Caolionn O'Connell

Death by Paper Cuts.

Things I am supposed to have already done, but, well, I didn't know I was supposed to do them:

• Apply for a conferral of degree. Deadline: April 10th. Yep, that came and went without showing up on my radar.
• Be registered for the quarter in which the degree will be conferred. I am defending between two quarters, so I figured it was close enough spring quarter. I was wrong.
• I need to find a professor who does not have appointments from SLAC, Applied Physics or Physics to be the chair of my oral defense. Not surprisingly, if you are not a professors in one of those three areas, I have found that you tend not to be too interested in being a chair for a defense on plasma wake field accelerators. A chair still not found and I defend in 8 days.

Chances are there are quite a few other things I have done, but I just haven't found out about them yet. I think getting the experimental data is easier than wading through all this graduation bureaucracy crap.

The Devil went Down to Georgia

Number of times this weekend I have been asked when Sam and I are getting married: 1512.

I actually lost count at about 50, but I think the order of magnitude might be reasonable. Weddings seem to remove any pretense of privacy on this matter. The first 20 times, it was funny, thereafter I began to wonder if I am really that much of a freak that marriage isn't high on my list of things to do. My absolute favorite is the pity reaction when I say Sam and I have no plans for marriage anytime soon. The usual run-down: "Awww, Dahling. Just give it time ... he'll come around" followed by the pat on the shoulder. Then I have to explain that this is something we both want, but they don't believe me. One person even told me to stop waiting around for a ring and just ask Sam myself. Come on, people, is it really so hard to believe that a 27-year-old woman doesn't want to be hitched?! We found jobs in the same city, we are moving in together – isn't that enough commitment for you? Does a ring change anything? What more could you possibly want from us? Maybe they're all just looking for the next party...

The wise man: Homer Simpson

As a self-described TV addict, I saw this in a bar in Atlanta and I just had to take a picture. Clearly, subtlety and use of my camera parted ways long ago.

I wasn't allowed to watch TV growing-up, as my parents thought I should be focusing on something called my "future," which always took the form of homework. I tried the line of reasoning with my dad that TV was, in fact, educational. But he saw through my bulls**t and knew if I got the privilege, PBS would be the last channel I watched. Although their plans worked fairly well (my homework was always done), I am now a TV junkie. Reality shows, drama, teen angst shows – I watch them all. I tend to wonder if I was allowed to watch TV earlier in life would I be so obsessed with it now. Who knows? But now that my schedule has now been freed-up with all the season finales, I can focus on my future again and finish that thesis.

Living on the cheap.

After getting the job, we next needed to find an apartment. Sam reconnoitered down south to find us a place, the location of which has been an excellent source for arguments of late. Me in one corner advocating for a cool neighborhood with restaurants, bars, etc. like Los Feliz or Silverlake. Him in the other corner, playing the eco-friendly card, saying we should live close enough to walk or bike to Caltech. Sam, unlike me, does not seem to mind living in a neighborhood where the mean age is 70. I fought valiantly, but I lost the war.

So, alas, Sam went to Pasadena to find us a new home. I liked the idea of him house-hunting alone for several reasons:

1.) I didn't want to deal with it.
2.) I am writing my thesis.
3.) If I didn't like it when I moved in, I could blame Sam entirely.

A new home has been found and papers have been signed. Even better, I will soon be paying less rent than I am paying now. I am shocked to discover that rent in southern California is a hell of a lot cheaper than the rent in northern California. Even better still, look at the difference:

BEFORE (Menlo Park) AFTER (Pasadena)

With cheaper rent and an awesome kitchen, maybe Pasadena won't be so bad, after all.

And it begins.

So it just sort of sunk in. June 8th is really not that far away. Yes, it should have been obvious. Yes, I do own a calendar, but it didn't really resonate. Now it just sort of hit me. I started feeling a little bit queasy, I have begun biting my nails (a truly disgusting habit) and my stress eating has gone through the roof (perhaps we can start taking bets on how much weight one person can gain in 2 weeks). But I have so little time. And yes, queasy or not my tummy always has room for candy. Then there is a wedding I am going to this weekend. POOF and four days gone right there. Is it inappropriate to bring a computer to church? That would be wrong, right? But I have so little time.

So. Little. Time.

I am feeling queasy again.

#9

I have been living in the same apartment for three years now. I like the apartment well enough, but my favorite part about living there is my neighbor, #9. When I first moved in, #9 was mean. I went to introduce myself and he said, "Yeah, I've seen you, but you students pass through so often I don't bother getting to know you any more." He really was the prototypical crotchety old man and everything I did seemed to irritate him further. I tried being over-the-top nice, but he was having no part of this thing called "neighborly kindness." It became a mission of mine to finally muster a smile from him. It took time, but I finally won him over and all it took was Germany. #9 had fled Germany just before WWII when he was around 13-years-old, but he is still very much in love with his homeland and is heart-broken that he is now too old to return. Last year, I asked #9 to keep an eye on my place because I would be going to Germany and the ice melted. He lit up telling me all the towns I should visit, which of his friends to meet and what I should buy. In that instant, I went from being a thorn in his side to among the few in the building he would actually say hello to.

