Musical Influence

Today, I am enjoying the soothing sounds of Black Sabbath and Jethro Tull. I just discovered some old Black Sabbath tunes with amazing lyrics and great use of the flute. The flute is an underrated instrument, and the 1970s utilized it like no other decade has since. This is a curious statment for me to make, seeing as I am only 28 years old.

My mother raised me on the music of her generation, and not just the Beatles and other incredible and popular bands of that time. My mom is into true rock music. My parents took my brothers to Kiss concerts while they were in elementary school. I distinctly remember the day I tuned in and really listened to what Jethro Tull was saying in "Aqualung." I was completely in shock that my mother was listening to a song about a man with snot "running down his nose." I wasn't just appalled at the mucusy imagery, I was shocked that my mother was listening to something so completely wacky. Did my mom turn the song off? No...instead, she whipped out another album and said "have you ever heard of Blue Oyster Cult?" I was hooked on her generation's music before it was fashionable to be so.

My mother never censored much music and television from me, and for that I am forever grateful. Parents have long tried to shield popular music from their children from Elvis' swinging hips to Snoop Doggy Dogg's completely explicit, yet catchy, tunes. I never had my tapes or CDs taken away from me, nor was I ever told to turn MTV off, even if it did raise her eyebrows from time to time. I wouldn't describe her as lax, yet strict wasn't her style, either. Whatever her style was, I was parented reasonably and, looking back, I never felt sheltered or stifled. My mom didn't shelter me from the truth or the real world (and not just the MTV reality show). My mom knew when to be my mom and when to let me be a person.

When I tell her this as an adult, she wonders if maybe she should have monitored my media "to be a better parent." Given the hard knocks she and I went through, I'm glad my mom didn't take cues from society on parenting and trusted her gut. My mom and I bond really strongly over music, whether it be the soft rock of Josh Groban or Jethro Tull and his heavy horses. Her music taste is eclectic, a trait that I have inheireted. One day, we might be listening to Andrea Bocelli and the next, we have the Moody Blues playing on vinyl. Whatever we're playing, I know for sure that my mom has taste. We've been to many concerts together like Yanni, Janet Jackson, and most recently The Eagles. 

Thanks to my mom, I also have musical bonds with my late father. She always told me which songs were his favorites and which he hated. Even though he didn't like Seals and Crofts, he bought her concert tickets anyway. Whenever Kansas comes on the radio, I think of him. 

I have an appreciation for almost anything from Mozart to Tupac. I don't play an instrument, but I can sort of hold a tune. I can't read sheet music, but I can whip your ass any day of the week in music trivia...except if you are my mom. 

Voting in the Wild West

I can't even wait until I get home for this one...

Pratik became a citizen last April, so this is the first time he has flexed his Krishna-given right to vote. I have voted before in California (and, in particular, this precinct) so I thought today should be pretty pain-free.

Our polling place was our local Buddhist temple. It does not get more San Franciscan than that. I wish, however, that the experience had been more zen.

After a short deliberation with the map of where our precinct actually is now (it's been changed several times,) I went to retrieve my ballot. I gave my name, and my friendly senior citizen helper searched for several minutes under the letter "B." After I repeated "no, 'V'" several times, I added the ever-helpful "as in Victor." I glanced down at the book to help him speed things up, only to notice my last name has been misspelled. V-E-R-M-A-N.

As in, rat?

My first name, which has a unique spelling and is often misspelled, was correct. But there was a weird little addition to my name. "Snoke."

I have a middle name, but it is not Snoke. It is nowhere near the word Snoke.

Essentially, the easiest parts of my name were the most fucked up. (After a 30 minute call with UPS about a lost package and this cuckooery with voting, there is no getting around profanity today.)

As a side-note, I should mention that this UPS debacle, among other things, sparked a profanity-laced morning in our house from yours truly, which led Pratik to give me the "don't chew out the senior citizen helper at the polls" lecture. That was probably a good thing. This is similar to the "don't be an angry brown man" lecture I give him before departing for the airport. I digress...

Snoke, as in Snookie, I guess. Which is pretty offensive...I have much better hair than that.

The woman next to my senior citizen helper, with another pamphlet of voter information, could not find me under the address listed in the man's book. She had my old address. So I know that there isn't a Lindsie Snoke Verman running around out there and that I stole his/her vote. No, I just know that someone in my precinct cannot read...

And we haven't even gotten to Pratik yet.

