Extreme Conferencing

Conferences are exhausting, but I find them quite fun overall. I like the Science and I like the social aspects. There are all sorts of weird socio-political interactions that also occur (or almost occur, or might have occurred but no one is really sure), but there are many interesting interactions and even exhilarating moments. I typically return from conferences tired but also emotionally recharged from the social interactions.

A certain colleague of mine hurls himself into each conference like it is a mosh pit, and emerges broken and ill at the end. He spends days talking loudly, drinking a lot, arguing, not sleeping much, and racing around stressed out and highly caffeinated. He gets very emotionally involved in certain conference sessions, becoming extremely angry at some talks or posters and thrilled by others. He is sort of a moody guy in real life, but nothing like what he is at conferences. In the best case scenario, he loses his voice at a conference. At two recent conferences, however, he had medical problems, although he is very healthy when not at a conference.

I think that, to him, extreme conferencing is the only way to have a really intense conference experience and to feel like he's made an impact on the discussion. In real life, he is Dr. Distinguished Professor Person, patiently explaining things to students and dealing with insane colleagues who don't really understand his research. At meetings, he is surrounded by people with the exact same passion for his field of Science, and hence the bungee-jumping, ice-climbing, sky-diving, demolition derby type conference behavior.

My concern is that what temporarily wrecked him in his Youth will start to be a problem now that he is Middle-Aged (as evidenced by the health problems, one of which required medical attention, at recent conferences). But if he slows down at conferences, will they be as fun?

Surrounded By PhD's

One of the things I like most about my neighborhood is that even though it is located close to a university, it is a very diverse neighborhood, populated both by people affiliated with the university as well as many who have no connection to the university at all. It is quite possible, in this neighborhood, to be aware that not everyone in the world has a Ph.D., and that is a good thing. And our academic neighbors are not just professors, but also postdocs, grads, undergrads, and university staff members. It is also somewhat diverse in more typical meanings of the word; i.e., in terms of race, culture, religion, and economic class. It is perhaps least diverse in terms of the political views of the inhabitants.

Some years, one or more of my grad students lives nearby. There have been times when living in the same neighborhood has been stressful for both my students and me. The most troubled grad student I have ever advised lived on the same street as my family. He used to go inside his house rather than encounter me walking (or even, his housemates told me, driving) past his house. I am sure that living near me was not a good thing for his mental health, and I found it difficult as well.

Some of our closest friends in the neighborhood live next door. These neighbors have no connection whatsoever with the university. We trade cat care favors, enjoy chatting while we’re working in our gardens, and have dinner together every few months. When my family was on sabbatical in Europe, our neighbors visited us and we toured around together. We always seem have a lot to talk about, but the one thing we never talk about is our work, mostly because our neighbors dislike their jobs so much.

This weekend we went to a party next door. We don’t know our neighbors' other friends well but have encountered many of them enough times at other social events to be familiar with them. This time, I found myself in a circle of 6-7 people who were all talking about how much they hate their jobs. This wasn't just routine job annoyance. These people all really hate their jobs, and they are all counting the years until they can retire. A few of them have college degrees, but most do not, and all are in low-skill jobs that are wearing them down, year by year.

It’s hard to know what to say in a conversation like that. I don’t hate my job (despite the jerks) -- it’s an important and interesting part of my life -- but I wasn’t about to chime in with a perky “I love my job!” comment. When asked, I just said something vague about retirement still being a ways off for me.

My daughter was at the party. Mostly she played with the cats, but she overheard this conversation and asked me about it later. She remarked “All those people hate their jobs, but you and daddy love your jobs.” It had never occurred to her before that people could hate their jobs so much. Most of the people we socialize with are professors or proto-professors, and she hasn't encountered any Really Angry Professors yet and she doesn't remember the depressed grad student who lived down the street.

In addition, we have a close friend who went to grad school to get a Ph.D. (long after she had graduated from college) because her husband is a professor and all their friends have Ph.D.'s. She was uncomfortable about being the only one without a Ph.D., not because it made her feel less smart, but because she was the only one in our social circle who hated her job. At the time, I wasn't sure that was the best reason to get a Ph.D., but she did it, got a tenure-track position, and is excelling at teaching and research. I think she's amazing. She did something really hard but that eventually led to a career she loves. She's stressed out, of course, but so far it seems to be a good kind of stress.

I certainly don’t want my daughter to think that a Ph.D. is the only route to happiness and being a professor is the only wonderful job in the world (well, OK, maybe sometimes I want her to think that). However, I am pleased that, however much she hears us ranting about certain annoying aspects of our academic careers, her major impression is that we love our work, and that among most of our friends, we aren't unusual in this respect.

I also want my daughter to see the value (and fun) of a college degree, but I don’t want her to look down on people without college degrees, not to mention Ph.D.'s. So far that isn’t an issue – she loves our next-door neighbors unreservedly because they are interesting, friendly people. Of course it never occurred to her that they didn’t graduate from college, and she thinks no less of them now that she knows they didn’t.

This weekend's events reminded me of how different my daughter's childhood is from mine. I grew up in a place and family with no Ph.D.'s in sight, but she is growing up mostly surrounded by Ph.D.'s. I am an eccentric outlier in that part of my family because I have a Ph.D., but I don't want my daughter to be an outlier if she doesn't acquire one.

