Ballcock. Heh.

Like anybody else, I have foods I like and foods I dislike. Every so often I like to try some of the things on my inedibles list, just to make sure I still don't like them. Sometimes it works out -- for example, I'm still not crazy about fish but have found a few kinds I can stomach (with the correct seasonings and sauces, of course, because who wants their fish to taste like fish?) and after years of not liking tea, I have finally discovered some herbal flavors that are pretty good. Other times, these little experiments only confirm what I already know: Coconut is still not to be brought within 10 feet of me, and sauerkraut is still the most vile excuse for food I can imagine. Some things are just basic truths.

Anyway, I've decided I should do the same thing with babies. My complete lack of maternal instinct is well documented, and I am not even close to being emotionally or financially ready to support a kid anytime soon, but I'm still waiting for the day I wake up and think ohmigahIhavetohaveababyRIGHTFUCKINGNOW. It could happen, it could not. In the meantime, my friends who insist on this procreation nonsense should give me plenty of practice in testing my baby palate, such as it is.

I thought about this today because the boss at my part-time job brought in his one-year-old daughter for a little while yesterday and today, and damn if that kid didn't love me. As soon as she came in the door she toddled straight to me and wanted nothing but to sit on my lap and grin at me with those three little bottom teeth. This should make any normal 28-year-old woman's uterus skip a beat, right? But all I wanted to do was go home and wash the baby off my hands. (She was kind of sweaty.) Courtney 1, Maternity 0.

Another sign I should keep my womb unfertilized? A co-worker and I spent the better part of the afternoon trying to get this little girl to say the word "ballcock."

ballcock: (n) a device for regulating the supply of water in a tank, cistern, or the like, consisting essentially of a valve connected to a hollow floating ball which by its rise or fall shuts or opens the valve.

I bet you thought it meant something completely different.

To make a long story short, said co-worker successfully broke the toilet this afternoon and prompted a 10-minute giggle fit (from me, naturally) when she explained how she tried to jiggle the ballcock to fix it. Trust me, it's an even funnier word when said repeatedly to a one-year-old.

Yeah, I would make a horrible mother.

Ballcock.

This Just In: Graduations Are Boring

Well, it finally happened. I have an official master's degree. Whoopee.

Nah, I'm actually kind of proud of it. I didn't want to go through the ceremony yesterday, but my parents were driving up all the way from Atlanta for it, so I kind of had to. So I donned my rented cap and gown and ridiculously complicated hood and walked across the stage to shake the hand of some dude I've never seen before while he monotonously whispered his congratulations. But I smiled pretty for the cameras, and that's really all my parents care about anyway.

I finished my master's thesis in December but didn't get to defend it until just after the deadline, so I had to wait until now to graduate. In my mind I've had a master's degree since December, so I knew this was going to feel like an afterthought. And it did. Plus, the College of Communication had a grand total of four graduates from the master’s program and a big fat zero from the Ph.D. program, so it was a pretty sad showing for our college.

(On the other hand, there’s another clue as to why I didn’t get into the Ph.D. program. No graduates means fewer available slots to fill. Damn you doctoral candidates who purposely take 10 years to get through school just because you don’t want to grow up and face the real world. Damn you to hell.)

It was a little bittersweet, for sure, but in the end I’m glad I went through with the graduation. It brought some closure to my time at UT. And I guess a master’s degree is still a decent accomplishment; even if it’s not enough for me anymore, it still fulfills the goal I had nearly three years ago when I moved to Knoxville.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is … Yay me! From now on, you may address me as Master Communicator. At night I shall put on a mask and cape and fight the evils of bad grammar. Master Communicator AWAY!

I AM IRON MAN!!! Dun, dun, dun-na dun, danananananana dun-na da!

We went to see Iron Man last night, and if I had to describe it in a word, it would be: Testosteroney. (The San Francisco treat!) Yeah, it's definitely made for the boys club, but I still liked it a lot despite the fact that I do not have a penis. Robert Downey Jr. has a dry wit that keeps the dialogue from being too superhero-y, and I could hardly keep myself from headbanging Beavis and Butthead-style throughout. All in all, I give it two thumbs up. Go see it.

