Pitseleh asks:

How the heck does the blogger meeting at ASA work? If we are trying (probably in vain) to remain anonymous, how exactly do you meet face-to-face and talk about blogging?

I don’t know, but I am not the best keeper of my secret identity.  I am the worst-kept secret in the blogosphere. Just ask Jeremy or Kieran. I am going anonymously to a blawg (blog + law = blawg) meet up next week though, as my Real Life Identity and “avid reader.”  I am not identifying myself as a blogger, because associating “Belle Lettre” with my face seems too contrived–I may as well say who I am. So I am saying who I am, but not divulging the blogging thing.  If I want to keep something a secret, it’s one or the other. I occasionally email scholars in my real life capacity expressing interest in their work, and it’s a professional thing–so I don’t mention “oh and hey, you might have read my blog where I say all of the kooky personal things.”  Or I might email a prof as Belle and say “your post was really interesting, here is my follow up” and from there, it either stays as a communication between Belle and ___, or occasionally progresses to my exchanging my identity for a promise of secrecy.  

I’ve no regrets. I’ve made good contacts and really awesome friends, two I consider truly great friends I’ve now had for years. But this isn’t for everyone.  I suggest going as Pitseleh, although later when they see you at any panels with your “real” name tag, it ain’t hard to put two and two together, just as it wasn’t hard for people to figure out who I was (not that many Vietnamese American female aspiring law profs in my particular program (of which there are an armful of Americans across the US anyway) doing employment discrimination law).  But I think that going as Pitseleh is fine. It’ll signal to others that you are putting on your blog hat at the party, and your real professional hat at the rest of the conference.  Plus, Pitseleh is such a cute name.

See also my comments at Pitseleh’s post, and why I actually like giving out my name (and occasionally face) to others–I think of it as being a sharing act, an extended hand, an invitation to interpersonal intimacy. But she disagrees, and it’s really interesting the difference in how we approach social interaction in the blogosphere.

Have you ever seen one of those screwball comedy scenes in which the regular guy protagonist walks into a bar and only after a few bumbling scenes and conversations filled with misunderstanding and innuendo does he realize… hey, everyone here is gay, this is one of those gay bars people talk about?

I was intrigued by the conference I’m attending because it seemed ideologically diverse, as opposed to sociology discussions in which people often only seem to voice about 3% of the electromagnetic spectrum of political opinion. So I’m sitting there and it takes me the better part of the morning to realize… hey, this conference is not ideologically diverse, I’m only one of two people who seem like they have left of center views*… and why does this organization called the Liberty Fund seem to have a higher profile than, say, NSF?… wait, this is a conservative conference!

At dinner, one of the fellow participants, about whom much could be said, talked about how “sociology is the sewage system of social science.” Then a couple minutes later he asked if I was in political science. “Sociology.” By that point I think I had already felt a little bit like one of the repeatedly shocked dogs in the learned helplessness experiments.

* Left to the center of the electorate, I mean. I’m not left of the center of sociologists. Which makes feeling like the most liberal person in a room of academics an even odder experience.

In writing a review essay about organizational culture and family leave policies, I am always continually struck by the desire–on the part of workers–to assume the responsibilities, hours, roles. It’s a part of their identity within the institution and in their personal lives, and how they define themselves. I am a good worker!

Culture is the hardest to assess and theorize. Yet, there’s some indicia, or “artifacts” of culture, as well as factors that show how “strong” or “weak” an organizational culture is among its management and employees.

And, sometimes the clues are pretty clear: after-eight emails are sent. Work starts up again, at home, after dinner. Emails are sent back with the requested figures or analysis. More emails are sent to the worker either to say A-OK or fix that. This goes on late into the night. The worker keeps on working past midnight. The worker fails to come over to his partner’s place (mine) because he is still working. His partner is working herself, on said review essay. It is a ridiculous, never ending cycle. Occasionally I hate TD’s job, but I feel bad for even saying that, because my first priority, at least with respect to him, is to be a supportive partner, not the academic who says “your organization, its values, and its operations are exactly what I think is wrong and why I do research on work/life balance and family responsibilities discrimination!” And really, who am I to talk, when I am up at 1:14 am?

