Despite the fact that this man was arrested (and presumably charged), I can't help feeling like Japan is "do whatever you want land". I especially love BoingBoing's screenshot of the newsreel cartoon, and the nickname reaction. They do good work.

Drive-by Coffee Spitter Arrested

What is it about paper writing that makes me so crazy? It seems to make everyone crazy, so I'm not alone. But of course one's true colors emerge under pressure, and mine are like one of those magic eye pictures. There's something there, everyone says so, but for the life of me I can't tell what I'm supposed to see, I can't focus my eyes correctly. I RUN from the work. If it weren't for the endless depths of the interwebs I wouldn't be able to stand even the pretense of being chained to the desk. It's just hard, and my life is so easy otherwise. I'm spoiled for hard work, that's the long and short of it.

Nonetheless, I'm in a cycle of procrastination, and I figure it's more productive to turn the insides out than simply keep refreshing my scrabulous games waiting for any one of my six opponents to make their freaking move.

Smokey and I went to Donovan's house today and had lunch with the host, Nell and Job, the host's cat. We imagined it as a kind of experimental playdate, and I must say the two beasties acquitted themselves admirably. Smokey was pissed to be put in the carrier, both times, but when I let him out at Donovan's he was cool, calm and collected, hissing minimally and not so much interested in Job as in the various appointments of Donovan's apartment. Part of the impetus behind the whole thing was to see if Smokey was freaked out by other cats. I don't know if he's ever been exposed to other cats, so I thought it was worth investigating. He gets into these moods where he can't leave me alone, but he doesn't really want me to do anything except talk to him. He doesn't want to be pet, he doesn't want to play, he doesn't like it when I chase him or try to wrestle, he just doesn't want me to do anything else either. I go through this whole routine whenever he does this, I check his food, his poop space, everything's invariably fine, he's just... I dunno, unanswerable. If I do turn my attention elsewhere he lets out these deep throaty yowls that I imagine the neighbors must be able to hear and the only thing I can do to stop him is to talk to him, ask him what's wrong, make fun of his voice. Then he looks at me, with this fascinated expression, and if he comes over it's not so close that I can reach out and pet him (if I try he runs away), it's just close enough that he can get a better look at me speaking (or so it seems anyway). If I stop speaking and just look at him, he gets all self-conscious and turns away, ostensibly to do something else, and then as soon as I think it's all over and done with, he'll start with the yowling again. So far as I can tell this is his only symptom, of whatever condition I can't imagine, and it happens maybe once every other day, usually in the evening, until he decides to stop.

It seems especially appropriate that I should have a cat who's fascinated by speech, if that's really what it is. At any rate, my cat has a Face, in the Levinasian sense. He makes demands and I go crazy because I don't know how to give him what he wants. I don't know what he wants, so I theorize and plot. The kitty playdate was a precursor to a perhaps plan that I've been cooking up to get another cat. Two cats is a lot for a one bedroom apartment, and I'm not at the point of wanting another right now. But I wonder if maybe Smokey is just lonely for intra-species conversation, as it were, and I am, of course, completely inadequate for the purpose. If I could time it right, Job would come over when Smokey was being crazy, so I could see if his eyes lit up. Today at lunch he seemed to be completely detached and uninterested in Job, but that was a narrow window of time, and the first of such experiences for Smokey, as far as I know. I'm glad my Elder Admiral feels comfortable enough to express himself so openly, but I need to figure out what it is he's trying to tell me, or we're going to start resenting the misunderstanding.

Which, through a labyrinth of barely distinguishable connections, brings me to my Lacan and the Symposium paper... this concept of the agalma inside the little ugly statue of the silenoi. The magnetic jewel inside the repulsive body. Ostensibly this is Socrates through the eyes of the rogue Alcibiades (I love calling him that), but part of Lacan's point (as I gather), is that beloveds are invariably like this. They hold something out to their lovers that cannot be described, cannot be accounted for or made understandable to anyone else. We love them in spite of themselves, and despite our own images of whatever lovableness another being can possibly contain. That quality precludes rationalization partly because it isn't real, and partly because we cannot resist our own imaginations. Desire is a force beyond reckoning in the human sphere, and all this talk of religion and knowledge and the good, the beautiful and the true is just so much noise when you believe that adornment is there, inside that, waiting for you to break through the barrier. Socrates speaks, and Alcibiades is possessed by his words: "When I hear them, my heart pounds and the tears flow" (215d), and this from a great manly man who could swing wars with his genius (rhymes with...). So this prince pulls out all the stops, risks every cent of his pride to get this goatish older man to let him inside, and Socrates keeps his face turned away, saying, "it's not me." I understand how Alcibiades feels, enraged at the sudden confrontation with the boundary of his not inconsiderable seductive power, forever crashing against the gates of Socratic virtue. "So, I forcibly stop up my ears and run away, as from the Sirens, so that I won't grow old just sitting there beside him" (216a).

How to turn this into some kind of professional document? That is the question.

Seriously...

Reposting from an October BoingBoing (I'm way behind in my web reading), I thought this was interesting: a robot that has been tasked to re-write the entire Luther Bible around the clock. It's interesting to me that they describe the robot as "ascetic". It's kind of strange to think that biblical transcription is moving into the hands of programmers. The robot's actually writing in calligraphy with a pen, I wonder where this printing will end up.

Robot Ascetic Inscribes Bible

The world is a crazy place, I'm sure we all knew that, but it strikes me afresh sometimes and I just have to say it. Crazy, crazy, crazy.

Which is more or less to say that my life is intense right now, not only because it's paper writing season again (the last two weeks no less, God help me) but also because I've been sick not once (see last post) but twice, with different colds. I'm hardly ever sick, and I take it like a baby, so the last three weeks have been pretty tough, especially all mixed up with happenings and responsibilities and whatnot. It's hard to do anything when I'm breathing through my mouth and coughing like a consumptive. The good news is that I am nearly over the last one, and when it's finally over I'm going to spray this whole place down with Purel and have done with it. Here's hoping.

Backtracking a little bit, Thanksgiving was a narrow hiatus on the sick front, about two days where I felt pretty okay. I was fortunate enough to have two thanksgivings this year, one with the Dad in Rochester and one with my Mom in Ithaca. The Rochester festivities were more traditional, turkey and such, and it was nice to spend time with my Grandmother, who just moved up there from South Jersey. I've had dinner at her new place the last two Fridays and it's really excellent being able to call her up and head over to see her, only an hour and a half away. At Mom's Adam and I made surf and turf, which was really awesome, I love cooking with my Brother. I've never really liked seafood, and I don't think I will ever like shrimp in particular (plus Brohan would lose a source of boundless amusement) but I'm trying to expand my horizons and scallops wrapped in bacon are pretty damn good. I've been trying to cook salmon at home too. Dom was up for a visit one Monday and I made a maple version that was really good, so here's hoping.

This last weekend I spent in Rochester, which was really more awesome than I could have planned on my own. Thankfully I have some friends in Rochester this year, so I finally got to see the city the way I like to see cities, which is to say, according to my sub-cultural inclinations. I went down on Friday and hung out with my family in Pittsford for a little while, then met up with Drew downtown. I met Drew and Laura while they were visiting Chris in Belgium, and now that I'm back in Upstate it's great to have awesome people to go visit when I'm in Rochester, which is relatively frequently now that both my Dad and Grandma Susie are there.

