Not yet overheard, but I’m trying to get John Corvino to perform “How Do You Solve A Problem Like My Vita?” (to the tune of West Side Story‘s “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?”), which he wrote with Thomas Williams, at the smoker. The lyrics (with permission):

How do you solve a problem like my vita? How do you find a job that’s tenure-track?
What should I call myself here on my vita? A metaphysician, an ethicist, a quack?
Many an area I’ve claimed to cover. Making up research goals can be a chore.
But if they only knew, the “Papers Under Review,” have been rejected sixteen times before . . .
Oh, how do you solve a problem like my vita? How do you keep from feeling like a whore?

[Quickly:] At the smoker I feel sick, sipping free beer much too quick, And this polyester suit is getting warm.
Unpredictable professors, awkward talkers, tacky dressers: It’s the pure apotheosis of bad form.
Did my interview go well? From their questions I can’t tell.
But the chair was looking at me very odd. When he started turning red, I should not have plowed ahead. I’m a moron. I’m a genius! I’m a fraud.

How do you solve a problem like my vita? How do I stand out from the current crop?
How do I look as a potential colleague? An arrogant jerk, a scatterbrained dork, a flop?
What if they ask me how I’d teach aesthetics? How can I fake an interest in Descartes?
The salary is poor, the teaching load’s 4-4, But at the APA you play the part.
Oh, how do you solve a problem like my vita? How do you make a charlatan look smart?