In which a veteran of cultural studies seminars in the 1990s moves into academic administration and finds himself a married suburban father of two. Foucault, plus lawn care.
This actually happened earlier this week.
The Girl and I were in the car, driving home after a school event. She’s nine, and she was in the back seat.
TG (unprompted): How do philosophers make a living?
DD (laughs): Where did that come from?
TG: Well, if I want to be a philosopher, how will I make a living?
DD: Well, lots of them have a hard time with that. Some of them teach philosophy to support themselves.
TG: I don’t want to teach! I want to do it myself!
DD (laughing): Okay, well, sometimes they have other jobs to support themselves, and then they write in their spare time.
TG: But I’d be too tired!
DD: Yeah, that’s a problem.
TG: I mean, you never see signs saying “Wanted: Philosopher!”
DD: That’s true.
TG: And if you did, what would they do all day?
DD: Ya got me.
TG: You can’t really sell philosophy. People don’t buy philosophy books like they buy Harry Potter books.
DD: No, they don’t.
TG: They don’t make movies about philosophers. It would just be people asking “why are we here?”
DD: Well, sometimes they do, but they’re not very popular.
TG: Exactly! They’re not like Thor.
DD: No, they’re not.
TG: Maybe I could be a veterinarian first, and then be a philosopher.
DD: Sounds like a plan.
So there you have it. Philosophers are not like Thor.
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