In Which I Receive an E-mail, Coin a Phrase, and Make a Recommendation

The e-mail: Several hours ago, I received an e-mail from an unknown correspondent, sent to my university account, with the subject line "student." Thinking that this was someone enrolled in one of my fall classes asking if I could provide a copy of the syllabus (a common occurrence here), I opened it. What I found was a helpful suggestion as to what I might "need," sexually speaking, complete with a couple of anatomically-based insults. No virusy attachments or links to unsavory websites; just a single, foul sentence.

Coining a phrase: I actually don't believe this was personal (I didn't recognize the name, and I've been on sabbatical, so my opportunities to piss students off have been minimal); most likely it was some random person trolling faculty websites looking for women to harass. It occurs to me that this type of behavior is part and parcel with catcalls and other skeevy behaviors from one stranger (usually male) to another (usually female), with the intent of asserting power, and that the whole spectrum of behavior needs a phrase to describe it. I propose gender terrorism.

The recommendation: So, finding myself more irritated than actually intimidated, I decided that I should at least go on record. I e-mailed my chair, and she wrote back almost immediately, telling me that it should be reported to our network security people, and to keep her informed. She is generally good about these things, and takes them seriously, preferring to be safe rather than sorry. The network security people, on the other hand, advised me to "ignore it" or call 911. They also helpfully advised me not to reply to my correspondent.** Fine. As I said, I'm almost certain that this was random, rather than personal, and I can't imagine that the university should go on red alert every time that some jerk decides this kind of thing is hilarious. But you know what would help to make women feel like they're welcome in the workplace? A simple statement of solidarity. Something like, "we have a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to sexual harassment," or "we value the safety of our employees." Sure, they're platitudes. But knowing that the university has my back in case something were really amiss here would mean a lot.

That is all.

UPDATE: I guess that's not all after all, because just before closing up for the night, another e-mail came in, this one with the name and number of one of my fall courses in the subject line. So I guess it's not random after all. Crap. This is going to be a huge pain in the ass for me, onacounta some jackass.


**Good to know, right? 'Cause my first thought was to strike up a fucking correspondence.

Trailing Spouse Bloggers?

I got this rather interesting question in my inbox this morning, and though I can't help the correspondent, I thought I'd put it up as my post today: first, because I believe that some of you out there can probably help her find what she's looking for, and second, because I have little to report.

Hello! I'm the spouse of a PhD student who is super close to finishing up (and claims that process will go much faster if he can just land a job already). I have a BA and work in a university library, but am not pursuing grad school, as I don't know what I'd want to do there. So, we are an academic and a (para?)academic. My job isn't a career, so I gladly said I'd go with him wherever he gets his post-doc. That was years ago, and I had no idea how long it would be, and how that kind of limbo would affect my life and sanity, as well as my autonomy. I started a blog to work out my anxieties, and in looking for similar blogs, I can't find them. I can find academic couples, but no voices from those that are (and I hate this term) trailing. Have you heard through the grapevine about anything from people who are married/with young academics and their travails?

How 'bout it readers: Have you?

On an unrelated note: Here's something I photographed the other day, right before I gobbled it up:

It's never too late to change direction

A discussion about "helicopter parents" and their children over at Historiann's place has taken an interesting turn; namely, the question of whether we professors aren't overreacting, and perhaps projecting our own atypical approach to education and college life onto our students.

And yes, I was one of the ones whose immediate reaction was to do just that, from atop a rather tall equine.

And then a couple of commenters went even further, reminding us that a magic "adult" switch doesn't flip on when a student turns 18, or registers for their first class. And it hit me that I've become a bit too cynical. So I'm reprinting my comment here, since it's something that I'm now going to do some thinking about:

I’m really enjoying reading these comments, especially Emily’s, and now Leslie’s, both of which are reminding me that adulthood isn’t an instantaneous process, and there’s a big difference between a student (especially a first- or second-year student) who contacts parents frequently for advice or searching for validation, and a student or parent who expects that the parent will always run interference, absolving said student of any responsibility for his/her actions, and preventing hir from growing up.

Here’s where I’ll take my stand, at least for the moment: from the outside (that is, from a professor’s point of view), it’s very difficult to tell the difference between the two, since we only see part of the picture. And since a few bad encounters (“my dad’s a lawyer!”) tend to make us a bit cynical, we assume the worst when confronted with partial evidence.

I’m therefore going to try to do a reversal on my own reactions, and try to assume that a student is the former type, unless they’re proven to be the latter. This will be a trial run.

I really do think I've become too cynical in my approach to teaching, assuming that, without a whole bag of carrots and sticks, my students will not read, or care, or do anything but take shortcuts. But I never wanted to be that professor, and I still don't. I don't need to turn into a Pollyanna to admit that it's time for a change in my own approach.

I'll let you know how it goes.

UPDATE: Emily posts in the comments about a post that Tenured Radical wrote a while back about developing a less cynical approach, and it's definitely worth a read, so I'm linking to it here.

Today in Research

(unrelated photo)

...a Carmelite friar preaches class revolt from the pulpit during a year of crisis. Things get interesting. And I realize that I would very much like to be Natalie Zemon Davis.

Adventures in Mistranslation

I haven't been posting much lately, because most of what I've been doing has been transcribing municipal ordinances, and they don't give much to talk about. But every once in a while, something entertaining comes up. This time, the entertainment was provided by my own rather unpredictable brain that cheerfully translates unfamiliar words into the first thing it lights upon. To wit (and leaving out the boring parts about the mechanics of translation/transcription in an age before orthographic rules -- and, more importantly, before I'd finished my first cup of coffee): I was fully convinced for 90 minutes that tuna were among the animals that residents of Exotic Research City were forbidden from herding through the city streets.

I make my own fun.

Where My Head Is At Lately

In case you were wondering, I'm still transcribing documents, and preparing for a weekend visit from a friend from Fellowship City.

When she leaves, I will start writing again. For real.

And maybe clean my kitchen floor.

Also, I have allowed myself to develop a crush. I'm enjoying the occasional risk-free dopamine rush, and I thought that those of you who know me well would like to know that I'm finally allowing myself the occasional daydream. Baby steps.

Here's something pretty to look at:

Natural Evolution

Once upon a time, I had a topic for this project. Not a good research question, mind you, but a topic.

Next, came a stack of documents that seemed to be talking about that topic.

And now, diving into them, I find myself diverted by one particular tangent. I sit here and dutifully transcribe, but every time this tangent comes up, I perk right up. Which makes me suspect that my topic is evolving.

Not that I have a question yet or anything, mind you.

In other news: yesterday was a friend's birthday, a nice day at a local cultural spot. And I'm resisting going to the gym. But I will.