“I got this new research idea that I would like to share with you. I am very excited about it. May I describe it to you now?” I am hearing this from Dave–one of my Ph.D. students. I just finished discussing with him my evaluation of his progress in the program. Dave is a non-traditional graduate student. We used to be Ph.D. classmates. I finished my Ph.D.; Dave did not. Last year, I convinced Dave to join our graduate program and complete his Ph.D. He put his trust in me, so I feel responsible for his progress. I mark his progress this academic year as “Satisfactory” in the online form. Despite all the difficulties of restarting his graduate studies in a new research environment, Dave is getting the hang of it, so I feel confident that he’ll succeed in our program. And now he wants to share with me his exciting new research idea. Oh, how much I want to hear about his idea!
As a professor in a research university, I like to think of myself as a man of ideas. It is for the opportunity to create, evaluate, and disseminate new ideas that I hang in a small secluded university town, making a fraction of the salary I could be earning at an industry job. Good ideas bring in research funding, publish papers, and propel graduate students toward their career goals. Besides, I know that Dave’s idea is not a fluke—he already has a solid publications record. In my evaluation for him, I have written “Next year, he should plan to publish a research paper that would set the trajectory for his Ph.D. dissertation. This publication will solidify his prior research record, showing to the faculty that he is able and willing to do quality research.” Dave seems to be pleased with my evaluation. In my mind, I am already planning to petition the faculty to allow Dave to skip his qualifying exam, enabling him to start working on his dissertation right away.
Dave is really excited about this research idea and starts drawing something on the whiteboard in my office. I wish I could learn about his idea right now, but I can’t! I have a deadline to meet—I supervise 9 graduate students, and their progress evaluations are due this week. A diligent student, I have never missed an academic deadline, a habit I carried throughout my life. Hesitantly, I turn to Dave and posit: “Well, unfortunately now is not a good time to discuss research ideas. I have evaluations to finish up, and another student is already waiting to meet with me. How about if we get together next week, when I will be able to give your idea the time and attention it deserves? I would like you to create a PowerPoint presentation—I am sure you’ll get to reuse this presentation on multiple occasions as your idea starts yielding publishable results.” Dave says that he’d be glad to do it. Over the weekend, I text him: “Let’s shoot for Wed night to talk about your idea. I’ll be done with my teaching for the week, and we can spend as much time as it takes to have a quality discussion.” When I don’t receive a reply, I am a bit surprised, but I don’t read much into it.
Well, Dave never got a chance to share his idea with me, nor will he ever do so. The very next night, he passed away from a coma induced by undiagnosed diabetes. He was only 55 years old. I feel as shocked and heartbroken as everyone else who knew him, but I am also devastated by the fact that Dave’s idea perished with him. If only he had shared his idea with me, my students and I would make sure to follow upon it and include his name as a co-author on the resulting publications.
Dave’s passing has taught me a valuable lesson. I will never again postpone the opportunity to learn about a student’s new research idea to meet an administrative deadline. I hope my colleagues would understand and won’t be too upset with me. Life spent in constant pursuit of deadlines loses its meaning. Life is too short to leave ideas unshared.
“What classes do you recommend I should take next semester?” I have been asked this question too many times, usually by graduate students who are just starting their studies. Because my take on this issue is a bit unusual, I have decided to express my thoughts on this matter as a blog post.
Taking a graduate class is first an opportunity to learn about the professor’s research and second to learn about the actual subject matter. When it comes to graduate classes, with some minor exceptions, professors teach those classes they want to teach. This situation is in contrast with teaching undergraduate classes—some undergraduate classes need to be covered, and faculty are often assigned to teach them out of necessity. In a research university, professors are researchers who occasionally teach, and research is what occupies most of their time and efforts. When teaching a graduate course, professors will always try to use it as an avenue for introducing their research to the students. If you are not interested in the professor’s research, do not take his class.
