Monday, July 22, 2013

If This is Boston, I'm Tingling.

I am thoroughly feted,
and I must confess
that I wish I'd gotten more sleep.

A college of fresh faced folks,
and an endowment to choke
most folks dead.

Last night a party,
wine, fine rum,
cheeses, finger foods, cake.

And then some young 'uns
took me out to a club,
where they take, what they call, seminars.

We drank a variety of tequilas,
and they asked me the normal questions
about publishing, teaching, traveling.

These are young people,
still in grad school,
still hopeful.

At one point I said,
"Don't you read the Crampicle?
Don't you know you're doomed?"

But they don't care to hear.
They smile, order another round,
and help me get hotel-bound by 3 am.

Now, I shave, shine, slurp up coffee.
And I think I need to scare them.
They need to know.

"It's a different industry, pups."
That's what I want to say this morning.
Will it break their hearts?


  1. First of all, I SO want to be like Dick.

    Secondly, tell them the truth, Brother Tingle.

  2. Testify, Dr. Dick! It won't break their hearts because they're not going to listen.

    1. Indeed. But at least you will be one person who told them the truth. If it gets them to leave adjuncting even a semester earlier than they otherwise would have, you have helped them.

  3. Fine rum? A variety of tequilas? These must be science students with somewhat hopeful career prospects.

  4. How do I say this, without it going against every fiber of my being - I love Dick.

  5. If I was so crazzy fucking cool already, I wish I could be Dick Tingle.


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