Doctor Me

I passed my defense. It seems like that should be a bigger deal than it is, but my defense was actually pretty easy. I guess having a committee that has given you extensive feedback along the way so you're on your fourth draft by the time you get to defend helps with that.

Most of the discussion was about how to turn it into a book. They want me to anticipate my critics. I laughed internally at that. I have critics? When did that happen? Oh, yeah, at the point I became a doctor.

It's been a weird week and a half since then. I feel at lost ends. You don't realize the enormity of the timesuck that a project like that is until you don't have it to do anymore, and you start wondering what to do with all that time. I haven't heard back about the job yet, so I'm still waiting to hear if my hire got approved, so it's hard to move forward with anything academically until I know what's going on there.

So, today I dealt with some curriculum issues our program is having. And then I designed a Secret Agent Man major. It includes politics, criminology, social dance and welding.

When the FBI comes knocking

Scene: I am sitting at my desk, with the office door open. I am helping a student analyze his research results. The student leaves and I see a middle aged man in a black coat standing there. I assume he is a used textbook buyer.

Me: Can I help you?

Man: Hi, I’m from the FBI…

Me thinking: *yeah right, which one of my students put you up to this?”

Man shows me his badge.

Me thinking: Oh, crap!

Man: I need to talk to you…

Me thinking: It was Modern Theory Class! I’m supposed to teach Marx!

Man: … about one of your students…

Me thinking: Did one of them think I was serious and go shoot a member of the bourgeoisie?

Man: …who is applying to be an intern with us.

Me:* internal sigh of relief* Oh sure, come on in.

End scene.

Note to self:  1. Never let them see you sweat. 2. It’s not all about you.