The Freedom Of The Blahg

Recently, I met with a college administrator to discuss my job.  During the course of the brief meeting, this person said, “I read your blog”.  (It’s probably only a tiny coincidence that another statement was made by the person a short time later: “I can fire you”).

I read over the entire Blahg archive today, and removed any direct naming of the college, except in instances where I was promoting a public, student-related event.  I am satisfied that, with the exception of today’s entry, I have not directly referred to any person at the college, except in the early post titled “The Deaf Card” when I said, “My tenured colleagues frequently receive nice fat faculty grants” and once when I gave the first name of a person, to thank him for finding a quiet restaurant for me.  I also removed that name. 

I am patently offended at having my blog mentioned in connection with my job. Issues of academic freedom aside, issues of where employment ends and personal life begins aside, this is my blog, about me.  I try to write as conscientiously and metaphorically as I can about how all the situations in my life affect me.

I’m somewhat astounded, still, over how many people find Blahg interesting enough to read it regularly. But because you are reading, I now consider the blog to be an aspect of my artwork, albeit a minor one. What I write here is my intellectual property, my work, governed only by me.

The piece mentioned specifically was “Deafened In Academe”.  I was told that it was “unfair” to compare academics with carnivorous birds.*  Personally, I think that piece, which is about how academe operates in general, and what it’s like to be ‘disabled’ within that environment specifically, is one of the best I’ve written, and that the simile is singularly apt (at least for my small capabilities as a writer).  I stand by every word of it. 

I repeat: this is my blog, my space, these are my opinions and observations.

If you don’t like them, leave a comment to say so, or leave, period. And, if anyone, anywhere, reads something I’ve written about metaphorically, and believes that they see themselves in that writing: that is your conscience speaking.  Unless I tell you directly that this is about you, you are operating on assumption, and your assumptions are your responsibility, not mine.


*which, I admit, amused me greatly.