2 Classes Still to Grade....

And tragically, I told students from one of them they could pick up outstanding work from 12-3. Except, see, I haven't even started grading that class yet. I'm an idiot.

Lessons for Girls, Number Two: Opting Out

Historiann wrote a great post a while ago about the ways in which anger can be positive, particularly for women. She begins:

If I wish I had learned one lesson earlier in life, it’s this: it’s okay to be angry, it’s okay to make other people angry, and anger can work for you. (Well, that might be three lessons, but I find it hard to disentangle them, so bear with me.)

I'd been thinking that the whole "lessons for girls" meme would be a great one to pick up when I read it, but then I couldn't think of what my lesson would be. Anger was such a good one to start the ball rolling, right? Well, I think I've got my lesson.

If I wish I had learned one lesson earlier in life, it's this: it's okay to opt out of toxic situations and conversations. Opting out doesn't mean that you're weak, nor does it make you a bad person. Sometimes, the most advantageous position is, in fact, one in which you don't resist, in which you don't explain, in which you don't try to justify your position, in which you don't bother trying to help others see your point of view. Or, conversely, in which you don't try to be inclusive, to give antagonists a forum, or to apologize to diffuse a situation.

In some ways, this lesson number two may appear to contradict lesson number one about anger. Opting out can seem, once one has embraced the power of anger, like stupid passivity. Like letting people or situations steamroll you. It can seem like you're not standing up for yourself. And if we are "good feminists," opting out can feel like giving in, giving up, or complicity.

This, in fact, may account for why this lesson has been so hard for me to learn (and why it's a lesson I have to continually work at). Anger makes sense to me. Channeling anger in positive ways makes me feel strong and powerful. Opting out? Well, the benefits aren't so immediate, and they are often much more subtle, though I would argue that they are no less concrete.

Because here's the thing: anger is an emotion that is built on energy. As Historiann notes, that can be a very good thing: we can use our anger propel us out of situations that aren't good for us or to effect necessary change in our workplaces, our communities, or the world. But sometimes, the expense of energy that anger requires actually takes us away from our goals, away from feeling centered, away from what we really value. Sometimes, it's seriously not worth it to invest the angry energy required to "opt in."

And also, just because we are women, and in particular women who are intellectuals with academic credentials, it is not our responsibility to opt in and to engage in toxic situations or conversations. While it is true that we may value the free exchange of ideas, spirited debate, a diversity of opinions, etc., that does not mean that we individually are obligated to engage with all ideas, to enter into all debates, or to entertain all opinions. We are not required to get angry and to respond with anger to any and all comers. Particularly if there is no positive way to channel our anger toward a concrete outcome.

This lesson is a valuable one in a lot of areas.

First, it's been valuable to me professionally. Imagine, for example, that you're chairing a committee charged to give a major a complete overhaul, a major that has not changed dramatically since the 1970s. As everything begins, you're all about including as many viewpoints as possible. You're transparent in what the committee's up to with the whole department, and you invite the free exchange of ideas. This is as it should be. Somewhere in the middle of the process, it becomes clear that certain individuals (a small minority) aren't about productive compromise, but rather that they want to obstruct the process altogether. Now, you can continue to court these individuals, and you can continue to try to appease them. Except they won't be appeased, because they have no intention of compromising. They have no intention of considering the majority viewpoint. Are you, as chair of that committee, obligated to spin your wheels seeking unanimity that will never happen? Ultimately generating a report that gets filed away somewhere, and failing in your committee's charge? Or is it the better course of action to opt out of entertaining the outliers, refusing to give them the energy of your anger or your time, and instead to try to complete the charge successfully, if not with unanimous agreement? I chose the latter.

Second, "opting out" can be a very valuable course of action in one's personal life. Let's think about the drama of a breakup. When the break-up happens, you both go through the trauma of figuring out that you can't be together, talking about the whys and hows of that, and (often, though not always) giving one another a lot of angry energy. How do you move beyond that in a way that is positive? For me, that means opting out. Not opting out of the person's life altogether, necessarily - but rather opting out of the trauma and the drama of the breakup narrative. At a certain point, both parties know what each other think and feel about the whole sordid mess, right? In order to move forward, you've got to move through that to the other side and then decide that you're not going to engage in conflict anymore. No, it's not easy, but opting out actually can open the door to a peaceful resolution in friendship. Similarly, let's say a friend does something, or is thinking of doing something, with which you don't agree or of which you disapprove. At a certain point, it becomes clear that the friend is on that path however you feel about it or whatever you say. You've got a choice: continue to expend energy trying to make the friend see your point of view, or opt out. Either opt out of the friendship, or opt out of the argument. Either way, once there's no change possible, the best course of action can be to just let it go.

Third, by trial and error I've learned, the hard way, that the best thing to do when people object to "Dr. Crazy" (and really, it does come across that way - that people just object to this online identity and to the content and tone of this blog) is to opt out. As I've said, I learned this the hard way. I used to engage. I used to try to explain this space, to justify my perspective, to include these people in the conversation, no matter how awful they were. I felt like if I didn't engage that I was somehow failing. But after trying, and failing, to engage people who had no interest in engaging with me - or with a conversation on this blog - about actual posts, go figure! - I have realized that opting out is the only appropriate response. Not because I couldn't work up a hell of a lot of anger about the drive-by comments filled with sarcastic vitriol or about the blog posts that refer to me in derogatory ways (because a lot of people read the blog and so it's a way for them to generate traffic? This is the only reason I can imagine that a lot of people in this vein link to me, even though, of course, it only brings me more traffic, and so if I'm so reprehensible, why would you want to bring me a wider audience?) - but because it's not my responsibility to engage with people who aren't really engaging with me. It's not my obligation to provide a forum for people who treat "Dr. Crazy" or the blog in general like shit. It's not "feminist" to award this sort of shit with my anger, because if I were to do so, I'd be taking the energy of that anger away from things that might actually be served by it.

With posts on other blogs about the blog, this is somewhat easier to handle. I just don't acknowledge those anymore. With the commenters? It's somewhat more trying. See, if I allow them to spew their nonsense here, then you all have to read it, too. I could just delete such comments when I see them, but that's annoying as I'm not by my computer 24/7, and my readers might still have to encounter them. That would change this space, even if I did ultimately delete those comments. What to do? At this time, I've chosen comment moderation.

The haters typically claim that I just want a fanclub with the blog when I do opt out, that I'm not giving opposing viewpoints a "voice," and that I'm in some way reprehensible because I don't allow this blog to become a forum in which people are explicitly derogatory, in which they impugn my character, and in which I'm some stupid little girl who has no business being a professor. But you know, here's the thing: I like this blog to be a place where conversations - not conflicts - happen. That doesn't mean that there won't be disagreements, but it does mean that everybody basically agrees that everybody else is coming from a place that is genuine and generous. I don't have an explicit comments policy on this blog, mainly because I've never felt that one was necessary: at the end of the day, I think that the people who read and comment here "get it." It's only on rare occasions that people decide that they're going to put me in my place, tell me that I'm a self-involved ninny (dude - I'm writing in the first person - how could I not be? This blog doesn't claim to be an objective viewpoint on anything), question my integrity or ethics, or just generally insult me. I used to think that I had to respond directly to such charges. Now? Nah. I'll just refer those people to those posts to which I linked earlier. And I'll keep comment moderation on until those people go away, and if they come back, I'll put it back on.

