The Truth in the Universe

So, it's been 55 weeks of non-stop work for my classmates and I, and it just ended. For the next two months, at least. I'm not sure what they (Pitt) call this intermission but, I'm calling it "it's about freakin' time". At this time last year I couldn't imagine why or how the second-year graduate students got TWO CONSECUTIVE MONTHS OFF at this point. I remember looking at them, and thinking they'd just ruined this back-to-school gig for everyone because, you know, how would anyone in a positon of academic authority and in their right mind (i.e., intact executive functions as measured by the MMSE) allow their minions to escape for two months without any strings attached? Surely someone would realize there were 47 fewer people jamming their lunches into one 5th floor refrigerator and send an urgent mass email...."Kidding!! Olly Olly oxen free! You're desperately needed back here for ghdhgdghhohgsldghsalh. Oh, and for ^&*#%, too".

But here I sit on Two Months Off Eve, with no assignments due tomorrow, and no exams to take, and no last-minute "jk" email from Pitt. And I'm actually a little teary-eyed. Not because I'm bored already but, it's just been a long 55 weeks, and there were enough moments when I thought I couldn't do it (because I'm too old, because I'm giving up too much with family and friends, because it's too hard, because I'm too hungry, because it's too Tuesday....because, blah blah....). Just like a lot of other folks in a lot of other situations, if I'd known what this would be like, I'm not sure I'd have done it. Actually, that's kind of a lie. I would have, but my attitude would have truly sucked and everyone around me would've been miserable and left. As a fabulous friend recently reminded me, sometimes cluelessness can be an unexpectedly wise partner. Then she walked right into a light pole. Wait. Sorry...that was me.

So what's that got to do with the truth in the universe? What IS IT dammit?, you ask?

Well first, I'm watching a new episode of "Through the Wormhole with Morgan Freeman" on the Science Channel as I type, which reminds me and everyone that I'm an ENORMOUS geek. I didn't need the last 55 weeks to confirm that truth. So the first truth is that my Pitt-mates and I have spent a good part of the last two months discovering the 'truth in the universe' about clinical research (sounds fancy, it's not), and how to recognize the 'truth in the universe' when we see it (yeh, it surprisingly doesn't just send you a random text, or something). And I think we got pretty good at it. Good thing, because at some point the universe is going to expect us to finish school and start contributing to the tax base again.

So, now I can identify the truth in the universe. It's a wicked mad skill. And you knew I'd apply it in a schmucky way, didn't you.

I actually just wanted to suggest that, despite any many good reasons not to start or finish something worthy, something that you really want...don't. Don't not start or finish, I mean. I fake quit this grad program so many times in my head (pissily sometimes), for lots of reasons. But the truth is I didn't, and never would, because finishing it means working the rest of my life in a field I recognize is exactly where I want to be. That's just one truth. There are obviously many others for each of us (many of mine involve savory edibles, George Clooney, and dog hair). But this particular truth, I wanted to state for the record because I want to re-read this next year, when I'm graduating, and remember how much my Pitt-mates and I will have gained because of it.

See? That could've been a hell of a lot sappier. But it wasn't.

And that's the truth.

Speed Limits

This morning I was gesturally blasted during my daily commute to Oakland by someone in a topless Jeep annoyed at the universal forces that brought us together on the same stretch of asphalt at precisely that moment. I admit, he sucked me into driving faster than my current "Save Gas" campaign manager (uh, me) would normally allow. It's not the first time, and as a driver who used to be THAT person I would empathize with THAT guy if I had been, let's say, applying deodorant while driving (which I've seen, honest-to-Pete), or doing something else that would land me on This List. But I was driving in a way that even my Irish grandpa, orMr. Debold (greatly-feared high school driving teacher), would've approved. I think. Slightly above the posted speed limit, eyes on the road, cell phone tucked away, deodorant applied long before. I was however, singing with force and gusto, which isn't on That List, so maybe what set Jeep man off was my resistance to him badgering me into cruising so far above the speed limit that my vocal cords and other body parts would squeeze shut (G forces would definitely be involved). He clearly had a perspective of speed limit mathematics and logic, that I lack now.

So, I would've re-gestured to Jeep dude but with both hands on the wheel, and my torso safely jammin' (if I do say so) to Jimi Thing....it just would've messed with a good thing. But it did occur to me there's a better way to think about speed limits - both official posted ones, and the completely arbitrary ones picked by middle-aged girls thinking they'll get better gas mileage since (un)NASCAR-like drafting on the Parkway has been deemed too dangerous for un-professional drivers like middle-aged girls. So I've been told (Mark!).

So I have a proposal, for all of us. Here we go..... ESPN.com. Or some source that gives you access to sports teams' jersey numbers (for people like my Mom, who LOVES sports and even watches the NHL on Fios, but doesn't care what Sidney Crosby's number is). Because the better way to approach speed limits is to.....

Pick the jersey number of your favorite athletes, in any sport, and drive that fast. Or slow, depending. Seriously! This was the best idea I ever had during a crappy commute to Oakland, so listen up.

Let's apply this idea using the Pittsburgh Penguins. For example, from now on my Parkway North commute will be at Kris Letang speed, plus or - rarely minus - Matty Niskanen. Parkway West, I'd love to pull a Sidney Crosby on you but....I'm gas-cheap and I'm unwilling to sacrifice my vehicle or those of the other commuting souls around me. Sorry, young bud. But I can happily and legally do Brooks Orpik down Broadhead Road. And Marce Andre....you're the man for driving through my neighborhood, unless the school speed sign is flashing. Then it's gotta be at Chris Kunitz speed or Butch the crossing guard will be PISSED.

See? Aside from the Butch factor, isn't it nice to assign your favorite athletes' jersey numbers to the roads you've got to drive every single stinkin' commuting day?

Suddenly, if we all did it, maybe topless Jeep dude would gesture with his THUMB up instead of *ahem*, because he knows I'm just hauling some Letang but and not trying to keep him from his 7:30am EST call with Beijing (because I have SO many better things to do. really). And the world would smile, and drivers would relax a little, and all of our traffic lights would turn green when we approached them. Okay. That really wouldn't happen. But it'd feel like all our lights turned green each time. And that's the point.....it's just a different perspective. I just want us all to land in our parking spots with our grooves completely intact instead of slightly partially knocked around by pressure to beat the posted speed limit by, oh, say, 38 mph.

Is that so crazy?

Even if it is, I'm sticking to it. I'd rather smile while cruising to my Pens or Steelers logic and singing my Jimi thing.

Or thang.