February 21st, 2005

dork L

the root of all evil

I just came across a link to a page that lets you search U. Mich. salaries by employee. The only names I could think of to look up were professors in English (and the variations): dang, they're not doing too bad! Well, the profs and associates, anyway---the adjunct are probably screwed.

Even though there's a lot about that world I am glad not to be involved with and subject to, those big dollar signs are making me think again about the stuff I would have liked about the academic life. The top three:

   I.  To a certain extent, your very business is ideas.
  II.  The schedule is extremely flexible.
 III.  Each year/semester, even if you just stay in one place, the new comes to you.
       Renewal is built in, in the form of new classes and fresh studentin.

I don't usually think "and the money could be good"---but I guess, if you prevail in the crap shoot, it can.

As far as the site being a bummer for U. folk who'd just as soon their salaries weren't snooped at, I can see that, but mostly it reminds me of when my father didn't want to sign my financial aid paperwork because it was nobody's business what he made---when anybody who wanted to know coulda looked it up, as it was a matter of public record. (My mother solved the problem by quietly forging his signature.)
ferndale bar lisa

fak-o-nym of the deceased

Knowing nothing about Sandra Dee's personal life, and wondering what tinywarrior meant about her dying of a broken heart, I just went to read some obits. Her given name? Alexandra Zuck.

Seems a bloody shame she didn't just go by that. Agreed?

The heartbreak apparently involved childhood sexual abuse, a stage mother (is "stage" the expression for a parent who pushes a child into show biz? i'm suddenly drawing a blank), alcohol problems, depression, anorexia, and a veritable nervous breakdown after her mother died.


In other news, I am free from the all-day faint but persistent high-pitched screeching I thought at first was outside, then thought was my monitor, then realized was coming from my desk lamp. The lightbulb's death rattle. Or last throes, more accurately. The absence of that brain-piercing pitch is such a relief I want to dance. (Not as much as radicalteacher probably does, but she's dancier than the average bear, I'd wager.)


And now Sandra Dee has me thinking on things old ex- D and new ex- H have/had in common. Any guesses why? (No, it's not prompted by Dee/Zuck's "mother issues.")

What one's past loves have in common . . . interesting topic . . .