As a quick post-script on my last post, here's another general principle of prospective-grad-student-advice-giving. Don't tell prospectives to "think very hard" about grad school, unless you tell them exactly what to think about.
This one really picks my ass. By most accounts, pure rational cogitation couldn't even get Descartes out of his own fucking head. It's sure as fuck not going to tell prospectives anything about grad school.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Forever in Debt to Your Priceless Advice
In comments, Potential Philosopher reminds me it's getting to be about time to talk about advice for prospective grad students. (Actually, it's probably getting late for that. Oh well.) I and everyone else have things to say about that, so we'll get to that in time. But the actual advice will have to wait another day.
Right now, I want to make a case for a general principle of advice-giving. It's a principle that, if you really take it seriously, I think puts serious constraints on the advice you can give to prospective grad students.
Here's the principle. The advice you give a prospective grad student has to be based on the rule, and not the exception, of what prospectives can expect about grad school and philosophy more generally.
Why is this a good principle? Well, I take it most people who want to go to grad school in philosophy were the exceptions in their college philosophy classes. They were the smartest people in the room. Or if, like me, they weren't the smartest people in the room, they were at least pretty smart, and certainly better at philosophy than most other things they ever tried to do. One thing this means is, prospective grads are used to being the exceptions. Now, some of them are going to go to grad school and continue being the exceptions. But the overwhelming majority won't. Their days as the exceptions in the class are over.* I take this to be damn near analytically true. So for the overwhelming majority of prospective grads, whatever might be true for the exceptions isn't true for them.
Now, here's how the principle constrains the advice we can give. Take just one example. Suppose I give some pessimistic-sounding advice about how long it takes to finish a PhD in philosophy in America. Like, say, some school's offering a five year package and saying they run a five-year program, but I say it's probably more like a six, seven, or eight year program. Suppose I say that.
There's always going to be someone who wants to come back at me with, "But I know someone who worked really hard and finished in four years! It can be done! Quit saying it can't be done!" First, no one's saying it can't be done. But more to the point, how the fuck does pleading exceptions help give a prospective grad student a fair idea of what grad school is normally, probably, usually like? What, in all likelihood, grad school will be like for them?
The advice we give prospectives should give them a sense of what they can reasonably expect. But they can't reasonably expect to be exceptions. Our advice needs to reflect that.
*Side-bar to prospective grads: This isn't a knock against you guys. In fact, it's one of the best things about grad school. If you got to grad school, every one of your classmates is going to be really, really bright, especially compared to the some of the dumb-ass knobs who won't STFU in your undergrad classes. Imagine taking class after class after class where the discussion never gets hijacked by someone who's real beef with Davidson is, he's not nearly as cool as the ideas that come to you at 2:00am when you're taking rips off your room mate's bong. It's really awesome having a bunch of smart people in your class instead of that guy.
Right now, I want to make a case for a general principle of advice-giving. It's a principle that, if you really take it seriously, I think puts serious constraints on the advice you can give to prospective grad students.
Here's the principle. The advice you give a prospective grad student has to be based on the rule, and not the exception, of what prospectives can expect about grad school and philosophy more generally.
Why is this a good principle? Well, I take it most people who want to go to grad school in philosophy were the exceptions in their college philosophy classes. They were the smartest people in the room. Or if, like me, they weren't the smartest people in the room, they were at least pretty smart, and certainly better at philosophy than most other things they ever tried to do. One thing this means is, prospective grads are used to being the exceptions. Now, some of them are going to go to grad school and continue being the exceptions. But the overwhelming majority won't. Their days as the exceptions in the class are over.* I take this to be damn near analytically true. So for the overwhelming majority of prospective grads, whatever might be true for the exceptions isn't true for them.
Now, here's how the principle constrains the advice we can give. Take just one example. Suppose I give some pessimistic-sounding advice about how long it takes to finish a PhD in philosophy in America. Like, say, some school's offering a five year package and saying they run a five-year program, but I say it's probably more like a six, seven, or eight year program. Suppose I say that.
There's always going to be someone who wants to come back at me with, "But I know someone who worked really hard and finished in four years! It can be done! Quit saying it can't be done!" First, no one's saying it can't be done. But more to the point, how the fuck does pleading exceptions help give a prospective grad student a fair idea of what grad school is normally, probably, usually like? What, in all likelihood, grad school will be like for them?
