The AWIS Washington Wire mentioned the Ben Barres brouhaha (I did not realize that he had made the pages of Nature! You go, Ben!) and it got me to thinking. It's just awesome how Barbara Barres became so much smarter and commanded so much respect simply by going through a radical sex-change operation and getting herself a penis. Ben's a nice name, and s/he wouldn't even have had to get new monogrammed towels. Why shouldn't ALL of us women avail ourselves of this simple route to the Nobel Prize?
It's not like it's such a big deal. Women are already used to doing all sorts of things to our bodies to deal with the expectations of men. This would just be a little different. A mastectomy instead of breast implants. A hysterectomy and salpingo-oophorectomy instead of birth control pills or giving birth (we already know it's not the kids so much as the ability to give birth that interferes with the career. In a few years you'll probably be able to just clone yourself a baby in the lab over the weekend anyway). Then it's on to the phalloplasty (which, if you think about it, is a fascinating subject, and a lifelong hobby for most men).
But suppose you already have a life partner, or children, or parents or friends who don't wish for you to become a man. I know it sounds crazy, but maybe they think you are just fine, exactly as you are, and think the penis would be superfluous. Maybe you even feel that way yourself, except for the whole getting of a job and being given respect thing.
I have a modest proposal to make. But first, I must first give credit where credit is due.
I admit to being inspired by my dissertation committee. I don't know which of them in particular pronounced this judgment upon me after my defense, for these words were related to me later by my thesis advisor when he described to me the discussion that had raged after I left the room:
"When she first started talking, we weren't too sure about her, but then she really demonstrated her ability to perform penetrating analysis."
There you have it. Judgment rendered by a group of penis-owners. I, though lacking a penis, could nevertheless penetrate with the best of them.
So instead of the usual post-defense gifts and festivities, newly-minted female PhDs should be awarded their very own personal codpiece, a la King Henry VIII. Each shall wear her codpiece for the first time at commencement, marching in not to the strains of Pomp and Circumstance, but rather to Bo Diddley singing I'm a Man. We shall wear our codpieces at every seminar, lecture, and faculty meeting, signifying to all present our ability to perform penetrating analysis.
I think it helps if you can display a sense of irritation with your listeners, interrupt them before they finish asking their questions, and say things like, "that's covered in chapter two of my dissertation," in a tone of voice that conveys you think they are dumber than a bag of hammers. Despair drove me over the edge into a peevish, scornful, seething anger at my dissertation defense, but apparently that's exactly what penetrating analysis is like.
1:25:08 PM 
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