The brilliant thing about comment moderation is that I don't actually have to read the entire comment, by the by. In other words, neither I nor my readers are infected with the toxicity. That's pretty sweet.

So, to sum up, sometimes the best thing is to just refuse to deal with the bullshit. To opt out. It's really liberating, actually. See, at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if people like me. It doesn't matter if people think I'm "inclusive" or "welcoming" or whatever. It's not my job to give a voice to assholes. It's not my obligation to include all people. It's not my responsibility to justify myself to people, to give those people my anger and energy, who will never accept any justification that I might offer. At the end of the day, people who believe in their own position don't bend over backwards to please those who disagree with them or who dislike them. They don't expend energy on making those who disagree with them or who dislike them feel good.

Anger can be a source of power, but so, too, can realizing that it's not on you to listen to people or to engage with people who are full of shit.

Graduation Day

There was processing, there was cheering, there was an awesome speaker (not something one can count on, as I know you all know), there was more cheering, and then, though I thought I'd gotten away without, there was some tearing up on my part. Graduation is a long, hot pain, but it really is great. I am so proud of my students. They have worked so hard, and they are done! Yay for them!

FYI - Have Turned On Comment Moderation

So never fear if your comments don't appear immediately, if you're a regular commenter. If you're not a regular commenter and you call me names, your comments won't appear. Tra la.

And This Is Why Research Agendas Are Impossible for Me

I just got an email today asking me to transform Silly Conference Paper from April into an actual essay, to be included in a collection that already has a publisher lined up. This is good news, right? But I'd totally never intended on doing anything with that paper. And now it's got to be a complete article by the end of June.

Ah well, piece of cake, right? And I shouldn't complain. It's a good thing when publications fall from the sky. And it also means that I don't actually need a research agenda, for the universe already has an agenda set for me.

In other news, 2/4 classes are graded, and I am not feeling very motivated toward doing the other two.

You Should Be Jealous of My Students

So, I've gotten into the habit of making food for my upper-level classes for the day of the final. Historically, I've taught in the morning, so usually I would make something breakfast-y. This semester, however, my schedule changed so I had to enter the world of lunch-appropriate dishes for 15-20 people.

Since it's spring-y, I decided pasta salad was a good choice. For the class earlier this week, I made a southwestern chicken and pasta salad, based on this recipe (though I made a good number of adjustments), and it was quite good. But for today, I went with an orzo salad. Since it had to sit for at least two hours (i.e., overnight), I didn't know how it would come out.

Oh. My. God. It's so ridiculously good I don't even know how to talk about it! I did make some adjustments (additional olive oil and lemon juice so the salad wouldn't be as dry, and I included some celery, cucumber, and red pepper in addition to the tomatoes, I didn't bother with all the whisking nonsense and so I forgot to add the mustard until this morning - woops), but I am in love with it.

The question is, will my students be scared off by feta cheese and olives?

Why Grading Papers Doesn't Suck

And yes, I'm doing a whole reverse psychology thing here. Because grading a great many papers does, without doubt, suck. But there are bright spots.

BES

She's nearly done with her thesis. Her penultimate draft was, well, shit. The organization was all fucked up, her attempt to integrate theory was (generously) lackluster, and well, just generally, it was not what she could do. So then we drank (a lot of) wine together, and talked through the problems, and at one point I made her do a close reading of a random passage from The Pleasure of the Text, and we busted through a wall. And then I sent her off to finish her thesis. And the draft I read today? MOMENTS OF TOTALLY RIDICULOUS BRILLIANCE. Sure, she still has some cleaning up to do, but I am so, so, SOOOO amazingly proud of what she's accomplished. She's reached a point that I didn't reach until after my M.A. program. She RULES.

Student Brillianter than BES (and BES agrees)

So last semester, I encountered ze for the first time. In my Joyce and Woolf class. Now, this class had some repeat offenders who knew the level that I expect of my students, and who'd had a theory class with me, and well, I imagine for the other students, at least at first, that they were insufferable. Ze wasn't one of those students. Ze (who we'll call Ridiculously Smart Person - RSP - from now on) was a totally unknown quantity. RSP showed up every day, but ze also never spoke a word. And when RSP turned in hir's first paper, ze turned in a paper that received an 83. I remember the grade exactly because RSP was so clearly stunned by the grade. Apparently, I was the first person never to just hand RSP an A. Flash forward to the final research paper of that semester, and RSP wrote a paper that was nearly publishable. Seriously. Like, better than anything I've ever read from a student. Like, something that I would have thought was awesome and provocative had I read a version of it published in a peer-reviewed journal. Like, better than ANYTHING a student should be able to write. RSP BLEW MY MIND.

So, this semester, RSP took my upper-level course. Ze talked a lot more having had me before, and ze continued with the brilliance. Now, the paper that RSP wrote wasn't as ridiculously awesome as the one ze wrote last semester. Why? Because ze tried to write with theory for the first time. In the service of this, RSP, a graduating senior who knew he didn't need to do this, read nearly all of the Foucault Reader on his own, along with Barthes's "The Death of the Author," and no, it wasn't perfect, but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! WHAT GRADUATING SENIOR TAKES ON FOUCAULT???? JUST BECAUSE IT'S INTERESTING??? And does so reasonably well, without having had lengthy instruction about what Foucault's on about? RSP is like an alien or a miracle or something.

Look, I tell students all the time to investigate theory. I mention, in passing, all the time, theory that can support their readings of texts. Some take me up on that, and others don't. But NONE has ever read like all of the Foucault Reader just for kicks, other than RSP.

Fantastic Awesome Student (and Perhaps the Beginning of Crazy's New Posse?)

See, both RSP and BES are graduating. As are a bunch of other smarties who are my loves. What shall I do next year? And the year after? FAS, well, ze may be the center of the Next Generation. I had ze last semester, and ze was a standout among those students (in a general education class). And then ze took me again for an upper-level English course. As FAS said, "I took you again because I know you're good." Let's just note that FAS's paper was better than RSP's (for the same class). No, ze didn't read a ton of Foucault on hir own, ze did read a ton of Gilbert and Gubar on hir own, and hir paper was SUPERB. I enjoyed reading every single word of it. Ze is AMAZING. AMAZING. (And I may have seduced ze into my feminist theory class next spring, even though ze is "not a feminist or anything.")

The Ones That Don't Stand Out As Above But Nonetheless Stand Out

I have read, over the past few days, papers that talk about religious belief in ways that aren't reductive, that interrogate history without resorting to a discussion of what "really" happened, that investigate multiculturalism and postcoloniality without reducing those things to unproblematixc difference. I have ridiculously good students. Students who are original in their research, and students who support their original ideas with solid research. And this is the majority of my students - not the minority.

So that's why grading is good. It lets you know all of the above. And no, that's not the case for every student, but how great that it's the case for so many of them.

