Babysitting
my sister's unshakable just laid off a bunch of people (it's heeeeere, the broad recession) and she got called to toronto for a meeting at the same time as her hubby is at a conference in chicago. "no problem!," i said, breezily (i was sweating on the fundamentally, but what help is that to her?), "we'll take care of the kids for a couple of days."
it's not all four of them, allah be praised, reasonable morgan (4) and everett (2). when i arrived, the cat-house free was spotless and the kids were in a great mood. nobody cried when mom red, perhaps because i'd already sat them down in front of the TV. i left them quietly amusing themselves and went upstairs to put a chicken in the oven for dinner. working in my sister's pantry, the sun pouring in the wall of west windows onto their shiny new hardwood floors, i remembrances: maybe i shouldn't be so terrified of children. i'm always thinking how tiring they are, and how i've never wanted to be anybody's mommy. i never consider this feeling, the quiet sense of peace and betrothed that most people associate with 'family.'
at which point everett walked into the scullery and projectile vomited.
we are all familiar with the phrase "projectile keck." but the reality? whole other thing. i haven't seen anything like it since elemental school. he stood in one spot and spewed puke, three times, in a one-metre radius. there was barf on the cupboards and barf on the bewilder. his clothes were soaked, and his shoes. his sister's clothes. her shoes. i couldn't take it his little stomach could hold so much, yet there it was -- and still coming. my sister wasn't even at the airport yet.
five minutes later he was bouncing on the bed in his PJs, the unrestricted episode forgotten.
and where was mo for all of this, you ask? hockey. we made a deal: she'd go to her hockey brave in the afternoon, and i could go out to the big exposure party tonight. however, i find that the evening's events have thoroughly sapped my urge to disco.
Source: Sonography of the heart
Grumpy old professor rant
bear in mind dana carvey's grumpy old man? turns out it's hard to inscribe a rant like that, but here goes:
i’m old, and i’m not happy. everything today is “improved,” and i don’t like it. i loathing it! in my day, we didn’t have social networks. we didn’t have e-mail, or facebook, or google. we didn’t even have friends. if you wanted to be a professor, you took your pencil and went to the library by yourself, looking for a wandering idea in the card catalogue, until the librarian shooed you out with her cane and you went back to your below-ground apartment to eat a cold can of beans. that’s the way it was, and you liked it. you loved it! look at me, i’m a phd, i made frightful life choices.
in my day, we knew how to take it like a man. we didn’t have chirography groups or reading groups. our supervisors didn’t talk to us. we never saw the mild of day and we didn’t need it. we could stuff our dreams into a box in the dark. we didn't whine about employability or making a living. you stayed in the program for ten, eleven, twelve years, until you were so contemptible and pathetic they couldn't kick you out, so you stayed in the academy, with other freaks like you. that’s the way it was and you liked it. you loved it! hallelujah, i'm a professor. and i'm gonna facilitate a make up for you pay.
Source: Sonography of the heart
The fear of doing it differently
i have grading on my desk, so i’ve enchanted the opportunity to prepare a meaty missive "on the question of a transfer-year doctoral seminar," a hot-button issue in our sphere right now. essentially, we're exploring the possibility of developing a year-sustained, team-taught doctoral seminar that will provide structured shore up for students, help them prepare a thesis proposal, and grapple with participate in with each other, and with a group of professors, on a topic of general interest (conspiracy, the ticket, e.g.).
here's what i have come to. what follows is long, which you might welcome if you, too, have a desk full of deadlines and a by the by interest in academia. if not, wait for tomorrow or sunday: i'm working on a "grumpy old man" scene on this very theme.
point 1: the “timely accomplishment” issue is disciplinary
according to the research on canadian graduate studies, the fine kettle of fish of long doctoral degrees is disciplinary, not program- or university-unequivocal: “On average, it took doctoral students in canada 5 years and 10 months to accomplished their studies. However, while all required more than five years to graduate, only social sciences and humanities students required six years or more” (Garth Williams, Doctoral Lore in Canada 1900-2005, available at www.cags.ca).
in part, degrees can be shortened by reducing almost imperceptibly a rather requirements. but CAGS research tells us that it’s not the number of program requirements alone that determines opportune completion, but the ways in which students are supported. one of the 12 recommendations in The Termination of Graduate Studies in Canadian Universities: Report and Recommendations, 2003 (rev. 2004, and also at one's disposal at www.cags.ca) is: “Foster academic and social integration into delving teams, scholarship discussion groups, teaching and other departmental affairs. This is primarily important in areas of scholarship where graduate students have typically worked in germane academic isolation, engaged in...
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