When shopping around for graduate classes, one should pay more attention to the instructor’s recent publications and research grants than to the actual course curriculum. This advice is motivated by the following observations. Few graduate courses have a required textbook, so the majority of reading assignments usually come from research papers. Course instructors decide what these papers should be, and their research interests heavily bias the selection of reading assignments. Course projects in graduate classes are also commonly open ended, and used as an opportunity for professors to try out new research ideas. Oftentimes, even the course’s title may not accurately express its content. For example, an HPC researcher teaching a graduate networking course is likely to focus on the networking topics relevant to HPC. A student not interested in HPC may feel disappointed.
Overall, taking a graduate course is a great opportunity to try out the instructor as a potential thesis or dissertation advisor or a committee member. By taking a graduate class, one learns not just about the instructor’s research interests but also about her research style and personality. What kind of open-ended questions does the instructor pose to students? What kind of feedback does she provide? How much attention does she pay to the quality of written or oral presentations? All these questions can guide the decisions of whether it may be worth your while to get involved in the instructor’s research or invite them to serve on your committee.
There are some exceptions of course. Some professors may not be active in research, while others may decide to follow a state-of-the-practice curriculum. The easiest way to identify such courses is to see if there is a required textbook. No research focused graduate class will have a required textbook. A graduate class may have a bunch of recommended textbooks to consult for the background information, but most of the reading will come from research papers. Finally, if not sure, just ask the professor how they plan to teach the class.
Finally, what about the prerequisites? You really like the instructor’s research, but you feel you have not had sufficient background in that area. In most classes, this limitation should not be an issue. If you genuinely like a research area, you should be able to get up to speed fairly quickly. Besides, quoting Einstein “Imagination is more important than knowledge,” particularly when talking about research related issues. If the majority of your grade comes from a term research project, your ingenuity in coming up with new ideas will be more important than almost any background knowledge you may lack. Grades matter little in graduate school anyway. Always remember that in graduate school, “A” means average; “B” mean bad; and “C” means catastrophic.
It is with great sadness that I have learned about the untimely passing of Mary Jean Harrold last Thursday. Remaining true to herself—never disclosing the difficulties she always overcame so stoically—Mary Jean kept her illness private, with only a limited circle of people being even aware of her condition. Consequently, the news of her passing came to me as a complete shock. As a member of my Ph.D. committee and academic colleague, Mary Jean had a hugely positive influence on me as a researcher and person. To convey what a truly remarkable individual she was, I would like to offer the following series of vignettes of my interactions with Mary Jean.
My first encounter with Mary Jean occurred during my first semester in the Ph.D. program at Georgia Tech. She just joined the university and was moving her lab there. I came to grad school having been frustrated with the practices of industrial software development that I had witnessed at my job. However, I could not find an advisor who shared my research interests. After listening to her presentation to the first year graduate students, I was impressed not only with her enthusiasm for her research, but also with the unabashed pride she displayed for the accomplishments of her grad students. I knew right away that I wanted to join her research group.
Being supervised by Mary Jean was an amazing experience. She held two hour-long meetings a week with each of her advisees. With that kind of unprecedented support, I quickly got up to speed in my project, which was sponsored by Boeing and involved building a static analyzer for avionics code written in Ada. By the end of the semester, I acquired a deep appreciation for program analysis and testing. At the same time, I managed to realize that my research interests lied more in building systems than in analyzing them. However, due to the excellent guidance I received from Mary Jean, I delivered on all of the project’s goals, and later a research engineer was able to pick up where I left off, so that all the research goals set off by the sponsor were met. Based on my own experiences as a faculty, I can say that this was a remarkable win-win outcome: I actively learned about a new-for-me research area, and the industrial sponsor got their deliverable. Under any other advisor, the results of working on a project only for a semester would have to be completely written off. When I informed Mary Jean that I wanted to focus on distributed systems for my Ph.D. work, she was very supportive and we retained a cordial professional relationship for the rest of my studies and beyond.
For most of my Ph.D., I was working across the hall from Mary Jean’s lab. She felt that it was highly important to have dedicated space for a lab, so that graduate students could form a community fostering a sense of collaboration and camaraderie. It had not been a day when I would not stop by her lab to talk to her students, forming lasting friendships with several of them. Mary Jean’s office was close by and she’d often stop by the lab to talk to her students.