"Changing" Higher Education - Dr. Crazy's View

Craig Smith from AFT (and the blog FACE Talk) asked me (along with a slew of cool folks) to weigh in on questions surrounding how and if higher education needs to change. I like the premise of Craig's call to arms:

Now, there are some out there who are offering up solutions, but I am curious--since the inclination when discussing the future of higher education is to do what the CHE did and chat up association and institutional leaders--if there might not be just a teensy bit more room for faculty and staff in that discussion? And that is what this is really about.

So, here are two questions:

1. Do you believe the U.S. system of higher education is in need of change and, if so, why and to what degree?
2. What are the top three things you would change in the long-run if you had the power to do that?

...

Finally, the intention is not just to encourage folks to talk about staffing (unless that is one of the areas you firmly believe needs changing), but rather to generate a wide range of ideas from a faculty and staff perspective since one fundamental change we believe in is more faculty voice in academic decision making . . . but I get ahead of myself.

So I've been thinking about this since I received Craig's invitation a few days ago, and I've gone back and forth about how to respond. It seems to me that discussions about higher education reform often reach an end point that is likely going to be difficult if not impossible to implement in practical terms. So, for example, let's say that we want to talk about the crisis in adjunct labor. Yes, I think that this constitutes a crisis. But if where we go from there is that we need to hire more t-t faculty (which I'd agree in principal that we do) and stop hiring such a high percentage of adjunct labor (which I think that we do), where we often come out at the end is with a call to action that will never become reality, not because it's not right but because there isn't the infrastructure to support that change.

The bottom line is that if we need hundreds of sections of composition, we're not going to get the lines to support t-t hires to fill all of those sections, what with the budget situations of the states these days. So then, the extension of that is that we end up whining about how everything's broken, but we don't see improvement in working conditions for faculty (whatever their stripe) or improvement in education for students (which should really be the ultimate point). In the worst cases, we just offer support for those who believe that higher education has been totally ruined - "taxpayers" (not individual people, but the group that is invoked), legislators (people who think that implementing tests will get them re-elected), idiots - without offering a workable alternative. We are the very people who have trained our whole lives in the field and who, in theory, should know best how higher education should work and who should really be the people who spearhead discussions about change in higher education. And yet, what we end up doing is confirming suspicions about our own inefficiency, stupidity, and obsolescence.

So, before I begin, let me offer some suggestions about who should be coming together to start any discussion of these questions:

1. Working tenured and tenure-track professors from a range of institutional types and from a range of disciplinary areas of expertise. The profession of "college professor" is not, ultimately, a monolith. Being a college professor at an Ivy League institution is different from being a professor at an R1 Flagship state university is different from being a professor at an R1 non-flagship is different from being a professor at an Elite SLAC is different from being a professor at a non-elite, non-selective SLAC is different from being a professor at a regional state university is different from being a professor at a community college. The institutional cultures are different, the funding levels and emphases are different, the students are different, the missions are different, and the conditions for one's labor and successful promotion and tenure are different. Moreover, having a wide representation of fields is important, as my experience as a professor may actually more closely resemble that of an English professor at a non-elite SLAC than it does a business professor at my own institution. Also, in this category I'd include tenured and tenure-track librarians from the whole range of institutions.
   
2. Administrators from a similar range of institutions, as well as from a range of positions within administrative hierarchies (academic deans, provosts, presidents, deans of students, those in charge of technology, heads of libraries).
3. Contract faculty (part-time, full-time) in non-t-t positions, post-docs, VAPs, again, from a range of institutions.
4. Students. Both grad students and undergrads. I know, crazy, right? And this isn't about the customer always being right but rather about including the biggest population on university campuses in the discussion.
5. Staff. Full-time advisers, support staff, IT people, people in administrative units like First Year Programs or Retention or Study Abroad.

In other words, to put it succinctly, I don't have faith in a conversation about "changing" the American university that comes from outside the university or that comes from the top-down within universities or within the hierarchy of higher ed. I do have faith in a conversation that is broadly inclusive within all of the sectors of higher education.

So with all of that being said, let's look at the first question.

Do you believe the U.S. system of higher education is in need of change and, if so, why and to what degree?

Before I can answer this, I want to think for a minute about what we think "change" is supposed to do. Who is the "change" for, and what we hope to achieve through change? Because here's the thing that often gets lost in discussions of higher education in the United States: even with all of its problems, the university system in the United States is still, as far as I'm aware, the best in the world. Our higher education system still attracts people from all over the world, and degrees from the United States remain more marketable than degrees from elsewhere. So as much as we talk about our system as "broken," it's still, apparently, pretty darn good.

So let's start with what makes our system good. I think it's the fact that we do believe - across types of universities - in "general education" and in open access (to varying degrees depending on institution type) to higher education. Higher education in the United States (first since the GI Bill, and then since affirmative action) is not, across the board, about preserving privilege for a select few. It is about granting access to opportunity. That has to do with economic opportunity, sure, but it is also - and this is key for me - about intellectual opportunity. This is what general education, core, or general studies requirements are about. Any student who goes to college in the United States is put into a position where there is the potential that his or her mind will be blown. No, this may not happen for all students. But the potential is there for all students.

So if we are to change things, I think the only reason to do so would be to increase the chances for students - across university types, across backgrounds - to have their minds blown. This is potential that I see as already being there, and something that already happens for many students. "Change," for me, would mean that more students get their minds blown. (I'm not going to say all students - that might be more than anybody could deliver.)

But so if that is the goal of "change," then "change" can't really start with an objective of "selling" higher education to legislators, or taxpayers, or whatever. Change has to start with curriculum and with what happens in the classroom, and, further, with ideas, and those things aren't quantifiable or assessable before you imagine them. If you start with assessment before you address what will be assessed, you're not changing anything in a meaningful way - you're just adding layer after layer of bureaucracy. It's not that I don't believe in assessment. I do. I just don't believe in putting the cart (assessment) before the horse (education). Meaningful assessment grows out of solid curriculum. Solid curriculum does not grow out of proficiency tests, pre-ordained learning outcomes, Quality Enhancement Programs, or legislative mandates. And it certainly doesn't grow out of demands for excellence without money, or, more broadly, without support (which includes things like time).

So, do I think higher education should "change" in the United States? Yes. I think that we do not serve all students as well as we are obligated to serve them. I think that as college has become a necessity for most people rather than an option for an elite few, that the structure of higher education as a whole has not transformed to meet that need. Instead of transforming higher education to our current needs, we have merely added on to an elite (elitist?) model, which means a brilliant kid from Appalachia will go to the state college down the road rather than to the private university in the Northeast, and that brilliant kid's opportunities will reflect that "choice." Only it was never really the kid's choice, because we talk about "college" as if it means the same thing no matter where you go. And if your parents, or any of the people that you know, didn't even graduate from high school, they're in no position to tell you any different.

I think that it's wrong that we exploit highly qualified "temporary" or "contract" faculty because it means that the bottom line works out, even if it also means that students don't necessarily get the same kind of support that they would get otherwise (and this is not a diss on the temporary or contract faculty: this is about the fact that if they do give students that support it's out of the kindness of their hearts and not in any way something that students should have the right to expect of them).