The advice we give prospectives should give them a sense of what they can reasonably expect. But they can't reasonably expect to be exceptions. Our advice needs to reflect that.
*Side-bar to prospective grads: This isn't a knock against you guys. In fact, it's one of the best things about grad school. If you got to grad school, every one of your classmates is going to be really, really bright, especially compared to the some of the dumb-ass knobs who won't STFU in your undergrad classes. Imagine taking class after class after class where the discussion never gets hijacked by someone who's real beef with Davidson is, he's not nearly as cool as the ideas that come to you at 2:00am when you're taking rips off your room mate's bong. It's really awesome having a bunch of smart people in your class instead of that guy.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Watching a Horse Running Down its Last Legs
I hinted at something yesterday I've been meaning to post about. I'm exhausted.
My body just decided to take itself off-line for a couple of weeks after the APA. I tend to get sick more when I'm stressed and sleeping less than when I'm feeling good and getting lots of sleep. No surprises there, it's pretty common. The cold hit me a week before the APA, but I beat it back with a battery of expensive herbal quackery, so I was okay at the conference itself. But about 18 hours after I got back from Baltimore, I dropped like a rat in plague times. For the next two weeks, I couldn't walk up stairs without losing my breath, and running for the bus made me feel like I was going to fucking die.
But physical exhaustion's not even half of it. There's the other kind of tired, the one that comes from working with a singular focus on one thing for months, and then seeing your work produce exactly nothing. It's the kind of tired that eats through your motivation and leaves a gaping, empty hole in its place. It's the kind of tired where you can sleep nine or ten hours a night and still wake up just as tired as when you put your head down the night before.
That's a hard tired to shake.
My body just decided to take itself off-line for a couple of weeks after the APA. I tend to get sick more when I'm stressed and sleeping less than when I'm feeling good and getting lots of sleep. No surprises there, it's pretty common. The cold hit me a week before the APA, but I beat it back with a battery of expensive herbal quackery, so I was okay at the conference itself. But about 18 hours after I got back from Baltimore, I dropped like a rat in plague times. For the next two weeks, I couldn't walk up stairs without losing my breath, and running for the bus made me feel like I was going to fucking die.
But physical exhaustion's not even half of it. There's the other kind of tired, the one that comes from working with a singular focus on one thing for months, and then seeing your work produce exactly nothing. It's the kind of tired that eats through your motivation and leaves a gaping, empty hole in its place. It's the kind of tired where you can sleep nine or ten hours a night and still wake up just as tired as when you put your head down the night before.
That's a hard tired to shake.
Monday, February 18, 2008
I've Been Working from Seven to Eleven Every Night, It Kind of Makes Life a Drag
Motivation's hard to come by right now. I've been scraping enough of it together, day to day, to get some work done. But it's not coming easily. I've been managing by trying to keep a pretty steady eye on my dissertation and trying as hard as I can not to think about the job market. Actually writing philosophy feels alright, even if it's slow and painful in its own way.
But the job market's back. Deadline's are coming. I've been putting off dealing with some stray post-doc applications, because, right now, thinking about the job market makes me feel like an unqualified failure, too beat down to think a clear thought. But they couldn't be put off any more, so I started them today.
I got some shit done that needed to get done, but I can't work on any of these application without feeling a bodily, physical sense of revulsion. It's like my body's trying to get me stop, because it feels like it's taken enough punishment from this shit already.
Fuck, I hate doing applications.
But the job market's back. Deadline's are coming. I've been putting off dealing with some stray post-doc applications, because, right now, thinking about the job market makes me feel like an unqualified failure, too beat down to think a clear thought. But they couldn't be put off any more, so I started them today.
I got some shit done that needed to get done, but I can't work on any of these application without feeling a bodily, physical sense of revulsion. It's like my body's trying to get me stop, because it feels like it's taken enough punishment from this shit already.
Fuck, I hate doing applications.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
The Bronze Medal
More questions about next year from Second Suitor. --PGS
Okay. So I have a question and recognize that it probably doesn’t have a clear answer. How do conferences factor in? It’s a line on the CV. I mean I’m working on the publishing thing, but that’s clearly going to take a while. In the meantime applying to conferences feels like something I can do. Clearly presenting at something fancy like the APA must be good, but I’m under the impression that at least some faculty seem to think graduate conferences are about as impressive as undergrad conferences.
