tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46471948016903609812013-01-25T11:27:42.383-08:00The Adventures of a Newly Minted PhDJ. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.comBlogger520125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-48185386234343004222012-08-12T16:15:00.001-07:002012-08-12T19:56:09.187-07:002012-08-12T19:56:09.187-07:00

[10:55] Thanks for participating in the Olympics, countries.  Here, have a scorched copper petal with your name on it.  Don't know where you'll put it, but here you go.[10:52] Enter a giant, inexplicable glowing phoenix, hovering over the cauldron. [10:50] Oh, right. I guess you just dial back the gas. [10:49] So, how do you extinguish 204 flaming copper petals? [10:37] Dear Britain, This is

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-15877779174882524472012-08-08T19:01:00.002-07:002012-08-08T19:01:42.659-07:002012-08-08T19:01:42.659-07:00

O! Sourdough Starter, So flat, so sluggish. I fed you well, With flour and water, And love. All for naught. At first you smelled yeasty, A bouquet of bready promise, Until your scent blossomed Into something not unlike Feet.  Sweaty, sweaty feet. But lo! You grew! And bubbled! Aromas of citrus, of apples, Of Delicious things wafted up. And still I fed you! More flour! More water! Yes, more

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-57171880556123640852012-08-06T19:46:00.000-07:002012-08-06T19:46:10.924-07:002012-08-06T19:46:10.924-07:00

I did, in fact, take advantage of this down-time to bake some bread. I've even got some sourdough yeast currently culturing in the kitchen! After the first day it smelled, according to the Wife, "like ass" but has since taken on a more pleasant, almost green-apple aroma.  The Wife has refused to take another whiff. I can't say I blame her. And on that note, these past two weeks have been

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-79954584232690978612012-08-03T08:47:00.001-07:002012-08-03T08:47:21.000-07:002012-08-03T08:47:21.000-07:00

Good Christ, it's done. Six years of graduate school, now finished.  That's three years of course-work, one year of studying for qualifying exams and another two years to write the dissertation. Now over. Finito. PhD in hand.  What's more, the Wife and I have already successfully relocated ourselves for the year. And while I'm on the subject, let me offer a word of advice: Don't schedule your

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-30210004863053564562012-08-02T17:24:00.000-07:002012-08-02T17:24:00.825-07:002012-08-02T17:24:00.825-07:00

Nothing else to say, folks. I made it.

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-78999780925415858532012-06-20T05:56:00.001-07:002012-06-20T05:56:22.135-07:002012-06-20T05:56:22.135-07:00

Someone explained Fifty Shades of Grey to me like this: The author originally wrote volumes of smutty Twilight fan-fiction that envisioned the two main characters in an extensive BDSM relationship.  It garnered a lot of attention, and the author approached (or was approached by?) a publisher, and was told that it was solid work, if only she'd ditch all the crap about the vampires. (And, you know

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-41252615435445170022012-06-18T05:55:00.003-07:002012-06-18T05:55:50.812-07:002012-06-18T05:55:50.812-07:00

You know what I've learned? It's nearly impossible to finish a dissertation and regularly update a blog at the same time.  Huh. I'm nearly finished.  I'm turning in my final draft in less than two weeks. I defend next month. And then?  Well, then I think this blog will have run its course.  It will represent a decent chunk of this mad dash to the PhD, and I'm not too sure that a young Visiting

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-40445345761403511562012-04-30T12:36:00.002-07:002012-04-30T12:36:50.662-07:002012-04-30T12:36:50.662-07:00

This midterm is going to be a goddamned bloodbath, and they've brought it on themselves. My Roman Lit course has about fifty people enrolled.  I haven't had more than thirty show up since day two. Never mind that I said on day one (when I knew people would still be there!), "This can be a very easy course so long as you do all the reading and come to class every day." And it is! This is an

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-38229346032431502672012-04-26T08:36:00.000-07:002012-04-26T08:36:49.778-07:002012-04-26T08:36:49.778-07:00