So I met up with Drew Friday night, and while we were waiting for Laura to get off work the guys were playing the expanded version of Guitar Hero, with all the different instruments, I can't remember what it's called. I had absolutely no intention of attempting such a thing in a room full of relative strangers, but everyone else had an instrument (or was chicken) so I ended up "singing". It was actually way more fun than I thought possible, perhaps because I was too busy deciphering the game cues to remember that I was making a long series of strange muted noises into an amplifying device. I didn't know most of the words to the songs, so there were a lot of randomly annunciated hummings and clickings, but I ended up being pretty good at it, which gave me an ambiguous sense of satisfaction. It's a mimic game, so I'm not actually singing, although maybe I could, but it's more about following the cues and hitting the line that the "notes" makes across the top of the screen. I guess it's more about timing, but that can't even really be the whole truth, because a lot of the guys were musicians and still had trouble "playing" their "instruments". I don't think it necessarily bodes well for my karaoke prospects, but at least I can follow trailing words set to music. At any rate it makes me want an Xbox... though of course I should be wary of all rabbit holes, the internet is enough of a distraction.

After a few rounds Drew and I walked through the blustering winterness and went to this place Lux, which was really amazing. I don't know if it was just a good night, or if I was high on virtual triumph, but this bar completely sold me. I loved the decor, the crowd, the drinks. It was sooo freaking cold outside and I was under-prepared, but then we walked into the warm and Drew informs me that this beautiful place sells hot cider and whiskey. I thought he was joking at first, and then I was holding a huge hot mug of spiked cider. Really it was incredible, I don't know why more bars don't do that. The art was awesome, the bathrooms locked and were cleanish, and there was a huge outside space complete with a free-standing grated fireplace. I never wanted to leave, except for the fact that if I stayed I would eventually drink myself to death. If this place had been in Belgium I think I would have been done for. In addition to all that, the people were really nice, and I had a lot of random conversations with strangers that reinstated my faith in social situations like that, the bar scene as such. Maybe it was just a kismet of circumstances, but a better introduction to Rochester I could not have hoped for.

So I didn't sleep much Friday night. Saturday I spent the day with Julie and Dad in Pittsford helping with Christmas decorations and nursing my hangover. Then that night I went out with my friend Jeff, who is a musician (see Old Boy and Gaylord) and thus knows everybody. His was a whirlwind tour, one of the highlights being the Bug Jar that I've heard so much about (I covet one of the bugs tied to the ceiling, but Jeff reminded me those bugs are there for everyone). Some of the venues in this town seem really amazing, and with all the good bands in Rochester I'm not surprised why people like it so much. Oh yes of course, and when I said I wanted a hot dog (still feeling the night before), Jeff took me to this place called Dogtown, where I ordered a plate of delicious mess, beans and sweet potato fries topped off with a grilled red hot dog, mustard and sauerkraut. It was so good, but I only got about 40% into it. Apparently Rochester is famous for something called the "garbage plate", which everyone kept bringing up. I don't think I'm any kind of match for that thing, I couldn't even finish my Highland skillet (at the Highland Diner) on Sunday morning, hella good though it was. That's a fabulous diner that I actually knew about because my Dad has taken me there nearly every time I've visited. The plates piled high with stuff reminds me of Pittsburgh and the Pickle Barrel, beautifully cheap and wonderfully crass, I miss that place.

So now I'm all down with Rochester. I need to find the cool side of Syracuse, that's the next step. I've gotten into going to Taps on Westcott with Sangeetha and Paul lately, that's a pretty good time, though I really need to find a place with a real dartboard. I love shooting darts but those plastic computerized things make me a little crazy. The PBR is two bucks and they usually have basketball on so I'm set. I've been to the Mezzanotte Lounge a couple of times for shows, but despite the fact that they have a pretty good booking agent (that's where I saw Gaylord the last time) and the sound is pretty good, the place didn't impress me much logistically. If I have to haggle to get back into a place after every cigarette break because they don't believe in stamping for whatever reason, that's a big minus. Plus, I received a manhattan there that didn't have vermouth in it, just soda. Heads up people, there's no soda in a manhattan. Meh, I'm being bitchy, I'm sure the place will grow on me. The big problem with Syracuse, as was the case in Pittsburgh, is that you need a car to get out of your neighborhood, so that puts a big kaibosh on cutting loose. Plus I get two emails every other day informing me that someone's been attacked or robbed on campus or just outside, and although I haven't had any bad experiences yet, that gives me pause.

Now there are three papers to write in 11 days. I never know starting out how these periods will go, but despite my crippling doubts about the first papers I've turned in, I haven't made an ass of myself yet, so here's hoping it all comes off without a hitch. Or at least, none that are too public. My latest psychological improvement project is trying to figure out a way to stop the spiral of self-defeatism that besets me every time I do something that means something to me. I always think I get it wrong, and I make a lot of noise about it and embarrass everyone around me, and then it's ultimately fine. The impulse to control a situation when I have something invested in it is somehow hardwired deep in my brain. I feel the ambiguity bodily and writhe around for however long it takes to get the final outcome. In the interim, I invest so much faith in the magical power of words to negotiate the uncertainty that I make anyone involved crazy with my pre-emptive strikes. I have GOT to cut that out.

So it's just work, work, work from here until the 17th or so, but then it's winter break and I have all kinds of plans. Mike C. might come to visit, hopefully Phoebe and I will take a kick-ass roadtrip to Toronto (where I will get to see lots of people, but especially Mike D. and Jan, who I missed last time), and there might even be a visit from Drew and Chris, while the latter's taking another "I heart America" tour with at least one leg in Upstate before he heads back to the UK. I am going to be so happy to leave this first semester behind, I really hate adjustment periods, however necessary they may be. I don't necessarily know what I'm going to do with Smokey during those times, so if anyone out there feels like house/cat sitting, my house could be your house for a few intervals.

Anyway, I have one more chunk of reading to do before I turn in for the night, so I should get to that before I lose steam. I hope everyone is well!

Well, it's been a while, a lot has happened and I haven't really had the chance to share it all. Now I'm sick, in quarantine, and waiting for the meds to kick in so I can focus on Deleuze (a lot of good focus does in Difference and Repetition, I often have to stop reading for a minute and refocus on something simple like the wall just to maintain a sense that I'm not falling down a rabbit hole). So let's hit the highlights.

This Halloween I spent in Ithaca, after so many Halloweens coming and going in other places. There were a lot of bands, including Sam's new band Attake (I can't remember if I'm spelling that right), a Misfits cover band, Chapel Perilous and last the Gwar cover band, with Jake, Brian and Chi, which was really amazing.

Chi in just about the coolest outfit ever.

Phoebe looked fabulous, she had a head too that was filled with blood for the band to cut off.

Dan hired me as a photographer so I could take pics for his lady in Cali

I have more pics on Flickr for anyone who's interested. I had to stop taking pictures at a certain point because the blood gun came out (among other things) and I don't have a fluid-tight casing. It was great to be there, so many people were there, it was a real event.

The following weekend I had a family reunion on the Michniewicz side, and we all met down at my Uncle and Aunt's place in Lansdale, PA for Polish food and family time. Lots of poker, it was great to see everyone again. Two of my cousins are getting married soon, so I'm looking forward to seeing them all again in a few months. My grandparents are buried at Our Lady of Cestachowa near Lansdale, so we went to see them too. It was strange to see my grandmother's grave for the first time, although her stone had been there already when we buried my grandfather. Now they're both there, and I guess I haven't really wrapped my head around it yet. I should have taken some time to sit there alone, but I was impatient to get away, for some reason it felt hollow standing there, and that above all is what I didn't want to experience. At any rate, I'm happy that there's such a place for them to rest, surrounded by other Polish people of their generation.

Then on Sunday the one and only Legendary Shack Shakers came to Castaways, and I was beside myself with excitement. They're one of my favorite bands to see live and they didn't disappoint, except in that they didn't play for very long. The show wasn't well promoted and not as many people were there, plus it being a work night for a lot of people, so perhaps they were disappointed in us, but we certainly loved it.