Oh, and Santa Claus? If you're reading this, I'd really like an Iron Man suit for Christmas. Make a list and check it twice.

Anyway, before Iron Man started we saw a preview for M. Night Shyamalan's new movie, which is called The Happening. I just have to say: That has got to be the least creative movie title I've ever heard. I just picture a bunch of people sitting in a room, tapping their pencils against their heads in deep thought. "How about ... The Event?" "The Occurrence!" "The Thing That Happened on Tuesday!" "What about just The Thing?" "No, that's already been taken." "Fine. The Happening it is."

Well, if recent history repeats itself, that movie will be just as lame as its title. Despite the fact that I never got to enjoy The Sixth Sense the way it was intended because my roommate ruined the ending for me, I still thought it was a pretty good movie. I also liked Signs, despite Mel Gibson and the fact that the aliens looked like an $8.99 Halloween costume from Target. But since then, old M. Night has really jumped the shark. (The Village, anyone? Lamest plot twist EVER.) So I don't really have high hopes for The Thingamabob. Oh, sorry, The Happening.

What else do I want to see this summer? Well, the new X-Files movie, obviously, because I was obsessed with the show and it's been far too long since I've seen black oil seep out of anyone's eyeballs. Indiana Jones is coming up soon (go check out Funky Carter's sidebar to see exactly how long) and I'm psyched about that. Trailers for The Dark Knight look pretty awesome, and between Christian Bale, Heath Ledger and the absence of Katie Holmes, I have no reason to not see it.

As we've already established, I am a girl, so I will probably go see Sex and the City and groan loudly at Carrie's bad puns and the fact that Samantha has got to have a dozen different STDs by now. I'll probably also go for Get Smart because Steve Carell is in it and I like the old show. Wall-E, of course, because Pixar hasn't made a bad one yet. Hancock could be pretty good, and I'm intrigued by Will Smith as a bad guy. Pineapple Express is the new Apatow comedy and he has a pretty good track record so far.

What do I not want to see? Speed Racer, because the commercials alone nearly give me seizures (really, Emile Hirsch? You're following Into the Wild with that?); The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, because the Narnia books are among my childhood favorites and no movie can ever do them justice; The Love Guru, because it just looks stupid, Hellboy 2, because WHY do people continue to make unnecessary sequels?; Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 and The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emporor, see above.

What am I not sure about? The Incredible Hulk: One one hand, I enjoy Edward Norton, on the other hand, didn't they just make this movie a few years ago?; Kung Fu Panda: Could be funny or very stupid, so I'll wait for the reviews; You Don't Mess With the Zohan: Because what the eff?; Step Brothers: The last time Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly teamed up was in Talladega Nights and that was two hours of my life I'll never get back, so I'm skeptical.

What movies are you most excited to see this summer?

Here Comes The Sun(burn)

I was born with a rare disease that only manifests itself in the summertime. It's a moderately severe condition, but I've learned to live with it and lead a relatively normal life, as the doctors say. Still, now that it's shorts and tank tops weather around here, I have to be on high alert at all times just in case I experience a flare-up.

This disease is known as solarprotectodumbassery. Itis. Solarprotectodumbasseritis. Or, in layman's terms, sunscreen retardation.

We're working hard on a cure.

I have a remarkable ability to forget entire parts of my body when putting on sunscreen. Last year, we went to the Jersey shore for vacation and one day I managed to forget to put sunscreen on my ENTIRE RIGHT ARM. (Because I was using my right hand to put sunscreen on the rest of me! And then forgot to switch hands.) Have you ever seen someone with a pasty white body and a lobster-red arm? Sexaaaaayyy.

Then, of course, there's the dreaded spot burn. This happens when you get pretty good coverage with the sunscreen but manage to miss a spot here and there, giving the overall effect of measles. Also quite attractive. Over the course of my life, I think I've been sunburned on every possible surface of my body except the naughty bits, and that's only because they never see the light of day. (Okay, they rarely see the light of day.)

