This "Bright Gumdrop Unicorn" is about solutions not just problems

Continuing the thought process about junior faculty looking for other jobs (that began here, and continued here, and summed up nicely as a sort of Hotel Californication by Maggie May, and today blew up with this Rate Your Students post and the beginnings of the responses),
here are a few thoughts that I'd like to see addressed. And at the end, a proposed solution.

Having followed the posts, it's interesting to hear that "senior faculty" (by the way, if "junior faculty" get painted as a single brush, so do you, gramps - this post is going to take the same tone I'm seeing from the "senior faculty" in hopes that by speaking their forked tongue language, they'll get the point a bit better) really are as insular as Abe Simpson. First, because it seems they can no longer distinguish between reasons for leaving. In none of the posts above that brought this up has anyone given any indication they're doing a one year and out situation, and yet this seems to be the assumption made by the "senior faculty" posting in response. Second, because they can't quite imagine that people don't love everything the same way they do, they seem to take someone doing typical job things - trying to find positions that fit better, pay better, etc. - as some sort of personal affront. It's great that you love your town, your university, your country, your 7 pm bedtime after "Matlock" is over, but honestly, hegemon, that doesn't mean everyone has to.

If we're not happy, if we're far from the things we care about, if we're not getting what we need then we have two choices: we can wait for you to finish your victory cabbage, your 40 mile walks through the snow with no shoes, and your stories about how FDR beat Superman in a footrace and help us fix it , or we can do something to fix it ourselves. From the posts thus far, the choice is obvious. And if that's the way we feel, why do you want us there anyway? If we're as selfish and egotistical, why cry when we leave? Wait - that would mean you'd have to teach those intro courses you hate, serve on more committees, do more research, reprep old lectures, stop peddling your cars with your feet and enter the modern world.

Most importantly, recognize that you've got more than a little blame in this, old folks. You've perpetuated a system. You've done job hires the way they've always been done, you've hired junior faculty out from under other departments and been glad to have them. You've passed off the duties you don't want to the person at the wrong end of the career ladder. So change how you hire, change who you hire, or hush up and relax - I'm sure "Lawrence Welk" will be on soon, and then you can take your naps and dream of shooing kids off your lawn.

And you know what? I know why you want me to stay. I've just spent parts of several days watching your poor argumentation - name calling, castigation, the need to resort to profanity and sad stereotypes - to bolster your points. I've seen your weak logic, your reliance on strawmen arguments, your inability to think critically about the system you're in, and your strange assumptions that everything is either/or. The whole point of this post, after all, is designed as both argument against and satire of how you "senior faculty" are coming across. You need me to teach you critical thinking as badly as your students do from the sounds of it. Just because I'm looking for a new job doesn't mean I don't appreciate and want to help students, that I don't like the university, or that I voted against social security or whatever it is that's really got your Depends in a wad.

Oh, and that solution: for all of you more curmudgeonly-than-thous who think junior faculty shouldn't leave one job to go to another, put that in your ads. If you really think that badly of someone trying to find a situtation that is good for them and good for the school and their students, own it. You write the job ads. Because I can tell you, if that's your attitude, I don't want to work with you anyway, you narrowminded, judgemental, sanctimonious windbags.

It's Game Time...

And just in case you missed it in the midst of other, less important things: today was the start of the NBA season. And all I need to say is: Go, Spurs, Go!

There's trouble right here in Academic City

Big discussions happening over at Dr. Crazy's place. Check out the useful post about approaching the job market after you've got a tenure track position and the useful comments about what the considerations might be once you do.

One of the thing I've noticed in my brief time in the blogging world (this go-round, at least) but also in academia at large is that there's a tendency to look at problems in a very particular way. Take this for example:
EdSmithers said...
I can't believe not a one of you has been a senior enough member of a faculty to know the damage that this "casting around for a better gig" does to a department.

The junior faculty of present day academe is made up of people like you, uncaring and selfish, not giving a shit about the students and colleagues you leave in the lurch with your pretty "look at me, love me, and miss me" announcement of departure in April of each year.
Ignoring the assumptions about why people leave, there are some things missing. The point that I never see mentioned at moments like this is that the people in question - in this case, junior faculty - are entering into a world with rules made by senior faculty.

