Having been both in the philosophy job market and in academia, there are a lot of things I'd rather do, of which I'll provide a brief sample, for context: cut off bits of my fingertips while chopping onions; stab myself in the knee repeatedly with a dull Ticonderoga (Lauren: I've done that! Me: I think most people have); drop my 1928 Underwood No. 5 typewriter (which weighs about 25 punds) on my left foot, then drop my 1935 Royal "H" model typewriter (which weighs about 30 pounds) on my left foot.
Funny stuff. Actually, if you click through and read the whole post, you'll see it's not so much funny as sort of terrifying. It's the sobering reflections of a guy who's been trapped by a heavy teaching load in a place he never really wanted to live. He's been there for nine years.
Oh god, here come the howling fantods.