is under a tornado warning: “This is NOT a drill!” it says in a very serious recorded voice. I’m peeved because I’m guessing UGA has decided to only call a few people and I haven’t made the cut. Damn! Fifteen minutes later when that storm has come and gone with the rain and hail following it, I get the UGA call. Day late and a dollar short, there buddy. It’s pretty cool, though: they also send you a voice email telling you about the warning and then they call/email you back to tell you it is safe….twenty minutes after the first call when in fact the weather station has put us on yet another “severe” tornado warning and thunderstorm warning. I guess it would be hard to phone thirty-five thousand people within minutes, but c’mon…it’s THE University of Georgia! The news is now reporting golf ball sized hail and showing the red part of the storm coming straight for Athens.

Meanwhile back online, I find out that my friend Madinah has built a tornado shelter for her doggy (a miniature Chihuahua named Tendu) and herself in her downstairs bathroom with all the necessities: her computer, her cell phone, water, food, and snacks for Tendu, pillows to cover their heads, and a bottle of wine. Perfect. My friend Diana has taken cover in her basement apartment and seems like she is confident in her safety. Lisa, who has decided she is above the storm, is still working in her bedroom Upstairs in her house, refusing to move and repeatedly typing to Madinah and I that we will be fine as we both type repeatedly that we are a “little scared.” When the phone rings again, it’s Sarah telling me that she’s been in her basement all morning because of the other tornado warnings and before this one comes she’d like to “run out to Chick-fil-A and grab a sandwich.” I tell her she’s um, not allowed. All the while, I’m on the FEMA website reading about what to DO before a tornado comes. Not much for me there. You all know the drill: get to the most ground floor you have and/or get under a large piece of furniture so you can hold onto it away from windows and doors. Nothing about “and here’s how you hold on to your cat and your cell phone at the same time so you can call people when the Sandman comes knockin’ at your door, while you’re holding onto your toilet with your third hand or your foot.” Darn.

It did, however, describe what the sky should look like (greenish color), the hail that would come, and the quiet, eeriness that the violent twister might burst from which might be confusing for people like me...who have CHOSEN NOT TO LIVE IN KANSAS FOR THIS VERY FREAKING REASON! And it described the loud freight train noise that I would hear just before the twister sucked Phoebe and me up to our deaths. So thanks, FEMA. Appreciate the help.

And then the sirens came. The next thing I knew I was scooping up the cat and dashing into the bathroom (half powder room more like) answering my cell phone to the third call from the UGA computer voiced-guy. No shit, buddy! Thanks for the call but I’m already trying to figure out how to mesh the long-haired furry creature and the cute pink cell phone with the porcelain god! (Isn’t that what we used to call it back during those 90s spring breaks?) I’ll admit, I was a little shaky, sure. I mean, c’mon, I was planning the end of my life in five short minutes. The lights flickered on and off, my cat was freaking out and was begging me to let her out of the bathroom, and I was sitting on the floor cross-legged in the dark where I couldn’t even see the toilet much less figure out how to freaking grip it with my free toes when my time came. I could hear the golf ball hail knocking at my door to please come in and I could still hear the crazy sirens…oh those sirens. And then it was over. Just like that. Birds chirping. Sun out. Not a freakin’ cloud in the sky. In Athens, Georgia. As I finally came out of the closet….just kidding….the bathroom, I heard the TV come back on, saw the lights come back on, and new that a new day had come. Thirty minutes later as we were all conferring on IM again, Madinah was still in her bathroom/shelter. She said she kind of liked it in there. Spring Break 2008! What a thrill.