Have I Got A Good Job Or What?
Clearly, the math folks have the last laugh: rated number one, they get the money, the working conditions and no stress:
She [Jennifer Courter] telecommutes from her home and rarely works overtime or feels stressed out. “Problem-solving involves a lot of thinking,” says Ms. Courter. “I find that calming.”
Astute readers might be guessing some of the ways this study may be less useful to folks thinking about switching careers than one might hope…but this kind of silliness is typical post holiday, pre-spring recreation in the news business.
(The worst, jobs, by the way, are what you would expect: low paid, physically demanding and dangerous. The three at the bottom of the 200 entry list are taxi driver, dairy farmer, and, dead last, lumberjack. Break into song here if you must.)
And anyway, finding out about a list like this leads directly to the inevitable question: how does your own daily grind rate?
For me, it depends on how I think of myself. If I call myself a historian — and why not, with two books of history of science/culture out and one more coming this June — then I’m in clover, baby. Historians, whose capsule job description reads, “analyzes and records historical information from a specific era or according to a particular area of expertise,”rank seventh on the list of desirable jobs, one ahead of sociologists (hah! take that, sister-in-law!)
That it is one behind computer systems analyst takes me down a peg, I guess, and my biologist friends will condescend from their perch at number four. (Though this description seems a little limiting: “Studies the relationship of plants and animals to their environment.”)
Still, in my guise as historian, I hold bragging rights over eleventh ranked economists (so, Brad DeLong. You might be a sought after authority, a player in national policy making and an utterly dauntingly prolific blogger, but I like my job better…or something); philosophers at number twelve, (Hilary Putnam respectfully disagrees, and provides a quite telling data point to the contrary); and at thirteen, physicists, (so Sean Carroll, are you just going to sit their and take it?)
All well and good, until I decide to think of myself as an author, dragging in at 93.
(And as a lagniappe — what do you make of the fact that clergy come in at 70, one behind federal judges at 69? Hanging out their between God and man carries some stress, I guess.)
Much nonesense. Fun on a holiday morning. Now for the French Freedom Toast.*
*Just a little trip down memory lane here to remind us of how wonderful it is to trade idiocy for at least the possibility of engaged intelligence, starting tomorrow at noon.
Image: Paul Signac, “Le Démolisseur,” 1897-1899.Explore posts in the same categories: journalism, random humor