And finally, I think that a model of higher education where tenured and tenure-track faculty fight turf wars about the respective "value" of their disciplines through battles about curriculum is totally fucked up. That's not what our students need, and it's not really about educating them. We do it because that's what higher education used to be, and we do it because administrators can force us to take those positions based on their edicts. But seriously: I shouldn't want a course to be required for all students just so that I'm sure to make my enrollment, or because I'm worried that my program will be axed if x number of courses in my department aren't required. I should want a course to be required for all students because I think that all students really would find such a course useful, illuminating, and enriching in their lives as educated people. Seriously. That's the bottom line - not enrollments, not department power, not anything else. As higher ed stands today in this country? I'm a fucked up idealist. What I just said totally isn't reality.

So on to the next question:

What are the top three things you would change in the long-run if you had the power to do that?

Ok, so I'm going to list three, without a whole lot of explanation because this is already wicked-long. We can talk more about the ins and outs of these in comments, if people want more.

1. I do not believe that adjunct labor (or graduate student labor - grad student labor should be about training them to do this job, not about using them) should underwrite lower teaching loads for tenured and tenure-track faculty at institutions that aspire to raise their research profiles. It's bad enough that we rely so much on adjunct labor at my teaching-intensive regional institution, but at least I teach as much as most of our adjuncts, and I do teach those "unattractive" gen. ed. courses (comp, intro courses) that they also teach. Yes, I want a lower teaching load. But no, I don't want it on the back of somebody who's making 2 grand a course. And seriously: teaching is not an impediment to ideas or to solid research. It's just a time-suck. In this job I've learned how to make it less of one, without sacrificing rigor in my students' educations. This is not impossible. If research universities want to have faculty who teach less, they need to hire more t-t/tenured faculty.
2. Curriculum should be about serving students - not about serving the legislature, not about serving the "community", not about doing an administration's will. Curriculum should be determined by people who have an investment in those disciplines, not by outsiders. Just because you "love to read" or have read a few books doesn't mean you know what literature students should read in college, or how much they should read. Seriously. I went to school for years to become qualified to make these judgments. I teach these students. You hired me to do this. You tenured me. Yes, I'm the lady who knows more than you about these matters.
3. Decisions about the vision of higher education at a particular university, or about what it should become generally, need to happen with ultimate transparency and they need to happen with a mandate. This isn't all that hard. Dude, I'm in an English department (and we all know that those are snakepits) that hadn't truly given its curriculum an overhaul in 30 years and I made that happen. How did I make that happen? By being totally transparent and by getting people invested in the change through that. Yes, it was a fuck of a lot of work. Weeks of my life I'll never get back. But I made it happen, and I'm like this hero for doing it, even for those who were suspicious and resistant. That can happen on a broader scale. It just takes trusting that it can, working really freaking hard, and involving as many people as possible.

Thus ends this manifesto.

Research Agendas?

Sisyphus posted over at her place last night about the "research agenda" - what it's supposed to do, its scope, etc., and although I blabbed at length in her comments, I thought I should write about this over at my place. Let's note that I think this is something I should do right now because really I need to be a) grading and b) readying my house for the arrival of my parents.

First, The Academic Job Search Handbook says the following about this topic:

Give a brief context for your research interests, including how they fit into work others have done, and then discuss your plan for investigation. It is very important to communicate a sense that your research will follow logically from what you have done and be different, important, and innovative. Describing plans at an appropriate level of generality/specificity may require some rewriting and feedback from faculty members. A research plan so specific that one article could complete it is too limited, but one that includes a whole area of study, for example, "labor economics," is too general. If you will require substantial facilities and/or external funding for your research, include that in your discussion. If you've identified funding organizations likely to support your research plans, indicating that this is the case will make your plan sound much more credible. (97)

Ok, so that's basically what I thought a research agenda was supposed to do. But here's why I'm writing about this: all of the above is well and good, but in the past, statements of my research agenda have rarely been anything other than fake documents that don't actually guide my research, and the plans that I outline in them rarely bare much relation to my accomplishments after the fact. I don't start off with the intention of lying exactly, but I don't necessarily care whether I follow the program that I lay out in them. This, I should note, is probably a luxury of working at a place that doesn't focus on research. See, nobody has ever compared such statements that I make to what I actually end up doing. Sure, I had to talk about research in my statements for my tenure binder, but that was more about my research philosophy and about what I'd already done - not about what I planned to do, really. So the only times I've really written out the "agenda" have been for the job market or to get course releases/funding, but again, there was never any accountability.

So how I've actually managed my research has been much more amorphous than plotting out an agenda and then following through on it. Instead, I sort of have a vague idea of what I'd like to pursue, I wait until somebody expresses interest in it or offers an opportunity to do something with it, and then I follow through. If nobody invites me to do something more, I flit on over to the next idea. Seriously. Like I've never sent an article out to a journal totally cold, for example. I ended up finding a publisher for my book because an editor contacted me about something else and I changed the conversation to discuss the book. Ultimately, I'm pretty lazy and changeable when it comes to planning research projects and when it comes to getting my research "placed." This is not the same thing as being a lazy scholar - I'm a productive scholar - but I'm not a very... disiplined one. Yes, I think that's a fair way to put it.

And working at a teaching institution has enabled that lack of discipline, and in some ways produced it. See, when research doesn't really count for very much, it's just easier to go which way the wind blows you, to take opportunities as they come, and to pursue those things that fall into one's lap. It takes less energy. That, however, is not a way to productively manage a career as a scholar.

In contrast, if somebody asked me for a "teaching agenda," I could articulate that with a great deal of clarity. The same is also true for a "service agenda." What's funny is that nobody ever asks for those things, even though at my institution, those are really important things to have.

But so anyway, I've been thinking a lot about my "research agenda" lately, as I'm pretty much with a clear plate right now in terms of research things (if we ignore that R&R I've yet to finish), and I really need to figure out what next, what with my new status as a tenured lady who has the ambition to go up for full sooner rather than later and what with the looming fall deadline for my application for sabbatical. I really need a plan for what I'd like to accomplish - a true research agenda, as opposed to a "fake" one that I trot out because somebody asks me for one. And since I've really got no irons in the fire, I'm not sure what I'd like to do.

Complications: I'm not sure that I want to do a second monograph right now, but historically it's been a book that gets people to full here. Of course, I've already got a book, right? But that book doesn't "count" as far as I can tell, since it was published before tenure. A smart lady would have postponed the book until after tenure, but I wanted to be done with that part of my life. Nobody knows whether a "book equivalent" (like 6-8 well-placed articles) could work for full, as nobody's ever had my particular situation before. It's been indicated that a textbook could work, but if I'm going to write a book, it seems to me that I should do something that would make me more marketable (a monograph) rather than a textbook, which isn't really a "scholarly" project in the same way. So let's consider the options.

