One of the joys of the adjunct life is paying for conferences out of your own pocket. I’ll be popping down to Canberra for ANU’s Global Cities conference, which looks like it’ll be plenty of fun. The trip won’t be super expensive, because ANU isn’t charging registration and the conference dinner is free (although the place has “vegetarian” options that have bacon in them, which does not fill me – or my stomach – with confidence). However, I’m paying for air fare and hotel and all that shit.

I’ve convinced one of my new colleagues to go to the WWE show at the Brisbane Enterntainment Centre, which shoud be two tons of fun. I’m much less fussed about paying $75 for the tickets, since I have yet to attend a bad wrestling show, regardless of promotion. Even the little indie show in a stinky hall in Dover, New Hampshire back in 2002 was enjoyable, no-shows and all.

My love of wrestling, I’m sorry to say, has managed to trump my love of opera (they’re mostly the same thing, but one has more baby oil). They’re running Einstein on the Beach in Melbourne at the end of July, and I’m gutted that I can’t head down there. I sincerely doubt that Einstein is the sort of thing they live simulcast in movie theatres. I take heart in the mere presence of a Wilson/Glass opera getting put on.

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As the great Frank Ward, longtime Chicago Lyric Opera season ticket holder, used to say to me, “you can have my Glass tickets. I like to hear more than the same six notes for three hours.” If Frank were still alive, I would go to Melbourne, costs be damned, and glory in “Knee Play 3”.

And so, as I too often carp, it’s a matter of schmucks like me giving up the things that might bring a little joy on the off chance that by playing catch-up, we adjuncts might go from semipro to the big leagues.

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