All in all, not a bad show ...

The conference is officially over. I managed to escape the closing reception after only two drinks and early enough to get a full night's sleep before heading out in the morning to fly back East.

Schmoozing went well. Met some potential collaborators who are interested in just the things the Petting Zoo is hoping to develop in months to come. And learned -- as I've been suspecting -- that the Great Problem of Our Time is social, cultural, and political rather than scientific. The Problem isn't a lack of information or understanding but a lack of credibility and trust.

Why? And what to do about it? Those are the questions we need to be asking ...

Also, Enviro Shark and I did have a chance to talk, and my suspicions about the tensions between Expanding Habitats and Survival in Captivity were not figments of my imagination. While I feared I was being paranoid, in fact I was spot on. But the good thing is that Enviro Shark now "gets" where I'm coming from, and I think we have a solid alliance that will prove useful in the weeks ahead as far as settling the tensions and moving forward.

All in all, a pretty decent conference experience. Wish I had more time to see the sights, as it is beautiful out here in the mountains, but I am looking forward to going home.

Godammit!

I was hoping to make it through an entire conference for once without anyone mentioning Foucault. But godammit, somebody had to go and do it yesterday! One more day to go ...

New Look

Not sure I like it, but design isn't really my greatest talent. I've been contemplating moving to Wordpress, but I'm too lazy and busy to deal with it right now, so I'm experimenting here a little. I wanted to preserve the theatrical theme (I still feel like I'm role playing) and color scheme. Don't be surprised if things change again

A Happy Marriage of ...

Pop culture and space science:

I can haz suitcase?

Is this not the cutest thing you ever saw? Poor Lucky missed me so much he jumped into my open suitcase as I was unpacking:

And wouldn't leave! As if, Stoopid Evillll Hooomin, I might can packed up clothez right aways and abandon teh poor kittehs more again!!!!!

At least somebody missed me :)

On Vacation

Been out of town since last Wednesday, in case any of you readers have been wondering why the posting has been light. Peaches and I took a rode trip to the Midwest. So far vacation has included swimming in one of the Great Lakes and lounging on a private beach, visiting with my aunt and uncle at their cottage nearby (in their late 70s but still fun to hang out and drink with), and dancing our asses off at a party in the forest with about 3,000 other people. At the moment, Peaches is still sleeping off the party which is why I've got time for a little blogging, but later we're going back to the beach. Heading back to DC tomorrow with maybe some pictures to post. Happy summertime!

Horoscope

I've got a lot to say in a more substantive post about what's it's like being on the other side of the hiring process, but I don't have time or energy for such a post today. I'll get around to it sooner or later.

In the meantime, totally awesome astrologer Rob Brezsny's reading of Sagittarius (my sign) this week might amuse some of you post-acs dealing with other people judging your career choices, both inside academe and out and among your friends and family who criticize you because they don't understand what in the world you are doing "throwing away" your fancy credentials and academic career:

Nineteenth-century Russian novelist Ivan Turgenev once called his fellow novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky a "pimple on the face of literature." But more than a hundred years after that crude dismissal, Dostoyevsky is a much more highly regarded and influential writer than Turgenev. Use this as inspiration, Sagittarius, if you have to deal with anyone's judgmental appraisals of you in the coming days. Their opinions will say more about them than about you. Refresh your understanding of the phenomenon of "projection," in which people superimpose their fantasies and delusions on realities they don't see clearly.

What's cuter than one fatass orange cat lounging on your couch?

Why, of course, TWO fatass orange cats lounging on your couch!

Lucky (left) and Hobart (right)

There's been a lot going on at work this week, as you might imagine from some previous posts, but nothing I really feel like blogging about. Nor is there any immediate post-academic griping I care to share.

The next "next" job, it seems, pretty much comes down to a a not unpleasant shifting of positions, so to speak:

There is also a next NEXT "next" job I've alluded to cagily before. Let's just say there were some interviews a few weeks ago, a phone interview before all the Think Tank shit hit the fan and an in-person interview right in the thick of it. They went well. References were checked. And now I'm waiting. I expect it'll be at least another week or two before I hear anything. I don't want to say too much about it until I know one way or the other, but if I were offered this position, it would mean leaving New Think Tank just as it is getting its feet off the ground, something I hadn't imagined would be happening when I originally applied. And it's exciting to be at the start of a new venture, even if it's one in which my role is primarily "support." Leaving wouldn't be entirely easy ...

