Fencing Bear at Prayer

I was having a pretty good day today.  My writing is coming along better than I ever dreamed it could (see "Brief Regular Sessions").  My son got his autumn grades today and is doing brilliantly, even in History (not his favorite subject, I am sorry to say; that would be Math).  We got our new internet service installed today, so we have WiFi again.  And I might even make it to practice tonight for the first time in over two weeks. And then I read another set of applications to our graduate program.  Let me tell you, any of you who are thinking about a career in academia, don't.  'Cause you know what?  You will spend eight years (on average) in graduate school, another six or seven proving yourself in order to get tenure (if, that is, you are lucky enough to get a tenure track job, hardly a guarantee), another ten or twelve developing your next major research project (again, if you are lucky enough to get time off from your campus responsibilities, a...

And I was worried that no one would be able to buy my book at the conference. - Posted using BlogPress from my iPad Location: Timber Ridge Dr,Kalamazoo Township,

It's my father 's fault , really.  He always used to say, "You three kids are so smart.  If you would just put your heads together, you could make a million dollars."  He was never very specific about how, exactly, we were supposed to make this million, but it generally included something along the lines of writing/acting/movie making.  He was trying to be encouraging, I think.  But, not yet having made our million--nor, indeed, put our heads together about anything since his 60th birthday party--it's hard not to feel that we've somehow missed our chance. But at what?  I write (here, but also in an academic context); my brother writes novels as well as lectures and blogs ; my sister works as a script supervisor .  We might have the talents to make something spectacular, but spectacular is not (necessarily) what makes millions.  Pop is.  The real question is, do we want to be pop?  Or, indeed, famous?  You know that I've struggled ...

No white person wants to be famous just among white people. Most of the things that white people do* are only interesting to other white people. Which means the only way that a white person can become famous is by impressing a lot of other white people. Which no self-respecting white person would ever want. QED, it is pointless to worry about being famous. In fact, it would be better not to be. Whew! I'm glad that I finally understand this now. Maybe now I can get back to work, secure in the thought that practically nobody understands what I am trying to do. And that I never really wanted to be famous in the first place. Also that it only makes me pathetic to be hanging around wishing that I were one of the popular kids. I'd rather still be a geek. So there. Now all I have to do is convince myself not to worry about getting a promotion--and I'm free! Okay, that's still a hard one. Perhaps there's something I'm still missing. *Like lib...