Thoughts on Two Years Post-Academia

This week, an odd fact suddenly struck me: it's two years to the month that I decided to leave my job as a tenure-track assistant professor in rural East Texas and start a new career as a teacher at an independent high school in New York City.  It was something I had once considered unthinkable, but I took the leap gladly and whole-heartedly, and have never looked back.  Today I love my job, and have put any thoughts of returning to academia or feeling its absence completely out of my mind.

I've been looking at the stuff I wrote on my old blog back then, and this little snippet still rings true with me today:

"Over the last two months or so, that resistance and reluctance [to give up my academic career] has turned into a hardened resolve to get out at all costs. Strangely enough, now that my impulse has become reality, I don't really feel like I am losing anything. I have three articles published in top journals and a book contract, I have constructed and taught thirteen(!) different courses over the last five years and have received rave reviews on my teaching from students and peers alike. These qualifications could not even get me an AHA or phone interview with a university during this job cycle. And yet at my home institution these accomplishments have been met not with praise, but with fear and loathing. Why bother sacrificing my life and, quite frankly, my will to live itself to a profession that refuses to give any reward?"

That last sentence is especially important.  I had worked so hard and done so well by standards of my profession, but it got me nowhere.  The disjuncture between my accomplishments and my treatment was making me insane. Despite my many bona fides, prospective employers would not talk to me, yet many of my then colleagues mobbed and bullied me for how my efforts drew attention to their relative mediocrity and laziness.

I began to wonder if I was indeed a worthless loser, that the judgements of my peers were deserved.  (When I say that I was losing my will to live, that's not an exaggeration.)  The lowest moment probably came in April of 2011, when I visited my family over Easter.  My father had just been diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer, my wife (living 1500 miles away) was dealing with struggles at her job, and my family's cat of twenty years was on his death bed.  I had just gotten the last of my rejections from yet another failed run at the academic job market, and began to think I was caught in a trap that I couldn't escape.

In that darkest of moments, I realized that I had to go for broke and radically change my life if I wanted my soul to survive.  When I applied for teaching jobs, I wrote the most florid, emotional job letters of my life.  For the first time in a job search, I decided to put my heart on my sleeve and let it all hang out.  Fortunately, one school liked my style, and plucked me out of the academic refuse heap.  I have given the school all of my heart and soul, and they have repaid me in kind.  For the first time in my professional life, I actually feel appreciated and loved.

Yes, there are times when I wonder if I will ever get my research back on track.  I know that being an "independent scholar" means wearing a giant scarlet letter "I" on my tweed blazer at academic conferences when others check out my badge.  Nowadays I do my research and writing in stolen moments.  It's not an ideal situation, but in return for library privileges and my academic credentials, I have my life back.  In the words of The Who, I call that a bargain, the best I've ever had.

Track of the Week: The Rolling Stones, "Child of the Moon (rmk)"

What separates the good bands from the great?  I would argue that non-album B-sides are the key.  These are the ultimate throwaways, songs not worthy of inclusion on an album, and slapped on the back of a 45 so that there's at least something there.  A band that has so many good songs that the stuff it releases as its disposable refuse is better than the hits of other artists certainly qualifies as great.  Judging by that standard, it is "Child of the Moon (rmk)", not its justly famous A-side ("Jumpin' Jack Flash") that establishes the Rolling Stones' superiority.

"Jumpin' Jack Flash" may very well be the best song in the Stones' catalog, kicking off an amazing run from 1968 to 1972 that has yet to be matched by anyone else.  With its killer, no-nonsense riff and funky blues feel, the Stones were also signaling an end to their psychedelic period and all of the phased drums, day-glo outfits, twee lyrics, and harpsichords that came with it.  Traditionally, Stones fans and critics have lauded this moment, considering the Stones' foray into psychedelia to be a dire mistake that "Jumpin' Jack Flash" exorcised in a most spectacular way.

While the A-side was a major statement of purpose, the B-side was a wistful look back.  The hippy-dippy lyrics,  shimmering guitar, and trippy vocals of "Child of the Moon"embody the very psychedelia repudiated on the A-side.  It's almost as if the band thought, "let's try this out one last time, and do it right."  I have to say, the result is much more interesting and catchy than most of the stuff on their infamous psychedelic record, Their Satanic Majesties Request.  Perhaps this forgotten yet brilliant B-side was just a small way to save face, to make the change from flower power to bluesy riff rocking from a position of strength.  All I know for sure is that many of the legions of bands that imitate the Stones have been unable to match a song that is essentially a tossed-off relic from a much-maligned musical detour.

Putting the Current "Scandals" in Proper Perspective

By all accounts, this last week has been a bad one for the Obama administration, mostly because the GOP has finally found the "scandals" they have been looking for to discredit and obstruct the president.  (Never mind that they are collaborating with the biggest real scandal, our nation's use of drones to carry out targeted assassinations.)  I will leave the parsing of the AP email seizures, Benghazi memos, and IRS to others.  I would prefer to take a step back from all of the accusations and minutae, and place all of this in broader historical and political context.

