Weather

Foreign Postdoc: "Summer in my country, it is like burning. Here.... it is like strangling."

Inadvertently Networked

There's this professor, let's call him C, on the next floor down. He was a co-teacher when I was... er, strongly encouraged... to TA for my advisor . Advisor and C always asked me to read the quizzes and tests that year, me being so conveniently located and all.

Then I wasn't TAing the class any more. And my advisor still brought me tests and quizzes to read. And so did C. For five years. Including three finals from C.

Now, the advisor pays me, I'm right there. That made sense. But I was never sure about C. There were seven TAs; surely one of them was in the building? You know, someone actually working for him? Or one of his students? But no. Was he making nice for the sake of my boss, who is also his boss? Was I just nearby? Easily exploitable? All the same, I figured that I couldn't think of a nice way to say no and maybe it would do me good in the future. So I read all the damn tests.

Yesterday morning I was going up in the elevator with C. 'So what are you going to do with that PhD?' he asked.

'I have no idea,' I said.

'Well,' he said, 'I'm about to become editor of Medium-Sized Journal, and there's always a staff person who keeps everything rolling. Is that the kind of thing you're interested in? There's someone doing it now, but it's part of Evil Empire Press and is often a stepping stone, so it turns over a lot.'

Blink. Blink.

I explained that yes, I was very much interested in that kind of thing, but I was moving to Cold Utopia in two months. Also that I had been EIC for a journal ('Wow!' he said. 'What a feather in your cap for this kind of thing!') and so did have some experience. So maybe I should send him my resume and we'd keep in touch.

Now, probably nothing will come of it. I'm moving. They have staff. But it can't hurt. If I really wanted a job with Evil Empire, I bet C would help me find one. And who knows, maybe he'll hear about something good. The motto here should be "Nepotism: A Snooty U Specialty Since A Really Long Time Ago."

I guess that's why I proofed all those damn tests.

Catch More Flies

Mrs. Scientist-In-Law is a woman who appreciates holidays. In particular, she appreciates Mothers' Day. This year I thought it would be nice to send some flowers. The internet and I got together and had them delivered to her school (she's a teacher). The internet emailed me to say they'd been delivered.

She never got them.

I was a little upset. Maybe more than a little. I took a deep breath and called the school, where I explained to a very nice executive-secretary type the whole situation, and asked if it was possible to figure out what had happened to the flowers and how as they were for my mother-in-law and oh my goodness. She said she'd look into it.

Today I got an email that the custodian took them to the horticulture department by mistake, and they were so, so sorry, and would I tell them how the flowers had looked so the horticulture dept. could make a new one for my mother-in-law? Which they would take to her classroom this week? And they were very sorry. And they did: a huge, lovely bouquet of lilies.

Thus proving that a Southern upbringing is good for something after all.

Step Away From The Thesaurus Slowly

Dr. S has a new favorite phrase, from a paper he read recently. They describe their mutation as hegemonic.





(For the non-scientists: They meant dominant. As in, its effect overrides the effect of the native whatever. There's really only one word for it. Really.)

Learning To Play Nice

I recently heard about a situation in another lab. To be intentionally vague: They have a Difficult Personality. Said Difficult Personality has been very successful professionally, and has had snits about any number of other people, for no good reasons. They also have a Very Nice Person. Said person has been less successful professionally for no good reasons.

Difficult Personality asked Nice Person a mildly offensive question one day. Nice Person gave a terse response.

DP threatened NP with professional blackmail if NP didn't 'treat DP better'. DP, in fact, threatened to try to ruin NP's employment prospects.

Nice Person, feeling somewhat less nice, filed a harassment complaint.

The thing I'm writing about, though, is my response to the story. When I heard it, my first response was, 'DP thought DP could do WHAT????' And then, second, I started thinking up how, were it me, I would take DP down.

This isn't necessarily the best response: hitting back as hard as you can. My first years in this lab were extremely difficult, and plagued with aggressive people. I suppose I worked up to it rather; I tried pushing back gently, and then harder and harder, until my reflex became to always apply maximum force, to shut the other person down, to have no tolerance for being talked over or condescended to or whatever. (Last week, I actually smacked a postdoc who was trying to take something out of my hands. Gently. I smacked him gently.)

Yet one more thing to unlearn on my way out of town.

In Which (Surprisingly Enough) It All Works Out

Today I talked to the Advisor. Are we moving soon or not? Can I leave? Ever?

Well, yes. Because it turns out, when I said "I have to leave by the end of August and here's how I plan to finish my experiments by then...

... he took it to mean "I am leaving in August no matter what and here's how I'm doing it."

In the event of reviewers, I may have to fly back, but given that I couldn't care less about paper acceptance as long as I get to graduate, perhaps I can convince Advisor to pay for it. I'll come back in the fall to defend.

I could hardly be happier about this.

In The Wrong Trade

The electrician has come, o glory glory! After two hours involving wires, screws, and a lot of breaker flipping, he figured out that [some 'leg' metal thingy] was bad and [something about an outlet] had a [something with a wire] and [something I didn't catch].

But we have power. Boy, is it nice to run the coffeemaker and the fan at the same time.

In my next life, I'm totally going to be an electrician. Or a plumber.

Unvoiced Snarks

To Undergrad A:

Thank you for telling us about PCR as if we didn't know about it. Also thank you for telling us WRONG. Condescending little prick.

To Undergrad B:

Ultra-shorty shorts and a pink gingham halter? To LAB? Did you want to negotiate a price, or were you going to Country & Western Line Dancing Night? Put on some clothes. Thank you.

To my electricity:

What the FUCK. I want electricity. This apartment is accursed.

