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Jan. 7th, 2002 01:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetI'm back from Philadelphia. We got in Thursday night, settled into the hotel (and, for a while, its hot tub), and slept. Friday was a fairly good day; as I needed to reduce my paper by a third, I did a bit of cutting but mainly tried to go to panels and see if I could find people I knew would be there from college or who were once graduate school colleagues now out in the world with "Professor" before their names. That latter proved not to be so successful, however, although I did have very brief run-ins with many of them -- but no "quality time." Ended the evening with tasty Burmese food.
Saturday was mainly spent working on paper editing. Some attempts to socialize with fellow classicists failed. Depression and disconnectedness began to settle in. Great difficulties and expense in printing my final version and accompanying handouts further ruined my mood. Some pleasantness intervened, as J. and I went out to dinner at a fine but not too expensive restaurant -- certain readers will perhaps be interested to know that it was called "Brigid" and prided itself on an extensive array of Belgian potables -- in the vicinity of the art museum, along with an old high school friend of J.'s. Though I enjoyed it, I could not entirely quell underlying disgruntlement from my lack of success at hanging out with my own old friends.
Sunday morning began with receiving, before breakfast, the hotel bill, containing a mighty overcharge, so there was never really any chance at all that I might be in an improved mood. On the elevator down to breakfast my antisocial aura rebuffed an acquaintance -- one of the younger grad students I don't know very well -- who was inquiring politely about the success of my paper editing. J. helpfully pointed out to me soon after the incongruity between my mopiness at not socializing with classical colleagues and my terse and conversation-killing replies to said acquaintance's questions. I hoped to find the woman later to apologize, but there was no opportunity.
After breakfast a practice read-through of the paper clocked in at about 5 minutes too long, so I tried to cut a few more things here and there, although J. thought the flow of the paper was clear and concise enough, and that perhaps no one would hate me too much for going over time, especially as I was last on the panel. After a disappointing and overly expensive lunch, things began to improve; I had brief and friendly run-ins with some people I had not yet seen, and a more extensive conversation with an old grad school colleague who had seemed rather aloof during an earlier encounter.
But the true end to my pointless mood came with the reading of the paper itself. Though disappointed a little that the only familiar faces in the audiences were my girlfriend and my advisor -- those that had not already left to catch a flight home were in their own paper sessions, unfortunately -- the papers before me were not uninteresting, and my own presentation was well received, the main problem being a dry mouth, thanks to decongestants and nerves. There were no hostile questions, and I was fairly confident in handling what questions there were; I could also see in my advisor's expression that I had done a good job, better than perhaps he expected. Afterwards a few strangers and well-published scholars on related topics congratulated me, and my glowersome mood was finally all gone, just in time for the 8-hour drive home through slush.
My advisor, who is also my boss, told me to take today off.
Hungry. Time for lunch.
Speaking of food, I had a silly dream Saturday night that was horrible at the time: various netgoth friends of mine were planning to commit suicide and have their bodies turned into sausage to help the war effort.
Saturday was mainly spent working on paper editing. Some attempts to socialize with fellow classicists failed. Depression and disconnectedness began to settle in. Great difficulties and expense in printing my final version and accompanying handouts further ruined my mood. Some pleasantness intervened, as J. and I went out to dinner at a fine but not too expensive restaurant -- certain readers will perhaps be interested to know that it was called "Brigid" and prided itself on an extensive array of Belgian potables -- in the vicinity of the art museum, along with an old high school friend of J.'s. Though I enjoyed it, I could not entirely quell underlying disgruntlement from my lack of success at hanging out with my own old friends.
Sunday morning began with receiving, before breakfast, the hotel bill, containing a mighty overcharge, so there was never really any chance at all that I might be in an improved mood. On the elevator down to breakfast my antisocial aura rebuffed an acquaintance -- one of the younger grad students I don't know very well -- who was inquiring politely about the success of my paper editing. J. helpfully pointed out to me soon after the incongruity between my mopiness at not socializing with classical colleagues and my terse and conversation-killing replies to said acquaintance's questions. I hoped to find the woman later to apologize, but there was no opportunity.
After breakfast a practice read-through of the paper clocked in at about 5 minutes too long, so I tried to cut a few more things here and there, although J. thought the flow of the paper was clear and concise enough, and that perhaps no one would hate me too much for going over time, especially as I was last on the panel. After a disappointing and overly expensive lunch, things began to improve; I had brief and friendly run-ins with some people I had not yet seen, and a more extensive conversation with an old grad school colleague who had seemed rather aloof during an earlier encounter.
But the true end to my pointless mood came with the reading of the paper itself. Though disappointed a little that the only familiar faces in the audiences were my girlfriend and my advisor -- those that had not already left to catch a flight home were in their own paper sessions, unfortunately -- the papers before me were not uninteresting, and my own presentation was well received, the main problem being a dry mouth, thanks to decongestants and nerves. There were no hostile questions, and I was fairly confident in handling what questions there were; I could also see in my advisor's expression that I had done a good job, better than perhaps he expected. Afterwards a few strangers and well-published scholars on related topics congratulated me, and my glowersome mood was finally all gone, just in time for the 8-hour drive home through slush.
My advisor, who is also my boss, told me to take today off.
Hungry. Time for lunch.
Speaking of food, I had a silly dream Saturday night that was horrible at the time: various netgoth friends of mine were planning to commit suicide and have their bodies turned into sausage to help the war effort.
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no subject
Date: 2002-01-07 11:35 am (UTC)What did I tell you?
I think the dream was a little influenced by that stupid kid who flew into the BoA building in Tampa with a cylindrical object. Had they broadcasted about the suicide note yet?
Glad the reading went well in spite of the anomie and the slush. This was a barbarian chicks paper, wasn't it?
no subject
Date: 2002-01-08 09:49 am (UTC)Yeah, barbarian chicks.