Last Wednesday, I headed off to Chicago for the annual SPEP meeting (Society for Phenomenology and Existential Philosophy). The opportunity was doubly awesome because I got to hang out with Collin and Emily who have an amazing apartment around Logan Square and a kitten that is just about the cutest, sassiest thing I have ever met. Arna was visiting at the same time and it was a really great time hanging out with them when I wasn't at the conference. I really, really loved Chicago, I think it's right on par with Toronto in terms of big cities that have the neighborhoody smallness and greenspace that distinguishes them from cities like New York that I just can't handle in the longterm. Housing was also remarkably cheap. Arna is moving there in January, so I have a feeling that with such a big Ithaca contingency out there, I will definately be frequenting.

The conference itself was very, very intense. The International Institute of Hermeneutics had a panel Thursday morning, so I was up bright and early to catch the train down there. I was instantly comfortable navigating around Chicago, they really make it easy despite the fact that the public transit is in rough shape and slow. There were a lot of people I recognized at the conference, various professors and students that I have run into in my various locations. Margherita was there with a group from Leuven, and though I wasn't able to hang out with her much it was really great to see her. I was able to have lunch with Sean, who's been a great support and example for me since that first class in phenomenology at UofT. He's one of the few academic role models that really inspires me with optimism and supports my ambition in the most positive way, and after feeling awkward all weekend in amongst all the scholars, it was really nice to spend some time with someone who's known me for a pretty long time, academically speaking.

One of the real highlights of the meeting was the SU graduate panel on Marion. Holly, Francis, Jill and Paul all presented papers on Marion's aesthetics, and it was really a great session. The audience asked great questions and brought up real points of interest, and I feel very fortunate to be a part of this department. I'm still having a hard time adjusting, but my admiration for the other graduate students makes me think that once I finally get my feet under me they'll push me in the best possible way. Here's a pic of all of us (plus some alumni and minus Francis, who took the picture, and Mark, who's somewhere to the bottom right):

On that front, I'm really struggling to catch up with the demands of paper-writing season. My first paper for Caputo was a disappointment to me, and I think looking down the barrel of the rest of the semester, I'm going to have to chalk this one up to a steep adjustment curve. The course work here is really demanding, there's a LOT of reading, and my inclination to really understand things makes me take longer with texts than I really should. I've never been good at skimming, and I'm not really inclined to get better at it. I think it's a false skill, and I resent advanced academia for making it necessary. My papers have always suffered from too wide a scope, but now I am particularly vulnerable, since the swath of at least two of my classes is really, really wide. Nonetheless, this is an opportunity to form a routine that will carry me through a graduate program that I will be in for a number of years, so I feel optimistic that I can do my best to salvage this semester and do better in the semesters that follow.

I'm trying really hard to adjust my attitude about falling short of my expectations, not only because my expectations are crazy, but also because I cannot continue to be so negative about myself and my work. My mental health and thus also my work suffer more from my self-flagellation than from anything else, and it's time to grow up. As Sean said, I need to learn how to play, and part of that is getting the business under control. Wish me luck, in a sense it's about letting go, and anyone who knows me knows how hard it is for me to let go of ANYTHING, let alone a pattern I've developed for nearly ten years.

I've also realized that a big part of my social anxiety and awkwardness has to do with how sensitive and introspective I am. I read and respond to people (well or badly) without even thinking about it, and so my behavior has a kind of unconscious spontaneity that makes me cringe when it goes wrong, even for years afterward. Paroxysms of shame eviscerate my interior peace and I end up seeking some external outlet just to distract myself from all that negativity, without rejecting it or dealing with it, and it's just another form of misplaced self-indulgence. I am, for better or worse, a painfully shy introvert, and though I need to continue to move outward, it can't be this forced kamikaze leap all the time. Now that I've spent a few years forcing myself out, I think I'm going to accept the fact that most of the time I'd rather be silent, and let my thoughts mature at their own pace. Hopefully between inside and outside, I can find a balance that will help me feel more resourceful, and increase the coherence of my contribution. I've only got a few more years before I will be teaching, and I'd like to be at peace by then, if at all possible.

Well, my sinuses have cleared, and my eyes aren't burning from fever anymore, so I should start reading. I hope everyone is well, and for the Americans, have a happy thanksgiving.

I freakin' love kitty pictures. I don't know what kind of cat this is, but if anyone reads Russian out there, PLEASE tell me a siberian tiger and a tabby got it on.

Be warned: This site is rated R for violence and nudity. The Russians are crazy.

Well, it's happened. I had an extended pang of nostalgia for Leuven today, and now I'm stewing in it. I received one of those bilingual emails from the university telling me my KULeuven email account will be shut down in 30 days if I don't re-register. Oh how I railed against that place, and the craziness that was studying there. But I miss it. Something about all that pomp and circumstance and the heavy weight of all that history put its impression on me, and now I suppose I just miss the atmosphere. I miss the people too, everything seems too quiet here. Nevermind that I haven't left my apartment very much in the last three days. The field somehow just seems too open, and even the slightest self-imposed structure feels like a shadow of what I just put myself through. The intensity of last year has paled everything after, and I find myself completely detached from my project(s) here. There's no sense of impending doom to force me into these petty debates that never decide anything. It's strange that switching to religion has only made me more acutely aware of the possible pointlessness of all this reading and writing. Is it strange? Or did everyone foresee that but me? I suppose it's what I wanted, at some level... nevertheless "I" am not up to speed.

There was a sadness this weekend. One of my mother's closest friends passed away, a woman I've known since I was very small. I look up to her. She seems to me to have had it all, beauty, grace, love, family ... everything. She's an example I will hold for the rest of my life.
Even though I haven't seen her in many years, I will miss her, and my heart goes out to her family.


Ah well, rainy day post.

Okay, everyone who's not bored or ridiculous, skip this part. If you don't have some reason to prioritize TOTALLY gratuitous pet footage, this is not for you. I'm determined to put it up though, since I spent 40 minutes trying to edit the thing. Anyway, here's Smokey rolling his girth around in some catnip:

He's a hostile bundle of love. We've got the night-biting down to a minimum though, which was necessary. For a while he was waking me up at 5am with his teeth. He never broke the skin or even bruised me, but that is not a nice way to wake up. I've cut him down to 2/3 cup of kibble a day (as you can see, he's very overweight and the only exercise he gets is jumping on my bed for a 6 hour nap) and it seems to run out around that time of the morning. So, I now sleep with a spritzer bottle under my pillow. He doesn't seem to like being sprayed in the face. It really only took two tries, which is encouraging. He's 10, so I can't have the wildest expectations, but there are some things that are pretty basic, like don't bite the hand the feeds you. Anyway, enough with that.

All you busy people can come back now, let's get down to business. My birthday was last Monday, which was a bit of a bummer, as I have class at 9:30 Tuesday morning. Nonetheless, I went home on Friday night and basically just reveled in the love (and booze) for three days. I love my friends, ya'll are awesome. Far and near, but it was particularly great to celebrate my birthday in Ithaca for a change. This time of year, for the last three, I've been getting to know new people and new places and I've been mostly alone, except for the wonderful 25th birthday party Andrew threw for me two years ago. I was looking at the framed picture Leah and Melissa gave me that year, sigh. Anyway, Sunday was the real celebration day, my Mom made pot roast with all the trimmings, and afterwards I hung with everyone at Madeleine's. So many people came, it was wonderful, all the more so since Amy just got back from her Boca trip.

The point is, you're all awesome. Thanks from the tips of my toes.