Once, collaborating with another student, I was trying to meet a tight deadline and ended up pulling an all-nighter. As a smoker, my collaborator needed to step outside for a cigarette about every other hour. I would come outside with him, so that we could continue our research discussion. I clearly remember seeing Mary Jean leave the building late in the evening around 10:30 or 11pm. Then, we saw her coming back to work around 5am. “I find you guys in the same place where I left you yesterday—have you been standing here all night?”–Mary Jean greeted us in the morning. For us, pulling in an all-nighter was an uncommon occurrence; as soon as we reached our goals, we went home and crashed for the rest of the day. For Mary Jean, leaving the office late at night and starting her work day at 5am was her regular work style, something that she did day in and day out.
When I applied for faculty positions, I naturally asked Mary Jean to serve as a reference for my applications and to write me a recommendation letter. I clearly remember how in early December, I sent out my faculty job applications and e-mailed all my recommendation letter writers where they should submit their recommendations. I left the office around midnight and headed home. When I woke up the next morning, I saw an e-mail from one of the universities, informing me that Mary Jean Harrold submitted a recommendation letter on my behalf at 6:15am. Later I asked Mary Jean how she could have written and submitted a recommendation letter so fast. She told me: “Look, this recommendation letter will be very important for your career and procrastination on my part can hurt you. As soon as I got to work at 5am, I saw your e-mail. So I just wrote the letter and sent it out.” This incident left a profound impression on me—this incredible display of professionalism and compassion. Influenced by this experience, I always give the recommendation letters I have to write the highest priority.
When I accepted a faculty position at Virginia Tech, Mary Jean invited me to celebrate this accomplishment with her research group. She was sincerely happy for my success, and treated me as if I were her own student. We went out to lunch to a fairly remote restaurant driving in two separate cars, with Mary Jean driving one of them. During the lunch, we argued about what was the shortest route to get back to the Georgia Tech campus. It was decided that on the way back we would compete on who would get back first. However, in the spirit of a true research experiment we committed to not breaking any traffic laws. Sitting in the car driven by Mary Jean was quite an experience, as she took this competition with the utmost seriousness and was really eager to win. To her disappointment, both cars got back to campus approximately at the same time.
The last time I saw Mary Jean in person was during a very difficult period in my life. I just went through my mid-tenure review, and the results were mixed. I had strong publications and teaching records, but my lack of success in obtaining federal research funding could seriously compromise my chances of getting tenure. I was seriously considering quitting my faculty job and going back to work in industry. Back in Atlanta for a meeting with an industrial collaborator, I asked Mary Jean for an appointment. I needed her advice. Mary Jean gladly agreed to meet with me. I felt very dispirited and confused, and I was very honest with her. “I wrote seven NSF proposals in a row, and all of them got rejected. I am not sure if I can make it.” What Mary Jean asked me next was striking in its wisdom: “It makes no difference whether you think you can make it or not. Is making it what you would like?” Would I have liked to succeed as an academic researcher? Of course! Going back to making a living by writing computer code would have felt like a huge defeat. This simple question helped me to completely refocus my thinking and ultimately persevere in my quest for academic success.
My last e-mail exchange with Mary Jean occurred when I was just promoted to the rank of Associate Professor with tenure. Upon receiving a congratulatory e-mail from Mary Jean, I replied by thanking her and also expressing frustration at how difficult my tenure track experience had been: “It was quite a rocky journey–I feel fortunate that things have worked out in the end.” Mary Jean was ever so gracious in her reply: “It may have been rocky at first but you figured it out!”
I wish I had a chance to thank Mary Jean in person for all the great influence she has had on me. She has made a lasting impact on her research community and on all the people who were fortunate to have had a chance to interact with her. I hope that these personal vignettes I have shared will help others understand what a remarkable individual she was and help preserve her memory.