To paraphrase one of Marx's most well-known adages, history repeats itself: first as tragedy, then as farce.  The tactic of ginning up "scandals" of dubious importance was used time and again in the Clinton administration, when Republicans flogged the Whitewater kerfuffle to death and tried to impeach the president over a blow job.  Not only are the tactics today the same, so is the motivation.  Today's conservatives view themselves as the only real and true Americans, and liberals as an enemy within.  Any progressive president, even ones as moderate as Obama and Clinton, are imposters and usurpers who must be destroyed.  The racial and cultural dynamics at play with Barack Obama have only intensified this derangement.

However, I see another cause at play, one that has been less discussed but is no more potent: conservatives can't win through legitimate means.  This may sound counterintuitive, but take a look at the six presidential elections since 1992.  In only one of those elections has the Republican candidate received the most votes; Bush's win in 2000 was tainted at best.  Furthermore, the one election where the Republican did get the most votes, 2004, he had major advantages due to incumbency and being in the midst of a war.  Furthermore, Republican power in Congress is derived through manipulating the system, rather than via the voice of the ballot box.  As has been well-documented, Republicans have maintained a majority in House mostly through gerrymandering, which they have been aggressively pushing since 2000.  In the Senate they use filibusters and and other means of obstruction to prevent the majority from moving legislation forward.

While committed conservatives are a minority in this country, they are fully mobilized.  A vast Right-wing noise machine serves up conspiracies and outrage on a platter, and their mobs of listeners eat it right up.  Polls show that most Americans have faint interest in the current raft of "scandals," but that doesn't matter when a committed faction and their allies in Congress light their hair on fire and scream out for impeachment.

Essentially, last week's events are only a small battle in a much larger political war, one that has been waged for at least twenty years now by conservatives.  Anyone remember Pat Buchanan's infamous "Culture War" speech at the 1992 RNC?  Although Buchanan's star has fallen, and the social conservative message of that speech is much less emphasized by the GOP today, it expressed the conservative vision of the nation as it still stands.  Conservatives believe they are paladins, protectors of a "real America" under threat by liberals and growing numbers of "takers" who are undermining American values.  When they lose an election, as in 2012, they blame the supposed government-dependency and high melanin count of voters who don't count as "real Americans."  The results don't count, because "real America" did not give the usurper Obama a majority.  Hence any means necessary may be used to stop him from destroying "real America" so that conservatives can "take our country back."

As long as one major political party in this country is held in thrall by such divisive extremism, our politics will continue to be dysfunctional, and all kinds of "scandals" will be brought before the country.

Classic Albums: U2, October

I would like to use this installment of the classic albums series to rehabilitate a fine record that is forgotten at best, and maligned at worst: U2's October.  It is easily the least popular album in their catalog, and the most overlooked of their 1980s heyday.  When U2 put out a compilation of their 1980s work, they did not include a single song from October, the only album so dishonored.  This despite the fact that the lead off track, the soaring, transcendent "Gloria," was much more worthy of inclusion than anything on Rattle and Hum.

Some of the problems may lie with October's subject matter, which reflects the band's immersion in a the teachings of a Christian sect at the time.  Many of the song titles, like "Rejoice," "Jerusalem," and "Gloria" betray the religious influence.  I would argue that in many respects, October is the greatest Christian rock record of all time, even if its creators don't fit into the traditional definition of the genre.  As much as I dislike most Christian rock, the religious rapture in between October's grooves really adds something.  Like Bach's Mattheus Passion or Mozart's Requiem, the religious underpinnings give the music an uplifting, exhilarating feeling, even if you don't happen to be a believer.

What really makes this record shine, though, is Edge's absolutely luminescent guitar work, some of his best ever.  The figures he peals off at the end of "Gloria," the descending riffs that close out "Rejoice," and most of all, the killer, Jimi Hendrix by way of Joy Division sounds he lays down on "I Threw a Brick Through a Window" are unforgettable.  On the latter track, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen lock into one of their best inverted, post-punk grooves.

In addition to some real guitar rock barn burners, there are a couple of eerie ballads, "October" and "Tomorrow."  "October" is a spare song with just Bono's voice and a backing piano, and it perfectly evokes the feelings of the month of October, when summer has faded and all is turning gray, cold, and dead.  "Tomorrow" is about death itself, and features a great use of the haunting, overworldly sound of Irish horns.

In addition to all the songs I've already mentioned, October still serves up gems like "Stranger in a Strange Land."  It may not have as many hits as the Joshua Tree or be consistently thrilling as Achtung Baby (there's some filler), but it's a record that is full of moments of true beauty and transcendence.  The people who've overlooked it don't know what they're missing.

I Heard That Lonesome Whistle Blow

A couple of nights ago I gave my sister a call on the phone.  She lives in a rural Nebraska town very similar to the one where we grew up, and in the middle of our conversation, I heard a ghostly sound through the receiver that raised the hair on the back of my neck.  It was the long, lonesome call of a freight train's horn echoing through the primeval dark of a prairie night.

