Squeaky, the cow-herding pig, to be precise.
I've been asked to attend three hourlong presentations by candidates for a VC of research position. Yes, I know. My heart sank when I received the news, but I dutifully trudged off to the first one this week, and actually managed to a) pay attention and b) stay awake -- which was more than quite a few of our faculty were capable of doing.
Note to dozing faculty: the auditorium is small. The presenter can SEE YOU. Also, you have just forfeited your right to get pissy about students sleeping during your lecture. Seriously, people. I cannot help you if you won't help yourselves.
Anyway, the candidate in question had intriguing ideas, and correctly pointed out that research universities would not be seeing an increase in federal or state funding in the coming years--in fact, that the opposite would be true--and that the downward trend would probably continue even after our current financial woes abated.
So the proposal was to focus on research that translates to the marketplace, which could provide a revenue stream for the university, attract funding from private sources, and increase the stature of our faculty and students.
Win-win-win, right?
If you've ever been on a hiring committee, I'm sure you know where I'm going with this--directly to the Q&A portion, wherein the candidate was questioned about his commitment to the humanities and was accused of abandoning pure science in favor of corporations! The implication, of course, being that the eeeeevvillllee taint of money from corporate America would somehow cause our brains to shrivel up and fall out of our heads, and then the faculty would turn Republican or some damn thing equally horrific to the earnest chick asking questions from the third row.
Serious charges, indeed, my friends.
Had these oh-so-concerned questioners bothered to STAY AWAKE, they would have realized that the candidate had explained both that humanities faculty are involved in these research projects AND that without pure science, the other research wouldn't be possible, but whatever. Never let the facts stand in the way of a good opportunity for uninformed grandstanding. I think that might be our faculty motto...
And so it went. As someone more on the admin side, I was flabbergasted that these science faculty, who are supposedly all about the grants and the funding, couldn't see the writing on the wall in terms of where their cash will be coming from in the future. This is a land grant institution. We've been asked for a sizeable budget cut THIS YEAR, with more to come. And when things get better, do you think that money's gonna magically reappear?
Given our state's history, my Magic Eight Ball says, "Signs point to no."
The icing on the cake? As I was leaving the auditorium, earnest chick was behind me speaking sotto voce to her companion. Her major complaint (other than those previously aired, that is)?
"He kept saying 'guys' a lot. I think that sort of gendered language bodes ill."
Right. Keep on keepin' on, sister-girl. You'll have no funding, and the university will have no coherent vision for staying competitive, but at least the Vice-Chancellor won't use pronouns in an offensive manner. Thank God that you're able to save us from ourselves!
And thank God that I'm not the chair of this hiring committee.
So it's the end of the day and I'm hanging out in The Boy's room for the requisite "FIVE MINUTES, MOM!" before he goes to sleep. We're having our usual conversation, which ranges from playground politics to theoretical discussions about who is the strongest Jedi to comedy theatre starring one stuffed Knuffle Bunny, and I tell him that it's time for me to go so he can get some sleep...
The Boy: It's been five minutes ALREADY?
Me: Yep. Time flies.
The Boy: It doesn't really FLY, like flap around.
Me: No. It's just an expression.
The Boy: Like, "raining cats and dogs." It's a...a...
Me: Expression?
The Boy: No.
Me: Saying?
The Boy: No, mom.
Me: Hyperbole?
The Boy (frustrated): NO! It starts with an "I."
Me (moment of confused silence, followed by moment of "he couldn't mean this, could he?"): Idiom?
The Boy: Exactly! Idiom!
Me: You're talking about idioms.
The Boy: Yeah. And really, the fact that Amelia Bedelia thinks idioms are real? What is up with that, mom?
Me: Well, it's just a humorous device the author's using to make the books funny.
The Boy: Idioms aren't real. And Amelia Bedelia is not very smart.
So today I'm exiting the breakroom in our building, Diet Dr. Pepper in one hand and baggy with slices of pepper jack cheese in the other, and I run into Cal Ripkin, who asks me where the board room is.
He's a very tall man.
Trust me to have a brush with fame whilst gripping a bag of cheese. There's probably a metaphor in there somewhere...
A conference I would have attended in grad school - the topic?
Faking it.
Yeah, I was pretty familiar with faking it after a semester of grad school, and by the time I got the MA, I had elevated it to an art form. I wonder how much meta these folks would tolerate, though? Because that would be a fun submission to make.
Voted last week, and I'm glad I did. No wait, great weather, etc. Hublet and The Boy have the day off today, so I am anticipating excessive amounts of stir-crazy second grader when I get home this evening...
Enjoy your election day. I'll be spending it beating the snot out of Darth Vader as I play the Force Unleashed. It's a lot of fun on the Wii, with all of the control waving and whatnot.
We'll be trick-or-treating, dealing with The Boy's burgeoning social calendar, and Hublet and I will treat ourselves to a grown-up dinner to celebrate our anniversary--only one month late--this weekend. See you next week as we brace ourselves for non-stop election hoo-ha!
BTW, did you know Kay Hagan is "Godless?" I'm sorry, but I laughed my butt off at that. It's like an ad from 1674, if we'd had elections back then, and if women had suffrage...
I find lately that laughing my butt off is the only reasonable course of action when dealing with politics.
The Boy is now officially a sleepover-addicted fool. Didn't get home from his first one until 8 p.m. Saturday night, and has been invited to another one this Friday, post Trick-or-Treating.
Our last fall baseball game was last night, and I will miss those goofy boys. That was an awesome team.
If you aren't watching season 4 of Supernatural, a pox upon you. That is all.
Just when I think that I can no longer be appalled by how self-deluded and avaricious people can be, something like this comes along, smacks me in the head, and makes me despair for all of humanity. I mean, shouldn't someone be getting this woman Paxil instead of a book contract? Really?
Class wars, elitism, and the never-ending charges thereof are sucking the very marrow from my bones. Part of the reason Hublet and I stay firmly ensconced in the countryside is because I still live in fear of being stuck at another dinner party where a friend could pipe up, straight-faced, and declare that "We are the intellectual elites!" God help us all if that's the case. Yes, that really did happen, and yes, I was completely mortified. Said friend capped off the evening by calling her (then)-husband an ass in front of the assembled company. Yeah. Give me farmers, cows and guns any day.