As the new school year is starting up, fresh faculty members just embarking on their tenure track careers are being inundated with sagely advice from their senior colleagues. The reason I have decided to contribute to this already excessive body of recommendations, implorations, admonitions, etc. is the last month’s guest blog entry of Scientific American, whose core idea is to treat your tenure track appointment as a 7-year guaranteed job and not to worry about the future outcome of your tenure case. Since almost no real-world job provides comparable job security, tenure-track faculty have the unique opportunity to focus on achieving happiness, which for the author entails maintaining the right work-life balance. What I found surprising is that many of my tenured colleagues exasperatedly stated that they wished they had read this piece of advice before starting their tenure track appointment. Although I have enjoyed reading this blog entry, encountering it seven years ago, when I was just starting my journey toward tenure, would not have made any difference in my tenure-track experience, which was soul-crushingly hard and stressful, but ultimately successful.
First, let us have a look at why being on the tenure track is so stressful. It is definitely not because people are terrified of not getting tenure (i.e., getting fired) and not being able to find alternate respectable employment. Undoubtedly, in Computer Science, a 40-year old (give or take), Ph.D.-level, jaded ex-academic would have many fewer career options than a starry eyed, fresh holder of an undergraduate degree. As an area rife with age discrimination, we have a continuous shortage of 20-something IT professionals, ready to single-mindedly devote their lives to their jobs. Nevertheless, career options are plentiful even for middle-aged Ph.D.-level computer scientists, and these options are typically much more remunerative than even a typical tenured faculty position.
In my estimation, the causes of stress come from two main realities. First, graduate school is an amazingly poor preparation for a faculty job. Second, academic research is a highly communal enterprise, and the success or failure of a particular member of that community affects either directly or indirectly a number of other members.
Even though professors are routinely accused of creating their own clones when training graduate students, nothing can be further from the truth. Graduate students are trained to exclusively focus on their dissertation research with everything else treated as a distraction. A fresh out of grad school Assistant Professor may have never juggled more than one research project, presented a technical topic without the benefit of a thorough preparation, acted in a supervisory position, or contributed to a funding proposal. The structure of graduate training almost deliberately neglects the development of the ability to multitask and context switch effectively.
Here is an example of a conversation a faculty may have with a senior graduate student. “Would you have 30 minutes to meet with a distinguished researcher visiting the department next Friday?” “Oh, no, I wish I could discuss my research with her, but have a paper submission deadline on Friday.” Typically, the faculty replies as: “I see—good luck with the paper.” A more appropriate (and beneficial to the graduate student) reply would be: “So freaking what?! Taking 30 minutes away from working on the paper would make any difference?! I also have a paper deadline on that day, and a committee meeting, and a class to teach, and a Skype call with colleagues. That’s the nature of academic work! Learn to multi-task and context switch effectively now before you start your faculty appointment!”
Freshly minted Assistant Professors, trained to focus on a single research problem, are suddenly asked to supervise their students working on multiple, independent projects, teach courses, serve on committees, provide service to the department, etc. Having not been properly prepared for this modus operandi, almost anyone gets stressed out. Furthermore, the ability to multi-task and context switch effectively may take years to properly develop. Thus, this cause of stress is unavoidable.
The second serious cause of stress on the tenure track is that research is not an individualistic enterprise. Multiple individuals have invested their time, efforts, and professional reputation in the success of every single junior faculty member. Reputation is the most valuable academic currency. Academics rely on recommendation letters when making hiring decisions, as it is virtually impossible to ascertain a faculty candidate’s potential for success. Academics do trust each other’s recommendations. If someone enthusiastically recommends a person for a faculty position and the person fails to live up to the recommendation, the recommender’s reputation would suffer. The subsequent recommendation letters from that person would have less weight and would be taken less seriously. Also, junior faculty do supervise graduate students. The research career trajectory of a graduate student is, to a large degree, determined by how successful his or her advisor is. The desire not to let your professional colleagues down is what is keeping a junior faculty up at night.