Sometimes this doesn’t come off well, and I sound petulant, grumpy, and disappointed when we can’t even merge our schedules somewhere around 11 pm or 12 am. I sound this way because I am, and I feel bad–I don’t blame TD, I blame his company, but it’s hard to disentangle that at 12:30 am, and I know that I’ve just made him feel worse and on top of that, guilty, for doing what he has to do. He’s frustrated enough, and I pile on. But I’m not disappointed at TD. I am disappointed by the organizational values and policies that reward 90 hour weeks and face time, and yet I can’t really justify, other than to say “this disparately impacts persons with family responsibilities, who generally tend to be women, and does a grave disservice to the structure and health of families and children.” It’s a pretty anti-capitalist argument, and I am hard pressed to come up with economic arguments (that don’t involve salving replacements like flex-time or telecommuting) to the charge that “well, how else will the work be done? This is a startup. This is how things are done. I have to do this. I have no choice.” And given the current lay of the land, he’s right. He has no choice. And I have no choice but to support him and deal with it. I don’t want to support his organization, but I want to support him.

So what do I do? Just like my cognitive dissonance with work/family–argue for one thing and do the opposite. Just as I’m going to stick my kid in day care, hire a housekeeper and nanny (outsourcing the “wifely” duties), and work 70 hour weeks to get tenure, so too do I–we–just suck it up and live with this bum deal. I don’t blame TD at all. This is what he has to do, and I am supportive, just as he’s supportive of me when I have deadlines, conference/grant proposals, and the like. I will be the first to say that the situation sucks–but I live with it, because there’s nothing else for me to do, and while I have intellectual and principled commitments to my work on workplace equity, I also have a just-as-strong personal commitment to be a supportive partner to TD.

So, I just deal with it, the way I am know he deals with all of my career requirements. Academia, while more flexible in hours than most jobs, is no less demanding in terms of its requirements. Half of the job are tasks that don’t really go to how you are evaluated for your job, and so all those administrative tasks and committees don’t get the tenure piece done, and there are all those conferences. Teaching, office hours, preparing lectures–this is not writing. To me, it’s the most enjoyable part of academia, but it doesn’t get the article done, and if you are spending your day doing administrative/teaching duties, then you have to write at night or the weekends on occasion. I work at night all the time, and yet I get upset when he has to, mainly because I think of his job as having definite hours and parameters, whereas mine is unstructured–I made dinner in the afternoon, so I can work at night, but this makes sense because I’m an academic. Why are you working at night? Blah blah. I am an awful partner. There’s also the fun of dragging your partner halfway across the country away from his nexus of friends and family, and thankfully he is not another academic who might throw the “two bodies two cities” wrench in the equation.

Living apart helps us deal, because we each have our own work stations and retreats, and come together only when we really can be together in company and not merely presence. As often as we can, although I tend to get upset if we go for more than three days apart. We actually have the life part of work/life, and it’s nice. That said, so often are we bogged down by work, that it would be nice to work side-by-side in the same place, and at least have that comforting presence. We occasionally do this, but it seems vaguely dissatisfying to us both, even though I imagine that will be how it is for the rest of our lives. But it is a mark of how our society engineers the meaning of work and “worker,” that I would gladly take this, because it’s better than nothing at all and if I can’t change the meaning of “work,” then I will change the meaning of “life.” Better than nothing. Or is it? Again, my intellectual and principled commitments to workplace equity and the restructuring of the meaning of work often go out the window when I think of the more pressing (to me) personal needs of myself and my partner. So yeah, I’d rather us work side by side than apart, but still, I should get more upset that we have to work the late hours rather than be upset that we are doing so apart.