Academically everything is going rather swimmingly, despite the fact that I'm constantly shirking the full depth and breadth of my responsibility. It's not that I do nothing, I just don't take a solid shot at everything. A failure of motivation, as ever. Nonetheless, I am enjoying my classes, so let's have a rundown:

Tuesday I have Prof. Miller's Philosophical Foundations of Western Religion course, which I thoroughly enjoy. The level of discussion in these seminars is like nothing I've ever seen before, people actually talk and have evocative ideas. I try to contribute as best I can, but I still get shaky and discombobulated when I speak in class. This too shall pass. We're reading Plato, Plotinus, Origen, Gregory of Nyssa... those are the books on the shelf in front of me. We do weekly response papers which I remember from Prof. Steele's Boethius class last year. They're good to do, in the sense that exercising is good to do, but I still find myself gritting my teeth every Monday night. No pain, no gain. There's a pithy bit of traditional wisdom for everything.

Wednesday at 9am I have Prof. Caputo's Levinas and Deleuze class, we're reading (among other things) Totality and Infinity and Difference and Repetition. What's going to kill me in this course is the pace. I don't even have time to formulate questions before we're on to the next bit of text. Makes me feel like an idiot actually, but I think it's a matter of training. I need to brush up on my scan and summarize skills anyway.

For lunch on Wednesdays I am treated by the department, for the Master's seminar. Basically what happens is the new Masters students are given a paper to read in advance, and then the faculty member comes in and talks about it for an hour and a half or so. It's required, and I get lunch. Does it get any better? I don't know. The only problem of course is that I often fail to come up with good questions, which I am also required to do. Again, I shouldn't let the calming effect of food undermine my basic fear of public humiliation. Priorities.

On Thursdays I have Prof. Watts' Idea of Scripture class, which is my first up and down religion course. I have to cut down a sapling to print out all the readings each week, but overall I'm finding it really interesting. I still have no idea what I will write my paper on, but Dr. Watts assures me I still have time to think about it.

In other news I've been spending more time with the other graduate students. I actually sang karaoke the other night! A bad mishmashed version of Mr. Bojangles, but I did in fact "sing" and got a hug from a man that assured me I would find my voice, and had complimented me on my Bettie Page bangs. Ultimately, I think I win. Everyone in the department seems really great, once again, everything's coming up Cake.

I'm even getting a handle on my work, doing it several days in advance. I'm still taking too much time on it, not working smart but merely hard, but I'm sure eventually I'll get the hang of it.

At any rate, I miss all of you that aren't here. I hope all is well wherever you are.

Esse

Czeslaw Milosz

I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of metro
stations flew by; I didn't notice them. What can be done,
if our sight lacks absolute power to devour objects
ecstatically, in an instant, leaving nothing more than the
void of an ideal form, a sign like a hieroglyph simplified
from the drawing of an animal or bird? A slightly snub
nose, a high brow with sleekly brushed-back hair, the
line of the chin - but why isn't the power of sight
absolute? - and in a whiteness tinged with pink two
sculpted holes, containing a dark, lustrous lava. To
absorb that face but to have it simultaneiously against
the background of all spring boughs, walls, waves, in its
weeping, its laughter, moving it back fifteen years, or
ahead thirty. To have. It is not even a desire. Like a
butterfly, a fish, the stem of a plant, only more
mysterious. And so it befell me that after so many
attempts at naming the world, I am able only to repeat,
harping on one string, the highest, the unique avowel
beyond which no power can attain: I am, she is. Shout,
blow the trumpets, make thousands-strong marches,
leap, rend your clothing, repeating only: is!

She got out at Raspail. I was left behind with the
immensity of existing things. A sponge, suffering
because it cannot saturate itself; a river, suffering
because reflections of clouds and trees are not clouds
and trees.

from Uncollected Poems (1954-1969)

Ahh the blogosphere... I've been away for a while, but in a sense, this is something of a sideshow, and I will remind everyone that even the freaks need a hiatus now and then.

I've been moving around a lot. Ithaca, Pittsburgh, Rochester, Toronto, Long Island, Syracuse, all more or less in the span of three months and I am bone tired. It doesn't help that the Syracuse religion department throws you on your feet as soon as you step in the door, but of course it bears mentioning that they do everything I've never expected a department to do to support their graduate students. It literally feels like I just walked into someone's living room, and I'm supposed to find my place and contribute... An odd combination of hospitality and capture. That being said, life is good.

Let's begin at the beginning. Coming home was even more than my nostalgia made it out to be. I have a high capacity for idealization, as is readily apparent, still I failed to imagine what awaited me. Ithaca is one of those places that you're lucky enough to find, let alone be from. I actually get anxious trying to describe it, because it's so experiential. It's not anything I could list about Ithaca that would convey what it is, so of course my arsenal fails. I'm a great lister, I like modifiers. To put it in an utterly banal way, I'm recharged, ready to go.

Going back to Pittsburgh was a trip. I miss the people. It was great hanging out with everyone, catching up, one dollar pints of PBR. If you put a lime or a lemon in a PBR, it's a totally different beer. I thought I would miss the Belgian beer, and I do sometimes, but honestly it's all beer to me. I have a very utilitarian view of it. Don't get me wrong, Belgian beer is way better, but in the end I think I'd rather socially drink four beers than drink one too fast and pass out uttering strings of unintelligibles.

At any rate, Pittsburgh too is a special place, I wish it was closer so there could be a more ready exchange. People are doing exciting things and I miss being a part of the conversation. I can't handle the environmental factors though. The industrialization, pollution, lack of infrastructure, economic depression and terrible grocery offerings make me feel like I'm stooping all the time, avoiding blows and becoming bitter by the minute. Some people thrive in that atmosphere, but I'm a hippie at heart, I'd rather be surrounded by farms and relatively clean air.

Toronto was bittersweet. I will love the city until I die, but I have made a hostile atmosphere for myself in certain quarters and so the feeling of homelessness is dramatically exacerbated. Gotta deal. It's a big city, and all the things I love about it are still the same, thank god. Seeing a few really close friends made it more than worth it. I'll be going again soon for others I didn't get a chance to see.

The big event in Toronto, of course, warrants its own paragraph. Leah and Ian got married. It was unlike any wedding I've ever been to, though naturally when two creative and beautiful people get married, it's usually likewise beautiful and creative. Claire and Luke's wedding was also an event for the books, as it were. (I delight in American idiom, I defy anyone who says English isn't a philosophical language.) So Leah and Ian got married, literally surrounded in a many layered circle of family and friends, and everyone cried and was happy. Leah's vow was utterly beautiful in sentiment and her unique spirituality, and the whole ceremony had a kind of joyous solemnity about it. The food was good, the bar was open, and I have great pictures out in the ether. I'll post the pic of the David Niners here, it's good to store historical records in more than one place. Well, different pockets anyway.

(Tina, Leah, me, Melissa)

Coming to Syracuse was a many staged process, and I still don't feel completely here yet. But this is one of the milestones: getting back to a writing (and reading) routine. I am so far behind of any schedule I could propose for myself that there have already been a few hundred-meter dashes. I don't mind really. There's been a big shakeup in Ashleyland and I have to get back to full speed a few baby steps at a time.

Speaking of shakeup, I'm not the only one. Old Smokey has joined me from Grandma's house and twice (!) he was dropped, including once -- on his head -- by me. It took him a few days to do anything but hide, including eat or go to the bathroom, but now he's levelling out. I bought him some treats and accomodations and he's getting less nervous every day. He's discovered my bed, and now thinks it's his. It forces me to make my bed at any rate, and he's cute when he's sleeping. I got him this pink basket -- it was the only color they had -- with imitation sheep's wool as a bed, and put some catnip in it. Now it's like his girlfriend. He hardly even lays in it, just rolls around and talks, kneads it with his clawless paws. I'm sure the catnip is gone by now, it must be the association.