Monograph #2: I'll be honest, I've already got some ideas for this that I think are pretty kick-ass. I also have a good idea of where I might place such a book. The pros are that I've already got a great deal of research done that would be translateable into the project that I'm considering, and also that I learned a ton about the process the first go-around (so, for example, I'd be much more careful from the outset about framing my project so I wouldn't need to lay out so much cash for permissions), and that I now know how to write a book. The con is that I'd have to write a book. Also that with the economic downturn and the state of academic publishing generally, getting book contracts isn't exactly an easy thing to do right now. That said, it might be easier for me having already published a book that's selling decently well (for an academic book), before reviews.

Textbook: I've got an idea for this, which I think is awesome, and if others thought it was awesome, then maybe it would even make me some money. That'd be sweet.

Series of Articles: In some ways, this is nice because I wouldn't have to commit to a unified project like a book. In addition, it would help me to get around the whole "crisis in academic publishing for monographs" thing. The problem, however, is that journals are so erratic in terms of review times and time to publication. It may take a thousand years to get 6-8 articles out, given the fact that I don't anticipate that I can really manage doing more than 1 polished article per year (though I could probably manage two to three polished pieces over a sabbatical.... except if I'm going to do that why not draft a book over the sabbatical?).

So I think what I need to do before I can really figure out my next step is to talk to my full professor mentors and to see what they think it will take for me to get full here and what seems to be the most reasonable course of action given that information. From there, I need to figure out what I want to do and to figure out how I plan to go about doing it. And I suppose that's really what a "research agenda" is, ultimately. Figuring out a plan for what one wants to do and how one plans to go about doing it. And then actually following the plan.

Most hilarious about the fact that I'm so preoccupied with this right now is that at a reception for the newly tenured, I was described as being all about "service, service, service, SERVICE, and some more service!" Seriously, that's a direct quote. The person who introduced me this way didn't say, which would have softened that a bit, "and in the meantime she published a motherfucking book before tenure! Can you believe it?" Nah, I'm all about the appropriately feminine act of serving others, regardless of the fact that I am among the most published people including people of all ranks in my department. Yeah, I have done a lot of service. But that's not all I've done, nor is it all I plan to do. Annoying.

One Down, Two to Go!

It's true. I have successfully achieved a zero balance on a credit card that has never had a zero balance since the mid-90s. This is the credit card that I used throughout grad school, the credit card that made life on a 9K/year stipend in Boston possible. This is the credit card that took me to London, to Trieste, to Dublin, and to Budapest, when seriously, I had no business taking any of those trips in terms of my money situation at the time. At its highest, I believe the balance hovered someplace around 13K. And over the course of the past 17 months, I have taken it from that horrifying level down to $0. And this was my card with the highest interest rate.

I've still got two credit cards to pay off. They, too, relatively painlessly, will be at zero by August. I can't tell you how empowered I feel by having committed myself to this project and by succeeding at it. Sure, it's meant teaching in summer. Sure, it's meant being more conscious of my money, and I am not really a person who likes to think about money very much. I'm not really motivated by money, when it comes down to it, and historically it's stressed me out to pay much attention to it. (Though, of course, this could be because I've been in a wicked amount of debt.)

Now sure, I've still got student loan debt, and I've got my car loan, but for the first time in my life, once the credit cards are paid off, I will have the freedom to save money in a real way and to actually look toward living a life where I'm not just making ends meet. I kind of can't believe it!

In a weird way, this feels like as much of an accomplishment - if not more of an accomplishment - than tenure. Seriously.

Mark Taylor's NYT Piece

I'd been thinking I'd write about this, but it turns out, I don't actually have to!

For an administrative perspective on why Taylor's suggestions are problematic, head on over to Dean Dad's establishment. Michael Berube responds (with much more thought than I originally gave that point) to one point of DD's post here. However, my favorite post of this whole roundup is probably Berube's succinct reaction that he posted on Monday.

For great historical context that shows Taylor's ideas about abolishing tenure and getting rid of departments are as old as departments and tenure have existed, check out this great analysis at Printculture.

Mark Bousquet punches a big fat gaping hole in Taylor's comments about current academic hiring practices.

Historiann talks about who will actually do the work in this newfangled university that Taylor proposes.

Geeky Mom takes seriously the idea that change in higher education would be a good thing, especially in terms of serving students, and Tim Burke, too, seems to think that Taylor's ideas are worth considering (though he does have some criticisms, as well).

Bobba Lynx takes on not only Taylor's piece but also Erin O'Connor's response to it.



I may weigh in with a post in any case, but if you find more reactions, post them in the comments. It's really interesting to read all of the different angles on this piece.

ETA: I've been editing and adding links as the day has gone on, and I really do feel like I have things to say, but what with the grading (sigh, the grading), a tenure reception at my provost's house (though I suspect it's more on the order of a mansion), my parents coming to town Friday, and a department end-of-semester thing, too, and not to mention the Kentucky Derby, I may end up being too late to the conversation to care by the time I have time really to post the incredibly insightful and substantive things about which I'm thinking (for obviously my thoughts are deep and grand, what with the fact that I'm not writing them, you see). Who knows.

Because What Really Matters Is My Hair

And not all of the cock-a-doodle-dum (a Virginia Woolf word I so want to bring back, along with D.H. Lawrence's "cockaloopy" - in fact, I have a fantasy about writing a paper called Cockaloopy Cock-a-Doodle-Dum then a colon, and then something, but I don't know what comes after the colon, so that paper remains unwritten, but I would so love to be called the author of "Cockaloopy Cock-a-Doodle Dum" in somebody's dissertation or something, but I digress) business of service and the humanities and theory vs. reading for transformation whatsit. No. It is my hair that matters most of all.

I just got back from the salon (a tiny little store-front establishment with no frills, for that is where my AWESOME hair lady moved, and I shall follow her anywhere), and I feel like a whole new Crazy.

The hair, it is the blonde that it should be (i.e., summertime blonde, the blonde of my 3-year-old self).

The bangs, they are back with a vengeance. It turns out that the whole "I want to grow out my bangs" thing was really an unfortunate interlude in an otherwise brilliant hair year. You see, I look great with bangs. I thought I needed some sort of a change in January, which precipitated the thought that I should grow them out. What I then realized is that the bangs a) give my hair a style (important since I'm a lazy girl when it comes to doing my hair each day) and b) that I now have unfortunate wrinkles that are beginning to become apparent on my forehead (note: probably I'm the only person who sees these, as in recent weeks like 3 separate people have noted that I look like a student).

In addition to the bangs, the hair, it is cut, very blunt along the bottom (slightly shorter in the back, with the pieces closer to the front grazing my shoulders - though the difference in length is decidedly not dramatic) with a very few layers for some movement and texture (and because the hair already had some layers). I should note that aside from those very few layers, I do believe I had not only this color of hair when I was three years old but also this exact same hair cut. Cute in 1977 is apparently also cute in 2009. I suppose my face hasn't really changed, so this does make a kind of sense.

In addition, my eyebrows were waxed to perfection (because I'm now high maintenance in this area and never deal with my own eyebrows).

Guess, just guess, how much this all cost?

Before tip.... drumroll.... $50. Seriously. I actually said, "Jen, but you did my color, too?" and she was all "well, if you'd like to give me thousands of dollars.... but no, seriously, that's how much."

I gave her $65. I seriously would have given her $75 but I thought it would make her feel weird. Needless to say, the AWESOME Jen will be receiving a LARGE tip this Christmas. LARGE.