My most recent sunburn is a result of the Braves game we attended on Sunday, when we got to see Tommy Glavine reclaim his rightful post on the Atlanta mound and Chipper Jones solidify his status as the most badass redneck in all of baseball. We were sitting in the sun for most of the game, and while I remembered to put sunscreen on my arms, I forgot about my upper chest, which the V-neck shirt I was wearing left completely exposed. That's why I look like this:

Ouch.

Arkansas? More Like Arkan-Pshaw.

Hey, that was pretty cool! The associate director of the environmental journalism program at Michigan State University left a comment on my last post! I fully intend to e-mail this guy and talk to him, so if you're reading this, David Poulson, expect a message from me shortly.

I love the social benefits of having a blog, but I never thought of it as a professional networking tool. Of course, it can't be exclusively that, because I do like to throw around the occasional cuss word every now and then. Right? Hell yes. Still, I'll take any help I can get in the career department at this point.

Anyway, my friend Jacob wrote yesterday about Find Your Spot, a website that asks you a bunch of questions about weather, cost of living, population size and stuff like that and then gives you a list of places that best fit your criteria. In light of our situation I checked it out, and it turns out the number one place for me in the United States is .... Little Rock, Arkansas? I've never been there so I really have no right to judge, but that seems wrong. I'm not sure how I'd feel about living in the same state that gave birth to Wal-Mart.

Portland, Oregon was number two, and while I've never been there either, I've heard it's one of the best places in the country to live, all things considered. I could maybe get down with Oregon. Incidentally, Jacob's been pressuring us to move there so he can convince his wife to move there too, then we can start a whole little colony of Georgians turned ... Oregonians. (Oregonites? Oregoners? Oregoonies? Ooh, I like that one.)

I have travel on the brain lately. Can you tell?

Anyway, we're headed to Georgia tomorrow for the FOURTH WEEKEND IN A ROW. Because gas is $3.50 a gallon and I'm made of money. Awesome.

You Could Try To Meet Me In St. Louis, But I Won't Be There

Wow, you guys are awesome. Seriously. I feel so much better after all your encouragement, especially since things are so unsettled around here lately. It’s cool to think that even though I could be living God-knows-where in a matter of weeks, my little online community will still be right here. It’s a comforting thought.

With that, I have a question for you: What comes to mind when you think of St. Louis, Missouri?

I think of arches, the Cardinals, and lots and lots of crime. And that’s about it. Which is why we’re probably not moving there.

The same company that laid me off has gotten wind that I’m willing to relocate, and it looks like they’re trying to lure me to a market that is more stable than Knoxville’s. I talked to a guy today who offered up St. Louis as an alternative and I told him I’d think about it, but after Mickey gave it a resounding thumbs down, I don’t think it’s the best idea. It’s okay; I don’t think I’d be happy in the Midwest anyway.

Meanwhile, I’m going back to work part time at the same job I had before the layoff. The Knoxville branch now (predictably) has too much work for the diminished staff to handle, but they still can’t afford to rehire me full time here, so I’m going in Wednesday afternoon and all day Thursday and Friday to help out. Maybe I’ll talk someone into offering me a position somewhere a teensy bit more exciting than St. Louis.

Job searching is in full swing around here. Mickey, after taking the axe for a needy coworker last week, has already found something else with the temp agency. (I knew he would, which was why I wasn’t upset with him for quitting the former job.) He wishes he could stay here and hang out with me all day, but someone’s gotta work around here. Besides, if he stayed home, I’d make him go through job hunting boot camp every day and that may have adverse effects on our relationship. I don’t think applying for at least three jobs every day is an unreasonable goal, but he’s a bit hard to motivate sometimes.

It’s weird to apply for a job in a place you’ve never been before. Since I found out I won’t be starting school in the fall, I’ve applied for positions in Chattanooga, Atlanta, Asheville, Chapel Hill, Virginia, D.C., Boston, Maryland, Denver, Boulder, San Diego, Seattle, San Francisco and Hawaii. (Notice how I skipped the Midwest entirely there.) Some of these places are familiar to me; others would send me into panic mode if someone there were actually interested in me. I’ve never been to Seattle, so what makes me think I’d like it there? Then again, it’s only for about a year, so why the hell not?