Aggressive Women

This has happened so many times:

I am in a meeting at which a woman scientist is discussed (for whatever reason), and she is criticized for being "aggressive".

I object.

My colleagues think I am biased and possibly irrational, and that my response is some knee-jerk reflex to Defend Scientific Womanhood no matter what.

My opinions about everything else are not taken very seriously because I have demonstrated that I am not objective.

Criticizing someone for being aggressive is a cheap way to undermine them. What does it even mean? Is being aggressive always bad? If someone is so aggressively competitive that they will step on everyone in their path, including students and puppies, and cast aside all consideration of ethics to achieve scientific glory, then OK, I think that is a bad thing. However, that is very far from the case in every example in my personal experience, including the most recent one.

This insidious phenomenon has been discussed before by me and many others: women who demonstrate self-confidence and comprehensive knowledge of their research/science are seen (by some) as aggressive. I should mention that it is not just men who criticize women for this; women also criticize other women for being aggressive, and no, I am not misinterpreting something that was meant as a compliment.

The recent example that has me so angry today involves a case in which an extremely smart, friendly, personable, and interesting woman was severely criticized for being aggressive. I was so surprised at this absurd statement that I laughed out loud. I asked for clarification, thinking at first that the comment wasn't meant to be as critical as it sounded or perhaps that I had missed some important information somewhere, but no such luck. I think my response was calm, reasoned, yet forceful -- perhaps even aggressive! -- but, whether I was effective or not (clearly I was not), why was I the only one objecting?

And another thing, since I am ranting:

In this meeting, a woman was described as glib, and this was again meant as a criticism. I said to the maker of the glib-comment: I would describe her as very articulate and well-spoken about a wide range of topics, showing great depth and breadth. Where do you draw the line between glib and articulate? My colleague said OK, you're right, she is very articulate. I said And that's a good thing, right? Yes, we all agreed that being articulate is a good thing. Maybe I won that point, but I didn't change whatever underlying reason made that colleague describe someone as glib rather than articulate in the first place.

I hate it when I underestimate the insanity of my colleagues. I am quite cynical, but I think I need to recalibrate my cynicism for some of this committee work.

This semester, I am on more committees than is good for my sanity. I still like to think that it is important that I am there to make people defend their stupid sexist statements, however ineffective I am at changing their opinions, but perhaps I just think that because the alternative is difficult to accept.

Mulling the Poll Results

From my pseudo-scientific, statistically invalid poll yesterday, it seems clear that students are a lot more comfortable about sharing a campus recreation facility with professors than we professors are about exercising with our students. > 90% of students like or don't mind encountering their professors at the rec center, whereas a majority of faculty either avoid campus rec centers entirely or go anyway, despite preferring to be in a less student-dominated environment.

One of my colleagues commented that it would have been interesting if the poll had been further divided by gender, but I deliberately kept the poll quite general just to get a first-order idea of how people feel about faculty and students sharing campus rec center facilities.

Note: If you haven't voted yet, the polls are still open! If you are a grad student who teaches, vote in the 'faculty' poll (and thanks to the commenter who brought this up).

Why are professors so much less comfortable about being at a student-dominated rec center? Hypotheses (not necessarily mine), some of which were touched on in yesterday's post, include:

Hypothesis 1 - Many professors aren't comfortable interacting with students (and others?) outside the classroom/lab milieu.

Hypothesis 2 - A corollary: In a classroom, professors are in control (or, at least, we think we are) -- we are knowledgeable and we set the rules. At the rec center, we are in a totally different situation, and some/many might find it embarrassing to be seen sweating on an elliptical trainer or treadmill.

Hypothesis 3 - Professors are typically older than students, and we are reluctant to put our aging bodies on display to the extent that we have to in a gym/pool/locker room setting.

Hypothesis 4: We so dislike (or are tired of) the surprised reaction of students encountering us in a non-classroom setting that we avoid places where this is likely to occur. As we are always teaching different students, there is an endless supply of those who will be shocked that we have emerged from our professor lairs to mingle with real people.

Hypothesis n: ?? (leave a comment if your reason for not wanting to work out with your students is missing)

Working (Out) With Students

At dinner with colleagues a few nights ago, the conversation turned to the topic of faculty use of the university recreation center. Most universities have well equipped exercise facilities, and the cost of using these facilities is far less than the cost of joining a fitness center. Although many faculty use the campus rec center, some faculty aren't comfortable going to a student-filled facility to exercise. As a result, some universities even have (or are planning to build) separate facilities for faculty and staff.

I suppose universities have done surveys to find out about faculty/staff use of rec centers and reasons for lack of use. In a small informal survey (by me), I find that the main reason for faculty non-use of the campus rec center is lack of time. That is certainly true in my case this year. I have used the rec center regularly in the past, but that's not possible this semester owing to my teaching load and search committee activities on top of everything else. Search committees are important, of course, but very time consuming.

And that's OK! There's no way to guarantee that the time is well spent, but, according to some of my readers, because I am a highly compensated professor with a secure job, it's fine that I spend all this time with candidates who may or may not be 'serious' rather than spending the time with my family or doing research or sleeping or something, but that's the way the game is played and it's just business. But I digress.