I FINALLY got my ballot and a name/address correction form paper while Pratik wrangled with his information, which they didn't even have on file. Now, you all know that my husband is a special, special man with the mental capacity for rocket science but not, say, filling out paperwork. While I oversaw (read: nagged at him) most of the citizenship paperwork, I really pressed him to do a lot of it himself. So what I mean is, there was room for PhD Error.

After much, much deliberation, to which I turned a blind eye for my own sanity and let him be a big boy, he finally got a ballot. With a pretty pink paper that stipulates if there is another hanging chad situation, his registration will be looked into/verified.

Whatever.

In short, Lindsie Snoke Verman and Mystery Man voted. And, being the proud mama bird I am, I even snapped this photo of his first voting experience. Just like a kid on their first day of school!

And later, when we got in the car, and I had my spit-and-sputtering fit about the pink paper and getting things done right (away from my senior citizen helper) and how he can't do anything without my help, I noticed that my poor man had his sweater on inside out...and for the first time this morning, I cracked a smile.

God help me, I love him!

My Marriage Counselor is Blog.

Writing has long been a therapeutic exercise for me. It is only through using the written word that I am able to express myself clearly, reflect objectively on situations, and see the humor in what I am going through. Never has this been more true since getting married.

First of all, I am really lucky that my husband lets me recount these situations so publicly. He has a really good sense of humor about it, and I find complete solace in the fact that I am not the only one out there struggling to cohabitate with another human being. I'm so glad my friends enjoy my tales and are able to laugh with me, at the very least, or relate to this time-honored tradition politicians today describe as "sacred." There are days when "barbaric" seems to be a more apt term. Today is, as you may have guessed, one of those days.

Let me start this anecdote by saying I realize that I probably have OCD. I have a hard time compromising and it is, indeed, my way or the highway. There but for the grace of any and all deities, he has not yet chosen the highway. He's an amazing guy who, despite probably having a touch of ADHD, is quite laid back. My marriage works in weird ways. I'm used to being by myself, and he is busy completing a PhD, which sometimes keeps him at lab until late hours. I don't get in his way, he doesn't get in mine...usually.

Most women would give anything for their husbands to throw in a load of laundry...but as you know, I am not your average girl. I have a very structured system of doing laundry that I liken to hatching baby birds. If one falls out of the nest and is touched by human hands, it's all over for the baby bird. Similarly, if someone tries to help me by transferring clothing from the washer to the dryer, my system is ruined. Follow me? I'm sure you don't, because you don't understand my system. I absolutely have to know what is clean, what is dirty, where the item last was, and what cannot go in the washer or dryer. Judging from the amount of shrunken sweaters my husband had in college, he is not a great judge of "low heat only" items.

Most men would give anything to hear that their wives don't want help with a household task. As you know, I didn't marry an average dude. I married a man that so wishes to help me around the house, my requests for not touching the laundry often go unheard. Shirts are hung on hangers backwards and unbuttoned, not to mention unironed, socks are never matched correctly and pockets are never emptied before they hit the washer.

Today we returned home from a 2 day camping trip (my peace offering to him for agreeing to marry me) to discover that our washer wouldn't turn on. I shrugged, moved our campfire-smelling bedding out of the way and told him we needed to contact the landlord. Mysteriously, our dryer still turned on, but we (thanks to my rigid system) have enough clothing to last us until then. Also, our bed still has bedding on it from before our trip, so we were all set.

Somewhere between here and Pennsylvania Dutch, my husband gets the bright idea to wash our bedding in the tub and dry it in the dryer. I protest, but as per usual, my protests of "don't touch the laundry" go unheard. Before I knew it, the sheets were being washed in our bathtub. Luckily, I spared my handmade quilts the same washboard misery as our thread-bare sheets. (They so need replacing, but I'm waiting for a king bed.)

My husband is amazing. He does a TON around the house without me having to ask, especially where my nemesis, the dishes, are concerned. He goes above and beyond "team effort," so when he helps, I try my best to grit my teeth and not nitpick at how the job gets done. I simply went out to get some takeout for dinner and looked forward to the thought of sleeping on clean, warm sheets after 2 days of sleeping on the ground.

"I don't think the dryer's working..." he says to me. The dryer turns on and spins, but no warm air comes out. Two sets of sheets and a fleece blanket are currently dripping water all over my bathroom floor. A wet mattress pad is lying in the washer for storage. Another set of sheets and presumably every last pillow case are turning around in the heatless dryer as I type...my comfy, comfy queen bed that my aching shoulder and back were so looking forward to after two nights on the sloping, rocky ground....stripped of all bedding. It's too bad I cannot harness the flames of anger shooting from my eyes to dry our sheets...

