I have heard from my legion of fans (all three of them) wondering why they haven't been able to read my delightful insights lately. For you three faithful friends, here goes (you asked for it, don't blame me for what follows):
At the university where I work, I have become accustumed to teaching a political science class every fall semester. It's a decent gig, but it's always a core class, which means I have many, many students and many, many non-political science majors who can barely keep their heads from falling into their super-caffineated lattes. Well, last semester, nothing! I figured the political science department had progressed from the bottom of the food chain and lucked out -- there were a good number of teaching assistants who would (had to) do this work for a pittance. So, they hadn't reached my level in the hierarchy (occupied soley by me). Bummer.
The other supplemental work I had was teaching a paralegal class on Contracts and Intellectual Property for a full Saturday each semester. I really liked this one, because the students wanted to be there and were fewer in number. But before the fall semester started, I received a "Dear John" type email. It went like this (and I'm paraphrasing): "Hey, (Fill in your name here), we went virtual with some of our classes, and you've been replaced by a computer." Double bummer.
Okay, so found it easy to fit comfortably in with the ranks of middle-class America where life is nasty, short, brutish and brought to us courtesy of Visa and Mastercard*. Then, tah-dah, right after the Christmas break, I received an email from the chair of the poli-sci department, which said (I'm paraphrasing): "Dear Untenured One: We have a scarcity of underlings to exploit. Here are a half-dozen classes available for you to teach. Pick one, two or whatev. Yours truly, Mr. I-Publish-All-the-Time." Wow! Any number! But wait, I thought, I have to work fulltime at my job. The powers-that-be don't mind taking an hour or so from my day to teach, but I can't pretend I have super long lunches because I'm not a corporate lawyer, dammit. So I took a daytime class and one that goes from 6:30 to 9:20 at night. I now have a total of 251 students upon whom I bestow my great knowledge (I keep one chapter ahead of the syllabus).
As luck would have it, I received a call from the person who runs the paralegal program from which I was dumped. She said (and I'm paraphrasing): Oh, hi. Our director is stepping down. Would you like this job? Here's a contract. If you sign it, you'll make pretty good money doing this on an occasional weekend. Sha-bam! (that was me) This paralegal stuff is not as taxing as the poli-sci classes, and if I turned it down, I would have kissed this nice gig bye-bye.
And here I am. I am typing this in a supermarket that has a sitting area that a half-step above McDonalds. I can't prepare for classes at home because my dog looks at me and, justifiably, in a non-verbal way, communicates this: "Why can't you spend more time taking me for long walks around the duck-filled ponds that I love so much? Why do you leave me here with That Cat?" I can't deal with the guilt, so I come here.
Oh, and here's another reason why my life is crappy right now: I have a probate case that a friend asked me to help out with. It's been over a year and it still haunts me, mainly due to a judge who I want to say is older than dirt, but I am starting to believe that he was here before dirt ever showed its face. I have jumped through every hoop and made numerous attempts to follow his protocol, but it's never enough. For example, I would submit documents he requested, and he'd say something like, "Now I need just one more affidavit, but this time the person needs to jump up and down 3 times, reciting my favorite Mother Goose rhyme (you have to guess which one it is) before he swears to the truth of the matter asserted."
You get the idea.
So, loyal fans, don't feel sorry for me, because I'm getting filthy solvent right now. I will be more faithful in my writings once I have more time in my busy, busy (but strangely boring) life to do so.
(*apologies to Thomas Hobbes)
At the university where I work, I have become accustumed to teaching a political science class every fall semester. It's a decent gig, but it's always a core class, which means I have many, many students and many, many non-political science majors who can barely keep their heads from falling into their super-caffineated lattes. Well, last semester, nothing! I figured the political science department had progressed from the bottom of the food chain and lucked out -- there were a good number of teaching assistants who would (had to) do this work for a pittance. So, they hadn't reached my level in the hierarchy (occupied soley by me). Bummer.
The other supplemental work I had was teaching a paralegal class on Contracts and Intellectual Property for a full Saturday each semester. I really liked this one, because the students wanted to be there and were fewer in number. But before the fall semester started, I received a "Dear John" type email. It went like this (and I'm paraphrasing): "Hey, (Fill in your name here), we went virtual with some of our classes, and you've been replaced by a computer." Double bummer.
Okay, so found it easy to fit comfortably in with the ranks of middle-class America where life is nasty, short, brutish and brought to us courtesy of Visa and Mastercard*. Then, tah-dah, right after the Christmas break, I received an email from the chair of the poli-sci department, which said (I'm paraphrasing): "Dear Untenured One: We have a scarcity of underlings to exploit. Here are a half-dozen classes available for you to teach. Pick one, two or whatev. Yours truly, Mr. I-Publish-All-the-Time." Wow! Any number! But wait, I thought, I have to work fulltime at my job. The powers-that-be don't mind taking an hour or so from my day to teach, but I can't pretend I have super long lunches because I'm not a corporate lawyer, dammit. So I took a daytime class and one that goes from 6:30 to 9:20 at night. I now have a total of 251 students upon whom I bestow my great knowledge (I keep one chapter ahead of the syllabus).
As luck would have it, I received a call from the person who runs the paralegal program from which I was dumped. She said (and I'm paraphrasing): Oh, hi. Our director is stepping down. Would you like this job? Here's a contract. If you sign it, you'll make pretty good money doing this on an occasional weekend. Sha-bam! (that was me) This paralegal stuff is not as taxing as the poli-sci classes, and if I turned it down, I would have kissed this nice gig bye-bye.
And here I am. I am typing this in a supermarket that has a sitting area that a half-step above McDonalds. I can't prepare for classes at home because my dog looks at me and, justifiably, in a non-verbal way, communicates this: "Why can't you spend more time taking me for long walks around the duck-filled ponds that I love so much? Why do you leave me here with That Cat?" I can't deal with the guilt, so I come here.
Oh, and here's another reason why my life is crappy right now: I have a probate case that a friend asked me to help out with. It's been over a year and it still haunts me, mainly due to a judge who I want to say is older than dirt, but I am starting to believe that he was here before dirt ever showed its face. I have jumped through every hoop and made numerous attempts to follow his protocol, but it's never enough. For example, I would submit documents he requested, and he'd say something like, "Now I need just one more affidavit, but this time the person needs to jump up and down 3 times, reciting my favorite Mother Goose rhyme (you have to guess which one it is) before he swears to the truth of the matter asserted."
You get the idea.
So, loyal fans, don't feel sorry for me, because I'm getting filthy solvent right now. I will be more faithful in my writings once I have more time in my busy, busy (but strangely boring) life to do so.
(*apologies to Thomas Hobbes)
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