Another reason given for faculty avoidance of student-dominated rec centers isn't so much not wanting to sweat on a treadmill next to a student, but rather not wanting to shower with their students. Some male colleagues (male and female) have complained about the lack of shower privacy options at their rec centers. A female professor acquaintance feels that putting her C-section scars and stretch marks (which are apparently so prominent that they are visible from space) might deter some students from ever having babies, or could at least ruin someone's day.

Yet another reason for faculty dislike of university rec centers is being uncomfortable about the "I can't believe my professor is here exercising!" response from some students, or various embarrassed or negative reactions by students who would prefer that the rec center be a refuge from reminders of their academic responsibilities and stresses. Some students definitely think it is cool to see their professors at the rec center, and are happy to chat about academic and non-academic things with faculty, but others would prefer to encounter their professors only in the classroom.

The "I can't believe I'm seeing my professor outside the classroom" response isn't confined to rec centers, of course. Most of us have had students exclaim such things when encountering us on the sidewalk of a main street near campus or in a store. I suppose it is strange to see someone out of context, but do they think that professors have secret professor tunnels that we use to walk from one place to another and special professorial means of acquiring special professor foods? (Of course we do have special stores for acquiring professor clothes, but that's another issue). For some faculty, this phenomenon can be a reason for avoidance of campus recreational facilities.

For faculty who use campus rec centers or would consider using a campus rec facility:

Do you use the campus rec center?
	Yes, often, and I like/don't mind being with students
	Yes, often, even though I'd rather not exercise with students
	No, seldom or never; I'd rather exercise in a less student-dominated place
Free polls from Pollhost.com

For students:

What do you think about faculty use of rec center facilities?
	I like it or don't mind it
	It makes me uncomfortable to encounter faculty at the campus rec center
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Unmovable

Some of the comments on the last post bring up interesting related points: whether an interviewee is ‘serious’ about a position, and the role that a Significant Other (S.O.) has in the decision to accept or decline an offer of a faculty position.

When you get an invitation to interview, you might not know in advance if you want to be in that department or live in that area. When you visit, meet people, and learn about the area, you are checking the place out as much as they are checking you out. It can also be difficult to know in advance whether an academic setting is a good place for your S.O.; this is why many places invite the candidate and their S.O. (± other family) for a second (post-offer) visit.

What I have trouble understanding, however, is the situation in which someone goes through the time and effort of an interview, consuming lots of time and money by the interviewing department, but apparently does not know that their S.O. will never agree to move to the vicinity of the university or college that is conducting the interview.

From talking to colleagues over the years, I have heard of the following My- S.O.-Won’t-Let-Me reasons given for not accepting an offer of a faculty position:

1 – My S.O. doesn’t want to leave Our State/City. I always assume that this means that a certain really important conversation that ideally would have taken place before the interview didn’t actually occur until after the offer was made. The S.O. may well have good reasons for not wanting to move no matter how great the other place is, but if so, it would be best if that were worked out before so many people invested time and money in the interview process.

2 – My S.O. doesn’t want to live in such a [insert obvious physical characteristic that is known even before the interview: e.g., big city, rural area, Midwestern place, southern place, west/east coastal place, cold place, warm place]. Again, this is something that ideally would be discussed in advance, before getting on the plane to interview at the defective place, though I suppose it is always possible that someone could be geographically challenged or not realize that they have a cow phobia or cactus allergy, or something.

I know that this issue can be more complex than I am portraying it. Your S.O. might not really want to move to a place that is so X, but their reluctance might be overcome after a visit. That's something you might not know before the interview. In that case, it would be better to use reason #3 instead:

3 – Your U/City/State is not a good place for my S.O. to live/work, and we didn’t know this until I/we visited. This is a good reason. I think everyone can understand this reason, even if it can be disappointing. The other two I think are obnoxious reasons.

It is difficult to know whether any of these reasons for declining an offer are sincere – perhaps some people think that blaming their S.O. is a polite way to turn down an offer. If reasons #1 or #2 are sincere, though, I think that the candidates and their S.O. have some issues they need to work out and/or that they must not have given much – if any - thought to the people whose time they wasted by going through a process that had no chance of success. Perhaps you have to be on the other (search committee) side to be selfish enough to think about your own wasted time and effort. Even so, most of us accept the randomness and risk that comes along with a search process and know that the interview process is complicated and stressful for everyone, resulting in some less than mature behavior (on both sides).

Does any of this matter? I think so. I have seen the negative feelings generated by a perceived lack of 'seriousness' (commonly caused by Lame Reasons #1-2 for declining a job offer) linger and affect how someone is viewed within the scientific community.

2 Many

What do you think about the scenario of an interviewee being accompanied by a spouse or significant other to an interview for a faculty position?

* I am not talking about situations in which there is a clear need for such an accompanying person, e.g., someone to help with child-care. There are certainly circumstances in which an accompanying person is required or beneficial. *

The question is, what about the situation in which the accompanying person, who is not and will not be considered for a job at the university doing the interviewing, attends interview events: Goes to the interview talk(s)? Comes to ‘social’ events (e.g., dinner with the search committee)?

