Be More Awesome

In my profile bio (or whatever), I have a brief description of the purpose of this website, and my concept for the year: I was sad. I decided to stop being sad and start being awesome. And there were (are) a few things on the horizon in my life that could be seen to fall squarely in the "awesome" category: I want to bike a century for the Shiner G.A.S.P. (Great Austin to Shiner Pedal) which is exceptional given the fact that I don't even currently possess a bike, much less the training necessary to bike said-hypothetical-bike 100 miles in one day. My dad wants to hike up Mt. Whitney, the highest mountain in the continental U.S. for his 50th birthday in June, and I've invited myself to join him. I want to run a 5K--which will be dependent on me being able to run a mile without losing my breath and having to walk a little (has only happened twice since I've started to run in my neighborhood intermittently). So it appears that I've committed myself to some fairly substantial athletic events, despite having incredibly minimal activity in my past 4 years of grad school (and two years before that...and the four years of undergrad...and high school if I want to be entirely honest).

I'm a graduate student, so my awesome goals necessarily encompass some smarty-pants things as well: I want to submit and get accepted a paper as a first-author. I'm likely going to propose and start running my dissertation in 2009. I'm also going to submit a symposium for a national conference--which, if accepted, means I'll have a talk at a national conference. I'll be applying for internships. Mostly all of which I was going to do anyway, given my stage in the program, but if you step back, are really kind of awesome accomplishments.

But really: what else? Some things will be unpredictably awesome (re: ice storm), but somethings will require some initiative. I want to make sure these can be photographically documented. Help me out with some ideas!

Some current ideas:

• I want to sing karaoke. I've always been too scared.
• I want to ride a mechanical bull.
• I want to go on a blind date. I've never been on a blind date before, and the idea terrifies me.  
• I want to try to sew a piece of clothing.
  
• I want to take a big road trip on my own.

The "winter weather advisory" was posted about four days early. No one took it seriously. It's the South--the most likely scenario was temps in the teens for 3 hours and a dusting of snow 50 miles north of us. But as we edged closer, the predictions started getting more ominous..."one and a half to two inches of ice," "a whole lot of precipitation with no end in sight," "expect significant power outages." The only reason anyone (and especially worrisome me) was concerned was the 18 applicants who had flown in from all over the country to interview for our graduate program who would be trying to leave as the storm was coming in. And I was (partially) in charge.

Monday
Monday went on, and the interviews and scheduling went on with nary a hitch. Myself and my co-rep have phenomenal organization and planning skillz (with a "z" for extra emphasis and street cred). Around lunch we started hearing that the local schools were letting out early. We started making plans to get the applicants who were driving on their way as soon as possible. The Yankees among us were graciously offering their winter weather driving expertise to help out those of us fearful of frozen water falling from the sky. We considered canceling our after-interview informal dinner and drinks and the local place with cheap beers and food, but realized, weather or not (intentional pun), we'd have people to feed.

In the two hours between the end of interviews and dinner, I got a phone call from my good northern friend, L,  who had driven applicants to the airport in the boonies saying the roads were getting bad, especially in the more rural areas. My lab-mate, H, and I got a phone call from our (also sufficiently north-midwestern and accustomed to these sorts of things) advisor warning us that the sidewalks were incredibly slick and to be careful. By this time H and I were making plans--she got her husband to bring her more sensible ice-walking shoes and to drive us to dinner. As dinner was approaching and we made our way to the bar, we started getting phone calls from applicants at the airport: flights were canceled, rescheduling for the next day seemed futile: it wasn't going to happen. As dinner wrapped up, we were making plans for rides to the airport for applicants the next day for those braver, with bigger cars, and little fear of ice. My roommate was one of those brave people willing to drive in the ice, and I decided to let him drive me back, rather than drive myself.

Tuesday.
Classes were canceled the next day. Rather than do anything productive, I watched TV, surfed the internet, and chatted with L. Storm predictions...weather channel...my roommate who had returned from taking one person to the airport in treacherous conditions, only to have that flight ultimately canceled, and realizing that the other two people he was supposed to drive that day were likely not getting on a flight that day. He and I figured that the best plan was to get the remaining applicants to a hotel closer to the airport, given the inevitable unpredictablity of travel. L sends me a message online: 10,000 people without power in our county. Within an hour, she and her roomate were added to that growing list. About 30 minutes after that (approx. 1pm), my house went dark.   

My roommate got home and told me about the conditions on the road--power lines down, severely icy roads, the works. The strange thing: rain. It's 20 degrees out, but raining cats and dogs.  Of course, regardless of the thermodynamics or whatever-the-hell of why the precipitation was falling as rain rather than sleet, snow, or ice, it ultimately coated the ground and all surfaces in a ever thickening layer. And, of all the damn inconviences, I had a personal pizza in the oven that was only halfway cooked. Fortunately, my roommate had returned with his knowledge of the gas fireplace, so I was able to finish cooking my pizza over the gas burner (no wood...no gas logs...just straight burner). We did that...he heated up some coffee. We praised our collective 10 years of post-bachelors education in devising the creative strategy of cooking over the gas fireplace.