It's a sound that always brings me back to my childhood growing up in a railroad town, and nights lying awake in bed, hearing the trains' eerie moans.  Those Nebraska nights were so dark and still that the freight train horns had a kind of piercing, almost threatening quality to them.  It was strange as a child to think that in the middle of such otherworldly blackness people were driving massive locomotives on and on through the night.  Nevertheless, I always find a strange comfort in their noise when I visit home, or when I am lucky enough to hear it through the telephone.

University Toy Town Syndrome

Of all the things I've read about higher ed in the last week, nothing has stuck with me more than an article on Purdue University's new campus rec center, which makes it sound fit for the Roman emperors to get a message in.  The author, a grad student, notes the incongruity of humanities buildings on campus crumbling while shiny new palaces of leisure with no educational purpose rise up like cathedrals on campus.

I witnessed the magical building of expensive new edifices during times of want and austerity for faculty first hand at my last job.  The moment of real truth came during the last all-university meeting I attended, when our Oz-like president came down from the mountaintop and made his pronouncements.  This particular meeting left me bewildered, since the president began by touting all of the building done on campus, including an addition onto his own house (ostensibly so it could hold larger fund raisers.)  One would think that our university was flush with cash, considering that all of the new dormitories and such had been constructed in the wake of a state of the art student center and a massive rec center complete with rock climbing wall and lazy river.  However, right after he got done telling us about a new beacon on the tallest dorm that would shine a stream of the school's colors after each athletic victory, he immediately launched into a discussion of state cutbacks, and implied that "low performing" programs and departments might be cut, and that we could not expect raises any time soon.

In effect, what he just told us was "I care more about funding buildings and athletics than I do about academics and education." He was apparently infected by an administrative disease that others have discussed before, but I think I am the first to give it this name: Toy Town Syndrome. Many administrators approach their universities like their own little dioramas to be expanded and tinkered with. New sports facilities, student recreation centers, and modernized dorms have become the preferred additions to the toy town.  In these administrators' minds,  the students will want to come to the gleaming toy town, not to learn from the betweeded underlings teaching them.  They can just subsist on a steady diet of gruel, and be threatened with replacement by the reserve army of unemployed if they make any complaints.

I honestly think that many upper level administrators judge their success on the number of buildings they finance in their careers. The Toy Town Syndrome certainly explains the universities in Louisiana that have cut philosophy programs, yet still maintain football teams. At least all of those rock-climbing walls and sky box-filled football stadiums, like the Roman baths and coliseums, will make for exquisite ruins when public higher education collapses in a couple of decades.

Track of the Week: Beck, "F#*@in With My Head (Mountain Dew Rock)"

Nineteen years ago this week I graduated from high school.  I've now lived more of my life away from my home town than in it, which seemed an impossibly far-off milestone back in May of 1994.  It's been so long that sometimes I need to listen to certain evocative songs to remember just exactly what my life was like back then.  After leaving home, I have lived in two different countries, four different states, and seven different towns.  There have been so many transitions and changes that the place where I spent half my life feels increasingly alien in my memory.

Since I had a tape (yes a cassette tape, they once existed) of Beck's Mellow Gold in the tape deck of my Mazda Protege on a nearly constant basis around the time of my graduation, I was inspired two nights ago to stream this album over Spotify.  Times have definitely changed, but Mellow Gold really brought me back to my emotions in that transitional period in my life.

I was restless and lonely back then, going crazy with the anticipation of leaving home and starting a new life.  I was never all that well accepted by my peers, and while they bawled their little eyes out at graduation over leaving their friends behind, I was more elated than I perhaps had ever been in my life. That restlessness manifested itself in a lot of aimless driving around town in my car, listening to music on the tape deck with the windows open.  While the place I grew up is not all that culturally interesting, it is full of beautiful parks and pleasant, tree-lined avenues.  Nebraska never looks better than in May, when the trees and flowers explode in color, before the onset of the pitiless scorching summer heat, which usually arrives some time around Memorial Day.  I spent that summer working in rubber parts factory tending machines with metal plates heated to 400 degrees, which made being outside on 100 degree days in late July feel like a respite from where I spent my working hours.

The precious weeks in May I had between graduation and work were spent in slackerdom, mostly driving around town and listening to music.  My one close friend had already skipped town, anxious to get away from his contentious relationship with his father.  I reveled a bit in my laconic, wannabe bohemian lifestyle.  Perhaps that's why I was drawn to "Fuckin' With My Head," since it tells the story of a man who lives in an old tool shed and drinks his "coffee from a hub cap."  It's also got a drunkenly loping folk-rock with distortion riff that was perfect for cruising the dusty streets of my hometown.  Music really was my escape in those days, and without any internet or anything interesting on TV, aimlessly driving and thinking was my primary way to pass the time.  While I'm glad to have moved on with my life to places that are more exciting, I do wonder if I would be able to be alone with myself that much today is such an isolated place without going crazy.