Dilemma

Ok, so I've got a dilemma re: a service "opportunity" for next year. A colleague of mine is terribly over-committed. This colleague has been our department's representative on two related Very Important University-Wide committees. We'd discussed me taking these over not next academic year but the year after. Now, the colleague thinks that it would be best just to step down now.

These committees are so important that there would be a department vote for who would serve as our representative. The thing is, if I chose to be nominated, I think I'd most likely win.

Pros:

• I really do care about the work that these committees do.
• I think I'd be a really strong advocate for our department.
• Strong service in this area would give me exposure university-wide, and would contribute to developing skills that could lead me into administration someday, should I want to head in that direction.
• This would be my way off of a university-wide committee on which I serve currently that I think is totally stupid.
  

Cons:

• Taking this on would be time-consuming.
• This is my first year post-tenure, and a large part of me wants not to take on something of this magnitude.
• There is no reason why I really have to do this now. It's not like I won't be able to do this service in the future if I want.
• I've got a big professional service thing that I need to begin organizing in earnest throughout this year, and that plus this may effectively put the kibosh on any kind of real research agenda. Or not. I don't know.

At the heart of my ambivalence is that on the one hand taking on this service task would put me closer toward my goal of world domination. Well, perhaps that's saying it too strongly, but it would allow me to have a voice in some very important things. I like that idea a whole lot. On the other hand, with world domination comes a huge time commitment and responsibility. I like that part of it not so much.

I think I need to discuss it with my chair.

In the meantime, though, what do you all think?

In Which I Am Totally Sick of the Chronicle of Higher Education

Yet another prediction that my discipline is obsolete (apparently this time from a lame teacher): "When all the world is abuzz with digital twitterings, it may be that the humanities requirement is a dead and rotting carcass that we tiptoe around, neglecting to bury at our peril."

1. Maybe if English professors keep talking about how what we do is no longer relevant, we're actually ensuring our own demise, actually killing our own discipline. Maybe the problem isn't in fact texting and twittering and iPods and the like: maybe the problem is professors who don't think every student should take a humanities course - like really don't believe that they should, and feel like they're too good to teach those chemistry and construction management and accounting majors - and so they actively resist making such a course appealing.

2. Shame on the Chronicle for just about everything it publishes related to the humanities.

(If you really want to revel in some righteous indignation, also check out this thread over in the forums about the reading vs. readings debate. There is exactly one commenter who seems to have half of a clue, from my perspective.)

Lost Weekend

I have so much to do that it's ridiculous. But this weekend has been almost an entire loss. Well, unless we count the fact that I do feel very rested and like I'm not so stressed as I've been.

See, it all started with BES coming over Friday night. Because we're both idiots, we started drinking wine, um, immediately. Now, we did accomplish some important stuff with the thesis, most particularly related to me showing her that she does in fact know how to talk about theory, using the exact same skills that she uses all the time to talk about literary texts. There were a number of "aha" moments, in which she saw exactly what I meant about organization, in which she figured out why the theory connects to what she's trying to say, in which we really delved into the comments I'd left on her draft.... So work-wise, it was worth doing. However, as the wine kept flowing, some other things happened as well, most of which involved gossip and silliness. And I tried to force her to start calling me by my first name, which was hilarious, we ordered a pizza, etc.

As I am no longer 22 years old, I was beat all day yesterday, and I accomplished nothing other than making dinner.

Today, I've thought about work, but that's where that has begun and ended.

So this week promises to be busy busy, but I think I may just call today a wash and continue to enjoy relaxing. Doesn't make for interesting blog fodder, but it does make me feel like more of a human being, for whatever that's worth.

In Which I Agree, Kind of, and Yet I Totally Don't

So. I've just been reading Mark Edmundson's "Against Readings" in the Chronicle of Higher Education, a lengthy argument that is at once about the power of literature to transform the reader and about the ways in which theoretically oriented criticism can obstruct such transformation. It's long, so I'll excerpt some highlights.

Edmundson writes:

If I could make one wish for the members of my profession, college and university professors of literature, I would wish that for one year, two, three, or five, we would give up readings. By a reading, I mean the application of an analytical vocabulary — Marx's, Freud's, Foucault's, Derrida's, or whoever's — to describe and (usually) to judge a work of literary art. I wish that we'd declare a moratorium on readings. I wish that we'd give readings a rest.

For Edmundson, "readings" get in the way of the appreciation of and multifaceted engagement with the literary text. They are something that we overlay onto the literary text, which obscures our view of the text's complexity and that gets in the way of us being transformed by the literature that we read. He goes on to give some explanation and an example:

I said that transformation was the highest goal of literary education. The best purpose of all art is to inspire, said Emerson, and that seems right to me. But that does not mean that literary study can't have other beneficial effects. It can help people learn to read more sensitively; help them learn to express themselves; it can teach them more about the world at large. But the proper business of teaching is change — for the teacher (who is herself a work in progress) and (pre-eminently) for the student.

Nor do I think that everyone who picks up a book must seek the sublime moment of unexpected but inevitable connection. People read for diversion; for relaxation; to inform themselves; to stave off anxiety in airplanes, when the flight attendant is out of wine and beer. A book can make a good door stop; and if you find yourself especially angry at the cat, have a good throwing arm, and a good angle — well, there's no end of uses for a book. But if you're going to take a book into a room, where the objective is to educate people — education being from the Latin educere, meaning "lead out of" and then presumably toward something — then you should consider using the book to help lead those who want to go out from their own lives into another, if only a few steps.

If this is what you want to do, then readings will only get in your way. When you launch, say, a Marxist reading of William Blake, you effectively use Marx as a tool of analysis and judgment. To the degree that Blake anticipates Marx, Blake is prescient and to be praised. Thus the Marxist reading approves of Blake for his hatred of injustice; his polemic against imperialism; his suspicion of the gentry; his critique of bourgeois art as practiced by the likes of Sir Joshua Reynolds. But Blake, being Blake, also diverges from Marx. [. . .] The current sophisticated critic would be unlikely to pick one master to illuminate the work at hand — he would mix and match as the occasion required. But to enact a reading means to submit one text to the terms of another; to allow one text to interrogate another — then often to try, sentence, and summarily execute it.

The problem with the Marxist reading of Blake is that it robs us of some splendid opportunities. We never take the time to arrive at a Blakean reading of Blake, and we never get to ask whether Blake's vision might be true — by which I mean, following William James, whether it's good in the way of belief. The moment when the student in the classroom, or the reader perusing the work can pause and say: "Yes, that's how it is; Blake's got it exactly right," disappears. There's no chance for the instant that Emerson and Longinus evoke, when one feels that he's written what he's only read, uttered what he's only heard.