I have no idea why I’m still up, because I have no organization other than the loose one of the school and university, which I avoid by not hanging out there. But the values are inbred, and so I’m up working, and I know he is too, and so maybe I’ll see him tomorrow night before he goes out of town. I am more hopeful about finding some intersection in our schedules than I am about ever fixing this problem. This really almost makes me want to shift research focus to something entirely different where I might be able to make a difference and not live a dishonest-to-my-arguments life.

I arrived in Boston this evening for a conference on public intellectuals. As befitting intellectuals about public intellectuals, we have been put up in a nice hotel right next to Fenway. When I came back from dinner, the turn-down service not only had left cookies on my pillow and started soft music playing, but also laid out a little linen thing, about 2 feet by 2 1/2 feet, by the side of my bed.

Rather than pretend, I will just cop to not having enough cultural capital to know what this towel is for. Anyone?

Or you’re wondering if you should go because you didn’t like it last time you went? I’ve been to some 6 ASAs now (not a lot, but enough to draw some generalizations, and hopefully make you feel better about your bad experiences or influence your expectations). So here are some general observations about ASA:

1.) Some people love ASA. Some people hate it. I fell into the latter category for my first several ASAs (see more below). I now don’t mind it. I think the reasons are twofold: (a) I changed my expectations, (b) I now know more people in sociology I don’t get to see very often. So I can do so at ASA. I still don’t like the conference that much. But I go to see people.

2.) You may learn something at ASA about sociology, but I wouldn’t go expecting to. Most panels are not good; many are actually bad. And it is very difficult to predict which ones will be. Think for a moment about the conference from our association’s point of view: They want everyone to go. Many will only go if they are presenting. So there are lots and lots and panels. This lowers the incentive for any one person to present a good paper (who knows if anyone will show up?). There’s a tipping point, and pretty soon all the papers are bad (regardless of how “good” the person presenting is). In my experience, the best papers are by grad students going on the market. I learn things when I go to panels I know nothing about (you usually can’t help it, although sometimes you later find out that what you learned was wrong). But my orientation to ASA is that it is not an intellectual conference. It is a social one. If I’m looking for an intellectual exchange I go to a different conference or hope for a good informal interaction. If you’re very new to sociology: I wouldn’t judge people or the discipline on the basis of this conference.

3.) For grad students in particular, the social interactions at ASA are very frustrating. This is aggravated by the fact that ASA is a social conference. In all likelihood you will get ignored by faculty in your department. This is not because the faculty are mean. It is because they see you all the time and they don’t get to see other sociologists (perhaps THEIR grad school friends) very often. So ASA is not a time for them to hang out with you; it’s a time for them to hang out with others. This is very hard to take, because you might feel snubbed. And it may be worse because some other grad student might tell you about all the famous people they’re meeting and how they’re having an awesome time and they’re just loving it while you’re alone in your room. They’re either lucky, on the market, or lying. Most faculty will take some time to include you, but they will also exclude you from things. This is simply part of the conference. Don’t take it personally. Think about how you will be at the conference in 10 years. You’ll want to see your friends (not grad students and colleagues). And you might get annoyed if a grad student keeps interrupting you. So take advantage of opportunities, but don’t demand them.

4.) Sometimes people are just rude. I have been chatting with folks who have seen someone famous walk by and simply walk away from our conversation. No, “goodbye,” or “sorry, I have to chat with so-and-so,” just complete abandonment, mid-sentence. I have been closed out of conversations (through body language where a circle of folks forms and I’m pushed out, by being ignored, or by having the person I know in the interaction refuse to introduce me). I try not to take this personally. It usually happens around someone famous. And it’s usually not the famous person doing it. It’s the non-famous people who want to get as much time possible with said famous person. You’re collateral damage. This stinks. But it happens. If it’s happened to you, worry not, you’re not alone. It’s happened to me.

5.) Because of #3 & #4 ASA can be frustrating and socially uncomfortable. I’m someone who is fairly socially adept (and in re-reading this sentence, also pretty arrogant!). And it is hard for me to manage the conference. I’m uncomfortable most of the time. I get anxious. So if you do too, you’re not alone.