But, if you've figured out what the whole Think Tank shitstorm was about, you might find it interesting in a truly ironic way to note that one of the people at the in-person interview was one of the lead authors of the IPCC 2007 report. The job isn't an academic one but would involve working with academics, both scientists and humanities and social sciences people. It would, likewise, be the start of a new venture, a new initiative essentially, albeit within an existing and well-established organization. And it would mean moving beyond a "support" role.

So, one way or the other, there's much to happen ahead, new ventures both here and there, wherever I end up. We'll have to wait and see.

For now, though, it's teh weeekendzzzz!! And I intend to spend a good part of it encamped peacefully wit teh kittehs ... peacefully, that is, until Hobart decides to bite Lucky on his fat ass, which he inevitably will do, and then Lucky will smack the shit out of Hobart, which he inevitably will do, and then there's a kerfluffle ... and then everybody settles down  ... until it starts all over again.

MeeeeeeeooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwEEEEEE!!!!!!!

Heh, no need to "deactivate" yer Facebook account if you never had one to begin with

Like, me, that is. But if you're addicted to FB and want a reason to quit, go read this piece in the New Yorker. I have no doubt I've lost a few "friends" by refusing to join in the first place -- all those people I used to communicate with by email or phone who just quit doing those things once they got on FB and cut off "friends" like me who refused to join. Heh, at least I know who my real friends are, albeit if I have fewer than I once thought I did ...

Funny

After reading about A Post-Academic in NYC's recent encounters with the dean at the place that could suck her like a giant vacuum back into academe, I was reminded of a certain undergrad prof I had who HATED university administrators with a vengeance. How did ze deal with these negative feelings without getting fired? Ze had pet snakes. The snakes ate live mice. Undergrad Prof named these mice before putting them into the snakes' cages ... after university administrators.

Nice, huh? Sorry about the light posting lately. I suppose I could just post random shit. Sometimes I do that anyway! But ... well, just stay tuned. Hopefully, the number of things I both want to blog about and can blog about will get back to normal soon.

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Who Said Crickets Were Boring?

Where is everybody? I'm not the only one whose posting has been light lately ...

At least he crickets have something to say:

Grammar Gripes: Cut "That" Out

"That" is one of the more overused words in the English language. Consider the following:

You cannot expect that you will overcome the obstacles that impede post-academic success if you constantly revert to the same limited perspective that you developed while in academe that prevents you from seeing that the nonacademic world offers many opportunities that you only need to discover in order to take advantage of.

Gah!! If "that" monstrosity didn't give you a headache, you've definitely spent too much time in academe. Try this instead:

You cannot expect you will overcome the obstacles impeding post-academic success if you constantly revert to the same limited perspective you developed while in academe. It prevents you from seeing the many opportunities awaiting your discovery in the nonacademic world.

Still cumbersome but note how much smoother it reads when you cut "that" out. Of course, I came up with this example because I'm as guilty as anyone else of cluttering my prose with "that." Sometimes you do need the word, but once you start paying attention, you'll find plenty of "that" to delete. 

Just for kicks, let's look at another example, inspired by the only grammar book to die for:

Ezmerelda felt keenly that the vagabond libertine that she had unwittingly kissed last night had deceived her by whispering that he was a gentleman in disguise so that he could seduce her unwilling heart and ravish the objections that she could not help, ultimately, but relinquish.

Gah!!!! "That" just takes out all the romance. Try this instead:

Ezmerelda felt keenly the vagabond libertine she had unwittingly kissed last night had deceived her by whispering he was a gentleman in disguise, seducing her unwilling heart and ravishing the objections she could not help, ultimately, but relinquish.

Or, for those of you needing "real world" examples:

The Court held that the defendant was entitled to a charge that instructed jurors to find him guilty of the lesser included offense only if they found that he had not stolen the victim’s purse.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr ... instead:

The Court held the defendant was entitled to a charge instructing jurors to find him guilty of the lesser included offense only if they found he had not stolen the victim’s purse. (Via)

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Stuff Fluffy Ate

The following are the most common surgically removed items from dogs and cats:

1. Socks
2. Underwear
3. Pantyhose
4. Rocks
5. Balls
6. Chew toys
7. Corncobs
8. Bones
9. Hair ties / ribbons
10. Sticks

(And no, don't ask me how and why I know this ...)