Meantime, I've been trying to get comfortable in the new place. My apartment is easy, it's just time and money. I love living alone. No demands, no one else to worry about ('cept Smokey), I leave the dishes as long as I want, I put everything where I can reach it, it's glorious. The department is a different story. Trying to find a place for myself in a tight-knit, highly congenial academic atmosphere -- in a different discipline -- is like coming in from the cold and getting dirty snow on someone's authentic persian rug. It's unnerving to misread situations here. I put my foot in my mouth on a daily basis. I think it's part and parcel with my social anxiety: it's relatively assured that I will make an ass of myself as soon as I get comfortable. I'm far too forthcoming with half-baked speculations and sentimental excess. My friends accept this about me, even if they're not consciously aware of it. Friends are rare, I try to keep them, but I'm not awesome at it.

I think I'll end it there. It's time to figure out what to do next. I wrote a paper and gave a presentation last night and this afternoon, so I'm taking the rest of the day off reading and writing. I need to put pictures and mirrors up, and generally get this place in working shape.

I hope everyone is well.

Cake

Well, it's all over. In an hour and 19 minutes I'll head to the station and get on a train, three planes and then I'll be home. Unbelieveable. I did really well here, which I didn't expect. Proclamation yesterday was totally absurd, but also incredibly fun. Huge buffet, free booze (of course) and all the faculty that wouldn't talk to you the whole year suddenly clap you on the back and offer their congratulations. Marianne, Shane and I warmed up at my place with a bottle of Maker's Mark, which made the standing and waiting a lot easier. We were all pretty nervous, so we drank the rest of our bottle in the hall as they started to read out the Flemmish graduates. It was glorious when we heard our names, just glorious. Rocky made a speech with his usual wit and harried charm, he's one of the ones I'm really going to miss, even though we never really hung out. We didn't stick around for the rest of it, there was celebrating to do and "solemn" proclamations frown on hoopin' and hollerin'. In a truly bizarre moment, the string quartet played U2's "One" during one of the segues. This place is a trip.

Then we went and got our grades. I did so well on my thesis I had to sit down for a minute. I never thought I would do that well, but I worked damn hard, so it feels good. REALLY good.
I'm done here, and though I am certainly mangled, I think once everything heals I'll be just a little more solid than I have been. Marianne's going to the London School of Economics (where allegedly they have Bentham's head rolled out for meetings), Shane's going to Fordham (I'm insanely jealous) and I'm going to Syracuse, which I think may finally be my Shangri La. I am so proud of us, we did so well and it was such hard work.

Of course when the party thinned we all went to Libertad. To be honest, I don't remember much, but there was lots of laughing and hugging even though everybody was also a little sad. Apparently I took lots of pictures, so I'll post those soon. Everything's changing for most of us. I'm looking forward to my transition, I can't wait to be home, but I'm sure I'll get a little weepy on the plane.

Anyway, life is good. I'll see all of you stateside.


A.D.C. Cake, M.A.

I'm always talking about how I love feature length animated movies. One of the best guys out there is Brad Bird (the Iron Giant, the Incredibles) and this is a super awesome video tour of his work (via Boing Boing and Slate).

For all you Husserlians out there, I think this is pretty cool:

Sense of touch is crucial for empathy

Well, I'm leaving in two days. Of course it doesn't seem real, but my room is almost all packed. I've been walking around for weeks taking mental pictures, as soon as my camera charges up I'll put some of that in Jpeg. For now, I'm just enjoying being lazy, going to the happy place twice a day (pictures to follow as soon as Hemain gets off his duff) and generally not doing anything but pack and smoke and read and mess around on the internet.

Things I will miss:

1) The food. It doesn't get any fresher, though it's damned expensive.
2) The clothes. Fashion here is just so much better.
3) Rainy day sunshine. It thunderstormed three times yesterday, and you can just wait it out. The sunshine always reappears in ten minutes or so.
4) The architecture. The Stadhuis never gets old, neither do the backs of monastaries.
5) The beer. It makes me sick, unfortunately, but I don't think I'll ever enjoy any other beer after being here.
6) The Institute. Don't get me wrong, I don't ever want to study here again, but it's still a beautiful and eminent place. Nostalgia will ensue as soon as I get some distance.
7) The people. This should really be number one, but as I didn't really seem to mix with that many Europeans (with notable exceptions whom I will miss immensely) I hope to see most of my North American friends on the other side.
8) The markets. There's nothing like olive bread, theekoekes, fresh produce and aubergine spread. Not to mention americanos with Marianne on Fridays.
9) The Jimi thing. No I don't mean Dave Matthews. And that brings us to...
10) Maastricht. Besides Ithaca and Toronto, I've never loved another geographical space so much. I will live there someday, yes I will.
11) The chicken shack. I can't spell or pronounce the Dutch name. Stav, you make great chicken. I'm going back to being mostly vegan when I get back, so I think I'll have to eviscerate another poultry before I leave.
12) The smell. Leuven is a small place with a lot of food and greenery. Mixed with passing rainstorms and world cuisine, it just smells good all the time. Nevermind car exhaust, I try to stear clear of the thoroughfares.
13) Sidewalk culture. The Oude Markt booms with jovial voices whenever it's not totally freezing outside.
14) The concerts. Sooo much better than in the States. The acts come on like clockwork, the venues are small, beautiful and more or less affordable. Plus EVERYONE comes through here. I saw Badly Drawn Boy, The Decemberists, Sparklehorse, The Album Leaf, Sonic Youth, Do Make Say Think and Tortoise here and in Brussels. There were tons more I wanted to see, but you know... gotta make choices. Chris and Marianne went to see Motley Crue, which still strikes me as fabulous.
15) Copyright lassitude. These people don't bat an eyelash when you photocopy a whole book. Look, I'm a student. If I can't pirate, I can't do all the things I'm capable of doing. Besides, I more than make up for what I don't pay in word-of-mouth advertising if I like something.
16) The languages. I think this would be higher up on the list if I wasn't so utterly embarrassed by the failings of my American education. Yes, federal government, I'm pointing at you. There are a lot of other reasons too, but it really seems that it's a total liability to be an American academic in the Continental field. I still can't utter a sentence in Dutch. My French is only slightly improved in terms of reading comprehension (I got to put that sweet line in my thesis that "all English translations of this work are mine," but really I was just showing off and moreover couldn't ignore the source).
17) Erasmus. Mieke, Bart and Harry have been very good to me this year. Mieke never judges me when I ask for two coffees at once. I think she's possibly the best server I've ever witnessed in action.
18) Smoking in bars. I know, I know, but it's nice for smokers.

I'll add more later. I have to go drop stuff off at the dump.

I'm done. It went well, I "defended" myself. And I'm done.

Ummm... I agree with Pat Buchanan, what does this mean? Moreover, I picked this article from American Leftist.

On the escalator to War With Iran

You will not believe this. If the "gay bomb" was seriously considered as a non-lethal weapon... do we laugh? do we cry? do we resort to lethal weapons? I got this from the "queen of media" Perez Hilton.

Pentagon Confirms it Sought to Make a "Gay Bomb"

Also: Requiescat in pacem.

Mr. Wizard died today, he was 90. I have fond memories of childhood science because of his show, he will be missed.

There are all sorts of reasons why I shouldn't be allowed to write blogs in the middle of the night, least of all when I'm indulging some demonic wish to make myself tired tomorrow simply because I can. I finished my exam paper for Bernet today, so that's the last major piece of writing I have to do in Belgium. Things slow down a little from here, which is just good in every possible way. I need a break, I won't get a real one until the exams (only 2) and the thesis defense are over, plus I have this book profile that I was given to do almost a year ago and should have been done months and months before now. Such is the nature of things, I'm done beating myself up over it. I made a schedule and it's getting done on time, what more can be expected of me shall not be mentioned.