Right now I’m kind of using conference deadlines as fake ‘real’ deadlines for relatively self-contained 10 page chunks of the dissertation. It’s a strategy that’s definitely helped me make progress on the diss, but it would be nice if actually going to any of these conferences would help on the job market.
Also, I hear conferences area good place to network. Makes sense. Throw a lot of philosophers in a room and we have to talk to each other. That said, it’s not really clear that chatting with people at conferences in fact helps on the job market. I have no idea if that’s right, but I’d like to find out from people who know.
--Second Suitor
Okay. So I have a question and recognize that it probably doesn’t have a clear answer. How do conferences factor in? It’s a line on the CV. I mean I’m working on the publishing thing, but that’s clearly going to take a while. In the meantime applying to conferences feels like something I can do. Clearly presenting at something fancy like the APA must be good, but I’m under the impression that at least some faculty seem to think graduate conferences are about as impressive as undergrad conferences.
Right now I’m kind of using conference deadlines as fake ‘real’ deadlines for relatively self-contained 10 page chunks of the dissertation. It’s a strategy that’s definitely helped me make progress on the diss, but it would be nice if actually going to any of these conferences would help on the job market.
Also, I hear conferences area good place to network. Makes sense. Throw a lot of philosophers in a room and we have to talk to each other. That said, it’s not really clear that chatting with people at conferences in fact helps on the job market. I have no idea if that’s right, but I’d like to find out from people who know.
--Second Suitor
Friday, February 15, 2008
The Blueprint
Second Suitor, a good friend of mine from my program, is going on the market next year. He's having a lot of the same experiences I did. --PGS
If philosophy’s a contact sport, the job market’s the gauntlet. I’ve been able to spend this year complaining about how long it takes to write a dissertation and watching the class above me try to tackle the job market. Now they’re done (one way or another) and all of a sudden I’m up next. The trick is figuring out what the hell I should be doing to prepare for this daunting process next semester.
Fortunately, figuring out what to do isn’t that complicated. Let’s take this one step at a time. A lot of jobs focus on research. Last week in comments, m.a. program faculty member kindly pointed out it’s time to try to publish. According to m.a.:
--Second Suitor
If philosophy’s a contact sport, the job market’s the gauntlet. I’ve been able to spend this year complaining about how long it takes to write a dissertation and watching the class above me try to tackle the job market. Now they’re done (one way or another) and all of a sudden I’m up next. The trick is figuring out what the hell I should be doing to prepare for this daunting process next semester.
Fortunately, figuring out what to do isn’t that complicated. Let’s take this one step at a time. A lot of jobs focus on research. Last week in comments, m.a. program faculty member kindly pointed out it’s time to try to publish. According to m.a.:
You should do so right now, in Feb., if you want a realistic shot of (i) sending off a paper, (ii) getting back reviewer reports and a decision, probably 'Revise and Resubmit' at best if you're lucky, and (iii) having time to revise and get an acceptance prior to job deadlines for the next Eastern APA.Point taken. Too bad I didn’t get the memo before Christmas break.
--Second Suitor
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Voices, Another Sound, Can You Hear Me Now? This is Planet Earth
I found two interesting things in my mailbox at school yesterday, along with all the usual academic junk mail. One was a burnt copy of the Drive By Truckers' new album. I have no idea who left it for me, but some kind-hearted mystery person must have known this is the time in the job market cycle for alt-country, and also that if I kept listening to Calexico's "Garden Ruin" my slide into alcoholism would pretty much be a done deal. Thanks mystery person! My liver thanks you too!
The other thing I found was a PFO from a school I interviewed with at the APA. Obviously PFOs aren't normally interesting. But this was wasn't a form letter. Or at least, it wasn't completely a form letter. It had a single dependent clause that was directed specifically at me.
It was still a PFO, and it was still telling me I wasn't going to get a job I really, badly wanted. So it still hurt. But apart from the rejection, there's something deeply dehumanizing about having nothing but a wash of crappily-written form letters to show for the work you put in to your applications. You spend months putting together an application package that says who you are as a philosopher, and when you're done you've got no sign any of it registered with anyone. It's like you're shouting out into the darkness, and you never hear any response but echoes of your own voice.
Well, this PFO was like a voice calling back, letting me know someone heard me shouting.
The other thing I found was a PFO from a school I interviewed with at the APA. Obviously PFOs aren't normally interesting. But this was wasn't a form letter. Or at least, it wasn't completely a form letter. It had a single dependent clause that was directed specifically at me.