Sunset of a Thousand Sunsets

Isn't that poetic? That's how Peaches put it. He has a much less foul mouth than I have -- Saturday's adventures with the Great Cactus, that is:

But pictures do it no more justice than words. And it's Monday again, anyway.

Back to work ...

HOLY JEEEEEZUS !! MOTHERFUCKEN FUCKE!!!

Hell, yeah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Happy Easter, CPP, and all the rest of you crazy bastards out there! Happy Easter, Passover, and whatever other crazy fucken spring festivals you may be celebrating this weekend!

This and That

Sorry I haven't been posting much lately. The weather is beautiful here, always a distraction, and there's this and that to do at work. But I figured I owed you something since it's been a week now. A little something is better than nothing, eh?

One of the recurrent themes on these post-academic blogs of ours is the fabulousness of having weekends you can actually enjoy. Of course, you should never disrupt that fabulousness by trying to take your cat out on a leash:

If my cat had been like the one in the cartoon, all would have been well because I would have given up and taken him in. But Hobart, the Evil Bastard, was more like this one:

And, once outside, he got himself out of the leash in less than a minute. I won't bore you with the details of how that afternoon went, but, suffice it to say, there are a lot of cats in my neighborhood, a few look like the Evil Bastard from a distance, and I spent a good half hour chasing the WRONG CAT. Oh, you have no idea! Truly, I was herding cats -- and that's no metaphor!!

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On a more serious note, the blog has been getting a lot of hits lately from people searching the phrase "adjunct quit mid semester" or some variation on it. If you're here because you want to quit adjuncting and you want to know if quitting mid semester is the right thing to do, see my post on the subject here, if you haven't been there already. The bottom line is that if you have another job waiting and you know you aren't ever going to adjunct again once you get out, then take that ticket the hell away and never look back. Trust me, your department will have your classes staffed with another adjunct in less than a week.

Peace out, for now.

Through the Looking Glass

Blogging, we commonly presume, carries with it a veracity similar to autobiography. Whether bloggers use real names, totally anonymous pseudonyms, or pseudonyms openly linked to real people, we attribute a subjective truth, at the very least, to the lives bloggers appear to represent.

Why is this? A persona is not a person, no matter how much or how little correlation exists, or that readers think exists.

At least with other kinds of writing, we respect distinctions: An autobiography is not the same as an autobiographical novel, which is not the same as a "regular" novel merely informed by the author's experiences. Nor, again, is a "regular" novel the same as an epistolary novel, with its deliberate gesture towards "real" people telling a "real" story through "their own" writings.

But we assume blogs are like diaries. Whether we know the authors as real people, think we know them, or have utterly no idea who they are, we read each entry believing its contents more like autobiography than fiction.  Yet, it is a persona, not a person, that speaks to us, a digital construction of an identity that develops and evolves with each new post.

Some graduate student has probably already written a dissertation entitled Blogging, Baudrillard, and Barthes: Authorial Simulacra and the Creation of Hyperreal Identities in Online Communities.

Barf. Don't worry. I won't take that any further. But, just as a thought experiment, consider the following:

What if you were to find out that "recent Ph.D." didn't have a Ph.D., didn't work at a think tank or as a secretary, and had never even gone to graduate school? What if "After Academe" were a work of fiction, invented by a stay-at-home mom who had once entertained aspirations of going to graduate school and becoming a professor and wanted to explore the "road not taken" as a means of finding consolation for her choices? She had considered writing a novel but found the immediacy and flexibility of blogging more appealing. Her husband has an important position at a think tank, and she sometimes helps out with administrative tasks.

What if you were to find out "recent Ph.D." was actually a tenured professor who, while always advising his undergraduates NOT to go to graduate school, saw his graduate students year after year -- many of them very talented and committed -- trying and failing repeatedly to get jobs, lingering on in the department as adjuncts? What if he felt terrible about this situation but couldn't speak openly about reforming the department, despite tenure, without being ostracized by other faculty and administrators? What if graduate students wouldn't listen when he told them to walk away because, for them, his position undermined his ethos, making them feel as if he simply thought they weren't good enough, a feeling that only reinforced their determination to prove him wrong? What if "After Academe" were a work of creative nonfiction this professor hoped would convince graduate students and other recent Ph.D.s, whom he could not otherwise reach, that they had other options? What if a former graduate student of his was now working at a think tank?