And for the life of me, I cannot figure out what is worse: not knowing where I will sleep tonight with this chiropractic mess, or the sheets dripping water all over the bathroom floor, rug, and into the pail he strategically placed to catch only SOME of the water.

Husband, I love you very much. I so appreciate all you do for me whether or not I ask. You're an amazing person. But I feel that after having spent 5 years at Stanford University in a graduate level chemistry program, the following should not be that difficult for you to comprehend:

For the purposes of this experiment, I liken the laundry to chemistry. Tonight's laundry debacle is the equivalent of me coming to your lab and tipping over all of your beakers, dumping out all of your samples, cracking the glass of your glove box, and changing your unfinished thesis to a pink font and emailing it to your advising committee.

I don't touch your lab. Please don't do the laundry.

Got Wanderlust?

I'm always nostalgic for everywhere that I'm not...I really feel like a dog chasing its tail. 


If/when we leave San Fran/Cali, I'll miss it terribly. It wormed its way into my heart. Let's face it, I'm made for it out here. The San Fran lifestyle suits me entirely too well.


I miss being within reasonable travel distance of many places in the eastern US. 


I miss Taipei so much I'm not even sure I could return without having an emotional breakdown...I've really got to quit watching Chinese movies by myself at all hours of the night. Damn Netflix streaming! However, it's a part of my life that I need back.


I have these two conflicting schools of thought in my life: throwing it all to the wind and traveling, and trying to find some roots, somewhere. It's hard for me to take anywhere seriously when we have zero roots. This is why I didn't want to let Cali worm its way into my heart...


We've got serious wanderlust in this house...I'm not the only one. P's ready to pack his bags. He's writing like a madman...He's been at the lab since about 10 this morning...it's going on midnight. He came home for dinner and went back. I don't know how he does it. With schoolwork, any type of work really, I just shut down at some point. (Usually, I start bawling because I stress myself out so badly.) His academic stamina is astounding. That man is made to be a professor, mark my (and his colleagues') words.


It's difficult for me to have so little of a plan formulated at this point. By Christmas, our lives could be totally upside down, and it's already summer and I haven't the faintest clue what's going on...it's a foreign concept to me! I'm all ready to be supportive, but my only task is thumb twiddling it seems. It's hard to not be able to interject myself. (How helpful can I be in science, really?) This is where my independent side is restless...having to rely on someone else's schedule is a difficult compromise! It's even difficult to sleep knowing he's plunking away at work and there's nothing I can do to help the process. 


I'm not sure what stage of "grief" we're in. Is mental exhaustion one? I do know we are in serious, serious need of passport stamping, plane hopping, and decompressing. Second honeymoon time...

A Plea for Sanity

The words 'looking into PhD programs' have been coming out of my mouth a lot lately...and it has nothing to do with Pratik's career...it's about my own.

Someone get the stun gun.

If I did, I would have to seriously consider what I would do with a doctorate AFTER graduating. School is a serious comfort zone for me, and it's easy to be seduced by sexy class lists and degree programs...but what the heck would I do with a PhD? I have zero clue at this point. To be honest, I just want another notch in my academic belt, and to fall back into the comforts of writing papers and my brain being constantly crammed with fresh information. Signing up for stress? Sadist qualities, check!

What I really wish is that I could do my Master's at Monterey all over again. I HATE the learning process. I like to go into things completely prepared, or overly prepared. Kind of like how no one from my hometown (but me) goes to driver's ed without some inkling of how to drive a vehicle...Monterey was a serious leap into unknown waters for me, and I learned a lot...painfully. I look back at old papers and cringe...partly because I'm overly critical and partly because it was a serious challenge for me. I actually had to try. Not like math class try (aka, hopeless in my case) but phys ed class try (aka, I totally want to do this, but I'm at a disadvantage...)

So while I have no business looking into these programs, I have 2 in mind, and both have caught my eye at various points in life. First, I have thought about the School of Oriental and African Studies in London (http://www.soas.ac.uk/) since high school...they have an overwhelming amount of degree programs at the Master's level, and one can expand any of those topics into a PhD (or other type of research degree.) The Taiwan Studies program caught my eye...(http://www.soas.ac.uk/admissions/pg/subject/) Because nothing says qualified individual like being a doctor of Taiwan Studies...

