12.20.2004
Of Fakelorists and Post-Dissertation Malaise
Is there a worse time of life than the year following the completion of your dissertation? Some maladjusted adolescent years might compete: in my case, stockings, eyeliner, "I wear black on the outside because I feel black on the inside," an addiction to Pepto-Bismal, Dragonlance books, Jim Morrison poetry, chronic masturbation. But that is nowhere near as crummy as trying to find your first meaningful post-graduate school job.
I have been rejected so many times it seems like old hat. It usually goes something like this: "You have submitted an impressive resume, with some very laudatory accomplishments. However, we are looking to fill a specific need at [fill in company/school's name here], blah blah blah." I have even tried to get back in to restaurant management, but have been told to apply for a job as a bartender or a server. Whoopee.
My latest setback has me all in a funk for the past week. I had proposed a class for the Experimental College at Tufts University. Every semester they sponsor about twenty classes to be taught by outsiders on a variety of subjects. Cool, I thunk. My class proposal was for a class on contemporary American folklore, called "Folklore 2000." It was basically an introduction to Folklore studies and a seminar on the future of folkloristics. I thought I did a decent job in the interview, and they even said that an anthro professor had always wanted to host a folklore class.
However, It looks like my proposal was rejected. (It would be nice to get a letter or an email or something from them. It's been a week since the date they scheduled for notification.) That's fine. I figured I had as good a shot as any. Competition was kinda tight, as it always is in academia.
So, when trying to figure out if I had a shot at teaching this class I looked on their website, and, lo-and-behold, they had published next semester's tentative schedule. They listed a class called "The Art of Storytelling." Oh, okay, they did decide to teach a folklore class. Let me look up the teacher. Turns out she is one of those people who go to elementary schools and tell stories and reenact historical figures ("Mill Girl of Lowell"). I hate that crap. It's touchy-feely fakelore that has no academic merit. She will probably have the students read "Iron John" and "Women Who Run With Wolves." I'm sure she knows a lot about that hack Joseph Campbell as well. Do I sound bitter. Well, I am.
Is there a worse time of life than the year following the completion of your dissertation? Some maladjusted adolescent years might compete: in my case, stockings, eyeliner, "I wear black on the outside because I feel black on the inside," an addiction to Pepto-Bismal, Dragonlance books, Jim Morrison poetry, chronic masturbation. But that is nowhere near as crummy as trying to find your first meaningful post-graduate school job.
I have been rejected so many times it seems like old hat. It usually goes something like this: "You have submitted an impressive resume, with some very laudatory accomplishments. However, we are looking to fill a specific need at [fill in company/school's name here], blah blah blah." I have even tried to get back in to restaurant management, but have been told to apply for a job as a bartender or a server. Whoopee.
My latest setback has me all in a funk for the past week. I had proposed a class for the Experimental College at Tufts University. Every semester they sponsor about twenty classes to be taught by outsiders on a variety of subjects. Cool, I thunk. My class proposal was for a class on contemporary American folklore, called "Folklore 2000." It was basically an introduction to Folklore studies and a seminar on the future of folkloristics. I thought I did a decent job in the interview, and they even said that an anthro professor had always wanted to host a folklore class.
However, It looks like my proposal was rejected. (It would be nice to get a letter or an email or something from them. It's been a week since the date they scheduled for notification.) That's fine. I figured I had as good a shot as any. Competition was kinda tight, as it always is in academia.
So, when trying to figure out if I had a shot at teaching this class I looked on their website, and, lo-and-behold, they had published next semester's tentative schedule. They listed a class called "The Art of Storytelling." Oh, okay, they did decide to teach a folklore class. Let me look up the teacher. Turns out she is one of those people who go to elementary schools and tell stories and reenact historical figures ("Mill Girl of Lowell"). I hate that crap. It's touchy-feely fakelore that has no academic merit. She will probably have the students read "Iron John" and "Women Who Run With Wolves." I'm sure she knows a lot about that hack Joseph Campbell as well. Do I sound bitter. Well, I am.