It was still a PFO, and it was still telling me I wasn't going to get a job I really, badly wanted. So it still hurt. But apart from the rejection, there's something deeply dehumanizing about having nothing but a wash of crappily-written form letters to show for the work you put in to your applications. You spend months putting together an application package that says who you are as a philosopher, and when you're done you've got no sign any of it registered with anyone. It's like you're shouting out into the darkness, and you never hear any response but echoes of your own voice.
Well, this PFO was like a voice calling back, letting me know someone heard me shouting.
Arg!
Ugh. Sorry about the unannounced hiatus there. A nasty confluence of laptop-, blogger- and dissertation-related problems has kept me off-line for a couple of days. However, I think we should now be back our regular schedule here at PJMB world headquarters.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Your Love's Got Me Lookin' So Crazy Right Now
Remember Bertha Mason in Jane Eyre? You know, Rochester's crazy wife, who he secretly keeps locked up in his attic? Well, I am Bertha Mason.
The Future Dr. Mrs Dr. PGS has had some fly-outs, which is awesome. (In fact, she's had an all around better year on the market than I have. She works on the language and literature of a part of the world that's salient to a lot of Americans these days, owing to events of the past few years. It seems a lot of schools are looking to beef up their course offerings in the sorts of things she can teach.) Anyway, one of the things she's been dealing with in conversations with faculty in the departments she's visiting is the need to keep my existence on the down-low. All the advice she's got from her people, and all the advice I've got from mine, is to keep the two-body problem out of the picture until she's got an offer in hand. Especially in cases where there might be different factions in a department pulling for different candidates, she doesn't want to give anyone any reason to think she's going to be complicating their lives.
This puts the Future Dr. Mrs Dr. in a totally different position on campus visits than another friend of ours. Unlike us, this friend had the good sense to find an SO who wanted be a lawyer. So now that he's got his law degree, he's all portable and she's an academic with no two-body problem. Nice. But she's also cunning, this friend of ours. So on her campus visits, she made sure to drop enough information to let department members know her SO was a lawyer and could follow her. (When I've got the chance, I'll come back to why it seems like this is information women need to convey a lot more than men do.)
But the Future Dr. Mrs Dr.? Not so much. She's been bobbing and weaving like the sixth-grade dodge-ball champ she never was. She's had conversations where, frankly, it was just weird not to mention me. Like, she just moved to the city I live in last year, so why does she have such a first-hand feel for how it's changed over the past n years? Hm. But in any case, so far she's managed to keep hidden the dark secret of her BF, the loser philosopher.
And me? Up I trundle into my attic, to wail and gnash and be generally insane.
The Future Dr. Mrs Dr. PGS has had some fly-outs, which is awesome. (In fact, she's had an all around better year on the market than I have. She works on the language and literature of a part of the world that's salient to a lot of Americans these days, owing to events of the past few years. It seems a lot of schools are looking to beef up their course offerings in the sorts of things she can teach.) Anyway, one of the things she's been dealing with in conversations with faculty in the departments she's visiting is the need to keep my existence on the down-low. All the advice she's got from her people, and all the advice I've got from mine, is to keep the two-body problem out of the picture until she's got an offer in hand. Especially in cases where there might be different factions in a department pulling for different candidates, she doesn't want to give anyone any reason to think she's going to be complicating their lives.
This puts the Future Dr. Mrs Dr. in a totally different position on campus visits than another friend of ours. Unlike us, this friend had the good sense to find an SO who wanted be a lawyer. So now that he's got his law degree, he's all portable and she's an academic with no two-body problem. Nice. But she's also cunning, this friend of ours. So on her campus visits, she made sure to drop enough information to let department members know her SO was a lawyer and could follow her. (When I've got the chance, I'll come back to why it seems like this is information women need to convey a lot more than men do.)
But the Future Dr. Mrs Dr.? Not so much. She's been bobbing and weaving like the sixth-grade dodge-ball champ she never was. She's had conversations where, frankly, it was just weird not to mention me. Like, she just moved to the city I live in last year, so why does she have such a first-hand feel for how it's changed over the past n years? Hm. But in any case, so far she's managed to keep hidden the dark secret of her BF, the loser philosopher.
And me? Up I trundle into my attic, to wail and gnash and be generally insane.
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