I've also contemplated the Languages and Cultures of Asia program at the University of Wisconsin at Madison for about five years now...(http://lca.wisc.edu/new_web/) The program seems more cookie-cutter than the previous program I mentioned, which seems more independent...both approaches have pros and cons. There are only 3 tracks to this degree, and I'd likely choose the Languages & Literatures track...though the Civilization & Culture could expand my horizons a little, seeing as I did L&L for undergrad...And Wisconsin has PhD minor programs! So I could get something else ridiculous like a PhD minor in French...

Other topics I've thought about studying without looking into programs: linguistics, sociolingustics, and cultural anthropology...this is where that PhD minor thing could come in handy!

No conclusion to this topic! Just me, having zero business looking into these programs, wanting a PhD for all the wrong reasons...this is probably something I'll think on for the next decade. No rash decisions here!

Shopping Update

So I write to you from my new (much needed) Macbook. I've been hemming and hawing about a new laptop for a couple of years now, and I finally broke down and bought it. Very happy and not looking back!

I also got a new hairbrush. I suppose general hygiene is more important than internet access! Thanks to living in Minneapolis and having an Aveda-trained friend, I've had my eye on an Aveda brush for a while now, but couldn't justify it seeing as I already had a brush. (These are the days of our lives.) But you all asked me to keep you updated on whether or not we're taking care of ourselves, and I am happy to report that I will not be ripping out anymore clumps of hair with broken hairbrushes!

(The magic stick)

Now for the good part of the story...Pratik just left about an hour ago to go play squash at the gym with his labmate. He was looking all over for a pair of tennis shoes to wear. What soon-to-be Dr. Verma failed to remember is that we threw away his tennis shoes a few months back. Lately he has been wearing the aforementioned holy loafers, as well as his dress shoes.

HE JUST WORE HIS DRESS SHOES TO THE GYM. Complete with green plaid shorts, dress socks, and a red tshirt that has the image of the god Ganesh.

On his way out, I said oh, does someone need new shoes? To which he hastily replied NO!

Holy loafers are about to hit the trash!

Denial.

We're in denial in my house.
Pratik has shoes with holes, refuses to buy a new pair. I have a bra with a broken wire and a hairbrush that is missing bulbs on the end of the bristles. I told him I'd purchase new underthings if he'd buy new shoes, to which he replied "This is not tit for tat!...Wait, maybe it is!" This conversation occured on the way home from the Mac store to check out a new laptop for me. Priorities! We're coming home with wet socks and ripping out clumps of hair, but damn it all I'll be on the internet!
This morning he trashed my hairbrush behind my back. You can bet those shoes are next! This means war.

My new reality series, PhD Wives

Pratik recently gave a talk at the American Chemical Society's annual meeting in San Francisco, and conversation in our house has turned to real, concrete talks about where we are going next, though we are still uncommitted.

There are many series out there about "wives." Netflix is queueing up the British series "Footballers' Wives" for me, and in America we have "Army Wives." While I am much more than "just a wife," and I think many husbands out there need their own series (WNBA Husbands?) I am inspired to start my own little reality series here to chronicle this journey (and oh how he hates that metaphor) we have taken for higher education in the wild west...as it wraps up... (It's formal name shall be PhD Wives and their Master's Degree Husbands...but that's far too long.) I can promise you talk will be so bland and possibilities will be so erratic, no network can handle this reality, so stay tuned here!

Your season recap:
Last time on PhD wives, Lindsie considered the reality of leaving California, and wondered if what lied ahead could still be as exciting as what came before it. Pratik still cannot navigate Palo Alto, thus anywhere they went would look the same.

Concrete Possibility #1: Germany
Pratik has co-authored papers with a woman from Germany that comes by their lab now and again, who has really encouraged him to check out the opportunities in Germany for post-doc positions. Germany has always been on our radar for this, but since his talk he's really strongly considered it. He was encouraged to apply to a lab that was recently granted a large award, as well as the Max Planck Institute.
While I am digging my heels into the San Francisco soil slightly, I have been very vocal about wanting to take opportunities abroad. And by opportunities, I mean learning French and whisking away to Milan to shop by myself while he slaves away at work. (i.e. not reality) but nonetheless I'm still extremely vocal about wanting to go abroad. Heck, for 2 years of our life, why not. So when he seriously considered Germany this week, he literally got into the car and said he wanted to ask me "how I felt about it." I think I exploded and asked if he had been listening to me for the past 4 years! The answer is yes, yes, and ja. "But we'll have to learn German!" Really, does he not know me at all?
Truthfully, I found it very considerate of him. I hope he gives me the same consideration if Texas reappears in his mind!
But for real this time, Germany is on the list.