Of course, you can believe whatever you want to believe, but sometimes readers do raise questions about the real identity of "recent Ph.D." My answer is this: I am as "real" as you want me to be. And the "book" you ask about ... why would you treat it any differently than the blog? If I wrote a book, it would have to fit in a genre: autobiography, creative nonfiction, novel. I'd be an "author" and I'd "die" when you read my "text." Blogging is its own genre, but it can freely incorporate any number of others. And since a blog only ever is, as a text, incomplete, the author/persona retains an active role, disembodied but not dead.

What if "recent Ph.D." is just a highly imaginative, clever, and creative undergraduate, contemplating graduate school but discouraged by what ze has heard? Ze would be just as happy, happier even, if ze could become a famous writer, inventing new literary forms, reaching wider audiences, cultivating "art for art's sake," but for now, ze finds hirself interning at a think tank, bored and overdosing on critical theory.

Won't you follow me through the looking glass? How much of me is you and vice versa?

Via

Aarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggghh!

Just look at this:

Isn't he just the cutest? Ha! Don't be fooled!! Look at those demonic eyes. He's an evil bastard, I tell you. As Peaches was leaving for work this morning and I was just about to, SOMEBODY decided he had spring fever and made a mad dash for the door. Then this same SOMEBODY climbed the neighbors' 8 foot fence, dug holes in the garden, tried to down the bird feeder, and hissed at the neighbors' kitty watching enviously from the window. (Ironically, the neighbors put this fence up in the first place to keep the feral cats ... from digging holes in their garden and stalking the birds.)

Neither Peaches nor I could get in the yard to bring him back because there's a lock on the 8 foot tall gate and nobody was home. Eventually, the Evil Bastard wearied of the yard, dug his way out from under the fence, and bolted across the alley. Coaxing, treats, and catnip were all to no avail.

An hour went by. The Evil Bastard sang to the birds, ate grass, knocked over a trash can, scuffled with one of the ferals, and kept a minimum of 30 feet between himself and anything human.

What finally got him in?

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmeow!!!

For the Love of Words

No wonder so many nonacademic employers view post-academics with distrust when it comes to writing. Even though academics produce a lot of prose, they tend to bloat it with static verbs and meaningless filler. How else do you get a sentence like the following from a scholarly article about a novel:

Many _______________ argue, then, that it is not so much the difference between ________ and _________ that is at fault in our _____________, as the way in which that difference has been used as a justification for __________________________.

You and I have both read much, MUCH worse (remember the academic sentence generator from this old post?), but this sentence reads like a template. I left out identifying words, but you could fill in almost anything in those blanks and plunk it down in the literature review in your article.

ZzzzzZZZZzzzzzzZZZzz. How boring! I'm asleep already and there are another thirty pages to go. In case you are wondering, I'm reading the article to catch up on where the "field" is at before writing the paper for that stupid conference I'm supposed to present at next month. (Note: I have NOT reserved a hotel room or booked a flight yet. What does that tell you?)

Really, I am still engaged with the subject of my paper and have read a handful of sources that have kept my attention. Nonetheless, I cannot escape bad academic writing. It abounds. It makes me embarrassed for my discipline. True, we taught something resembling templates in the freshman comp classes at Grad U to help students understand the rhetorical moves writers and speakers make, but the goal, after they'd practiced using the templates, was to have them make those same rhetorical moves in their own ways, to speak in their own voices.

It may have gone out of fashion in academe, but I still believe you cannot separate content from form. We are what we eat. You are what you speak.

I hope those of us who've had the clarity of mind to leave academe will also leave our bad habits behind. Outside academe, if you can write about complex things in clear and concise language, without reductively treating your subject yet without wasting words, you can call yourself a writer, people will respect you, and they will read what you write. Inside academe, unfortunately, everybody is a "writer," whether anyone reads what you write or not, and if you can obscure simplicity in arcane and turgid language, muddling your subject and bloating your sentences, then you can call yourself not only a writer but a scholar, too!

Haha. Ahem. Hmmmmph.

I love words. Have I mentioned that before? Not everyone in  academe does, especially literature people. Some of them hate words. Don't ask me what they're doing in academe. In some cases, it's their only opportunity to posture at being hipster intellectuals, carrying around heavy books, wearing black, drinking too much, chain smoking, looking down on everything and everyone. Or, at the opposite end, you have the frumpy dumpies. The ones who forget their glasses in the freezer and wear mismatched socks. They NEED something obscure to hide behind. Or be buried under.