In that light, I cannot imagine how I could have been able to treat my tenure-track appointment as a postdoc. For me to do so would be similar to saying “I have achieved everything I have on my own, and I do not owe anyone anything. If I fail, it is my own business, and if people who invested in me or entrusted their professional careers in me suffer as a result, I do not care.” That’s why being on the tenure track will always be stressful for anyone, and I have serious doubts that the original blog post’s author’s tenure track experience was as stress-free as claimed. I wish all the Assistant Professors embarking on their tenure-track careers best of luck!
Any compendium of advice for budding researchers is never complete without admonitions about the importance of developing good communication skills. However, communication skills are defined almost exclusively as the ability to write technical manuscripts and give formal oral presentations. Although these skills are critically important (don’t even contemplate applying for an academic job having not gained some mastery in them), there is another set of communication skills that are not any less important but are commonly overlooked. I am talking about the ability to manage the expectations of your research peers and superiors as well as keeping them properly informed about your progress or lack thereof.
The modern research enterprise is a fundamentally collaborative process of discovering new knowledge and sharing this knowledge with your research community. Few researchers work by themselves. Even a researcher who publishes all of her papers as single author has organizational superiors (e.g., dept. head, manager), whose jobs are affected by her progress. A graduate student working on his own research under the guidance of an advisor has the responsibility to inform the advisor about his successes, setbacks, and changes of directions in a timely fashion. Doing so properly requires strong communication skills that graduate students must take time and effort to properly develop. What I am going to say next may sound blasphemous, but an otherwise competent researcher working in a team (e.g., in an industrial research lab) may be forgiven poor formal written or oral presentation skills. Other team members can take the lead on writing research papers or giving presentations. However, not properly communicating with your research team about your personal research progress can be truly disastrous.
Let us consider a hypothetical example of a graduate student working on a project that involves applying an AI algorithm to a software engineering problem. The statement “The AI algorithm we picked does not quite work” from a graduate student to her advisor would have vastly different implications depending on how long in advance of the planned publication deadline it is uttered: (a) two months—normal research process; “let’s find and try another one”, (b) one month—worrisome; “can we make this deadline?” (c) two weeks—frustrating; “forget about making a strong submission now!” (d) one week—exasperating; “why are you telling me this now, when I have wasted all this valuable time working on this manuscript?!” (e) days—catastrophic and maddening; “…!!!”
Nevertheless, I often witness graduate students struggling with developing this important aspect of communication skills. I believe that some cultural norms and common misunderstandings may prevent the effective development of such communication skills. Let us examine them in turn.
- Lack of Appreciation for Negative Results
Some graduate students take an engineering approach to research tasks: something to be successfully executed to completion. Especially for someone who had a career in industry, not performing an assigned task on time successfully often signals incompetence or lack of work ethics. By contrast, doing research entails continuously trying out new ideas to test them out for their promise. In that light, knowing that an idea does not work is often as valuable, if not even more so, than knowing that it works. Hence, negative results should be reported and discussed in a timely fashion.
- Not Feeling Comfortable to Ask for Help
Some students have a false sense of pride in handling all the research challenges by themselves. They see asking for help as a sign of weakness and incompetence. As a result, they often postpone getting the required help until they get dangerously close to the publication deadline. This creates unnecessary stress for everyone and often leads to failure.Nobody was born knowing how to conduct great research. So it is perfectly OK not to excel at each aspect of this demanding cognitive activity. Asking for help in a timely manner makes planning easier. The planning is required for the advisor to be able to plan how best to help the student. This help may entail allocating more of the advisor’s time to the project, a brainstorming session, an inclusion of additional students, or targeting a publication venue with a later deadline. With enough time, all these options are possible.
- Poor Articulation in Describing One’s Progress
Often graduate students fail to properly articulate the progress they are making in their research. Instead of precisely identifying which aspects of the project are going well and which ones are problematic, they report their progress using generalities. Here is a list exemplifying inappropriate answers to the question “How is your project going?”: “It is going fine.” ; “No specific results yet, but I am working on it.” ;“I am writing the paper.”A competent researcher should be able to articulate her progress using concrete terms and specify not only the successes but also the hurdles to be addressed. For example: “I am having a really hard time finding a convincing motivating example—the ones in the literature do not seem very applicable.” “I have finished the implementation of the system. For some reason, I am not seeing the expected performance advantages. I am checking my implementation for bugs, and if my implementation is correct, we may need to tone down our performance efficiency claims.” “My paper draft is almost completed with the exception for the experiments section. For some reason, I find it hard to clearly explain our experimental setup.” “When summarizing the system design, I find it hard morphing the text from my prior papers to avoid self-plagiarism. I may need your help with this part.”