There may well be circumstances in which this level of involvement is necessary, but unless someone can convince me otherwise, I think that in the absence of extenuating circumstances (e.g., babies; disabilities), it is not appropriate for the accompanying person to participate in interview activities, including quasi-social events like dinner with the search committee.

At search committee-interviewee dinners, the conversation certainly need not be All Science for the entire meal, and it should also not be an extension of some of the more stressful aspects of the interview (Why is your research important? What research will you be doing in 10 years?). However, it should be possible to talk with the candidate about Science and other issues relevant to the interview without their spouse/partner getting upset about being left out of the conversation and/or getting anxious when questions get too interview-like.

Memo to accompanied interviewees and/or to those accompanying interviewees:

- Don’t kiss each other during dinner. Professors, especially those on search committees, cannot handle public displays of affection during meals.

- Don’t feed each other. Professors, especially those on search committees, prefer to think that candidates can feed themselves.

- Don’t tell cute stories about each other, including revealing affectionate nicknames and embarrassing childhood episodes. Professors, especially those on search committees, prefer not to know any of this until after an interviewee becomes an actual colleague. Then we definitely want to know.

- For female accompaniers: don’t single out the women on the search committee for girl-talk about babies and gardens while the guys are talking about Science. In some cases, the men on the search committee may have more to say about babies and gardens.

I am not making these examples up. My observation of behavior like this has led to my negative opinion on the issue of accompanying-persons.

If anyone who is reading this is freaking out because they accompanied their Beloved to some interview events, fed him/her from their own fork, smooched at dinner, and called the interviewee “pookiebear”, all in front of the search committee, fear not. If the search committee thinks the candidate will be a great research and teacher, that’s the most important thing. Even so, it would be best to let the interviewee meet/dine alone with the search committee, however terrifying that may be.

$ Matters

The typical procedure when invited to give a talk at another university is for the invitee to get the plane ticket and then get reimbursed after the travel is completed. Lodging, meals, and other transportation costs are taken care of directly by the host institution.

I was recently thinking about all the professional travel expenses my husband and I currently have that have not yet been reimbursed. Including past travel that has yet to be reimbursed and future travel that won't be reimbursed until various times over the next 5-6 months, the sum is quite large at the moment: in the range of $7000. It is so large in part because the system has broken down a bit in terms of timely reimbursements for past travel relative to payments for future travel. In addition, because my teaching schedule is lighter in the spring term than in the fall, I scheduled most of my invited talks for next term. I just got a flock of plane tickets and loaded up my credit card.

For one talk I gave months ago but for which I have yet to be reimbursed, my hosts have been very apologetic but say that their departmental accountant has been deliberately losing receipts and taking a long time with all reimbursements. I have sent my receipt and social security number to the accountant 3 times so far. Methinks my department isn't the only one with a hostile zombie staff member. My hosts say that I am welcome to call their accountant and yell and/or whine, but that option doesn't appeal to me very much (yet).

The delay is annoying but not a huge problem for me. It occurred to me, though, that hostile zombie accountants could cause major problems for financially vulnerable people, such as some candidates for faculty positions (e.g., recent/current Ph.D. students interviewing at several/many places).

As long as there is a constant stream of reimbursements to offset the constant acquisition of new plane tickets, the system works pretty well. For me right now, the system is out of whack, with a drought at one end and a flood at the other. If things got dire, I would ask a host department to get my plane ticket for me, avoiding the reimbursement issue entirely. In the meantime, I will just try to enjoy the glorious adventure that is air travel in the U.S. these days, and not worry so much about $ matters.

Impaired

For the past year and a half, I have been doing pretty well in the language class I’ve been taking. I do much better at writing and reading than I do at speaking, but I’m making progress on all fronts. Recently, however, I encountered a major obstacle. As part of an exam, we had to listen to an audio clip that was played on a mini-laptop set on a table at the center of the classroom, and then answer questions about what we heard. The audio clip had background music, there was construction and traffic noise outside the classroom, the laptop vibrated on the table, and the speakers on the laptop were lousy. I couldn’t make out most of the words in the audio clip.

The other students also had trouble understanding the audio clip, but not as much trouble as I did. The instructor played the clip again and let me sit closer to the laptop, but that didn't help. When I was closer to the speakers, I mostly just heard the background music. I had to leave that page of the exam mostly blank.

I have been aware for the past year or so that I have been developing a mild case of Cocktail Party Syndrome, the inability to differentiate sound from background noise, but I hadn’t previously encountered a situation in which it mattered. I don’t think I have a severe case. We watch movies in this class and some of these have background music, but as long as the movies are played with a good sound system, I can understand them fairly well. When we have audio assignments for homework, I use headphones and definitely don’t have a problem then.

The instructor says that part of learning a language is learning how to understand the language even when the sound is not ideal. You have to deal with sounds as they come, even if the words are indistinct or partly obscured by other sounds. What if you are in a crowd? What if you have to understand a message broadcast over a loudspeaker in a bus station? It is important to understand what is being said outside a classroom setting, and therefore being able to do that is part of being able to do well in this class.

