Faculty Candidate Jobbe Talks

Many grad students and post-docs are seeing faculty candidates come in and give jobbe talks in their departments, and it is really instructive to see both good and bad ones.

But don’t underestimate how much preparation and practice it takes to give a good job talk. While it certainly helps to see the mistakes others make and to tell yourself not to make those same mistakes, it still requires substantial time and effort and lots of feedback from others after giving multiple practice talks to ensure that you don’t.

Think about it this way: It’s really easy for any golfer to see the difference between Tiger Woods’ swing and the swing of some duffing geezer down at the driving range. That doesn’t mean any golfer can just get up on the tee and swing like Tiger at will.

Another Bichon Frise Mauls Someone To Death

These motherfucken bichons ought to be banned:

A 65-year-old South Carolina woman was mauled to death by the family bichon frise in a gruesome attack that unfolded as she babysat her three young grandchildren Tuesday.

Officials were called to a home in Hodges, where Betty Ann Chapman Todd was looking after her grandkids, after receiving reports of an animal bite.

When they arrived at the scene on East Grumling Road, they were faced with a white bichon frise with blood on its mouth, chest and paws. The animal was acting aggressively and blocked the officers’ entry into the house.

Shrimp And Pork Summer Roll

three quarter pound cleaned shelled shrimp
three quarter pound ground pork
six large garlic cloves, diced
fresh ginger, diced (same amount as the garlic)
one cup chopped scallion
one and a half tablespoons toasted sesame oil
three tablespoons oyster sauce
half cup chopped cilantro
one tablespoon hot chili oil
juice of one lime
soy sauce
peanut oil (yes, I bought some, so fucke you)
crushed peanuts
lettuce leaves
hoisin sauce
rice spring roll wrappers


Put the shrimp and the pork in a food processor.


Process it for about one minute, until it is finely chopped and combined.


Sautee the garlic and ginger in peanut oil until they are starting to toast.


Add the green onion and continue to sautee until it is getting soft.


Add the shrimp/pork mixture and sautee until it is fully cooked, breaking it uppe as well as possible with your wooden spoon.


Add the cilantro, oyster sauce, sesame oil, chili oil, and lime juice, and continue to sautee while stirring thoroughly for a couple minutes to form the sauce. Add soy sauce as necessary to get the salt correct, and then turn off the heat.


Dippe the rice wrapper in water wetting both sides and lay it on the plate while it is still hard. It will suddenly soften, and if you haven’t laid it down yet, it will be unworkable. Place a lettuce leaf on top, dollop on some of the shrimp/pork filling, sprinkle some peanuts, and top with a bit of hoisin sauce.


Roll the motherfucker uppe, and eat itte!

Note that this recipe can form the basis for a very nice dumpling filling. When you put the shrimp and pork in the food processor, also add the raw green onions, garlic, ginger, cilantro, sesame oil, lime juice, and a little bit of salt. After you process itte, put this shitte into some dumpling skins and steam or pan fry them.

One last note: Some finely diced water chestnuts would go well in this dish, too, but we didn’t have any (although I wouldn’t include them if you are going to make a dumpling filling).

Moby Dicke CHAPTER 7. The Chapel.

In this same New Bedford there stands a Whaleman’s Chapel, and few are the moody fishermen, shortly bound for the Indian Ocean or Pacific, who fail to make a Sunday visit to the spot. I am sure that I did not.

Returning from my first morning stroll, I again sallied out upon this special errand. The sky had changed from clear, sunny cold, to driving sleet and mist. Wrapping myself in my shaggy jacket of the cloth called bearskin, I fought my way against the stubborn storm. Entering, I found a small scattered congregation of sailors, and sailors’ wives and widows. A muffled silence reigned, only broken at times by the shrieks of the storm. Each silent worshipper seemed purposely sitting apart from the other, as if each silent grief were insular and incommunicable. The chaplain had not yet arrived; and there these silent islands of men and women sat steadfastly eyeing several marble tablets, with black borders, masoned into the wall on either side the pulpit. Three of them ran something like the following, but I do not pretend to quote:—

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN TALBOT, Who, at the age of eighteen, was lost overboard, Near the Isle of Desolation, off Patagonia, November 1st, 1836. THIS TABLET Is erected to his Memory BY HIS SISTER.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT LONG, WILLIS ELLERY, NATHAN COLEMAN, WALTER CANNY, SETH MACY, AND SAMUEL GLEIG, Forming one of the boats’ crews OF THE SHIP ELIZA Who were towed out of sight by a Whale, On the Off-shore Ground in the PACIFIC, December 31st, 1839. THIS MARBLE Is here placed by their surviving SHIPMATES.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF The late CAPTAIN EZEKIEL HARDY, Who in the bows of his boat was killed by a Sperm Whale on the coast of Japan, AUGUST 3d, 1833. THIS TABLET Is erected to his Memory BY HIS WIDOW.

Shaking off the sleet from my ice-glazed hat and jacket, I seated myself near the door, and turning sideways was surprised to see Queequeg near me. Affected by the solemnity of the scene, there was a wondering gaze of incredulous curiosity in his countenance. This savage was the only person present who seemed to notice my entrance; because he was the only one who could not read, and, therefore, was not reading those frigid inscriptions on the wall. Whether any of the relatives of the seamen whose names appeared there were now among the congregation, I knew not; but so many are the unrecorded accidents in the fishery, and so plainly did several women present wear the countenance if not the trappings of some unceasing grief, that I feel sure that here before me were assembled those, in whose unhealing hearts the sight of those bleak tablets sympathetically caused the old wounds to bleed afresh.