And then, since there wasn't any power or anything to do, I took a nap. (To be fair, my naps are taken whenever possible. Don't let the lack of power as sufficient nap justification fool you--there is almost no time or scenario where I'm not contemplating the quickest opportunity to take a nap. I'm a graduate student, and thus, never get this opportunity. But it is on my mind. Constantly.)

I woke up, and my roommate had left. I called my BFF, J in Texas, who went to the interwebs to inform me that my classes were canceled the next day as well. Which is lovely, considering the whole "I'll take a nap, and work when I get up," didn't factor in the significant lack of light that accompanies a multiple county power outage as evening approaches. The roommate returns with tales of darkness due to power outages as far as he can see, closed grocery stores preventing his quest for hot dogs, and firework-like transformer breaks. We use our newly found fireplace cooking expertise to fire up a frozen Marie Callender skillet meal in the fireplace. We are suitably proud of our ingenuity yet again. Texting with classmmates reveals power outages for everyone I contact in all different parts of town. I call my parents to chat and my dad in San Diego tells me "It's a little chilly here, but not too bad." Thanks, Dad--it's an icy apocolypse outside, and it is devistating to hear that San Diego is "a little chilly." (Dad loves the irony) The roommate and I watch a movie on my laptop till the battery dies, watch the transformers light up in the distance from the windows, and then navigate via my Bath and Body Works candle to our respective rooms.

Cooking creatively

Wednesday.
I awake at about 2am to realize that there's a light in the hallway. Is the house on fire? Is my roommate lurking with said candle outside my door? When I catch a glimpse of my alarm clock blinking, I realize we must have regained power. Luckily, I decide to get up and wander around, and realize a burner on the stove is on. A quick (but futile) email to folks to tell them we have power (the cable/internet is out), and then back to bed.

When I wake up (delightfully late, due to no school), I see the light dusting of snow that has covered the ice. Over the course of the night, I hear breaks and cracks in the distance. Waking up I see what nature has wrought upon trees in our town:

from the backyard on Jan 27

Same tree, different day

My roommate drives me to school to get my car. The roads are remarkably free of ice, considering, but full of debris from fallen trees, fallen power lines. My car, parked at school, happened to be under a tree. Which luckily didn't fall on my car, but draped heavily over it, menacingly. Walking around campus was dramatic--it has so many trees, and walking around seemed as if a bomb had gone off. I was walking around taking pictures with students, and faculty and there was the periodic sound of cracking and shattering as the sun would melt ice, which would shatter and fall in large pieces from trees and buildings. When I got home, my labmate H had called: her power was still out, and she, her husband, and a girl in her cohort and her fiance were going somewhere warm to eat. My roommate and I joined them. In the midst of all this, I had been inviting people without power to stay at our house overnight. People without power said the temperature in their places had dropped well below 50 degrees in the first night without power, and we were verging on night two, with no indication of any end in sight. We went to dinner, shared stories, and in the end, the population of our house over Wednesday night was 7 people and 5 dogs.

Thursday.
We didn't know going to sleep on Wednesday whether school would be in session on Thursday. The roads weren't icy, but the debris in the roads was still pretty significant, as the pretty tree-lined roads became obsticle courses as crews were working to restore travel and power to the most highly traveled areas first. We get a text message from the University at 5am: not only are classes cancelled on Thursday, but on Friday as well. Crews were still working to clear the campus of debris, and students were asked not to go on campus. By the evening, our guests the night before joined us for a dinner my roommate's girlfriend (also without power) cooked, but were able to go back to their now-powered places, or (in H's case) to the apartment of someone in her complex, who had power despite the fact that she and her husband were still without.

Friday.
Significant melting. The sounds of the town are: crackling and shattering as ice melts and falls, dripping as ice melts more generally, and chainsaws as trees are cleared from powerlines and roads. The wife of one of my classmates is an ER doctor and says that the ER has been insane these last few days. And this coming from someone who lived in far North Canada amongst polar bears (for real--no exaggeration): apparently we don't do well with ice in the South as a whole. But at least I didn't decide that charcoling or using camp grills/lanterns inside the house was a good idea during the course of this ordeal.

Level of Awesome:  Bonus points for Obama's first state of emergency while in office. Minus points for being relatively lucky with only losing power for about 15 hours total and refusing to drive in any amount of noticable ice. Extra charity points for inviting all and sundry to the house to crash (the roommates might revoke bonus points for not running it by them first). Extra difficulty points for trying to coordinate flights of applicants out of town.  Total awesome points:  46.