I talked to him this morning and he asked how my thesis was coming along. I told him I would be defending in only a couple weeks and he gave me a hearty mazel tov. In preparation, he offered a couple pieces of advice (he is also a Ph.D.) that I liked:

1.) You are the expert on the topic. Don't worry, nobody knows more on your topic than you do and chances are nobody really cares as much either.

2.) Don't drink before your presentation. Apparently, a friend of his decided a little nip of bourbon would calm his nerves. After the first nip, he liked it so much he drank the whole bottle and they had to reschedule.

Words to live by, I think. Should you be looking for a little physics career advice yourself, you can check out the QD Career Blog.

Vegas, Baby!

I love Las Vegas. The whole town is devoted to vice and excess. And, really, any town where you can be married by an Elvis impersonator totally rocks my world – a sort of Disneyland for adults. By day, the town is filled with tourists in jean shorts and sneakers milling about with a camera in one hand and alcohol in the other. By night, the clubs are filled with women in tiny mini-skirts and boobs so big, I'm a little surprised they don't topple over by the sheer weight of them.

I was in Vegas for a bachelorette party. Eleven ladies devoting a weekend to drinking, dancing and dining. But as the saying goes – what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. No regrets ... except, maybe, for dancing until 4 am in 4-inch stilettos (so cute, they were almost worth any amount of pain, just not this much).

A Bad Joke.

Like good physicists, the conversation deteriorated into sharing bad physics jokes on the night of the banquet. Normally I would take this opportunity to mock my peers, but I really love a good bad physics joke. The cheesier the better. I have one particular joke I always bring out for such occasions. It is so good, I really try to use it sparingly, but it is just too good to be kept to myself. So to assist those of you who might be stuck in a room of 1300 physicists – tell this joke and it is a guaranteed winner (well, it was a winner to the five physicists close enough to hear me, which I thought was a significant enough sampling).

Clever and witty joke teller: "What is the integral of 1/cabin d(cabin)?" (say this out-loud and it will make more sense.)

Physicist who thought they were clever and witty: "How cute! You get a log(cabin)."

Even cleverer and wittier joke teller: "No, you silly goose! It is a beach house you forgot to add the C (sea)!"

I question if there is a better bad physics joke (for God's sake, it is funny on multiple levels!) and I dare you to share your finest.

Bring it.

Revenge is mine.

My favorite part of any conference: the women's bathroom. Most of the physics buildings I have ever worked in were built in the 1960s or earlier. This was a time when women in physics were a rarity (even more so than at present) and, therefore, didn't need as many bathrooms. Clearly, these buildings were not constructed with long term planning in mind or they just had really low expectations for our success rate. Unfortunately, it now means the women's bathroom is always full at work and I always have to wait. I am being slightly whiny here, but let's see how happy you would be after hitting all three women's bathrooms in your building (only one stall in each) and find them all full. Now combine my work situation with the fact that at every concert, sports game and play I attend, I will once again have to wait in line. You can start to see how girl might get a little pissy (pun intended, so shoot me).

With that in mind, the conference had 1300 attendees and I think it is safe to say the vast majority of them were men. For the only time in my life, this means the women's bathroom is completely empty. No lines, no waiting, just rows and rows of empty stalls. Life even hands me a cherry on top and makes the men wait because their bathrooms are so crowded. I feel it is sweet revenge for every time I've had to wait at work or in a ball park and, damn it, it feels good. Finally, the scales are tipped in my gender's direction ... it's a bummer it is only temporary.

Southern Charms

I'll admit it, I flaked. Here were my options: sit through day full of lectures I wasn't particularly interested in or go and explore a part of the country I don't visit often. If you are an individual who would opt for the former, you are a more dedicated physicist than I.

Being that I am unable to identify any state in this region, I went for door number two. Since I found an equally willing slacker in my coworker, we rented a car and took to the road.




First Stop: A tour of the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina and soon thereafter we took up residence in their wine tasting room. They boasted being the most visited winery in the country, but it seemed like a lofty claim to us. However, we were willing to play along because they gave us free wine.

Second Stop: A tour through the Smoky Mountains National Park. I did not realize that the Smoky Mountains are named for the perpetual haze that seems to plague the area (at least, this is what someone told me and I am gullible, so I believe it). Strangely, the place smelled like s'mores. I am not sure if I was just really hungry or if actually smelled like s'mores, but I would kill right now for some marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers.

Final Stop: Dollywood. For nothing more than pictures and kitsch value. Not disappointing, I assure you. Could Dolly Parton ever disappoint?








And finally. My favorite:

Move over Virginia, you ain't the only one for lovers. Tennessee is looking for a little action too.