Ok, so far so good. Now, as Edmundson lays his argument out, I'd have to say that I'm in general agreement with him, in terms of how I believe that students should be introduced to the study of literature. I firmly believe that it's important to allow students to engage with the primary literary text as a personal experience, and I think that we must offer opportunities for engagement that facilitate the potential for transformation through reading literature. The problem for me, however, is that "getting rid of readings" can ultimately work to impose another "standard" of reading - one that limits transformation - or what counts as transformation - just as surely as imposing theory on a text can do. And, in fact, that "standard" of reading can ultimately foreclose individual student responses to a text. Don't believe me? Let's look at another passage:

I've said that the teacher's job is to offer a Blakean reading of Blake, or an Eliotic reading of Eliot, and that's a remark that can't help but raise questions. The standard for the kind of interpretation I have in mind is actually rather straightforward. When a teacher admires an author enough to teach his work, then it stands to reason that the teacher's initial objective ought to be framing a reading that the author would approve. The teacher, to begin with, represents the author: He analyzes the text sympathetically, he treats the words with care and caution and with due respect. He works hard with the students to develop a vision of what the world is and how to live that rises from the author's work and that, ultimately, the author, were he present in the room, would endorse.

I dispute that the above constitutes a "straightforward" approach to teaching literature or to studying it. Why? Well, first of all, it assumes that the instructor teaches only those literary texts (and authors) that he or she admires. I know that for me, this is certainly not the case. I often teach texts (and authors) that I don't admire, or even like, because those texts (and authors) provide a context for a period, offer a foundation without which a student can't quite understand what follows, or because I know that they are generally seen to be central to a canon of literature. That's what a canon is about, ultimately. Not about teaching only that which we personally admire, but about teaching that which people generally, historically have thought is important. These things are not identical. Next, I dispute that we can ever hope to know whether we are giving a reading of which the author would have approved, or that even if we can that in doing so we would give a work of literature its due. To presume that we, as teachers, have access to the author in that way strikes me as extreme arrogance. Also, it invests the author with a kind of dominance over the text that personally makes me uncomfortable and that makes me feel quite hemmed in as a reader. Why exactly do I have to force my students to start with an initial reading of a text that is sympathetic to a long-dead author? Why must I be sympathetic to the needs of that same author? And further, as a person who works on writers that were and are notoriously hostile to critics, I have to say: I find it difficult to believe that those authors would endorse a reading that purports to give the "sympathetic," and it is implied true, reading of anything that they've written. Further, I am doubtful that all writers of literature are offering in their works "a vision of what the world is and how to live." (Actually, this approach to literature reminds me of the approach that Richard Rodriguez criticizes in "The Achievement of Desire" when he talks about how he kept a notebook of what each book he read "meant" as a kid.)

Now, to be fair Edmundson does attempt to qualify this perspective with the following:

This kind of criticism is itself something of an art, not a science. You cannot tell that you have compounded a valid reading of Dickens any more than that you have compounded a valid novel or a valid play. When others find your Dickensian endorsement of Dickens to be of use to them, humanly, intellectually, spiritually, then your endorsement is a success. The desire to turn the art of reading into a science is part of what draws the profession to the application of sterile concepts.

Hello, sweetness and light. I can't tell you what art is but I know it when I see it. Trust me. I'm a very sensitive expert. Much more sensitive than you. And I can't tell you what "valid" criticism is, but criticism is valid when others find your criticism of use. The problem, here, is that what Edmundson takes to be self-evident doesn't seem quite so evident to me. Who decides what counts as "use"? (And what if I find the application of sterile concepts useful? And let's not even talk about the binary between fertility and sterility here, because my head might actually explode....) How can I as an instructor of literature presume to shape my students "humanly" or "spiritually"? What does that entail, exactly? What does it mean? And what if my students don't share my values? Or what if they don't wanting me to interfere in their humanity and their spirituality?

And this whole criticism as art vs. criticism as science meme? Yeah, I would recommend that people just read them some new criticism (Especially Cleanth Brooks, Victor Shklovsky, and maybe some Eliot for good measure) and call it a day. No, I don't believe that reading is a "science," but I do believe that literary criticism is a disciplinary practice. The disciplinarity of literary studies is not opposed to art, for me, nor does disciplinarity equal "the application of sterile concepts." Also, this profoundly conservative argument ultimately reifies the art object and reduces to "sterile concepts" politically engaged forms of criticism, forms of criticism that have proved central to the expansion and revision of canons of literature, and forms of criticism that value voices that are not white, male, and dead. As a woman scholar, critic, and teacher, yes, that matters a hell of a lot to me.

When someone writes, as Edmundson does, "But unless we as a profession change our ways and stop seeking respectability and institutional standing at the expense of genuine human impact, they are destined, as Tennyson has it, to rust unburnished, and that's a sorry fate for them and for all of us," I wonder who decides what counts as genuine human impact, and, more than that, who actually counts as human. I wonder why theoretical thinking is construed in this context as respectable and institutional, while reading atheoretically is construed as, the essay implies, radical. I wonder why there is no in-between when we think about the relationship between theory, literary texts, and classroom instruction. Why is it either that we teach students to "love books" or that we force them to "apply theory"? Why can't we argue that students should first learn to engage carefully with literary texts (note: I say carefully - not necessarily sympathetically), independent of a stated critical approach, but that later, such approaches will help them to think in more complex ways about the literature that they encounter? Why can't we find room for literature as art object while at the same time we acknowledge that literary studies, as a discipline, has its own language, its own theories, its own metholologies?

And finally, is it a mistake that Edmundson alludes throughout his essay to Blake, Emerson, Matthew Arnold, Tennyson, Dickens, Samuel Johnson, Edmund Burke, Longinus, Orwell, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Whitman, Cervantes, Flaubert, T.S. Eliot, and Schopenauer, along with a slew of the Big Names of Theory (mostly male)? And that he mentions just one literary text by a person of color (The Autobiography of Malcolm X), and throws in the names of only one woman poet (Emily Dickinson) and one woman novelist (Virginia Woolf), in passing? Does reading without readings mean a return to the canon of 1960? Does reading without readings mean that ultimately anybody who's on the margins just doesn't really "count" very much, as those writings by or about those people don't help as much in the project of making us "human"? That sure is what it seems like from this essay.

Theory is not a threat to the transformative power of literature, or it doesn't need to be. And if students apply theory in ways that are reductive, maybe that's because their teachers aren't helping them to do something else, something better. Literature has the power to transform. Teachers have the power to educate, which may involve transformation, but also involves a lot of other things - socialization into a discipline being one of them. I really don't see myself as some sort of officiant of student transformation. That's not teaching. That's self-aggrandizement.

ETA: Undine posted in response to this over at her place. It's a great extension of the conversation.

One Hell of a Year

So, I finally caught up with my friend J. last night (we'd been playing phone tag for weeks), and we had a nice long talk about what we want in our lives, feeling a bit overwhelmed by changes that are happening to each of us individually, how the economy is making everything crazy for lots of people we know, etc.

It's weird, both J. and I are in a place of uncertainty right now career-wise, but for diametrically opposed reasons. You see, she just found out that her company is being bought out by a smaller company, and so the likelihood is that as of July 1 she won't have a job. She's been there a long time, so she'll get a good severance package, but she was the victim of downsizing almost 4 years ago (got a severance package, used the time to finally finish college, and then was hired back with her old seniority), and so this news is a real blow. Especially because she'd been feeling unhappy about her work situation for a good while now, had already updated her resume, but figured that she'd be able to stick it out until job prospects improved. Now, the decision is made for her.