All this being said, I am writing a blog whether it's a good idea or not, because I have stories to tell that are already late (see above forfeiture of self-upbraiding). Number one, H.A. Nethery came to visit me. He came at what others might think was a bad time, but honestly, I don't know if I would have made it through those 9 excruciating days without him. With grace, insight and generosity -- as is his natural disposition, which I maintain against his irrepressible modesty -- he read the entire damn thing and commented on every page. He even sat through verbal rehearsals of my intro and conclusion, and without that interlocution I think my thesis would have suffered from the inevitable pitfalls of my otherwise self-enclosed ideality (for any Kierkegaard readers out there, is this enclosing reserve? or am I still just a depthless aesthete?)
He fit in Europe like a hand in a glove, though I think the likes of him should take up residence in Berlin or Prague. Leuven is many things, but it is not cool. I won't rant, but let's just say metal shirts, tattoos and mirrored aviators were like a breath of free air in this stifling sea of sameness. [Too much alliteration? Maybe. I found a note to self in the submitted version of my thesis. In the introduction, no less. It reads "Put something else in here." Dave drew my attention to the Freudian connotation, no further comments needed.]

Second on the list was the Kierkegaard weekend, hosted by my promoter, Paul Cruysberghs at his sister's summer house in Trou de Bra, a gorgeous hilly region in Wallonia. The house was the presbytery of a church (congregation 15) and between the church and the presbytery -- where I was sleeping -- is a hugely elaborate grotto immitating in its way the grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes, but with a touch of Belgian nationalism and ostentatious (gold) kitsch. I was struck by it, and a little afraid. Religious zealotry has always given me pause, which is not to say I think its irredeemable.
There were ten of us, 6 grad students and 4 others, some professors, a priest, and an author by the name of Sarah Miano, who wrote Encyclopedia of Snow which I remember being recommended to me a while ago. It was really a very intense weekend. Kierkegaard by day, drinking and talking and chess at night, it was a little strange, and I had trouble adjusting at first, but Margherita was there, and Viktor as well, so it didn't take me long to get over my incredulousness and join in to the best of my ability. I can't drink like these Europeans though, so much is certain.
The Sickness Unto Death is a brilliant little book. It's little and huge at the same time. So direct, like a doctor giving a diagnosis to another doctor. Reading Kierkegaard seems to be all about preparation. You have to prepare yourself to understand him, no matter how obscure he seems at times. It's like you have to will that it makes sense, and then suddenly you're standing naked before everyone who's ever read this text. His descriptions are profound multi-layered distillations of religious, philosophical and psychological experience and there seems to be nothing that escapes his tireless, even obsessive insight. He was a force of nature, and I stagger to think that I have just submitted a commentary that pairs him with Lacan, who, in his way, has the same kind of power.

I am driveling. Was there something else? Not that I can think of. And so, photos:



Yay! Blogspot fixed the photo formatting!! Cut and paste freedom! This is H.A. and I, doing what we do best in the Blauwe Kater. Nevermind why I'm holding the candle, that beer was 11.5%.


My friends Dave and Astrid that same night. Dave is the one I play MarioKart with, his company is always refreshing, even Arnis notices. As it turns out I just tuned into the HTML obviousness, so it wasn't Blogspot's problem at all.

There are many, many reasons why I love Maastricht, but this is just one. From what we can muddle out of the faded Dutch inscription, a guy was there on that bridge for 70 years, somehow distributing cigarettes to the townsfolk. Statues, like time capsules right out in the open. I wish we had more in the States.
This, is another. It's a bizarre installation in an old zoo cage, in the middle of the municipal park. I touched it up in snipshot.com because it was horribly washed out, it didn't come out of the camera this way. As it turns out the oscillation between html editing and "compose"ing is still a pain, so Blogspot's back in the fire of my frustration.
and H.A. and Charles on the platform in Liege. Charles and I had turned in our theses that day, so we all went to Maastricht. God how I love that place, nothing but escape and celebration. If I make it through my PhD I think I'm going to apply for a post-doc in Maastricht. Somehow, some way, I will live there someday. Does it rhyme? Good, now I have a mantra.

Okay... tired. It's ridiculously late for me. I will forego the alarm, just because I can.

Love,

Cakes

People of the world, I have finished my thesis. I think in many ways I am a changed person. It may seem grandiose and bombastic of me, and despite my proclivity for such tones, there are now 89 pages worth of commentary in the world that weren't there before. I wrote them, interspersed heavily with rephrasings and blockquotes. I could tell you how I've changed, but that might be too much. As it turns out, over-determination is just the noisy road to despair. I think perhaps that's not my preferred route, despite the fact that it will take me time to remember why and how to go about avoiding it.

I cannot remember being this tired, and certainly not for such a sustained period. I still have so much work to do. It's bizarre, really. I think I may get 4 days to pack at the end, but the day before I leave is the all-encompassing "proclamation," which it makes me laugh to think about. Oh, the pomposity. They will call my name, and then they will "proclaim" on what scale I have been lauded. A more ridiculous social gathering I cannot imagine, all of which is ameliorated by the fact that it is simultaneously a BBQ. It's like the twilight zone here. Or maybe I'm just looking out of the psychedelic lenses that being this tired and this overwhelmed by the all-important mystery of their expectations have given me. Un-freakin-believable. I better be unconsciously psychic, that's the only way I'll make it out of here without being mangled.

All the more so, let me say that I am looking forward to spending the weekend with my promotor (Dr. Paul Cruysberghs) and a dozen other graduate students for the purpose of examining The Sickness Unto Death. Apparently Dr. Cruysberghs does something like this every year. We're going to a cottage and we're going to read Kierkegaard, all weekend.

I gotta go be outside for a while ... even though it's raining.

Lates!

Cakes

Again through Boing Boing, this is really simple and powerful. An art professor at the Art Institute in Chicago, who's Iraqi, locks himself in a room and lets people shoot him with a paintball gun through the internet. Momento the human.

Interview with Wafaa Bilal
by Brian Boyko

Mr. Boyko makes a point about dehumanization in IT, but after thinking about the more deadly connotations, that sounds a bit nerdy. Granted, it is from "the network performance authority."

Once again, I found a cool thing at Boing Boing. I have to resist the temptation just to repost everything they post, so awesome are the peeps over there. For some reason I've always been interested in the regional differences that seem to crop up in the terminology for carbonated beverages, and once again, the omniscient virtual realm has provided neatly organized answers to my questions. Alan McConchie is responsible for this, and you can look at the info and contribute to the information via his survey.

Yesterday I had the very fortunate experience of travelling to one of my favorite places of all time (Maastricht, NL) to attend a very small and intense conference on freedom in Psychoanalysis. It was held at the Jan Van Eyck Academie which seems to be a small group of independent artists and scholars who do what they do and then host lots of cultural and academic events. It was a really great day, I was all aquiver with new information and they provided lunch! I wasn't confident enough to say anything, but talking to some of the scholars I think Lacan's interpretation of Kierkegaard indicates the way the modern paradigm is forced to conceive human freedom negatively in terms of our freedom to die/defy the law. It is certainly the case that Adam's freedom in the garden is limited to the possibility of sin, which is of course unlimited, but once he takes that "qualitative leap" and eats of the fruit, we're all condemned to that distance from God that allows us to rattle around anxiously and do all kinds of things that seem contrary to nature. This is the account Haufniensis gives in The Concept of Anxiety anyway. I think that this corresponds to the distance that the symbolic order (language etc.) gives us from Lacan's sense of the Real, as an utterly meaningless transcendent element we need protection from. So says Lacan, the dilemma is now: "Your Freedom or your Life." You can be free, but that means giving up everything that makes your life meaningful.
Yee ha!

