My dissertation defense date is almost official:  I am just waiting for two more professors from my committee to log into the website and confirm they will attend.  I swear to dog, dealing with my committee is the most ridiculously annoying thing about the whole effing project.

I have an “outside member” (dirty!) whose job is mainly to make sure the school isn’t handing out doctorates willy-nilly, and who sits on the committee but doesn’t work very closely with me throughout.  Although he requested not to see the dissertation until it’s complete, I did make sure to copy him on all of the planning, scheduling, and logistics emails as it is absolutely necessary that he attend the actual defense.  We have had one date and one date only in mind throughout the whole thing, and just as I sent out the email stating that I was entering the scheduling module online, he finally piped up to complain that the chosen day was his busiest of the week and sweet sassy molassy but he didn’t have a spare minute between eight and five, the pobrecito.  Well, too bad, sucka, I guess we will just do it at five then.

On the plus side, this should ensure that everyone will be tired as it will be the end of the day, and thus they will hopefully not feel like sticking around after my talk to pepper me with difficult questions, like did I actually do any research or why I think anyone in the known universe would be likely to care about my little project or who the hell do I think I am.  That kind of thing.  Hopefully, it’ll be a quick talk, some quick questions, get in, get out, get a round of shots.

In other committee-related crap, I had also picked out a draft deadline before leaving Zembla — a date by which I would have a complete manuscript in the hands of each committee member for their perusal.  Although the grad school suggests this be done three weeks before the defense, we had decided on doing it six weeks before the (then still hypothetical) defense date, just to make sure everyone had adequate time to read through and give me the go-ahead on setting the defense date officially.  After all, no one wants to walk into that room to face a committee that has decided, upon reading the manuscript, that it is just not done yet. Surprise, you don’t graduate! Oh, oh no.  Shudder.

So the six-weeks-ahead draft deadline was supposed to eliminate any problems, but when it came time to set the date officially, had any of those people read the thing yet?  No.  And of course this is my fault, not theirs, as I surmised from certain emails that were sent to me using words like “frankly.”  Do not “frankly” me, people, oh no.  DO NOT “frankly” me, because frankly I think I have given you more than adequate time to read the manuscript and frankly it is not my fault that you put it off until the last minute. Frankly.

Whew, I feel better now.

Anyway, I can finally start looking for a plane ticket back to Zembla for the defense.  That should be fun — I get to see my Zemblan people again and wear a coat again and get a blessed break from the sight of khaki and Polo shirts and Topsiders and protestants.

Tomorrow is another day of teaching: it’s Chaucer these days.  I must strive to be more like the pilgrim who gladly wolde learn and gladly teche, even though of late I am more inclined to model myself on the guy who went around with his iren hoot, other people in the ers for to smoot.