Structurally, the university system is made up in such a way that faculty would be crazy not to leave. The April departures edsmithers bemoans happen because of a structural process senior faculty, organizations, and universities have much more control over than do individual faculty. Do I want to have to wait till late in this school year to give my departure notice? Not really. Do I have to? If jobs are posted in the Fall, interviews are done in Winter, and hiring in Spring, then there isn't much say that the person being ired really has in the process. Now, consider this gem:
Webmaster said...
Imagine our delight in imagining you might deign to stay here in Pudknocker town another year or two!

We will certainly forget your casting around for a better gig when tenure and promotion loom.
Who'd want to stay at a job where "senior faculty" condescend and stereotype junior faculty in such ways as edsmithers or who are threatened with retaliation for exercising an option in the labor market as advocated by webmaster?

The other thing that neither/both/the same seem to ignore is that sometimes leaving is the responsible thing. It is entirely possible that one could land a job that seemed perfect only to discover they are a poor fit for that department's needs. By the logic shown in those threads, you don't ever get to part gracefully; you can only be shown the door. But that's not the way the job market works anywhere.

It's also intriguing to hear "senior faculty" (this keeps going in quotes because the only evidence I can find of an academic edsmithers seems to be teaching one course a year in the Santa Clara University Law program) who (if they are, in fact, senior faculty) would've come in at a substantially different pay scale relative to inflation than new faculty. I can imagine it would be easier to marry yourself to a place if you were making the sort of money profs who started in the 70s or 80s are getting paid. Come back down to my pay scale, though, and I'm betting you'll rethink it.

[Addendum: if we must keep using this marriage/career metaphor, then sooner or later, complainers must cope with the fact that, just as in real life, a lot of times when say "it's not you, it's me", it's really you.]

Things Fall Apart

So I was dozing in the chair, having written 1,000 or so words on the book chapter that I recently got accepted, and I was feeling quite satisfied with myself. As days go, it was productive and relaxing. There was an invitation to a party this evening that I had hoped to attend, however briefly.

And as you know, dear reader, such moments cannot last.

The phone rang. It was a good friend calling to make sure I was okay. It seems they'd left multiple messages on my voice mail this week that I'd not returned. I explained I'd not received any voice mail messages. I'd been checking religiously because, as you may have inferred from the umpteen bajillion posts whining about things like giant applications and the like, I'm on the job market. The little beeping thing that happens when I pick up the phone to tell me someone was calling to ask for money hasn't happened. But the friend who called is one of the sort that you'd trust your life with, so clearly something was amiss.

As it turns out, there was a voice mail. From the phone company. Telling me my voice mail wasn't working. So only if you're the sort who checks your voice mail even when the thing that tells you whether there is voice mail or not is telling you no would you actually find out that your voice mail isn't working.

To sum up, I'm on the job market and my phone doesn't work.

I take this in stride. I curse the fact that I have to give my home phone number because my office phone doesn't work reliably but evidently cannot be fixed right now because there's a new phone system going in shortly (read: Christmas break). I think of all the SNAFUs like this that have happened in this region since I moved here - dry cleaners going out of business with my clothes in check, never to be seen or heard from again; landlords who won't make repairs; drivers who have opted out of thinking about lanes and turn signals (even paying attention to other people's) who have dinged my car - and I curse this place.

Then I relax. I can roll with this. And I open my e-mail to try and draft an e-mail to all those places I've sent applications to that won't make me sound like a hobo or crack head or some sort of unreliable sort when I explain that I can't get their messages right now because neither of my phone lines work correctly. And I find an e-mail from the editors of the book collection, revealing that they haven't actually secured a publisher for the book they've accepted the article I was dutifully plugging away on, but it should be any day now, and incidentally, the deadline hasn't changed at all though they can't even tell me what style the article is to be written in.

Entropy, dear reader, has wiped the smile off my face.

Meme fodder for a Friday afternoon

Not much to tell here today - the new contract arrived and needs review and the students are punch and distracted as am I - so lucky that I was tagged for this meme by MommyProf. The Darwin theme feels a little creepy and also maybe a little seventh grade, but since I've fallen into the Facebook pool, I won't resist the urge. Plus I'm a sucker for genre.