This is just plain cool.... A 2,100 year old computer. The picture above is of course only a replica. The original spent two millenia at the bottom of the ocean.

Hilarious! I think our paranoia is getting the better of us? Not to mention a bizarre degree of cultural isolation.

Wireless spy coin was just a Canadian poppy coin

AND, I found this through BoingBoing and now I'm totally hooked on Bibliodyssey, such amazing stuff goes up there, even though pk insists he's very busy. Some people can do it all... I thought of Phoebe when I saw these skull people.

I found this following a mention of Borges' Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius. Xul Solar was an Argentinian "everythingologist" and this link leads to an incredibly beautiful blog (and what looks like a very fantastic blog) post by misteraitch.

I may die of happiness looking at these pictures...

Crying Sumo, because crying is good for babies.

Oh man, so I realize that my last substantial post was not only a month ago, but also slightly manic, so let's do something a little more mellow.

The big news lately is that I got into Syracuse, so I'll be a religion scholar in the fall. Moreover I will be a religion scholar in central New York, which just makes me loads of happy.

Phoebe and Dom were here for two weeks, and I loved having them here. It was like being at home in Leuven, which doesn't always feel like home. The weather was just unbelievably fantastic, and has remained so. I know it can't be good for the farmers (cf. NYT report), but it hasn't rained in like a month and the sky is always blue and the sun bakes you but it's still sweater weather in the shade... totally ideal, has done wonders for my disposition. We went to Namur and I fell asleep in the grass on top of the fort-embarkment (BOMBARDMENT!!) thing. We played hot dice and had a picnic, it was totally dreamy. I couldn't believe it worked with the three of us in this room, but it was so much fun, and recharged my batteries, I was totally de-stressed when they left.

Nevermind that I got into the program of my dreams and am moving within mere hours of my family and a great many of my friends for what might actually be slightly longer than ten months; when I first found out it felt like a ton of bricks lowered onto my chest. That's just the way this shit runs with me, I have to put myself under enormous pressure just to compensate for the fact that I really freaking hate the work sometimes. But I love it just as much, so lately I've just been trying to relax and have a good time. For crying out loud I've been buried in this poop for what seems like years now and I can't writing anything intelligent?! It's ridiculous. So now I just write, everyday... I would connect this up with Lacan's logical time if I had the details at my fingerprints (sic), I'm almost positive it's related somehow. Psychoanalysis is fun.

So... I got locked onto private property with a friend (Charles) the other night. We tried to scale walls and jump spikey fences, but anyone who knows me knows I'm going to be one of the first to die if all hell breaks loose... I can't jump a fence to save my own life. So we ended up wandering into an old folks home (which was peripherally locked down like Alcatraz) and surprised one of the nurses, who threatened to call the police, even though I think she could tell we were just silly kids. It was all very weird, but we laughed a lot at the pure absurdity of it.

Yesterday my Dad went to look at a place in Syracuse for me, and signed the lease! I officially have a place to live, and John the Dad says it's by far the nicest place I've ever had. I will be living alone (with my geriatric cat Smokey, who's been in the custody of my Grandma Susie up until now), I have a dishwasher, two porches, a big living room and a bedroom, gas range, hardwood floors.... Oh it is just going to be .... I'm going to live like a human being!!! I'm so excited I'm totally beside myself. I've recognized in the last few years that I'm not the most well-balanced person upstairs, so I need my ground conditions to be as normal and low stress as possible. Alas this calls an end to my globe-trotting, but honestly, I'm sure I'm going to do a lot of travelling in my life, and what seems more important now is just to get some kind of home base established that isn't my Mother's house (beautiful and idyllic as it is). Having Smokey around will also make me happy, despite the fact that he's completely neurotic and defensive. I'm the perfect person to love a cat like that I think, I understand....

Today everything is closed in Leuven, it's some kind of holiday. No class, no library, so I have to self-motivate (argh) and finish my second chapter on schedule today. I've become totally obsessed with Bloglines, which just makes my surfing day so much easier, and you get all kinds of weird stuff if you sign up for the right feeds. Boing Boing is my new favorite, so upbeat, so weird and interesting.... I also get daily doses of celebrity gossip, which is another new passion, though I am so sick of freaking Lindsey Lohan and her idiocy it makes me want to vomit. Plus I can subscribe to all my friends' blogs and get daily updates (though I have noticed that everyone except Dana hasn't been updating their blogs... hint hint... not like I'm one to talk). I love the interwebs... Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy just posted a new entry on cognitive science, which is a really interesting (though excessively nerdy) read. Also, Charles introduced me to this internet radio program called Philosophy Talk, which despite the fact that it's almost all Analytic/History of Philosophy stuff, seems pretty awesome.

Mmmm, linky. Me and that hyperlink button are getting to be good friends... Have I mentioned that I love the interwebs? Well, I also love photos, so for those of you who are too lazy to surf to my flickr page, here are some snaps from the Dom and Phoebe vacay:

Nevermind how long that took to format... Blogspot needs to come up with some better way of dealing with photos, this is ridic. Also, just for added bonus, here's a video I took of some folk dancing (Ukrainian maybe?) that happened in Leuven one of the days Phoebes and Doms were here:




In other news, freaking NETHERY is coming on the 20th of May! I'm so excited I might pee my pants. Since he's coming nine days before my thesis is due, he's promised to read the whole thing and proof it for me. Having another nerd around is great, nevermind that he's a phenomenology nerd. It's just going to be awesome.

Anyway, that self-motivation thing needs to start happening, so I better stop with the internet stuff.

Toodles!

Cake

For those of you who haven't harvested this from NYT or Daily Kos... I'm getting all into the bloglines thing now, so convenient!

Food, money, government, politics, immigration... one big happy mess. Very important (and well written):

You Are What You Grow

Oh my God! (I just finished reading A Confederacy of Dunces, which I HIGHLY recommend, esp. if you're a Boethius fan) I'm in a good mood by some miracle of self-delusion, so I thought I'd write a blog while the sun holds out. The sun has, in point of fact, been in Belgium for the last week, though it's a bit gloomy today, so who knows what blessings are in store.

I alternate these days between a serious mental breakdown (a la last night) and a sort of elated nervous energy that keeps my head bopping to some inner music that I'm sure is just my prefrontal cortex malfunctioning again for the sake of the whole. Undoubtedly it's doing me a favor, but I really wish I could just FOCUS once in a while.

I've also somehow been completely unable to handle group situations on a mental level, so with the exception of a birthday, I've been trying to keep it to a one-on-one basis. Marianne, as always, is keeping me sane with a constant stream of encouragement, and I think if she wasn't here I would just roll into a fetal position and wait for it all to be over. I STILL haven't gotten my Kant grade, which shows up as a problematic withdrawal on my transcript, but other than a vague foreboding I have no real problem with that.

Random thoughts abound, but I'm counting the days until Phoebe and Dom get here. The pressure is on, but if I meet it I can just relax for a bit while they're here. It's going to be so great to see them, I think I might just pee my pants in anticipation.

Speaking of anticipation, I finally switched my flight and I will now be landing back in the motherland at 11:46pm on July the 6th! It seems a long way away, but I can't believe how fast the time is going, so undoubtedly I will be thunderstruck when I finally get on that plane. I miss home, there's no question there, and my summer is going to be crazy, what with all the reunions and moving shit and weddings and kissing all the inanimate objects that will never appreciate my affection. If they find my lifeless body in the gorge, don't suspect that I intended to end it all, the falls will have just rejected my effusive displays.