I agree with most of that, but there’s only so much I can do about my hearing in certain situations. I don’t know what I would do about this class if I were a real student and found that I couldn’t do the audio portions of the exams. Perhaps I would get my hearing impairment documented and request some accommodation, even if this involved creating an unrealistic language environment.

This situation made me think about all my students who need accommodations for exams and assignments owing to various physical and learning disabilities. It is rare to teach a class these days without at least one student needing to take exams at the disability services office, needing extra time, or needing some other accommodation. For example, I recently taught two hearing impaired students who needed interpreters in two different classes, and had to alter my in-class teaching style accordingly.

Providing accommodations for students with disabilities involves time and effort – sometimes a lot of extra time, and that can be difficult for an instructor. There have been times when I have been frustrated by the additional time and effort required, especially when I didn't have any time to spare.

However, these accommodations are an important part of making university education accessible to as many people as possible. I have heard the but-that’s-not-how-it-is-in-the-real-world argument against these accommodations before and have never found it very compelling. Now – much to my surprise – I find it being used as a reason for why I should just try harder to discern sounds from background noise*. Although my situation is not dramatic or dire, I am more convinced than ever that accommodations in a course can make the difference between success and failure.

* As it turns out, I didn't fail the exam after all, as the instructor just informed the class that she won’t count that part of the exam very much. However, she does want us to work on our listening skills more, and we may encounter an audio clip on the final exam.

Academic Economic Unitness

Today in a conversation with a colleague, my husband was stunned when the colleague made a somewhat bitter remark about how much easier my husband’s life is than his because my husband has a professor-spouse and therefore two salaries. This and some comments that followed offended my husband because he felt that the colleague was saying that one of us should work for lower pay and not be such an economic burden on the department. Perhaps there would be more salary money for those in one-salary families if the two of us weren’t sucking up so much of the department’s cash to fund our lavish lifestyle? I am exaggerating -- this colleague would never state his opinion so crudely. Even so, what millennium is he living in that he thinks that my husband and/or I should make a lower salary because we both work?

And why stop with penalizing members of two-career couples? Why should single/childless faculty get paid more than a meager amount when they are just going to spend their money on themselves? Why don’t we scale faculty salary according to the number of children and dogs that each person has? Cats should count as well, but they don’t seem to be as expensive as dogs, so there would have to be a different coefficient for cats in the salary equation unless n(cats) > 12. I’m sorry if I’m offending anyone, but I would not include a salary adjustment for rodents or reptiles, and I am ambivalent about fish and birds. Should boy offspring count the same as girl offspring and/or should the offspring coefficient be adjusted for age and desire for high-end audio/video/computer equipment? [end of bizarre hyperbolic rant]

[start of serious blog-text] My husband’s negative reaction to this conversation was based in part on a long history of our both being underpaid relative to our colleagues in the department. The previous chair considered us an Economic Unit and saw no reason why either one of us should be paid according to our merits since together we made a decent salary.

The previous chair, as well as the person my husband was talking to today, are both in one-salary families, with wives who stay(ed) home with the kids. That’s their choice, of course, but it should be irrelevant to departmental decisions about faculty salary.

Perhaps it is harder for some of our colleagues to deal with our Economic Unitness because we are both Science Professors. If one of us were in a different career, would some of our colleagues still think the professor in the couple should be paid less, or would it be different because only one salary was coming from the department/university?

It struck me as kind of amusing that this colleague envies our situation. Salary considerations aside, I am sure he faces challenges in terms of balancing career and family, but I am fairly sure that he doesn’t have some of the difficulties that we do; for example, a sick kid or a no-school day doesn’t throw his work day into chaos. He probably also doesn’t realize that for years we spent half of our combined salary on day care. None of that should matter, however, to the simple fact that members of an academic couple should each be paid a fair salary, no matter how many spouses, offspring, or pets we have.

Museum of Me

Being efficient doesn't necessarily correlate with being neat; at least, not in my case. My office is piled high with lots of stuff, old and new. I was thinking about this recently because I am contemplating a major cleaning and tossing-out of old stuff. I did some office cleaning during the Thanksgiving break, but nothing dramatic: there are still piles on my desk, but these piles now consist only of the 57 most urgent things I have to do in the new few weeks. The dramatic cleaning, if it occurs, will have to be after the term ends.

I was also thinking about my office-as-archive in the context of last Friday's post. Specifically, I was musing about why I have a proclivity for deleting emails and having a neat electronic inbox when my physical office is a mess. I briefly considered the possible lingering psychological effects of a job I had in graduate school: organizing the office of a deceased professor to see if any of his papers or letters should be saved for a university archive. [This blog seems to have a bit of a death theme this month: Editing the Dead, 11/7; Friends, 11/23).. sorry about that].

In that case, my office-organizing job was not a sorrowful task -- the deceased professor had been exceedingly mean (in fact, the word vicious readily comes to mind) and a sociopathic harasser of women. Organizing his office was, however, a sobering task in that he had saved everything. He had saved every letter he had ever received in a 50+ year long career, and he had also saved carbon copies of letters he sent. It was not surprising to find that many of the letters he sent were hate letters. My personal favorite began: "Dear X, You are a parasite..". I made sure those went to the archivist for review, as they nicely captured his personality and approach to professional relationships.