So, this is where we're at...

With Pratik nearing the completion of his PhD, our time in California is (possibly) dwindling. We're still as clueless as ever as to what lies ahead, but you can rest assured once we know for sure, I'll be the first to scream it from the rooftops, make spreadsheets and get the ball rolling. I've been planning for this for four years, but since 2010 started, I've been telling myself to forget about it. Or at least stop hinging reality onto every possibility...it leads to a lot of let downs! So I am not actively planning (i.e. Google mapping living arrangements in Timbuktu) at quite possibly the very time I should be...
Here's where we are: we're both sad at the possibility of leaving California. We're very attached to San Francisco. And, after all, Molly is a California girl! In addition, we've talked about moving to every place under the sun imaginable. Still, no clear picture at this point of what our future holds.
I am everything at this point: frustrated that I don't know yet, sad to leave California, and yet stuck in a rut if I don't go "somewhere new." However, as my wise mother pointed out, I do seem to like everywhere I end up, so I'm not terribly worried. I am, however, ready to burn every cardboard box I own and grow some roots for a change...roots being a big custom closet and a yard for our dog...and maybe dog #2! (Priorities.)
I know that as much as I love California and the idea of getting an old Spanish style home and never seeing snow again, I am sick to death of flying home. There really is nothing worse than cramming into that germ infested sardine can and cramming my poor puppy under the seat for 4+ hours...just to switch planes. I'd give anything to pile into our car and drive home for the holidays. And Lord forbid there's a family emergency...we've gone down that route!
But, am I ready to give up venturing out whenever I want without worrying about how I am going to get groceries to my car without slipping and falling on ice?
Well, you can see how this thought process goes and why I gave up the reins on it a little....
But just as an update, though it is 2010, we're still plugging along cluelessly. The good news? I think we'll win anywhere we go. I seem to have a way of making places my own...and keeping them in special places in my heart.
But, in closing, for your enjoyment, a blurted-out list of every place I can think of we've considered living these past few months:
Washington DC, Vancouver, Toronto, Montreal, England, Germany, Midland MI (nope, not kidding...and not my choice!), LA, San Fran, New York, Boston...

(I feel like Luke Wilson in the AT&T commercial...)

Whilst studying for his citizenship test...

Lindsie: "Name one Native American tribe."
Pratik: "The Peekawa?"
Lindsie: "Do you mean Chippewa?"

I shouldn't talk, I mix up Robert Gates and John Roberts and nearly caused him to get it wrong!

Only the oath is left and my husband will become a dual Indian-American citizen! (Come on, India, you can't shake him that easy!)

Good Morning, Keynes.

I have mini-goals for the year, since they say it takes 21 days to make a habit. One of them is blogging more, rather than once a season, or whenever one of us has a milestone. Because let's face it, Pratik never writes on here! :) I really started this to keep our families updated since they're all so far, and our friends just get to benefit from it, too! And I love to express my pride for my husband's accomplishments because he plays them down. (Yes, Pratik, it's truly no big deal that you're presenting at the American Chemical Society meeting?)
I often write funny stories on my Facebook status about Pratik and I because it feels a little like an episode of "I Love Lucy" sometimes. (I married a foreigner who often thinks I have some 'splainin to do?) Usually Pratik is annoyed with my quoting him (often unbenownst to him as he never checks his Facebook.) But I recently found out that his labmate Dave quotes him often on Twitter. So if Dave can do it, I can, too! Let the stories commence:
The other morning around 8am I was taking a shower before work, when Pratik busts in the bathroom spouting off about this new book he got from the library on John Meynard Keynes. I would quote him, but I scraped by my econ classes with all of my might...and it was 8am, so I had no idea what he was talking about anyway. There I was minding my own business, getting ready for work and all of a sudden I'm getting a full on lecture about Keynesian economics. "Excuse me," I said, "but I'm getting ready for work, and I really don't get this stuff anyway. Remember the last time you lectured me from the pages of the Wall Street Journal at midnight and I fell asleep?"
"YOU NEED TO KNOW THIS STUFF!" he exclaimed. "WHAT IF I DIE?"
Because John Meynard Keynes is exactly what I would be thinking about at a time like that?
This is proof that my husband has to become a professor.