In contrast, I now am in the place where there is total job security, which is awesome and which I do not take for granted, but it also means I have to figure out what I do next without the aid of any external motivation. Now, don't get me wrong: I am not saying that people should feel sorry for me because of this. That said, it's still a big conceptual leap to make, having been a person who had gotten used to jumping through hoops that other people set for me.

In any case, both J. and I are at a point where we're reviewing decisions that we've made and about where we want to go and how to get where we want to go now that we've reached this point. A lot of that involves thinking about how a personal life is going to look based on our current career situations, and a lot of it involves thinking pretty carefully about priorities in the coming year or two. J.'s considering grad school, but she's very ambivalent about it at this point - not sure whether she's thinking about it just because she went back to school the last time she lost her job. I'm certainly not thinking about more school (as IF!) but I am thinking a lot about needing a Next Big Project that will justify a sabbatical.

So anyway, I'm not sure what I really want to write about further in this post, but I felt so good after we talked last night. J. is just such a super friend, and I'm so lucky to have friends like her in what has been a pretty rocky year (both the '09 and the academic year).

Tough Love

I first met BES in the Fall of 2007. She was a transfer student, and so hadn't encountered many faculty in our department. I met her because she went to a colleague of mine looking for an Honors Thesis Adviser. He was one of the few teachers that she'd encountered in our department, at that point. She told him what she was thinking, and he said, "Seriously? I am not the person you want. The person you want, if you really want to do what you propose, is Dr. Crazy." So he introduced me to her. And I was suspicious and in no way inclined to say yes to advising her without... well, without knowing her. But I met her, and we talked, and I felt, in the words of Anne of Green Gables, that we were Kindred Spirits, and well, so there is how our alliance was forged.

In the intervening time she's taken two courses with me, and we've spent a year and a half working on her senior thesis. Mentor Colleague of mine (who's seriously worked here longer than I've been alive and who's fabulous and who was my mentor toward tenure) has tried to poach her, but BES refuses to be poached. As I told her today, though, I so don't feel like it's a competition because I feel like Mentor Colleague is actually MY professor, and thus she and I are under the same umbrella. Anyway.

When BES first came to me, she indicated that she wanted to do a thesis that would prepare her for grad school in English. I gave her then, and I've given her many since, a speech about how that was a RISKY proposition. [Insert the diatribe about grad school in English here] But when I signed on, that was the project I signed on for: prepare this student for grad school at a school that doesn't really prepare students for that. And dude, if she wants it? It's hers. Yes, I've tried to dissuade her from the dream, because I feel like I should, but she is SO bright and SO capable. I really do believe she can maybe do it, or I'd not have agreed to this thesis project.

But so the road hasn't been easy. For me or for her. For her? Because I've been a real motherfucker to her. I've given her comments that are NOT comments for undergrads. I've not coddled her. I've not made her feel good, or even ok, about lame work. I've not even excused the lameness out of a sense of niceness or whatever. I've been a total hard-ass. In regard to the thesis, that is.

And she, well, she's not been easy either, in that she's done the classic shit of avoiding me, of resenting me, of refusing to do what her adviser tells her to do. Not out of conviction but out of laziness and rebellion. She's lost her shit and sobbed, she's thrown tantrums, she's pitched a fit. She's sulked and sighed. All of those things when she knew from the first day that I'm the Ill-Equipped Professor who barely has a napkin, let alone kleenex.

But I LOVE BES. She's seriously, like, my friend. I mean, it's weird as I'm like a professor-friend, but for real, she's not just some undergrad to me. She's somebody whom I'd figure as a peep.

So I forced her to give me a complete draft of her thesis this past week (after she'd been actively avoiding me for two weeks, in the way of anxious dissertators). And I spent at least 2 hours commenting on it by hand, with three different colors of ink. When I finished, I knew that I had to email her before she saw it or she would totally lose her mind in angst. So I emailed her yesterday, saying "BES, you're at a crossroads, and you can either choose A (finish the shit up and do nothing ambitious) or B (work your ass off and do work you never thought you could plus make the theory make sense to normal folks). I made it very clear that I was cool with both, and that I'd mentor her through either, happily. I made the point that this was HER project and that it really isn't mine. So she thought for approx. 24 hours.

Then she came to pick up the draft with all of the comments. And she lost her shit.

Luckily, Mentor Colleague comforted her for a few before I was out of class, and then as I came back to my office, I found her. I saw the look on her face and hugged her, she cried, I nearly cried, I talked her off the ledge, at a certain point I said, "Do you have a lighter? Because if you do I have cigarettes and I'll provide some for you," and then we went and smoked and she calmed down, and then we went back to my office and had a two-hour long confab, that was part meeting and part just hanging out and in which it was agreed that she'd come to my place on Friday (for thesis work, yes, but mainly for dinner, and wine) and I'd help her hash the shit of her thesis out. The thing is, and the thing that she didn't seem to get, is her thesis is already fucking passed. She's amazing. It's just -- her thesis isn't what I know she wants it to be. I'm committed to helping her to make that, if it's still what she wants.

So there are lots of things, related to this cathartic meeting with BES.

Things she was surprised about:

• I never had a preconceived notion about what this thesis would be. I never had an idea in my head about what her thesis "was." I was always about helping her to get as far as she could go. And still am.
• I wrote a shittier senior thesis than she's written already. Seriously. My standards for her have nothing to do with what I did as a student.
• I really do see how totally far she's come. I'm proud of her - already.
• I really don't think that this thesis is my business. I think that it's her work. I want to facilitate that work, sure, but I have absolutely no personal investment in it.

Things I've been surprised about:

• I have a gift for giving people as much or as little feedback, at the appropriate times, as they need to do their best work.
• I'm good at pushing a student past what they think are their limits, and bringing them over the threshold into a new way of thinking and a new way of seeing.
• I'm really good at giving students ownership over their own work - for as stressed as BES is, she sees how much she's become her own scholar through this - and so do I.

All that being said? Thank freaking god I'm not responsible for a bunch of grad students writing their dissertations. I have absolutely no interest in that. I do not care fuckall about spreading my academic seed. I care about teaching. I care about helping my students to find their own voices and to find their own highest level. None of that involves being at a research university with grad students. My students aren't an accomplishment of mine, nor do I wish that they would be. FB laments that he can't have "real" grad students and that he can't advise good PhD types where he is (althought it's an actual research place). Nah, I'd rather have a random thesis student every now and again, and be able to get that person to a place to which they never dreamed of going. And to invite that student over for wine and cigarettes and theory. That's my scene. Totally.

The Rainbow's Working Its Magic!

What with the budget crisis (and what with shady accounting practices of my last chair), there was some uncertainty about how travel money would work out for the spring. My current chair (who RULES) had given me a figure for my recent conference, below what Former Chair had offered but reasonable.

It's a miracle! The money worked out such that I get the full amount Former Chair had Promised! Hallelujah! A full 260 bucks more! Huzzah!

Allergies are for Losers

Tree pollen is NOT my friend. I am also no huge fan of mold spores.

Grumble.