First, the rules:
There are a set of questions below that are all of the form, "The best [subgenre] [medium] in [genre] is...".Copy the questions, and before answering them, you may modify them in a limited way, carrying out no more than two of these operations:

You can leave them exactly as is.
You can delete any one question.
You can mutate either the genre, medium, or subgenre of any one question.
For instance, you could change "The best time travel novel in SF/Fantasy is..." to "The best time travel novel in Westerns is...", or "The best time travel movie in SF/Fantasy is...", or "The best romance novel in SF/Fantasy is...".
You can add a completely new question of your choice to the end of the list, as long as it is still in the form "The best [subgenre] [medium] in [genre] is...".
You must have at least one question in your set, or you've gone extinct, and you must be able to answer it yourself, or you're not viable.
Then answer your possibly mutant set of questions. Please do include a link back to the blog you got them from, to simplify tracing the ancestry, and include these instructions. Finally, pass it along to any number of your fellow bloggers. Remember, though, your success as a Darwinian replicator is going to be measured by the propagation of your variants, which is going to be a function of both the interest your well-honed questions generate and the number of successful attempts at reproducing them.


So, without further ado:
My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Pharyngula.
My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Metamagician and the Hellfire Club.
My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Flying Trilobite.
My great=great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is A Blog Around the Clock.
My great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Primate Diaries.
My great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Thus Spake Zuska.
My great-great-great-great-grandparent is a k8, a cat, a mission.
My great-great-great-grandparent is Monkeygirl.
My great-great-grandparent is DancingFish.
My great-grandparent is Dr. Brazen Hussy.
My grandparent is Addy
My parent is MommyProf

The best television series in SciFi is: Battlestar Galactica
The best cult movie in comedy is: This is Spinal Tap
The best road novel in classic fiction is: On the Road
The best high-fat food in Tex-Mex cooking is: chicken fried steak
The best recent movie in comedy is: Little Miss Sunshine

Now then, PopTart, Dr. Crazy, Dance, and Samantha: tag, you're it. And, of course, anyone else who stumbles by and needs a little distraction from the day.

Sanity days

We're coming up on week 10 here. The students are dragging more than a little bit, and I'm not far behind. Some teacher - I think perhaps my ultra-cool, funny 6th grade English teacher - once confessed that in teaching, they always programmed in sanity days for themselves and the students.

This was advice I took to heart; usually we call them research days - or in the terms when I plan to be on the job market, I've got a few days in to help deal with those. The monkeys are doing well, but they're flagging. The discontinuity between all freshmen and all seniors is making my head hurt. And the weather is changing.

I think it might well be time to pull one out of the hat.

p.s. I joined FaceBook, and I'm so very, very afraid. More on this soon, I'm sure.

Of Sesame Street and the Job Process

Two more applications out today (that puts me at 11 so far). It occurs to me that if Sesame Street made a show for young academics, it'd be self-doubt that'd start the show off. So today, self-doubt is brought to you by the job number 11 and the phrase "proof of teaching excellence."

Today I was thinking about quirky the process and fickle the players can be. So, as I was sending off ginormous packet #11, I began to wonder "what if they think I'm trying too hard to demonstrate 'teaching excellence'?"

Rather than complain about the ambiguity of the phrase, instead I'll offer my interpretation of it. If nothing else, there's always catharsis?

First, I haven't won any teaching awards (wow - that sounds harsh). So instead, I opt to share peer reviews of my teaching (that happens pretty regularly here in the early years, thankfully). And then I submit syllabi and evals.

This is also where I wonder if I'm trying too hard.

This is the third university I've taught at, if you include graduate teaching (and I did quite a bit of that and in courses that were sufficiently distinct - they were 10 week courses, for one thing - that I feel like they need to be included). At my second job, as a visiting assistant, let's say that my comfort zone was pushed a little bit. I taught courses "as needed" (advice to anyone applying for that sort of job - if you see that phrase, be aware it can translate to "whatever no one else wanted to teach can be yours regardless of whether you've anything like expertise in it). It was a 4/4 load, so you can imagine that I got quite a bit of variety out of it (because naturally as the department's whipping boy go-to-guy, I did four preps each term). And now I'm at my third job - also (as noted previously) a 4/4. Here, at least, the preps are relatively close to what my areas of expertise and interest are.

But the number of syllabi adds up. If I send them all - as seems possibly appropriate (particularly so for jobs that are written broadly) - that's something like 15 distinct courses I'm sending syllabi for (in most cases, also with detailed assignments). Add a sampling of evals for them, and these packets get out of control. My tendency has been to try and send as much as possible on the syllabi side while giving some meaningful summary of evals (whatever that means - and it's certainly debatable).

On one hand, it seems to me that sending as much as possible is almost what we're conditioned to. Think about all the advice about holding everything aside for tenure packets and such. On the other hand, who could blame a committee member for blanching a little at the prospect of a 200 page packet?

Ay yi yi. Where's Mr. Hooper and Big Bird when I need useful advice?