I have never sent a you-are-a-parasite letter to anyone, but I still don't like to save a lot of my correspondence. I do save some messages -- mostly ones that amuse or interest me -- but I delete more than I save.

After a bit of pondering about the discrepancy between my email neatness and my overall lack of neatness, I decided that my tendency to delete email isn't because I am constantly contemplating my own death and not wanting to leave a personal record. More likely, the explanation is the obvious one: that it is easier to delete email than to organize the flood of papers and other stuff that is constantly flowing into my office. Perhaps if paper could be vaporized as easily as pushing a delete button on a keyboard, I wouldn't have such a messy office.

The big question for me now is whether I am ready to toss out some of the older items in the Museum of Me -- e.g., notebooks from college and grad school, ancient textbooks, paper copies of articles I can now get as pdf's, and maybe even .. giant floppy disks filled with beautiful data from obsolete machines.

My Mother-In-Law Is Worse Than Your Mother-In-Law

The reason I have time to write today, on this Major American Holiday, relates directly to the title of this post. I have been pondering the deep philosophical question of whether I would rather spend today with my mother-in-law or with my most loathsome colleague (mentioned in previous posts as Professor Troll). I think I would choose the latter, though if this question about my preferred holiday companions were on a multiple-choice test, a better answer would be none of the above or cats (Figure 1).

The reason I might choose my trollish colleague over my mother-in-law for a holiday companion is that I can respond to his rude comments as I wish -- sarcastic comments without guilt, faux-innocent remarks to him about his former classmates who are now all retiring in droves, passive-aggressive mention of my recent papers or grants, etc. However, on the rare occasions I have to see my mother-in-law, I am nice to her, however not nice she is. I am nice to her in person and I am nice to her in absentia (I never say anything negative about her to my daughter, for example). I can't even be sarcastic, and that is difficult for me.

Academic families are complicated, but real families are more so. Even so, I am glad to have a few days off from appointments, meetings, and so on, before diving back into the last few weeks of the term.

Why Do Professors Give Exams..

Today I had a major exam in the language class I am taking. I don't mind taking a test the day before Thanksgiving, but I don't think I would give such an exam in a class I was teaching. In one of the classes I am teaching this semester, I asked the students if they had exams in their other classes this week, and most did not. The few who did asked "Why do professors give exams the week of a big holiday?".

Quite a few of my students either had tests last week or have tests next week. One student asked "Why do professors give exams the week after a holiday?" and another asked "Why do professors give exams the week before a holiday?" and another asked "Why do professors give exams so close to the end of the semester?". The students also hate exams on Mondays and Fridays. I think that leaves a Wednesday in mid-October as the only acceptable date, though it's difficult for students to have lots of exams on the same day or in the same week, so maybe that possibility is out as well. When I was discussing this with my students, I laughed and said "It seems that your real question is Why do professors give exams?".

The class in which I had this discussion doesn't have any exams, so it was an easy topic to discuss openly, although I kept the discussion on the topic of exam scheduling rather than the cosmic question about the existence of exams. It really seemed to surprise some students that professors don't have evil motives when picking exam times, and that the amount of material covered relative to the type of exam is perhaps the main factor in deciding when and how many exams there will be.

Young Pup

Every once in a while I give a public lecture on a topic related to my research. These talks are challenging to give in a coherent and interesting way because the audience is so much more diverse in scientific experience than even a typical introductory science class. There is also a huge range in age: in a recent talk, my audience ranged in age from 12 to 80-something.

In this most recent public lecture, I spoke in a large dimly lit auditorium. I used a microphone, paced around on a stage-like thing, showed some cool images, and talked about some interesting research questions and results. At the end of the talk, I answered questions from the audience; some questions were very fun to answer, some were easy, some had no answers, and some were bizarre. After the general question session, some audience members came to the front to ask me additional questions one-on-one.

One man (estimated age: 60-something) came up to me and looked at me very closely. Then he said “I am so relieved to see that you aren’t actually as young as I thought you were.” I pointed to the wrinkles at the corners of my eyes and said “Observe the dramatic evidence for aging.” And he said “I know, that’s what I was just looking at.” He said he’d spent my whole talk thinking I was a “young pup” and it “really bothered” him to think that someone so young could “know so much” and “be so smart”. He repeated that he was very relieved to know that I am not so young.

OK.. whatever. I have definitely learned a lot over the years, though sometimes I think that the wisdom I have accumulated through experience is being eroded at the same (or greater) rate by the effects of aging. At least I can still put on a good (science) show.

I think I could have done without that particular conversation, though, and maybe next time I will ask the person who introduces me to be sure to mention the dates that I acquired my various degrees. That way, the “old dogs” in the audience can do the math and figure out that I am deeply middle aged.

Despite the random encounters with strange people, I enjoy giving these talks. It’s nice to see big groups of real people who are interested in Science, who turn out for an evening’s random Science talk because they want to be there, and who are thrilled when they learn something new.

Extreme Reviewing

Lately I seem to be suffering from a strange syndrome that could be called review addiction. I could also call it extreme reviewing, not because my reviews are extremely negative/positive or extremely long/short, but because I am currently reviewing what I would typically consider (for me) to be an extreme number of manuscripts (8), in addition to a few dozen proposals.