If I had written anything in the past month, it would have read only: Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!!!!!! So let's back up a bit.  Before the "Ohgodohgod" business. Back to March, when all of the ads for 1 year VAP positions were supposed to be pouring forth in a "steady stream" that would quench the parched throats of those left high-and-dry from tenure-track searches. Those jobs? They did not

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-40236705619807126572012-04-03T06:47:00.002-07:002012-04-03T06:54:04.503-07:002012-04-03T06:54:04.503-07:00

In what sounds like the set-up to a joke, yet isn't: "A senior classics prof goes to the annual APA meeting..." Struck by the realization that the conference hotel hosted dozens (if not hundreds) of national meetings each year, he was curious as to how the classicists stacked up.  So, realizing that no one would have more intimate experience with the matter than the hotel staff, he asked one

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-38995931277559830422012-03-27T07:13:00.000-07:002012-03-27T07:13:43.389-07:002012-03-27T07:13:43.389-07:00

As you know, I don't really like writing about writing my dissertation.  The process is all-consuming enough that I'd like to keep some kind of barrier between it and the blog. However. I had to share some news. After turning in a draft of my fourth chapter, one of my readers said, "This feels like a good end point to me. What is your fifth chapter going to be about?" I explain that it's a

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-36803879542914925422012-03-16T07:27:00.000-07:002012-03-16T07:27:36.361-07:002012-03-16T07:27:36.361-07:00

I told you my students were awesome, right?  It's true.  They were, all of them, excellent. Okay, maybe not all of them.  The vast majority. There was one, though, one that really stood out.  She was fairly quiet in class, so it took me a bit to recognize how on-the-ball she was, but as soon as she turned in her first assignment, it was all over. Now I'm a fairly ruthless grader, especially

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-42441358204748387802012-03-11T10:50:00.002-07:002012-03-12T15:25:58.285-07:002012-03-12T15:25:58.285-07:00

"A master never blames her tools." What the hell does this phrase mean? The way I see it, there are two possible explanations, and they mean the exact opposite of each other.  It's been bugging me to no end for a while now, so I've finally decided to ask The Internet. What do you think?  Is it that:A master of her craft is so skilled that she can work with any tools, no matter their quality, thus

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-19861977373282369362012-03-09T06:31:00.000-08:002012-03-09T06:31:31.008-08:002012-03-09T06:31:31.008-08:00

Confession: I love reading my students' work. There's something very personal about writing - even on the most mundane of topics - such that reading what my students have to say is like getting to pop inside their heads for a while.  I don't mean that I feel like I'm "reading their thoughts" or anything so insipid as all that, it's more like getting to watch the gears turn, if that analogy

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-22700212934756899822012-03-04T08:48:00.000-08:002012-03-04T08:48:30.947-08:002012-03-04T08:48:30.947-08:00

As the name suggests, my Dirty Latin Poetry class reads lots of dirty Latin poetry. In fact, we're reading almost every scrap of what can be termed "Roman Elegy" this term, (for those of you interested in playing along at home, that's Tibullus, Propertius, Sulpicia, Catullus and Ovid) and it's wonderful because it's a genre that seems to spring into being right around 50(ish) BC, boil rapidly

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-68901123436475300572012-03-01T06:01:00.000-08:002012-03-01T06:01:27.563-08:002012-03-01T06:01:27.563-08:00

My class is awesome. It may be the best class I've ever had the pleasure to teach.  Maybe. It is, as my students have dubbed it, the Dirty Latin Poetry Class - so named because, well, that's all we read. Dirty, dirty Latin poetry. Okay, it's not all terribly raunchy. In fact, most of it's pretty tame, but it's been a blast to teach in large part because my students seem to be getting a lot out

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-20095602233814052382012-01-29T09:46:00.000-08:002012-01-29T09:46:28.805-08:002012-01-29T09:46:28.805-08:00

If you ask her very nicely, the Wife might explain...