I know that some research teams hold regular meetings, in which each team member reports on their progress and difficulties encountered. Some academic research teams even have successfully adopted Scrum, an approach used for managing Agile software development teams. However, I find the practice of regularly reporting progress in a rigid format contradictory for my vision of the research enterprise, even though these practices may work exceptionally well for other research groups. I see research as a fundamentally creative enterprise, with researchers being more akin to artists than engineers, with individual researchers having a strong ownership of their work. In my view, properly developing the neglected aspect of communication skills discussed in this post can help ensure timely research progress without jeopardizing the spirit of free discovery and exploration that I value so much.
A recent e-mail exchange between an NYU professor and a student has been making rounds around the Internet. During the first class meeting of the semester, a student walked into a classroom an hour late; the professor would not let the student into the classroom; the student got upset and expressed her frustration via an e-mail to the professor; the professor’s anonymized reply, made public, became an internet sensation. How so? Using very harsh language, the professor explained why the student was wrong and also gave some advice about how the student should behave in the future. What I found most surprising about the reaction to this story is how almost everyone is siding with the professor, complimenting him for having the guts to tell it like it is.
By contrast, I disagree and find the entire incident quite bizarre, as it goes against both of my core teaching principles: (1) treat students as adults, and (2) don’t take yourself too seriously. In line with these principles, I have no attendance policy in my classes. During the first lecture, I usually say something as follows: “I certainly hope that you will find my lectures interesting and worth your time. However, if you have something more important to do with your time than to attend my lectures, please feel free to do so–I won’t get upset and it will not affect your grade in any way.” I have no attendance policy because I respect my students’ right to decide how they want to learn (or not to learn) in my classes. They are free to attend my lectures in full or in part, or only read the textbook, or only talk to me in person during my office hours, or engage in any combination of these activities. Besides, there could be things going on in their lives that are more important than attending lectures. For example, they can be preparing for a job interview with the company of their dreams or creating a proof-of-concept for their brilliant startup idea.
However, the issue at hand with the NYU incident seems to be not missing the lecture but rather walking in late. It does not bother me a bit when students walk into my classroom late. Let’s take an extreme case of a student coming in 10 minutes before the end of the lecture. My thinking will go as follows: “Wow, this student was obviously doing something very important that did not allow him to come to my lecture on time. However, he finds my lecture so interesting and important that he found it worth his while to attend the very last 10 minutes of it. I must be doing something right!” Besides, who knows–perhaps some of the insights I share in the last 10 minutes may prove to be valuable for the latecomer. So in my view, coming in just for the last 10 minutes is better than not coming at all.
But what about distracting other students by walking in late? Gimme a break! We live in a distracted world, in which we need to switch our attention to various matters continuously. In fact, the ability not to let distractions derail your work progress is one of the most valuable skills for a modern professional. I have worked in industry, and I do not remember having a sterile working environment, in which I could focus on the tasks at hand without any distractions. Working in a cubicle, I had to learn to maintain my focus in the presence of extraneous conversations in the neighboring cubicles, colleagues passing by, phone calls, etc. Why should the modern classroom be so drastically different from the modern workplace? Of course, common sense still applies: I do take exception to students talking loudly to each other during the lectures.
Notice how in the absence of an attendance policy, the NYU incident would never have transpired. I understand that it was an MBA class, and the professor may have good reasons to run his classroom the way he does. However, as a computer science professor, I choose not to have an attendance policy that explicitly disallows absences and lateness. I believe that my students are better off as a result.
The Taulbee Survey Report ranks CS departments based on the amount of their external funding: “The U.S. CS data indicate that the higher the ranking, the more external funding is received by the department (both in total and per capita).”
