Gramma is so effin silly

I have just returned from my third trip via Greyhound from Memphis to Knoxville and back. One takeaway from these trips is that some things never change. If you rode a school bus, then you'll know what I mean. The rowdy kids still sit in the back of the bus.

Remember that back in the day? Kids who thought they would be out of the bus driver's line of sight would flock to the back of the bus where they could fire saliva-laden notebook paper from straws, or mess with the drivers of passing vehicles.

Apparently old habits die hard. Regardless of age, the rowdier Hounders still head straight for the back of the bus, where they can more freely discuss drug abuse and parole dates, or simply overcompensate for being a Hounder in the first place.

Clearly, this company suffers from a brand image problem, for it seems that everyone using its services is in some way embarrassed by it. Often, people will be sure to let others know something like: "I always fly. I never take the bus, but this time once-in-a-lifetime event forced me on board."

So, I find myself sitting as close to the front as possible. Bulkhead (if you will) is my favorite spot. Right in front where it is less likely someone with a train conductor hat and few teeth will peer through the seats at my laptop and exclaim "Damn son! Them er some big words!" (see last post.)

But alas, sometimes being in the front doesn't ensure a quiet ride. One woman, bless her little heart, was two rows behind me and I knew from the start she'd be interesting. From the moment she sat down, she started in with "Damn! Somebody got some funk on this bus! Y'all need to brush your teeth or something! That's just disrespectful to come up here smelling like that."

I love that, by the way. The thought that one would chose to smell bad with the intent to offend. Turns out it was some man who clearly suffered from mental illness, but he's not the story.

The story is Rachel. She who immediately sat down cursing the foul odors of others. She got on the phone and (based on her rather vocal, profanity-laden, one-sided account of recent events) I learned that she was headed home to meet her boyfriend who was getting out of prison that day. She waited seven years for him, but feared that another girl was to rendezvous with him before she made it home.

So in this situation, who you gonna call? No, not ghostbusters, but gramma.

Rachel must have a great relationship with her grandmother, since after getting through the story of the possible unfaithful parolee, she calmed down considerably. In fact, just minutes in the conversion, Rachel exclaims "gramma, your so fuckin silly!"

Like I said, they clearly have a great relationship, because then she took a charming trip down memory lane.

"Gramma, you know what Johnny said to me the other day? He said, 'you remember that house your gramma had on 15th? I liked that house.' I said, 'you did? Why?' 'cuz our bed was in the kitchen!' And gramma, you remember when you got on me for having sex in the kitchen in the afternoon? That was so funny!"

At this point, you might be thinking I'm rude for eavesdropping. But Rachel is really loud by this time. In fact, she's so loud the guy next to me told her shut up because there were children on this bus. True. And well said.

So, last week I was amazed at what people tell each other while on the bus. This week, I am astonished by what someone will exclaim loudly in a public place while on the phone.

effin silly.

Kids these days

You can tell right away the people you want to avoid. Not because they look scary, or even potentially dangerous. Some Hounders just have that look that at any moment something crazy is going to come flying out of their mouths. If you are making eye contact when it does—BAM—you are sucked in to some lunatic conversation. For example, on this, the first leg of my trip from Knoxville to Nashville (en route to Memphis), I've learned that the worse part about being a freight train conductor was the drug testing (not the procedure, of course, rather the need to stay clean in order to operate a freight train), but for $38/hour, the short, middle-aged man with few teeth and (I kid you not) a little blue-and-white striped conductor's hat was very forthcoming in informing me.

Casey Jones here, like the guy who wanted to hook up with the pregnant nude model with STDs (see last post) wanted to be clear on two points: He can afford to fly but chooses to ride the bus THIS time, and he's got a lot going on “on the outside” (as in beyond the Hound).

Drug use is a popular theme on the ride to Nashville tonight. Marijuana helps one guy operate saws better in the mill (what could possibly go wrong there?), one woman would have finished her associates degree had it not been for all the heroine “back in the day.” And even the reverend (replete with neck tat) had his darkest hour with cocaine and various other experiments before seeing the light.

Those people are easy to spot. But the ones I don't mind talking to are harder to find. Likely because I'm guarded waiting for them to say something crazy too. The guy in the row next to mine was nice. He was on his way to Middle Tennessee State University as a Music Recording major. He was from Bartlett and had family meeting him at the bus station to take him to Murphressboro. I learned all that from him, but not whether he ever use elicit drugs, nor what his salary was. Nor whether he had venereal diseases.

So, there's one nice fella, at least. Though, I hate to label him as “normal” in this situation. I fear that I'm coming off as arrogant or superior to the other Hounders. I am, after all, right there in front of the freight train conductor and behind the tatted-up reverend. Our lives have taken us to the exact same place in time, as different as the roads have been. So forgive me if I get carried away in my own shock from the stories I hear. I am simply not accustomed to such discourse—particularly from people who have known each other all but 30 minutes or so. Isn't there usually some small talk people engage in that does not include illegal activity, on the job or otherwise?