MY BRAIN IT HURTS

Reason 1: Our electrical outlets are dead. All of them except the one the fridge is on. No electricity, I can live with, but no FANS? Hot. Hot and cranky as all hell.
Update: It was a blown power strip. All better now. Yay.
Just kidding! Still no power! Electricians not until Monday.

Reason 2: I have begun pounding away at the Thesulation. Actually, I pounded last December and then left it incubate for six months. But suddenly, I feel intensely motivated by that whole 'homeless’ thing. (Also I promised myself treats for working on it every day: Netflix! Books!) At this rate I’ll be done next week. So here we are.

The introduction was mostly done by yesterday, because.... seriously, who are we kidding? Who’s going to read this anyways? Fortunately the boss doesn't care, so it’s short and to the point. Here, let me render it for you:

There are bricks. People make them from baked clay. Bricks are good for lots of things and are made in lots of different ways and are found in buildings all over the world. However, they crumble with time. Some people think it’s alien rays, but others favor rainfall. I wanted to look at whether high-voltage electrical lines make bricks crumble. They don’t. Rain does. We don’t know why. The end.

Just wait ‘til I tell you about the data chapters! All two of them. Oh, the excitement.

Parenting Choices

Especially here in Snooty-U-Land, Dr. S and I have met a remarkable number of people whose parents appear to have been entirely unqualified for the task. (An old Dilbert cartoon about a parenting test, which ends in leaving organs with the receptionist, comes to mind.) Some of these people have overcome their parents' suffocating tendencies and learned to think on their own. Some don't get along with their families, often for quite good reasons. The rest, well, you can imagine.

I was thinking about parenting in general, and how people often want to avoid their parent's mistakes with their own children (an admirable goal). And then I was thinking about my parents, mildly-tumultuously married for 35 years. I'm a lot like my parents; Dr. S is a lot like his.

I don't think there's really very much I'd want to do differently from my parents, and I don't mean they were perfect, but overall they took care of us while giving us room and opportunities to grow. The only big thing I would change, if I got a do-over, would be for Dad to be home more; he was gone for work at least half the time, for years. I talk to him more now than I did in highschool. And the only little thing I would change is less yelling. But you know? It didn't kill us.

Also, they could have skipped singing "You Can't Always Get What You Want" every time I couldn't get what I wanted.

What do or would you want to do/ have you done differently from your parents? Have you ever sung the Rolling Stones at anyone?

When Companies Ignore Users, Or, Why Your Science Equipment Sucks

The phone rang. It was the BD rep. 'Hi! Our local sales person said you have some feedback on our petri dishes,' she said.

'Well,' I said, 'we kind of hate them. I heard they were redesigned. In any case, we got a new box. And now our plates have furry things all over them. '

'We've gotten a lot of complaints lately; I guess they dry out too,' she said.

'Our tech never had trouble before,' I explained. 'She's been doing it for ten years now. Nothing else changed.'

'I'm sure you're right. They're doing a redesign. Actually they're changing it back to how they used to be.'

'Somehow, I'm not surprised,' I said.

So here's your PSA: BD Falcon petri dishes 351029. Don't use them, because they now suck. I am told that sometime in October they will be better again.

Here's the thing, though: they were perfectly good like they were! Why did the company change them? Apparently they thought more ventilation would be good. For your anaerobic bacteria and whatnot. Hey, company design people: we have plates like that. They're called CELL CULTURE DISHES.

This, my friends, is why equipment sucks: it appears to be designed by people who never will use it and never have. I see a niche market! Anyone want to start a consulting company with me? Wealth, power, and fame could be ours!

In Which I Demand Attention, NOW

I spent several years in my lab feeling invisible. There would be two or three days in a row when literally all anyone said to me would be 'Are you done with that?' and 'It's on that shelf.' Needless to say, I hated it.

My professional life here is now exactly as I would want. My advisor listens- listens!- when I talk, and tells others to take my suggestions. My lab listens. They even talk to me sometimes. (Kidding! We talk all the time.)

As previously mentioned, I spent a lot of time learning how to be heard. Probably the single most effective things I've learned were to talk quite loudly at work, and to interrupt. All the public speaking I did as a journal editor didn't hurt either, nor the cutting off of respected senior doctor-types. My voice has grown HUUUUUGE!*

Because I'm now heard, because I have a real presence in my work, well, I almost want to whisper, but... I kind of like my lab.** In part it's because they treat me better, and in part it's because I accept nothing less. I expect to get the respect and courtesy I deserve for being an experienced, intelligent, stuffed-with-useful-knowledge colleague. I demand my place by having a firm respect for my own abilities.

I've also learned to believe, completely and firmly, that things are going to happen the way I want.*** This is also hard for me to explain. It's kind of like... a complete refusal to accept circumstances that I find unacceptable. People interrupt me and I stare them down. People propose things that are not okay and I tell them, 'That will not work for me. Find an alternative.'
I have overcome my Southern, female training to be unobtrusive and polite.

The biggest difference from even a year ago is that I finally expect to be heard. I don't think anyone can give you this kind of belief. But it's great.

*Except at home, where Dr. S can never bloody well hear me.
**Not just because I'm about to leave. But it doesn't hurt.
***But not experimental data, which is beyond even my power of belief.

Called "Snooty U" For a Reason

In the hottest room in the library, two wilting undergraduates sit in Naugahyde chairs. One is holding a limp calla lily. The other is sitting by the window.

I am looking for a book. They keep talking.

'He said the world is justified by esthetics but it couldn't be! That would be too cruel.'

'Darling, we all have an inner strength and you just need to find your center....'


These are the deep metaphysical conversations that only 18-year-olds can manage. And the inner strength... could doubtless be found by moving to a cooler room.

P.S. I am not making this up.