The following is an excerpt from an email that I received today from a friend who is currently employed by an unnamed major university in my hometown.
My boss was explaining to me the convoluted way that new programs are created here. He said, “for example, if I’m a professor, I could go to a department and say, ‘I want to start a program called…Sarah Macology. I’ve got 10 or so students interested in it, I want to start a class in it.’”
What the heck?
Kids, we may not sell a whole lot of albums, but we’ve infiltrated academia. And there’s probably something to be said for that. Maybe if the music thing doesn’t work out, I can get a job as an adjunct and teach Sarah Macology 101. At least now that I’m the big 3-0 and I’m starting to figure out who I am and am getting closer to who I want to be, I might be able to speak with some degree of authority on the subject, eh?
Can you imagine what a class in Sarah Macology might be like? First of all, it would probably meet from 2AM until 5 in the morning, which against my will, seems to be my prime time for higher level thinking processes. The majority of the semester would focus on finding amazing, creative, loyal, fun partners that you respect and love and then learning how to keep them. We’d use Claire and Charlie as our case-study.
I have hundreds of live shows recorded that I’ve never listened to because the task is just a bit too daunting and overwhelming to even think about. But maybe as part of the research component of our curriculum, we would do an in-depth analysis of all of those shows. I’m not sure exactly what kind of data we might derive from such sources, but I’m confident that it would be immensely beneficial for anyone who put the time into digging around in it.
Side note: When I was having problems with my vocal cords, I actually concocted a plan to code a bunch of those live shows and look for patterns of vocal abuse so that I could better address and correct them. I actually went to lunch with and pitched my idea to one of my professor friends in hopes that she would get me a bootleg copy of one of her coding programs so that I could do it all at home. She did not take the bait and I still don’t have the resources to conduct my analysis.
Whatever we do, there will be a big paper at the end—because I had to do that during my tenure as a degree seeking student. Since I’m an avid reader, it probably won’t be that bad to go through their papers. And since we don’t listen to the radio in the van when we’re traveling (in order to facilitate better, stronger interpersonal relationships—one of the things that I learned about in my degree track!), I’ll pass the long car rides reading them out loud to Charlie and Claire to get their feedback, too.
And then with the extra money coming in, we’ll be able to convert our van so that it can run on bio-diesel. Maybe I could get a wardrobe budget! Maybe we could afford to hire one of those guys who wears all black and brings you a new guitar in between each song (I think that’s a sign right there that you’ve made it).
Actually, now that I think about it, Mr. Elwood used to adjunct back in the day. If I recall correctly, they don’t pay a whole lot of money for those kinds of teaching gigs. So, it might not be such a great idea. Adjuncting in a puny department with only 10 students (like the department of Sarah Macology) might not even give us enough money for gas to a gig in Atlanta, for Pete’s sake!
Now that I’ve thought it through just a bit more, I’m content just to be a name in someone’s illustration. That in itself was pretty cool. I mean, it definitely made me laugh out loud (and not just ‘LOL’) half in astonishment and half in amusement.
Until next time, kids: Do your homework and always eat a full breakfast on the day of a test.
And… go ahead and put this on your calendars for next weekend: