Dissertation is done
Okay, the dissertation is in. Should hear in four weeks or so whether it was accepted and what changes need to be made. For those of you interested in reading about interpersonal influence, you can find the dissertation here: http://www.nd.edu/~dnickers
My Yale email account dies in a week, so I will be moving the images on this blog to another location. If I am any good at it, you'll never notice the difference. Not that anyone comes along here very often.
Substantively, in the comments, I will relate a dream I had last night where Peter Rubin and I try to buy Metallica tickets.
My Yale email account dies in a week, so I will be moving the images on this blog to another location. If I am any good at it, you'll never notice the difference. Not that anyone comes along here very often.
Substantively, in the comments, I will relate a dream I had last night where Peter Rubin and I try to buy Metallica tickets.
posted by (d)avid at 3/24/2005 08:21:00 AM
3 Comments:
Metallica was coming to South Bend. I sent word that I would procur tickets for anyone who wanted any since I was right here and had an early spot on line. Apparently, New York is within shouting distance, because Peter and Lacy (a mutual friend) both indicated that they wanted tickets. Peter wanted two tickets. Lacy wasn't sure whether she wanted one, two or three -- it all depended upon how good the seats were, you see (I have only been to a handful of heavy metal concerts with assigned seating, but apparently this is how things are done in South Bend).
Lacy joined me in line, so she could make the decision herself. Peter was standing in a different line. I thought it looked shorter and suspected it might be the Metallica New York Tickets, but it turns out he was standing in line for subway tokens.
Anyway, Lacy and I get to the front of the line. I ask for four tickets. Lacy says, "No" and starts asking about our options. The ticket counter person is extremely surley and keeps on bad-mouthing Metallica. He alternates between:
a) You can still get good seats because this band sucks;
b) Good seats? These babies have been on sale for four hours -- you will be lucky to get standing room only in the Men's room of the arena;
c) Hold on a second, cuz this job is really complicated and I can't
keep track of what is left.
While dude is rummaging around in a trunk full of tickets (nothing is computerized), Lacy and I begin to check out the tickets that are on the counter. It turns out that Metallica is doing two big performances in South Bend (at an arena that doesn't exist -- it actually looked a lot like Joe Louis Arena in Detroit, since I was there on Tuesday, that makes sense) and several smaller performances. Lacy, being the hipster that she is, knows all these strange venues in South Bend and begins debating whether it would be better to see Metallica in an old sheet metal stamping factor or in a run down mansion with Victorian woodwork.
I never found out her decision, because somehow my dream flipped to two middle aged guys yelling at each other about hrowing a UPS box into the lake. You see, they ordered a riding remote controlled jet ski like thing. One thought they needed to open the box, then get out the jet ski. The other thought they should put it in the water first and then open it. That guy won out, because he threw the box into the
water, thereby percipitating the argument. The warranty was now voided and they couldn't return the toy jet ski (and they weren't entirely clear on how big a riding remote controlled jet ski might be), so they might as well open it.
It's floating fine, but when they use the remote, it doesn't go anywhere. The prudent man is furious at the dude who threw it into the water. Broke the jet ski, can't return
it. So the portly man who threw the jet ski in the lake, climbs aboard the smallish toy and it starts to move around. Apparently the propellers sit above the water line until someone climbs aboard. By
remote controlled riding, a person can ride on the jet ski, but the only control is on a separate remote. You can imagine the trouble and hijinxs that caused. I'm pretty happy that my dreams include hijinx.
Eventually, one guy figures out that if you really floor the accelator
on the remote control and the person on the jet ski leans back, the jet ski will jump out of the water and fly. So they fly around town to a sporting goods store. The dudes were kind of casing it out to come back and steal merchandise at night, because they have a flying jet ski, you see? But they run out of batteries and are left wandering around this moth eaten suburb. A little kid invites them inside to
play and they have nothing better to do, so they accept. It turns out
this is the grandson of Hanna Pitkin. Hanna is standing just outside
the doorway smoking. One of the guys tries to tell her how much he enjoyed Fortune is a Woman and Wittgenstein and Justice, but she
just starts complaining about how this rugrat has exiled her from her own house. So she blows the smoke directly into the kid's face instead of outside.
It turns out that Jeannette Winterson lived next door and dropped by
to visit with Hanna Pitkin. She almost never sees Hanna and would take this opportunity meet with her. Hanna explains to Jeannette that Jeannette doesn't see her often because Hanna goes out of her way to actively hide from her. Hanna doesn't want Jeannette butchering one of her theories in the drivel she calls novels. Gut Symmetries was incoherent and would be called "sophomoric", excepting that would be
unkind to 10th grade science students. Furthermore, there was no
wisdom in it, so "moric" will suffice. The diatribe went on for a
while and with amazing rhetorical flourishes. Jeannette Winterson
looked like she was going to cry.
That is all I can remember now. Good to see that my dreams are populated with judgemental assholes.
Peter sent the following email in response:
-----------------------
i think it's fair to call that the greatest triptych ever dreamed by man.
i also think that seeing *any* band in a sheet-metal stamping factory in South Bend would be time well spent.
the hanna pitkin/jeanette winterson part wowed me, mostly because i was like "who is hanna pitkin?" and then i was like "dude, i would so never be able to recognize jeanette winterson." and THEN, i was like "why is dave so interested in these UPS guys anyway?" so i started thinking about the dream- symbolism/metonymy of letting brown work for you, and i came to the conclusion that you're strung out on heroin.
so all of this is to say: i'm here for you, dave. you can get this monkey off your back.
Answering questions ...
1) Yale's Political Science department doesn't require a defense. They discovered that no one ever failed the defense, so they did away with it. Now, you just hand it in and the readers check a box "accept" or "reject" or "accept with modifications." The move actually increased the rejection rate because it is far easier to check a box than to tell someone in person that they have been talking nonsense for the last hour.
2) For the next few years, I will only be teaching graduate methodology courses for political scientists. That means intro to stats and then whatever follow up courses I want to tack onto intro to stats. I would love to teach intro to American. Discussing the substance of political science would be fun.
3) I'm the O.G. -- orginal grad student.
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