Could there be more browns and grays and polyesters and thin cheap leather belts puckering the drab to the flaccid and sagging bellys? Another one and another one. (A uniform dishevelment.)

They flock around the only color in the room, a rare fresh flower in a wilted field. They stand too close, sit too close, press elbows into young shoulders, scratch wiry graying beards against soft words, and murmur sly gratuities.

Witness a thriving culture of sexism.

Here is where we are: an observed variation in a pair of alleles seems to correlate with trauma-related functioning over time—this finding the result of a fucking amazing coordination of intelligent thought and effort. Yet not one them, anywhere it seems, not even Pinker, that I've seen, has acknowledged in press that it's not the certainty of sex differences that's at issue in the ongoing debate on why men are overrepresented in the sciences, but that we continue to give men the advantage to achieve those roles. Here we are, so far from where the debate began, and men in the field are still ignoring the obvious. (Meanwhile, women are still playing by the unspoken rules and they're losing.)

All these guys have to retire before work can get done. The 10-year outlook for women entering graduate school is promising. How many of these boomer and reagan-era academics have never had a private sector job? Outside, you can make $80K or more with a four-year degree or less. From the outside looking in, it's laughable how many academics fail to see how average they are.

Picture their hippy asses in the '70s, their untended beards pigmented and cunt-crusted. They'd a vigor for empiricism and a penchant for Kubrickian fantasies—their designs robust, their women naked on stilettos.