The resident faculty left a Grumpy Cat meme outside the mail room. The staff don’t feel rejected. We think it was just the resident faculty’s weekly clue…. (More)
First our thanks to last week’s writers:
On Monday, you shared your stories of offline political activism in Things We Did This Week and Linda Lee noted that We Are All Trapeze Artists in Midday Matinee.
On the weekend, the resident faculty concluded their series on Psychology and Policy with Teaching Climate Science, Encouraging Positive Change in Saturday’s Morning Feature, Ms. Crissie was asked about Man Boobs? in Sunday’s Morning Feature, and Winter B brought our weekly Eco News Roundup in Our Earth.
Note: Please share your stories of offline political activism in Things We Did This Week.
Thus we return to the Grumpy Cat meme left outside the mail room as the resident faculty made their way from the
wine cellar library where they spent the weekend drinking thinking on our motto of Magis vinum, magis verum (“More wine, more truth”) to the hot tub faculty lounge for their weekly game where the underwear goes flying planning conference:
“Someone rejected us?” Chef asked as she brought out the decoder ring:
The Squirrel tapped at his Blewberry as Chef scraped stray pecans into his bowl. “I don’t feel rejected. My last listicle was tweeted almost 20 times.”
Professor of Astrology Janitor said. “Are you going to keep doing them?”
“It’s a nice break from researching my thesis on 21st Century Political Nuttitude,” the Squirrel texted. “Especially since the Anals of Rectaltude turned down my draft.”
“Shouldn’t that be Annals of Rectitude?” Chef asked.
The Squirrel shook his head and tapped at his Blewberry. “This is a new journal. They said it’s pee reviewed but I don’t believe them.”
“You mean peer reviewed?” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor asked.
“That’s what I thought too,” the Squirrel texted, “but this guy has a different system. He takes submissions to the restroom and if he likes one he publishes it and if he doesn’t like one he uses it for toilet paper. My response letter was one word: ‘Flushed.'”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Chef said, her eyes rich with sympathy.
The Squirrel shrugged and tapped at his Blewberry. “I’m not. I went to read their stuff and that bathroom was really smelly. Plus most of the published papers were limericks whose first lines ended with ‘from Nantucket.'”
Professor of Astrology Janitor said. “I’m sure you can find a better outlet for your work.”
“I think so too,” the Squirrel texted.
“And this week’s clue?” Chef asked, sliding his bowl of pecans across the table.
The Squirrel’s whiskers twitched and he tapped at his Blewberry. “Oh, that. This week the resident faculty will talk about the publication of science and ways to improve academic journals.”
“Like the Anals of Rectaltude?” Chef asked.
“They might leave that one out,” the Squirrel texted.
We hope so.