Silly talk
August 15th, 2005 | Tags: Philosophy, PL | 3 Comments
Mark Liberman and Brian Weatherson are both writing about “silly talk” about their disciplines — for example, asking a philosopher for a list of some of “[his] sayings.”
In my experience, once you get far enough along, just about every discipline is a veritable comedy goldmine in this regard. I recall someone asking Andrea — upon hearing that she had an academic interest in the Arthur legends — what she thought about the veracity of The Da Vinci Code. (She doesn’t remember this, though, so it may be apocryphal.) She does, in any case, regularly field questions about whether her dissertation work (on Middle English romances) has led her to compose a great deal of original fiction. My grad minor work, which was mostly in analytic philosophy, produced snickers from people who don’t consider, say, the problems of the conditional or of vague predicates to be worthy of investigation.
I have often claimed that computer science is special in this way, since computers are ubiquitous but computer scientists are not. As a result, people are confused by the presence of the word “computer” in the name of my discipline, and are inclined to assume that I have something vaguely to do with their wireless network or Start menu. (Frankly, I’m more confused by the “science” part of my discipline’s name.) I have gotten the following sorts of reactions upon disclosing the most general information about my present work:
- “Well, you’ll make a lot of money someday!” Perhaps (although the technology bubble remains burst). However, I am subject to the whims of the academic job market and a desire to remain in the upper Midwest. Furthermore, if money were my primary concern, it would be absolutely stupid for me to work on a Ph.D. instead of getting a job and investing for n extra years. (Personally, I’d have kept the consulting gig I had out of college, in which I made a grad student’s annual salary in a month.) This comment is by far the most common, and usually comes after someone is flummoxed by the fact that my wife, as a PhD candidate in literature, has no opinion on John Grisham’s latest.
- “Hey, you’ll have to help me get Word to mail merge/choose between these commodity PC parts/perform some other computer-related task that you’re not qualified to do.” Do you ask an astronomer to fix your binoculars? I have no idea how to use any interesting features of Word if the paperclip doesn’t tell me what to do (I haven’t used it since 1996 or so), and I don’t know anything about which brand of DVD burner is a “better deal.” This is not to say that I mind helping people with computer trouble when I can — I don’t — but that being a computer scientist has not initiated me into some Gnostic succession of secret knowledge about popular computing topics.
- “So, when you finish your Ph.D., are you going to program computers or fix them?” This is particularly unfortunate, as the person who asked me had a doctorate in another potentially-misunderstood field: German literature. (Perhaps I should have asked whether the lyrics of Rammstein or those of Die Toten Hosen compared more favorably to Goethe.) I have fixed computers for a paycheck before; it is fun for a while, but 10+ years of postsecondary education in order to enable such a career is at least minor overkill. Likewise, if I simply wanted to program computers, I could have dropped out of elementary school in order to hone my then-burgeoning AmigaBASIC skills.
Having to field silly questions, though, has made me much more careful to avoid this behavior myself. Erring on the side of caution has a pleasant side effect: instead of forcing people to discuss their work in social situations, I can confine the conversation to avocational topics. (After all, what would you rather talk about?) On a positive note, the preponderance of “silly talk” when nonspecialists discuss academic disciplines should serve as a wake-up call to academics: there are many levels at which we can discuss our work, and the burden is on us to make what we do clear, relevant, and accessible to laypersons.
If you have a good story about an entertaining misconception relating to your discipline (and I am certain that some regular readers do), feel free to drop it in the comments.
August 15th, 2005 at 08:51:16 PM (#)
Dude. Try being a psychology major. Here are a few of my favorite responses to divulging my major:
“Oh, I should be an interesting case for you.”
“Are you analyzing me?”
“You better not hang around my family too long”
“Can you make any money doing that?”
“So, you can pretty much pick between working at a school or a hospital, right?”
After a while I started mileadingly stating that my major was psychology and biology (without stating that biology is a minor) and saying I would like to study animal behavior.
“Are there any jobs for that?”
“Can you make any money doing that?”
“Well, at least Ben will be making good money.”
Once I was talking to this woman about why insects called water striders are able to walk on water (surface tension) and she asked if my major was chemistry. I said no, psychology and biology. She replied “Oh, so you want to analyze why the water strider would want to walk on the water.
I always think Wow…you’re all really effing clever.
So now I just say biology. (Then I get asked if I’m going to med school and the great cycle of life continues).
August 16th, 2005 at 04:49:12 PM (#)
Dude. Try being a complete wastrel. Or try crime.
So there I was, the Summer of 2003, gratuously stretching my legs as a gentleman of leisure–cultivating my enjoyment of the arts, literature, wine, women, and song; and everywhere I found myself swatting these pesky questions, gnats to the sillytalk buglight I’d become:
“Is that a job?”
“Can you make any money doing that?”
“Well, at least [insert significant other] will be making good money.”
Of course, none of it could compare to the silliness of November 1998; and, you guessed it, standing on the edge of contempt of court and a year in the Southern District of NY federal cooler, once again, there’d be the agonizing silly sigh:
“Is that [because of] your job?”
“Will you ever be able to make any money again?”
“Well, at least [insert significant other] will be making good money.”
Now that I tell people I have a graduate degree in English lit, manage research and development for a computer software company, and maintain deep and enduring affection for a decrepit ‘89 Firebird, still some of them just can’t help but ask me:
“Blah blah blah [is your job better than mine? Better potential? Will it make you happier than I am?] blah blah job?”
“Blah blah blah [do you have or will you have more money than I will? Will the money make you happier than I am?] blah blah money?”
“Blah blah blah blah blah [do you have a prettier / smarter / more successful spouse / partner / love of your life who who will make you happier than I am?] blah blah blah will be making good money.”
Something tells me I’d get the same questions if I claimed I wrote country-western tribute Haikus for a living.
If I were a better man I’d endure these trials with cool and comfort; I’d look to even awkward conversation as grand opportunity; I’d return quiet modest thanks with open palms; and I wouldn’t judge, remembering my own neuroses and rank insecurities, remembering not to conflate a person with a conversation.
But screw that, I’m a bastard. The answers are always yes, I have a wildly fulfilling, socially important job; yes, I bathe twice daily in hundred dollar bills before throwing them on the fire to heat my home with the windows open in January; and yes, my domestic partner is a doting, devoted, and sexually ravenous supermodel-social activist who recently matriculated to MENSA, won the pulitzer, and just can’t keep herself from spoiling our six glorious sons rotten. (Hey, if she weren’t a freakin’ Quaker, she’d be perfect!)
M.
August 17th, 2005 at 11:58:04 AM (#)
M., I don’t think I can top that.