Another way to describe this syndrome is that I have become a reviewing doormat, unable to just say no to editor requests to review.

There are many possible explanations for my extreme reviewing behavior of late, including:

- Based on the manuscript titles/abstracts, I was interested in reading and reviewing these manuscripts. It just so happens that I have lately been asked to review some interesting papers. I was curious to read them, so it was difficult to decline to review them.

- As someone who seeks reviewers in the capacity of being an editor, I know what it's like to have trouble finding a reviewer for a manuscript. I could easily decline to review a manuscript on the basis that I am unable to take on more reviews. However, if I've got a manageable editorial load at the time I am asked to review another manuscript and I'm interested in the topic, I say yes.

- A year or so ago I started publishing on a research topic that was a new direction for me, and now I get asked to review manuscripts related to this topic. I am interested in establishing myself more in this particular subfield, and reviewing is one way to become part of the scientific community related to this topic.

- I have a manuscript in review or am about to submit a manuscript to all of the journals that recently asked me to review a manuscript. I feel that I have a moral obligation to review for these particular journals, as their editors and reviewers are (or, I hope will soon be) taking the time to consider my manuscripts.

- Some of these manuscripts cite my work, and I have an interest in making sure that this was done appropriately and accurately.

- As I learned last week, I am not quantitative. Perhaps I can't count. Perhaps the number 1 is conceptually the same to me as the number 8.

The perceptive reader will note the use of the Sarcastic Font in the last item, but it could be that I succumbed to a bout of extreme reviewing owing to a related effect, which I will call the incremental effect. That is, I got asked to do a review and said yes. I got asked to do another, and said yes because I can certainly handle 2 reviews. Then I got asked to do another and I figured, what's one more? The end of the semester is approaching and it's an interesting paper and.. then I got asked to do another and it was also an interesting paper and didn't seem to be too long and .. so on.

I wouldn't have agreed to do all these reviews if I didn't think I could do them well and get them done in a timely way. I don't think I will take on any more until 2008, though.

Evidence that I am not a complete review doormat: I turned down one recent review request because one editor sent me two requests in a single day for two different manuscripts for the same journal; I accepted one to review and declined the other.

Homework Help

This is probably cheating to ask for help with this, but I am puzzled by a question on my language homework this weekend. Here is the question (translated):

To be a good teacher, it is necessary to be

(a) patient
(b) strange
(c) optimistic
(d) hard

Too bad 'all of the above' is not a choice.

(and yes, I do know which one I am 'supposed' to choose).

FSP as Student, continued

This week in the intermediate-level language class I am taking, each student has done an oral presentation on a topic of our choice. These presentations are not supposed to be practiced talks, and we certainly can't read from notes. We are supposed to stand in front of the class and start talking -- e.g., about a book, movie, recipe, trip, friend, relative, pet etc. -- and then the presentations evolve as we are asked questions by the others in the class and by the instructor.

I decided to talk about some of my research experiences relevant to the countries where this language is spoken. In these places, being female has definitely affected my experiences, but that point wasn't central to the story I wanted to tell today. It was important for understanding the context of my experience, but mostly I just wanted to tell a story that I thought was funny.

The others in the class kept interrupting me with questions like "Why did Person X say that to you?" or "Why did you have to do that?" and in each case the simple answer was because I am female. The students asked me why that mattered. So, for a while the discussion was about gender roles and sexism, something that had not been a topic of direct discussion yet in this class. This is the second year of a class that meets 5 days/week, so we all know each other fairly well by now and have talked about a lot of things, but not this particular topic (and hence my knowledge of the relevant vocabulary was limited). The instructor had not had exactly the same experiences, but she had come to the U.S. so she could teach at a university, so some of it resonated with her as well.

Eventually I got back to telling my funny story, and by the end, everyone was laughing. Perhaps this says something about my priorities (at least for today), but I was more pleased that I was able to make people laugh in another language than that I had educated my fellow students about the international nature of sexism, though perhaps it is possible to accomplish both.

The MisCitation of Me

Today I was perusing the titles of articles that just appeared online in one of the journals I typically read, and I saw one title that seemed sort of interesting in a peripheral-to-my-research but might-be-relevant kind of way. I skimmed it, and saw a citation of one of my papers. My first reaction was to be very pleased -- one of my 2007 papers was cited by someone else's 2007 paper, and that is nice. My second reaction was What?!??

The sentence that preceded the reference to FSP et al. (2007) was about a topic not discussed by FSP et al. (2007). In addition, the sentence seems to imply that FSP et al. (2007) has certain data on this topic, but in fact it does not. It has other data -- very nice data, in my opinion -- but not the cited data.

In other examples of incorrect citations of my work, I have been very annoyed, particularly if the citation accompanies an interpretation that is not one that I actually made. I have also been annoyed by examples of what I thought were abuse of my data or other research results.

But what about a citation that overall seems harmless, however wrong? My paper doesn't contain the indicated data, but that doesn't bother me nearly as much as having my interpretations or results distorted or otherwise misrepresented.