Oh! ye whose dead lie buried beneath the green grass; who standing among flowers can say—here, HERE lies my beloved; ye know not the desolation that broods in bosoms like these. What bitter blanks in those black-bordered marbles which cover no ashes! What despair in those immovable inscriptions! What deadly voids and unbidden infidelities in the lines that seem to gnaw upon all Faith, and refuse resurrections to the beings who have placelessly perished without a grave. As well might those tablets stand in the cave of Elephanta as here.

In what census of living creatures, the dead of mankind are included; why it is that a universal proverb says of them, that they tell no tales, though containing more secrets than the Goodwin Sands; how it is that to his name who yesterday departed for the other world, we prefix so significant and infidel a word, and yet do not thus entitle him, if he but embarks for the remotest Indies of this living earth; why the Life Insurance Companies pay death-forfeitures upon immortals; in what eternal, unstirring paralysis, and deadly, hopeless trance, yet lies antique Adam who died sixty round centuries ago; how it is that we still refuse to be comforted for those who we nevertheless maintain are dwelling in unspeakable bliss; why all the living so strive to hush all the dead; wherefore but the rumor of a knocking in a tomb will terrify a whole city. All these things are not without their meanings.

But Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.

It needs scarcely to be told, with what feelings, on the eve of a Nantucket voyage, I regarded those marble tablets, and by the murky light of that darkened, doleful day read the fate of the whalemen who had gone before me. Yes, Ishmael, the same fate may be thine. But somehow I grew merry again. Delightful inducements to embark, fine chance for promotion, it seems—aye, a stove boat will make me an immortal by brevet. Yes, there is death in this business of whaling—a speechlessly quick chaotic bundling of a man into Eternity. But what then? Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death. Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. Methinks my body is but the lees of my better being. In fact take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me. And therefore three cheers for Nantucket; and come a stove boat and stove body when they will, for stave my soul, Jove himself cannot.

Kung Pao Chicken

one and a half pound chicken
1 tbsp corenwijn (or sherry or rye or some rich flavored fucken booze)
1 tbsp corn starch
fresh ground black pepper
2 tbsp soy sauce
1 tbsp rice wine vinegar
1 tbsp corenwijn
2 tsp cornstarch
3 tbsp chicken stock
one can sliced water chestnuts
one can sliced bamboo shoots
some sliced scallions
a fuckeloade each diced ginger and garlic
light olive oil
some peanutes
some dried arbol chiles
half pound dried soba noodles


Whisk 1 tbsp corenwijn, 1 tbsp cornstarch, salt, and pepper together, and then marinate the chicken (diced) in it for at least 30 minutes.


Whisk together 2 tbsp soy sauce, 1 tbsp rice wine vinegar, 1 tbsp corenwijn, 2 tsp cornstarch, and three tbsp chicken stock and set aside. This is the finishing sauce.


These are the vegetable components: one can sliced water chestnuts, one can sliced bamboo shoots, some sliced scallions, and a fuckeloade each diced ginger and garlic.


Sautee peanuts and dried hot arbol chiles in light olive oil until they are toasty, then reserve.


Sautee the garlic and ginger in the oil from the satueeing of the peanuts and peppers until they are getting soft.


Throw in the chicken and sautee until it is just singed on the outside.


Throw in the nuts, peppers, and other vegetables (EXCEPT THE SCALLIONS), and continue to sautee.


Throw in the scallions, sautee briefly, and then deglaze with a nice splash of motherfucken corenwijn.


While the shitte is cooking, boil the soba, and drain it.


Give it another quick whisk, add the finishing sauce, and sautee until it thickens uppe and the shitte looks tasty.


Put some goddamn noodles in bowls and spoon some fucken shittee on top. Then eat itte!!

Now This Motherfucken iPad Has Me Seeeeeeeeriously Fucken Pissed

I want to print to my motherfucken goddamn sonofoafucken HP Laserjet 5MP, which just happens to be one of the best sonofagoddamn motherfucken laser printers ever made. And none of the stupid motherfucken goddamn printing apps for the iPad will print to it directly over WiFi. They recognize my little print server dealiebobber, but won’t print to it.

And yes, I know if I connect the printer to a motherfucken computer and install the print driver on that computer, then I can print to the sonofamothershitter. But I want to print to it directly, because fucke you, that’s why!!!

Hugges and Kisses?

After weeks of partisan bickering over whether taxes should increase for anyone, the compromise bill rolled through the Senate early Tuesday in a highly unusual New Year’s Day vote. The vote was 89 to 8, with both parties offering overwhelming support.

The moment served as a rare bipartisan coda to what has been one of the most rancorous, partisan Congresses in recent history. The 11 senators who are retiring received hugs and kisses from their colleagues. The current Congress ends at noon Thursday, when the new Congress will be seated, and lawmakers would have been forced to scrap the fiscal-cliff legislation and start over.

Isn’t thatte sweet!?