Now that Thanksgiving is nearly upon us, it’s good to think about explaining to non-academic relatives what we do. Ever notice how, after your second year of grad school, they start asking, “Are you STILL in grad school?”
Even then, most relatives will think it takes only four years after your bachelors to get a Ph.D. That’s what they read in their 1968 World Book Encyclopedia, after all, and it’s still on the shelf. They will wonder, often aloud, what’s wrong with you if it takes longer.
They may not wonder this as much if your work takes you around the world. During my grad student and postdoc years my relatives invariably said, “Oooo!” whenever I did field work in Chile and Australia. They also said, “Oooo!” when I went to conferences in Venice and Oxford. The more remote and exotic the locales for field work, the better. Hawai’i is perfect. The more civilized and sophisticated the locales for conferences, the better. Schenectady does not cut it.
Going to Washington, DC will make them wonder whether you’ll be advising the White House or Congress. They’ll like that, no matter who’s occupying them. Telling them that you’re going to NASA or NSF headquarters will be just as good. Don’t point out how badly funded they are. Don’t point out how squalid DC is. The more colorful your stories about the Atacama Desert or the Outback, however, the better.
Don't tell them how bad the academic job market is, or how rare permanent jobs have become. It won't gain you sympathy. The new economy has made “real” jobs of all kinds rare, inside and outside of academia. Never use the word “grant.” In their minds, that’s for entitled freeloaders.
Never say, “postdoc.” Relatives don’t know what that is, and don’t respond well to it. They think that once you finish your Ph.D. you’ll immediately become a professor. That’s the way it did work before 1969. Tell them you’re a research scientist: that sounds like a real job to them. Never grumble about the lousy funding situation. If you do, they’ll remind you that they pay enough tax dollars already.
Never say, “Visiting Assistant Professor.” Tell them you’re teaching. Surprisingly often, whenever relatives ask what you’re doing, they will regard your answer of “teaching” as a satisfactory answer. That is a real job, isn’t it? If you have any K-12 teachers in the family, it will make them very happy. It helps if at least one of your courses is something practical, such as physics to engineers so bridges won’t fall down, or electricity.
Once you have your Ph.D., relatives will volunteer you to pop over to their kids’ schools to give talks. I’ve learned a lot from this. This Thanksgiving, I will diplomatically try to avoid it, since during the day after a California-to-New York overnight flight, I’m not looking or feeling my best.
You gain a lot of credibility if, as an academic, you can still do something practical, such as fix a relative’s computer or car. NOTHING beats bringing home a charming, intelligent significant other. I told everyone she was the finest mathematician I’d ever seen, because it was true. It was suggested that she help the kids with their arithmetic homework, but mercifully the kids were having none of it. If Mom tries to convert her to Christianity, change the subject.
--Froderick Frankenstien from Fresno
It's early Wednesday morning and I'm drunk now, so what do I know? But a friend of mine at a nearby college asked me to informally observe one of his classes a few days ago and "grill" him about how he does things. He wanted candid feedback from a trusted friend, not the official, useless bureaucratic shit from his supervisor. So I sat in on one of his classes and then also picked his brain about how he runs the class and interacts with the students. He's my friend and he was flexible and so I found it to be kind of fun. He bought me lunch. Fuck it, you know?
Going to Washington, DC will make them wonder whether you’ll be advising the White House or Congress. They’ll like that, no matter who’s occupying them. Telling them that you’re going to NASA or NSF headquarters will be just as good. Don’t point out how badly funded they are. Don’t point out how squalid DC is. The more colorful your stories about the Atacama Desert or the Outback, however, the better.
The flava:
"I am donating an additional $1.8 billion to Hopkins that will be used for financial aid for qualified low- and middle-income students. This will make admissions at Hopkins forever need-blind; finances will never again factor into decisions."
