A few months ago, while thinking about where Tonya and I would be this summer, I wrote down a list of potential jobs that had nothing to do with the skill set I have been working on for the last 6 years (aka, the PhD). It looked something like this:
Dream List
1. Write book make millions.
2. Do other things make millions.
3 Be professor make millions?
So number three put me back where I am now, facing the fact that a doctorate can't even save you in this job market. And even if it does, you will still probably find yourself squarely in the middle of a yearly pay grade that many people with normal undergraduate college degrees spend on one car. Number two is valiant, but vague. Number one works, except for the "make millions" part. Unless we're talking millions of keystrokes, but even that would be pushing it.
So I refined number until it finally became the idea of writing a book with my siblings called "Five Takes." In it, we would each have a go at recounting our own version of a particular set of stories we tell whenever we get together. These stories usually center around something stupid and hilarious we did as kids. At least, that was the initial idea. There are plenty of other types of stories to tell. But I though we could start with the funny ones.
One story that comes to mind for me (because I am the central character) is the time that I erased the TV. Yep. Erased. The. T.V. So I thought I'd take a stab at the beginning of what I envision for the book... This particular chapter would consist of our five takes on the day I erased the T.V., perhaps with a preface from our parents. This is an initial shot, no editing or anything. So here goes, for my part.
Five Takes Chapter 1, Take 1.
The Day the T.V. Died
by Joe
I am a scientist.
Today, that statement is somewhat substantiated by training, and degrees, and the fact that someone pays me for it. When I was nine, that statement flowed from my inability to not experiment with things. I could say my compulsion to experiment, or my hobby of experimentation, but that would not do it justice. The only way to capture how I approached things when I was a kid is to state it as a double negative. You will soon see why.
I kept all of my experiment notes in a Transformers Trapper Keeper on wide-ruled note book paper. The formula for recording an experiment was always the same. First, I would write a question at the top of the page. Second, I would write down the tools I needed to answer the question. Third, I would record the time, date, and procedural details of each attempt to answer the question. For example:
Question: how do squirrels climb the oak tree so fast?
Tools: binoculars, net.
May 3rd, 1989, 2:47 PM.
I just watched the squirrels climb the tree chasing each other. One is missing a lot of its tail. They are fast, one is faster that the other. The one with a lot of its tail missing is faster.
May 4th, 1989, 3:20 PM.
I just tried to catch the squirrel with a lot of its tail missing. The net I have is not good enough.
May 8th, 1989, 10:18 AM.
I am going to ask Grandpa today why squirrels are so fast when they climb the oak tree.
And that is how many of my experiments ended. I would ask Grandpa. He usually knew the answer, or knew a better way for me to get at the answer. He was my scientific guru.
Every once in awhile I would get graphing paper from Grandpa, if I thought the experiment in question deserved extra attention and more flexible note-keeping space. One day, Grandpa gave me a stack of graphing paper and two beautiful electromagnets. He proceeded to shave the side of a screw with a metal file and then pick up the shavings with the magnet from what appeared to be a bazillion feet away. I was in awe. He told me to ask before I used them for anything, especially if it involved sharp metal, like nails or screws. And he told me not to use them on the cars. I nodded my head, barely hearing his words, lost in my next set of experiments.
I left Grandpa's garage and set about seeing which rocks would stick to the magnets...
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So I'm going to have to add to this later, but you get the point. I honestly want to get this thing off of the ground in the next year. And of course that means getting everyone together for a brain storming session. At the beach. It is a necessity.
By the way, I just saw a squirrel run up the magnolia tree in my front yard. They really are freakin' fast.
I hope everyone is well.
Peace,
Joe
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