6.) What frustrates me the most about ASA is just how status-conscious people are. But I think this is a bad strategy (if one is being strategic). It’s great to meet famous people. But here’s the thing: they’re busy. They’re unlikely to be able to help you by reading your work or chatting with you semi-regularly. They also have lots and lots of other people like you trying to say, “Hi! I work on X!” And they’re unlikely to remember you. So I wouldn’t play the status game at ASA (you know, the one where you make a list of famous people you want to meet and then cross them off one by one as you meet them and then brag about it to others). In part because you lose in the end. And you might also end up being rude to others in the process (if even inadvertently, see #4). Find people who can actually help you. People who do things close to what you do, who you can talk to, and who are likely to be longer-term associations within the discipline. This MAY be someone famous. But it’s more likely that it’s someone who isn’t. Someone like me!

7.) You may not meet anyone. You may not do any networking. This is perfectly fine. And it’s more likely than not. As you first start going to conferences it is frustrating. You hear about all this networking you should be doing, and it doesn’t seem to be happening. It’s a long-term process. So after a good few ASAs (and more importantly, specialist conferences) you will start to know people. But at first you are unlikely to meet anyone. When you realize that you just spent over $1000 to hang out with your friends (which you could have done for much less at home) it burns a bit. But in the long run, in addition to being dead, you’ll also meet people.

8.) It is perfectly acceptable, nay, even advisable to take breaks from the conference. I usually have a day when i leave ASA and wander around the city. This refreshes me. I can’t concentrate for more than 2 hours on anything, much less being “on” as a professional sociologists 24 hours a day for five days. So take a break and wander away. It’s worth it.

9.) I may ignore you at ASA. It’s hard for me to recognize people these days. If I do, say hi. I’ll get all embarrassed and feel bad. But I’d rather that than you think I’m rude!

10.) All of this is not to scare you about ASA. Instead, it’s meant to give you a sense of what one guy has experienced and now expects out of the conference. That, and if things don’t go well (or haven’t gone well before), you’ll know you’re not alone. The most fun I have at ASA is sitting at the hotel bar with folks. Something I could do at home, but not with folks who live thousands (or even hundreds) of miles away.

Oh, and Tina and I are planning our party. It’s going to rock. It’ll be the best time you have at ASA.

Find more here.

Pitseleh and I are having a most awesome discussion about the Goffmanian concept of backstage.  Original post here, followed by part I and part 2.  My tangentially related post here, and a conversation between Pitseleh and I on the elusiveness of the backstage can be found here.

Go read. You know you want to procrastinate. I know you do, because you didn’t install Leechblock, or else you wouldn’t be reading this.

Pitseleh is suggesting that I beg one of you to get me a $10 vistor’s pass to ASA 2008, and I can probably crash at a law prof friend’s house somewhere in Cambridge.  She says that I can sneak into receptions and eat free food, and so all I have to do is scrounge up the airfare. I am sorely tempted, because I really want a Scatterplot ribbon. And given the success of WickedA’s new voodoo doll business, maybe I should start up a boutique of my own.

Do the right thing, people. Head over to Wicked Anomie’s page at Etsy to buy an awesome handmade Blind Reviewer Voodoo Doll. Not only can you use it to vent your frustrations when papers are out of your hands and to punish the cruel reviewers who dare reject your pearls of wisdom, but you will help fund an awesome (and crafty! and nerdy!) grad student’s trip to the ASA.

The squizzle in the banner in some browser appears to be gone. At least in IE, the banner also seems to have any annoying tendency now to disappear entirely. I will work on more general template repair when I am back from my conference.

Non sequitur: There is not a single Whole Foods in the entire state of Iowa. By contrast, two of the three grocery stores closest to where I live are Whole Foods. I believe that some larger social observation could be drawn from that, but I need to get back to my paper.

Wicked Anomie has gone into business selling blind reviewer voodoo dolls.