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-51510889740367134152012-01-27T19:50:00.000-08:002012-01-27T19:50:06.060-08:002012-01-27T19:50:06.060-08:00

January has been a busy one. I'm applying for more jobs, teaching a new class, prepping a syllabus for another new class next term, going to Important Departmental Lectures and trying desperately to finish a (truly rough) draft of Chapter Four by the end of the month. I've also submitted an article for publication and sent in an abstract for next year's Conference of Doom. Oh, and the Wife and

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-54476518144005768492012-01-05T21:31:00.000-08:002012-01-05T21:31:01.948-08:002012-01-05T21:31:01.948-08:00

Christ is this conference big.  I mean, Jesus.  It's huge.  You can't swing a dead cat in this hotel without hitting at least three preeminent classicists. Which is lovely. And draining.  I find I'm always on the lookout for people I know and haven't seen in years and would love to talk to.  Or people I know and haven't seen in years and would prefer to keep that way.  So it goes. But tonight

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-42622261477785827972011-12-24T05:59:00.000-08:002011-12-24T08:43:38.016-08:002011-12-24T08:43:38.016-08:00

It rained throughout every minute of our 9 hour drive out to the Family Christmas. But we made good time. Great time, in fact.  Until we were 30 miles out of the Metropolitan Area. Then we slowed to a goddamned crawl. Heavy construction + rush-hour holiday traffic + unfamiliar city + night + rain = No Fun The Wife was driving through the worst of it, which kicked off when the exit crept up on

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-48839397166470673402011-12-19T17:28:00.000-08:002011-12-19T17:28:14.570-08:002011-12-19T17:28:14.570-08:00

First and foremost, you should know that I am drinking at this very moment a Ginger Martini and that it is delicious. I am also currently watching the Wife play Skyrim, which is both beautiful and expansive. Which is all to say that the end of the semester has rolled around, and the holidays are once again upon us. I was expecting to be thoroughly stressed right about now, but with absolutely

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-51182565529021856502011-12-16T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-16T06:00:41.869-08:002011-12-16T06:00:41.869-08:00

Last week I popped into the office to check my mail - and I do love that that's why I go to the office these days, to check my mail. God, dissertation writing can be terrifically freeing sometimes.  Anyhow, I popped into the office and ran into one of my professors, The Voice.  He stops me, puts his hand on my shoulder and turns me slightly, saying "Oh, let me see that coat you've got on!" Now,

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-52026552706948424802011-12-12T07:33:00.000-08:002011-12-12T07:33:41.004-08:002011-12-12T07:33:41.004-08:00

Alright.  It's gotten to that point in the job search where some reality has set in. I have now been passed by for interviews with 10 of the 21 applications I've sent in.  One of them was, sadly, The Dream Job.  That ship has sailed. I had myself a good mope, then put on my Big Boy Pants and got the fuck over it. Of the 11 applications I've still got out, 3 are for fellowships that I Just

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-45144574103624842212011-12-09T05:38:00.000-08:002011-12-09T05:38:50.024-08:002011-12-09T05:38:50.024-08:00

I have seen babies do horrible things. For example, babies ruined the home of two of my professors. It had been such a lovely home - spacious, tastefully decorated, with a wide backyard, several rooms devoted to their varied hobbies, and a kitchen from which they served delicious, time-intensive meals. And then their children came along. In addition to robbing Prof Couple of sleep and

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4647194801690360981.post-81720525804980679642011-12-07T05:35:00.000-08:002011-12-07T05:35:21.544-08:002011-12-07T05:35:21.544-08:00

Let me go on record as saying that this was one of the best semesters of teaching I've ever had. My students were interested and, for the most part, engaged. They were capable, intelligent, and they asked questions. That wouldn't have seemed so appallingly wonderful to me five years ago, but good Christ on a pogo-stick, question-askers are a rare breed indeed.  And I'm not even talking about

J. Harkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08925739628467279898noreply@blogger.com3