On the plus side, I have the citation in my citation index. On the negative side, what if the (mis)citation leads people looking for the non-existent data to my paper, resulting in massive disappointment and heartbreak when the sought-for data are not found? That would be so sad. I will try not to think about that and be glad instead that someone (mis)read my paper.

Qualified v. Quantified

Today a random grad student stopped by my office to ask what he described as a random question. He said he was going around asking various people a particular question, and even though my research is "not quantitative" and I "probably never use equations", since my door was open, he thought he'd ask me his question anyway. He was asking people which equation editor they use.

I am "not quantitative"? Those are fighting words in some fields..

I did not challenge the student to a duel or shove my equation-filled reprints in his face; I just answered his question, simply telling him which equation editor I use. He was surprised that I use equation editors and have opinions about them, but he didn't comment further.

Not all of my papers have equations, but some do, including a few very recent ones. Since this student has clearly not read my papers, I wonder what about me screams "not quantitative" to him. Of course I have a hypothesis, but then, I just happen to be wearing my gender lenses today.

To many, being quantitative shows that you are a serious, rigorous scientist. I was discussing this with one of my students recently in relation to the main goals of his research. He said that a main goal was to quantify things. I said "Why?" and he seemed surprised, as if quantifying things was an end in itself. This turned into a wide-ranging and interesting conversation about his research and future directions for his work, including discussion of where quantifying things fits into the general scheme of his work.

Another frequent quantitative topic is something I call my you can always get a number speech. This speech has several parts: (1) You can always get a number.. but does it mean anything? and (2) You can always get a number, but even if it means something.. what does it mean? (i.e., the number itself is not an end in itself, you have to think about it).

It is surely a sign of age that I have these little speeches that I find myself giving over and over. There is probably an equation I could write (if I ever did such things) that relates my age in any given year to the frequency with which I give these speeches. Or something.

On Failure

To follow on the last couple of posts on success, it might be timely to discuss (again) the topic of failure. In this case, I mean failure in an academic sense -- e.g., failing to obtain a degree or failing to do well in research (as a student, postdoc, or faculty member).

There are of course many scenarios, reasons, and types of people who don't do well in the academic ecosystem. The various types include:

- those who could do well if the powers-that-be weren't evil, biased, and/or lacking judgment, or who could do well if the academic system weren't so inflexible;
- those who could do well but are hindered severely by problems beyond their control (e.g., physical/mental illness or family issues);
- those who could do well if they tried/worked harder (that's a loaded statement, I know);
- those who are intellectually unable to do the work;
- those who are intellectually able but lack other essential elements (e.g., creativity; ability to complete a project, including writing)

I am not going to discuss the first two items today.

I have observed examples of the other three species throughout my academic career. They have always existed and will always exist. A challenge for faculty advisors is to identify them before accepting them as advisees. At this I have failed repeatedly, providing me with some expertise on the topic, as well as my own experience with failure.

It is important to note that I am not talking about people who could do well with good advising, mentoring, and a flexible research program -- I place them in the first two categories in my list.

It might seem to be easiest to identify in advance those who are intellectually unable to do research, but this is not always the case. Some of my best graduate students have had not-so-stellar undergraduate records, and some of my worst were undergrad stars.

Determining whether someone is going to be enthusiastic about their graduate/postdoctoral work is also difficult. Example: a graduate student who, as an undergrad, had done a research project and apparently done it well, with excellent reference letters from the undergrad research advisor; applied to grad school because of an apparently deep interest in research and excitement about an array of possible projects; arrived at grad school and suddenly lost all interest in research, appearing in the department occasionally to attend a class and teach a lab. I can't help but think of all the applicants we had to reject (owing to the limited number of grad positions available) the year this student was admitted; if we had known, of course we would have chosen differently.

Judging someone's ability to do research can also be difficult to do before that person is given a chance to demonstrate their abilities. However, giving someone a chance to get started with a research project to a sufficient level to judge their abilities fairly takes time. That, combined with time for courses, exams, and teaching labs (in some cases), means that you might not know for 2+ years whether a grad student is going to be able to do Ph.D. research. In the case of a 'failing' grad student, although the right decision may become more obvious with time, it also becomes more difficult to make.

I know of no fool-proof way to know in advance if someone has the ability and passion to do research. Genetic testing? Personality quiz? Crystal balls or tea leaves? I think it's going to have to continue to be an educated guess + trial-and-error kind of experience.

Failing is seldom an unemotional thing. I have never had a student who, after a year or two, just shrugged and said "oh well, I guess this research thing isn't for me but thanks anyway for trying to help me". Nor have I had a student who, after leaving the program (voluntarily or involuntarily), said "I am tormented by regret about all the money that was spent on me, including precious grant funds that you worked so hard to obtain and that I have essentially wasted because I didn't do the work I was paid to do. Here's the money back." [hands the department a check].

Some of my colleagues hope that there is a special circle of hell reserved for those who waste a substantial amount of everyone's time and money before quitting or failing. I am perhaps not so extreme, though I admit to having unkind thoughts about such people from time to time. Instead, I think it is better to wish our 'failures' well, and hope that they will succeed in their non-academic lives and be happy .. and perhaps also make a lot of money and send us that check.