It's true--I DO rock...

So life has been interesting as of late. I realized that I rock and should be treated accordingly--by everyone, from my thesis committee to the Pope. That's right--I rock so very much that the Pope himself needs to acknowledge the rockdom. And since I've already convinced my committee of my extreme ROCKING-self, it's on to the Pope and then THE WORLD!! Muahahhahaahaha.

Wait, you say, Tommi managed to convince her thesis committee that she rocks? Why that means that she... did she... why I think she must have... passed her defense!! Should I seem to be blasé about the whole ordeal now it's because it happened a few moons ago. And by moons, I mean blue ones. And by blue ones I mean, why yes, beer. In all seriousness, I defended on Monday at high noon, took 12 paces and blew them away with my extreme wit and intelligence. I haven't blogged before now because I kind of forgot... It's cool, though. You're getting it now. Get off my back already. Geesh. So back to the defense. Noon. I go into the conference room with all my little notes and my beautiful, beautiful thesis *sigh* Gregg soon walks in and he is *ohmigod face* without front teeth. Yes, the beautiful, wonderful, glorious, intelligent super nerd-hot professor that I adore was missing quite a few teeth. As much as I'd love to attribute his new dental work to his lovely wife, he was in the process of getting work done. I wish I'd taken my camera... *sigh* So, I was quite a bit distracted by the lack of teeth at my defense. Will was... well Will. I'd just celebrated his birthday with him the Friday before and I know he adores me and my oh-so-bitch-why-you-steppin' careless attitude. But I also knew that Will wanted to make me sweat. I was ready for his challenge. I'd doubly applied the Secret that morning. Finally Deena came in. Good ole reliable Deena... *crickets* (So long story short, Deena never once commented on my thesis prior to the defense. In fact, I may very well be the only person in the history of master theses to not have her/his director provide any useful information for revision prior to defense...) I thanked them for the work, I called on the name of Gay, and expressed my teetering-on-obsession love for Gordimer and then defense time. Will rolled up his sleeves, cracked his knuckles and smiled out of the corner of his mouth.

"You state in your first chapter that there is currently not a feminism around that is capable of addressing Gordimer's work as being "feminist" writing. You then proceed to explain that a new feminism needs to be created in order to understand Gordimer's female characters. What are the components of this "new" feminism you propose and what makes it better than any of the other feminisms already in existence?" He leaned back in seat, raised his eyebrow, and the challenge was on.

I attacked the question like a starving dog on a meaty bone. Thinking to myself all the while "you're going to have to do better than this, Will." It was my turn to raise my eyebrow and flash the one-sided "bring it on" grin I'm ever so famous for, from academic circles to the ghetto streets of downtown.

For the next hour, I artfully articulated my thesis as well as the outlined the book I'd like to do on Gordimer. I did splendidly well. They sent me out. Conferred. Brought me back in and hugs all around. That's right. I got a hug from Deena. He attributes his lack of commenting to my general amazingness. I can live with that.

But my story does not end there. How else could Tommi possibly rock, you ask? Well, let me tell you. I get hooded tomorrow. My title officially becomes Master Powell... Yeah, I know... It just doesn't have the right ring to it. But it does mean that my signature to all my emails and letters can change to
Tommi E. Powell, M.A

Which, you have to admit, rocks.

To top this list of reasons why I rock, my birthday is COMING!!! On May 12th the world shall celebrate la naissance de Tommi.

And then... sadness...
We're leaving.
All of us.
To different places.
It's sad.