I digress. Now I'm in the Nashville depot seems pretty quiet tonight. And it appears we are boarding for Memphis. I can't wait to see those sweet girls again—all three of em!

Life on the Hound. Vol 1

As I type, I am sitting in the Greyhound terminal in Nashville waiting to reboard the bus from Memphis to Knoxville. See, I live in Memphis and I attend the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. Back in December, when I applied to the Ph.D. program in Knoxville, it was looking as though my wife would get a job in Nashville sooner than later, making the commute to Knoxville a mere 2.5 hours Monday mornings and I'd return Wednesday evenings.

That was nine months ago. Now it's approaching midnight Sunday evening in a fairly busy Greyhound station. Soon I will arrive in Knoxville with 3.5 hours before my 9:00 a.m. class. But at least I'm "living the dream," right?

I was just about to write that the Greyhound station is pretty uneventful, and for the most part it is. Yes, it is a lower-income clientele than that of air travel, but bus travelers are just trying to get from A to B--just like me.

But before I could type that, very peculiar thing happened. A one-armed man just decided to borrow one outlet of the extension cord I'm using to power my laptop (on which I'm composing this post). The arm he does have, he chose to cover in a seemingly unconnected array of tattoos. He's looking down, so I try to get a look at the artwork, but it's not very clear what any of it means. I have just over an hour before I reboard, and I hope he disconnects from my extension cord before I have to engage in any form of communication with him.

This is my second Knoxville-by-bus adventure. The first trip went rather similarly to this point. Tons of fairly interesting, yet harmless, people trying to get places. Then, as I was standing in line to board the bus to Nashville, a guy took the opportunity of a captive audience to hit on the girl behind me. I couldn't see either of them, but the exchange was priceless. She was apparently stranded by her boyfriend and trying to get back home. She recently learned that her boyfriend had 57 partners, and contracted STDs which he passed to her while impregnating her.

I would imagine any self-respecting man in that position would offer some form of condolence while finding ANY means of escape, but not this pillar of judgement. He proceeds to tell her about his vacation home in Australia and that his current destination is somewhere in Pennsylvania where he is going to make exactly $56.72/hour.

She's not impressed and she makes $50+ hourly as well, in from of the camera! (That's not the way she described it, but you get the idea.)

And if you're wondering, he did get her phone number as they went their separate ways via the Hound.

It's pretty amazing what people are willing to tell others.

Two Days of Self-Discovery

Wednesday and Thursday (Aug 18 and 19) were the first days of classes at UT-K. I drove in hoping to get settled and learn my way around campus better. I am going to need to find a grocery store close to campus since I hate eating out (for financial and health reasons, though mostly financial as I've become a bit of a scrooge lately).

In short, I learned a few things about myself in the first days of class:

1. I love the academic setting: The buzz and excitement of the first day of class was pretty sweet.
2. My Ph.D. program is more about tenacity than intelligence: It's a notion I had all along, but it was affirmed when instructors kept telling us things like "it's okay to feel confused about some topics," and "it's a lot of work, but it's not that difficult," and my favorite "there is no reason to get less than 100% in this class." That's my kind of class.
3. I can teach: I never taught a day in my life before I stood in front of 23 UTK students Wednesday night and started blabbing out the public speaking course, our goals, and how stoked I was to be there.

I also learned that I have a lot of work to do to get through this semester. Not only to take three courses and teach one, but I have my own research to conduct (which I will likely end up wanting to spend the most time on, but in reality, I'll prep for my teaching course more than I should).

Either way, it's going to be an adventure.

Welcome to the four-year marathon

Welcome to the four-year marathon—my quest to earn a Ph.D despite the many obstacles in the way.

What kinds of obstacles, you might ask?

First, I live on the opposite side of the Tennessee, a whole 420 miles away in Memphis while attending the University of Tennessee-Knoxville. My wife and I are working to move closer (Nashville), but for now we are rather far from the school.

That's not so bad, but we have twin girls who just started Kindergarten. So I need to be home as often as possible to help with the girls and continue to get the house looking great for buyers.

And to add to it all, we are expecting another child! Add it all up, and I have no business attending UT-K in the foreseeable future, much less now.

But it's been a dream I've had for a long tome, and with hard work, it should put us in position to build a great life for our three children.

About this Blog

Despite the title, this Ph.D blog is not intended to be an academic repository, of sorts. I may entertain a few ideas I have for research, but the majority of posts will be accounts of my (mis)adventures as we attempt to hurdle the many obstacles facing us going forward in the next four years.

I hope you enjoy laughing at my expense.

~Guy