(Source: http://cra.org/uploads/documents/resources/taulbee/CRA_Taulbee_2009-2010_Results.pdf). And yet, as the recently submitted Faculty Activity Reports (FARs) indicate, some of you are spending only between 60% and 90% of your time on “research activities,” defined as bringing in external funding to the department. If we are truly serious about increasing the rank and prestige of our department, we should be spending a 100% of our time on such research activities. Two obstacles stand in the way of realizing this vision: teaching and scholarship. Fortunately, recent advancements in massive open online courses (MOOCs) have great potential to significantly alleviate the first obstacle if not to remove it altogether. Effective handling of the scholarship obstacle, however, will require some creative problem solving. To that end, a new committee has been established: Curbing the Unnecessary Scholarship or The CUrSe Committee for short. How do we know what scholarship is unnecessary? We will use the following intuitive definition: a scholarship activity is necessary if it prepares preliminary results for a successful funding proposal; it is unnecessary otherwise.
Conference publishing is particularly harmful. Publishing at conferences wastes faculty and graduate student time, while traveling to conferences incurs high administrative overhead, draining staff time and resources (and is bad for the environment). Besides, allocating budget for conference travel makes your funding proposals less competitive. All other factors being equal, which proposal has a better chance of being funded: the one that asks for $5K in domestic and international travel or the one that asks for $500 to travel to DC to discuss your next proposal with an NSF program director? It is simply unjustifiable to be wasting your and your graduate students’ time to go through several rejection cycles to have your papers accepted to conferences with ridiculous acceptance rates (e.g., CHI, ICSE, KDD, IPDPS, SC, etc.). Conference publishing is a dangerous addiction and should be treated accordingly. Therefore, the first recommendation of the CUrSE committee is that we go cold turkey on conference publishing for a period of one year. Then, the committee will assess the expected positive impact of this initiative and may recommend occasional recreational conference publishing on a case-by-case basis.
Journal publishing should be curbed as well. Too much time and effort is spent on preparing journal manuscripts and addressing comments from the reviewers. To address this inefficiency, the CUrSE Committee is tasked with compiling a list of journals that do not impose the unnecessary burden of the review process on the authors. The committee needs to identify those journals that fully embrace the value of inclusiveness and welcome all submissions irrespective of their topic, content, or fit.
The journal writing process itself can be streamlined as well. A couple of years ago, SCIGen, a promising technology emerged from MIT that makes it possible to automatically synthesize scientific manuscripts (Source: http://pdos.csail.mit.edu/scigen/). At the time, SCIGen received some negative press due to its technical imperfections stemming naturally from the breakthrough nature of this technology. Only because an innovative technology does not pan out as intended right away, it does not mean it would not mature over time to become ready for practical application. Therefore, the CUrSe Committee will explore whether it is the right time for us to invest time and efforts in mastering SCIGen.
Once all the unnecessary scholarship is properly curbed, we will be able to dedicate all our time and efforts to increasing the amount of research funding in the department. What about graduate students? One point needs to be made perfectly clear: the value of a graduate degree is positively correlated with the rankings of the department awarding the degree. Therefore, our graduate students should be even more interested in and dedicated to increasing our rankings than we are. To help our graduate students really increase the value of their future degrees, we must immediately stop counting publications as a criteria for graduation. Instead of saying “OK, this student deserves a Ph.D., as he has published N papers,” we should be saying “OK, this student is ready to graduate, as he has contributed preliminary results for N successful funding proposals.” When a graduate student asks you “When can I expect to graduate?”, you should have profound answers prepared; for example: “When your thinking reaches the right depth.” If students ask you what devices will be used to gauge the depth of their thinking, just look thoughtfully off into the distance and utter Yoda-like: “You won’t miss it when you get there.”
Please, let me know by EOB today, if you feel prepared and motivated to join the CUrSe Committee. We need a lot of talent, energy, and passion to eliminate the scourge of unnecessary scholarship, thereby fulfilling our raison d’etre of increasing our department’s rankings!