12.11.2004
The Christmas Pickle
Nothing reminds me of my German childhood like the traditional Christmas pickle. When decorating the tree on Christmas Eve, my "mutti und vatti" would hide a pickle somewhere on the tree. If either my sister or I found the pickle on Christmas morn, then St. Nikolaus would give us a special present of either Pfeffernussen or Weinachtgeld. This Christmas morn, both my daughers will be looking for the Christmas pickle under our tree. Oh, those joyous ethnic Christmases.
Nothing reminds me of my German childhood like the traditional Christmas pickle. When decorating the tree on Christmas Eve, my "mutti und vatti" would hide a pickle somewhere on the tree. If either my sister or I found the pickle on Christmas morn, then St. Nikolaus would give us a special present of either Pfeffernussen or Weinachtgeld. This Christmas morn, both my daughers will be looking for the Christmas pickle under our tree. Oh, those joyous ethnic Christmases.
12.08.2004
Koofer
File this under crazy things you're glad your parents never did: A while back I informed my Mom that my wife and I like to play board and card games, and that we especially like playing the classic french card game Milles Bourne. "Oh, your father and aunt and I just loved Milles Bourne. We would hold all night tournaments when I was pregnant with you. We were this close to naming you "Koofer," and your Aunt Joanie even called you "Koofer" for many years when you were a kid."
(See if you can figure this one out).
File this under crazy things you're glad your parents never did: A while back I informed my Mom that my wife and I like to play board and card games, and that we especially like playing the classic french card game Milles Bourne. "Oh, your father and aunt and I just loved Milles Bourne. We would hold all night tournaments when I was pregnant with you. We were this close to naming you "Koofer," and your Aunt Joanie even called you "Koofer" for many years when you were a kid."
(See if you can figure this one out).
12.05.2004
Potential sluglines for potential entries I haven't written:
My Wife Took My Pornography Away
Ukraine is Like Ohio
LL Cool J Has Always Kinda Sucked
Why Won't They Publish My Novel?
I Got Drunk at a rateBeer Meetup
Don't You Think I'm So Sexy, I'm So Fresh and So Clean
My Mom Gave Me The First Season of Alias and Now I Think Everyone is in SD-6
After I Read the Da Vinci Code, I Dreamt That My Wife Was Going to Kill Me
Oh Yeah, My Wife Went to An Opus Dei School
Totally Bourqeois Things I Have Done, Including a Lion's Club Presidential Induction and a Fund Raiser for an Opus Dei School
When I Bought My Wife's Christmas Present, the saleslady said: "If My Husband Bought Me This I Would Totally Jump Him."
Funny Things Margot Has Said Lately: "French Fries ARE Good For Me," "Daddy eat eats Poop!," "Spiderman Live in My House," "Oh Weee! Lookit the lights on house. Is That Spiderman?," "Santa Brings Me Onions."
My Wife Took My Pornography Away
Ukraine is Like Ohio
LL Cool J Has Always Kinda Sucked
Why Won't They Publish My Novel?
I Got Drunk at a rateBeer Meetup
Don't You Think I'm So Sexy, I'm So Fresh and So Clean
My Mom Gave Me The First Season of Alias and Now I Think Everyone is in SD-6
After I Read the Da Vinci Code, I Dreamt That My Wife Was Going to Kill Me
Oh Yeah, My Wife Went to An Opus Dei School
Totally Bourqeois Things I Have Done, Including a Lion's Club Presidential Induction and a Fund Raiser for an Opus Dei School
When I Bought My Wife's Christmas Present, the saleslady said: "If My Husband Bought Me This I Would Totally Jump Him."
Funny Things Margot Has Said Lately: "French Fries ARE Good For Me," "Daddy eat eats Poop!," "Spiderman Live in My House," "Oh Weee! Lookit the lights on house. Is That Spiderman?," "Santa Brings Me Onions."