*     *     *     *     *

But I love nekkid words, my peoplz, sexxxy and unruly words!!! I love words that misbehave with grace, words that tumble like Olympic gymnasts, flip and twirl and cartwheel and balance perfectly, even upside down.

I love free and easy words dancing beneath my fingers, appearing on my screen and yours all at once!

(That's where you're supposed to say "Awwwwwwwww, we love you, too, recent Ph.D.!")

Happy Valentine's Day, friends! Here's some luuuuuv art from the streets of Crapitol City:

WTF Has Graduate School Come To?

Literally, just as I was about to begin a post about the "band camp" adventure I am about to embark upon this weekend (you'll have to wait for that!), Random Guy wanders purposefully into the office here at Think Tank and, without saying hello or introducing himself or anything, walks over to our wall of publications and starts looking through them.

Me: "Excuse me. Hi there. Can we help you with something?"

Random Guy: "This is Think Tank, isn't it? I am doing some research and someone told me you had some publications that would be useful."

Me, looking over at Coworker with mild puzzlement, "Yes, this is Think Tank. What is the subject of your research? Perhaps we can help you find what you're looking for."

Random Guy: "I'm a master's student, and I'm writing a paper for a graduate course I'm taking on Policy X. Somebody told me you guys had done some work on Policy X."

To myself, I am wondering if Random Guy has tried the library yet. Or, if that's too much trouble, a simple Google search? A Google search of Policy X would have brought up Think Tank pieces, as would, more directly, a search of Think Tank's very own website. I stifle something resembling a laugh and clear my throat.

Random Guy, rifling through our materials, clearly not finding what he's looking for: "Did you say something?"

Me: "Excuse me ... I don't think we have any of our publications on Policy X out on the shelves at this time. Have you been to our website?"

Coworker: "You know, we do more work on Policy Y at this office, which is why there's nothing on Policy X on the shelves, but recent Ph.D. is right. If you go to our website and search Policy X, you'll find a number of publications that will be of interest."

Random Guy, scribbling furiously on a notepad: "OK, thanks. Where do I find your website?"

Me, stifling something caught in my throat again, something large: "Ahhhem, you'll find us at www.ThinkTank.org."

Random Guy: "Oh, OK. Thanks. Are there any particular publications you recommend? Or authors?"

At this point, I remain polite but do not even try to disguise my mystification at Random Guy's approach to graduate level "research." What, am I supposed to do it for him?

Me: "Well, there's Supreme Expert on Policy X. He's done some work for Think Tank. You'll find his work on our site, but he also has his own site with more materials on Policy X, which you can find if you Google his name."

Random Guy stops scribbling and looks at me blankly.

Me, spelling it out for him: "That is, his name is spelled S U P R E M E   E X P E R T   O N  P O L I C Y  X."

Random Guy scribbles that down and then asks: "Do you have any general information about Think Tank? Any pamphlets that describe what you do?"

Me, picking up one such item from the shelf right in front of Random Guy: "Yes, here you are. This tells all about Think Tank and the work we do, and there's more information on our website, too."

Random Guy, heading for the door: "Thanks ... "

Me: "Good luck with your paper!"

*     *     *     *     *

Was Random Guy actually a graduate student? I hope not. Given our proximity to street traffic, neighborhood oddballs, and the occasional policy nutjob who wanders in, Random Guy's clueless strangeness is far from the strangest behavior I've witnessed from a visitor. That prize goes to Barefoot Mumbling Guy, who was convinced the baristas at Starbucks down the block wanted to give him AIDS and wanted to use our phone to let his brother know. (You betcha that warranted some Lysol!) And, likewise, people that know who we are will sometimes stop by to say hello and tell us they think we're doing a good job. Sometimes they ask for publications, too, usually more general things we always keep around.

*     *     *     *     *

So, yes, I really do hope Random Guy was just some random guy who wanted to know more about Policy X, had heard something about Think Tank, and simply wasn't that educated or otherwise familiar with ordinary research methods but thought we'd respect him more if he said he was "doing graduate research." Because ... really? You know as well as I do that graduate school isn't a meritocracy anymore, not anymore than academe itself, but we would like to believe there are at least SOME standards, no?

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