I’m scared, but it’s a good kind of scared. I’ve twice moved to cities where I didn’t know a soul, and while neither one are places I’d want to settle down, neither one is horrible either. Then again, both are within driving distance of my family in Atlanta, and when you always have the option of going home for the weekend, you don’t really feel that far away. It would be weird to have to get on a plane to go see my parents. But it’s also a great opportunity to live in a part of the country that is completely new to me.

Everything is so up in the air right now, I just don’t know what to expect. But at least I can cross St. Louis off my list.

I'm Back

Yeah, so it’s been a pretty quiet for a while here at Malfeasance. Thanks to those of you who left comments expressing concern or well wishes last week – they were much appreciated and sorely needed, because unfortunately all has not been well here.

My rejection letter from the doctoral program came a little over a week ago and I, um, did not handle it well. I had slowly begun to freak out a little over the past couple of months because no decision had been made about my application, but I knew my fate as soon as I saw the dreaded small envelope in my mailbox last Friday. The sound of my opening the letter and reading the classic “I am sorry to inform you …” may as well have been accompanied by the dulcet sounds of a toilet flushing, because that’s where my hopes, dreams, and entire plan for my future went at that exact moment.

Since then, my head has been a perfect storm of self-doubt, resentment, confusion, and crushing disappointment. Oh yeah, and we can also throw a healthy dose of fear in there because I have exactly nothing to hold me up right now, save for a sketchy freelance writing gig, and that’s just not going to cut it. There are not too many things in the world that can make me fall apart like that, but the idea that I’m not good enough to get something I really want is nothing short of terrifying to me, and I have just now reached the point where I can talk about it without getting choked up. I even faked a good mood during a weekend baseball game with friends, partly because I just wasn’t ready to talk about it and partly because a friend had just announced her pregnancy and I didn’t want to rain on her parade.

I had so many people at UT tell me I had nothing to worry about, that I am exactly the kind of person they want in the doctoral program, and I began to treat my admission like a foregone conclusion. My biggest mistake was not applying anywhere else – but then again, with encouragement like that flying at me, I didn’t think I had to. But apparently my research ambitions do not line up with those of the UT journalism faculty; in other words, I want to study environmental journalism, but no professors at UT currently study that. So if they had admitted me, they wouldn’t have known what to do with me. That makes sense, but it sure would have been nice if someone had warned me of that before I put all my eggs in this basket.

The hardest part has been figuring out what to do next. I won’t lie – when I saw that letter, my first instinct was to think I am not good enough, not smart enough, to get a Ph.D. But after talking with the professors who wrote my recommendation letters (all of whom used words like “abomination” and “outrage” when I told them of my rejection) have been incredibly helpful to my psyche and my wounded pride over the past week. They’ve helped me remember that I still really, really want this, and if I can’t pursue my dreams at UT, well, fine. I’ll do it somewhere else. Of course, the worst part is that I have to tread water for another year before I can even get started, and I’ve already waited so long. But no one ever said getting a doctorate would be easy, and if this is what I have to do, so be it.

Short of my family (and I include Mickey in that), the unequivocal most important thing in the entire world to me is having a career that challenges me, fulfills me, and makes at least a modicum of difference in this world. It’s not just a paycheck to me. So, at the risk of sounding like a fatalist, I’ve accepted that I’m just not meant to pursue this particular dream in Knoxville. Now that Mickey and I are both unemployed and UT is out of the picture, there is no reason for us to be here. So I have already applied for jobs all over the country to keep us housed and fed until fall 2009, when I am confident I will begin doctoral studies at the RIGHT school, wherever that may be. Stay tuned on that.

So. Over the past 10 days, I could have detailed for you the times I’ve spent crying, staring absently at the wall, and generally hating life, but I’m pretty sure no one wants to hear about that. So I took a blogging break. But now I’m past it, I’ve accepted it, and I’m moving on.

But enough about me. How have you been?