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.
TB came home today excited to invite me to speak to his class for career week.
I'm not exactly sure how to explain academic administration to second graders.
“Well, I go to a lot of meetings, and I try to get grownups to play nicely and share their toys.”
Somehow, I don't see that one capturing the room.
“I make sure we follow the rules.” Yawn. “I try to get teachers to behave.” Not bad, but I could see the discussion veering badly off-course. “I keep the college on an even keel despite years of public disinvestment.” Yeah, second graders are big on 'disinvestment.'
“I drink a lot of coffee, and read and writes lots of emails.” Pretty accurate, but it just doesn't fire the imagination.
I bet rodeo clowns don't have this problem...
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