Spin spin spin... In other news I'm now on Facebook, which I still think is crap compared to Myspace, but there are elusive characters on there I can't find elsewhere (like TINA!! And Ashley Johnson, which is really just crazy!). So if you're on there and reading this and I don't have you as a friend yet, search me up. I still don't understand how the network functions work, so don't look for me that way. Here's a link to my profile, though I'm not sure it works the same way as Myspace in terms of linking in.

Love and stuff!

Cake

It's all about the middle way...

Alright, let's try a morning post, since I need some sort of exercise to extricate me from the womb-like oblivion of sleep.

Things are well in Belgium. I am somehow entering a new "ethical" phase wherein I floss every night, go to the gym, go to bed at 11, get up at 8 and clean my room whenever it's dirty. I spend about 10 hours a day working, though of course that's never enough, and I'm beginning to think that perhaps, at some point, I can stop spinning my wheels and actually get some traction in what is certainly not mud, but maybe something like dirty ice.

I am learning that, up until this point, I have been operating on a "gut" level. It's only luck that has gotten me this far, and perhaps a bit of talent, but it has become painfully evident that such a haphazard approach (totally lacking in concrete method) is completely inadequate for my present circumstances. That certainly doesn't mean that I am in the midst of concretizing some kind of method, but at least I am compensating for the fact that such a lack requires a great deal of time in order to accomplish the same effect.

This all has something to do with the fact that it takes a great deal of repetition in order for something to emerge as an actual "production." Which of course relates to my thesis, though I am as yet undecided whether what is necessary is the kind of divine intervention that a religious thinker would advocate, or if in some sense I just need a real, human (perhaps trained) interlocutor. The benefits of analysis are certainly something I have advocated in the past, but somehow I haven't gotten off my ass to find a therapist here. I settle for good conversations with friends, a proliferation of writing and self-analysis that may only be miring me deeper in my spinning self-involvement. If you can make any sense of it, I think the Lacanian diagram below expresses something of what I'm talking about. I made it in paint, so please ignore the fact that it looks like a vagina. That particular entendre was imposed on me by the crapiness of the program.

In the world outside, I am delighted that Dom and Phoebe are coming for my Easter break, which necessitates a much needed renovation of my room setup. I have ideas that I think will be pure genius as long as my sense of measurement does not turn out to be wildly imprecise. What this also means is that I have to get a rough draft of my thesis in by then, which is going to be a hard crush, but I'm working steadily and I haven't yet despaired of the possibility.

I've also taken up a crafty hobby, which I learned from my Grandma Susie (whom I will have to call very soon for help). I'm doing a very fine cross-stitch rose on an off-white background. It's hard and meticulous work, but I get to wear my glasses and listen to NPR and feel a little retired. It's also an activity that I can do to stay within these four walls and be content, taking down time that doesn't involve money or several hours. I've drastically reduced my socialization, so being able to be alone and challenged is very important for my mental health.

At any rate, it's time to get ready for class. Monday is my big day, I have two classes spanning 11am to 5pm, which is really not that bad, but I'm pretty burned out by the end. Tonight I re-read the Husserl that Prof. Bernet has assigned us. We're doing Husserl and Heidegger on the body, which promises to be very instructive despite the fact that our class is at 9am on Tuesdays and held in the coldest, most uncomfortable (but prettiest) lecture hall of the Institute.

Ta ta for now,

Ashley

Technology "saves" us again...

Totally different tone than yesterday, never fear...

Praise be to the powers beyond me, I passed dread logic! A beautiful, precious 10 awaited me today when I literally RAN to the office to get my grades. I have never been so happy about a 50% in my life. Don't poopoo, you logic-heads, this is not my tune and I am not a fantastic dancer even when it is. I'm just happy I don't ever have to get back on that floor again. I am brimming over with gratitude and humility.


As far as my other grades go, I did pretty well. The only one I was dissappointed with was my Malebranche grade, which I thought I had done better on, but Breeur has notoriously high expectations and I still did well enough that it doesn't cramp my style, so I am likewise grateful. I haven't gotten my Kant grade yet because Prof. Moors has been indisposed, but I'm not overly worried about it, that's another exam I'll be happy to pass. Anything above a 10 will be a thrill.

Marianne and I celebrated our personal victories over big shots of Jameson, and I am feeling loose and happy for my afternoon Husserl readings. Tomorrow I will probably descend into a pit of despair once again over my thesis, but at least I'll have the whole day to dredge my way along. I love only having class two days, at least it feels like I have a lot of time to schedule for myself, which is perhaps a dangerous illusion but also a serious advantage.

Anyway... WAHOOO!

Well... as my Maman pointed out, I have been neglecting my little space here on the wide open web. Things have been crazy since... well, I'm certainly not counting the days anymore.

Highlights include: a lovely visit from my Father and Julie and the girls (pictures to follow). We generally just ran around, there wasn't much of a plan, but we went to Brussels and Luxembourg, which was beautiful. It was nice having Maddie and Sophie around for a little while, even though they drove me batty sometimes. I haven't been used to the pitter patter of little feet for a long time, and I forgot how much fun kids can be. We played a lot of cards and ate a lot of ice cream, as well as negotiated the inside of the Atomium, which was a trip in itself. Overall it was just nice to see some faces from home, spend a little time with my Dad and show everyone around.

After the fam left, it was a matter of work, work, work. Which I will say is weighing on me. I'm trying to teach myself French in a super hurry, so I can really participate in an informal seminar that Moyaert is giving (and I somehow ended up organizing). We'll see how that goes. I'm also anxiously awaiting my grades for the first semester. I've come to the conclusion that it doesn't matter how well I think I did on (some of) my exams, I'm sure I'm in for some humbling. I worked hard, but that's no guarantee. I had no idea what I was doing with these oral exams, and I can still hear the missed questions in my head: "delectations of grace", "matter in motion", and the worst of all: "repetition is the result of a double reference within the network of signifiers to an extraneous element which has intruded into the mental economy of the subject." Hard, hard reality. I won't even mention my thesis, which has imploded so many times I don't think it will ever stand on its own. I'm sure I've felt this way before, but I haven't built up any callouses that I can count on. The best I can do is clean off my desk and start again. There's a disconnect somewhere, but I don't know where it is or how to pull everything back together, I'm just waiting for the world to turn a little further, and maybe everything will be fine.

Same sad old story.

Musically, I've been seeing a lot of shows. I saw the Decemberists at the Orangerie, which was lovely except for the fact that my new boots (not a small selfish joy in my life) were hurting me and I had to leave after the first encore and sit down. Similarly, I saw Tortoise Saturday night at the Depot, and they were great, but I left after an hour because I've come down with this flu that's been spreading like widlfire all over Leuven. Even my tobacconist is sick.

Anyway, I'm tired, but I'm sure I will talk to most of you soon.

Love,

Cake

The horrible nightmare is over... maybe.

I did well (I think) on my Malebranche exam, I missed the part about "delectations of Grace", which was a stupid point to miss, but I did well on natural judgment and he read my essay while nodding his head consistently. I also got his trick question, which I had been generally warned about, so hopefully I did okay.

Dread, horrible, gut-wrenching LOGIC on the other hand, I'll be lucky if I passed. I took it this morning, with the beginning sense that I had worked hard (flash-cards and everything) and that I was basically prepared. The damn test was only two pages long! I know I got the first question right, but the rest might have been uber crap. I totally missed a lot of the rules for proofs, so I don't think any of them were right, except maybe one or two individual lines. Almost everyone took the full 2 and a half hours, and I feel a little sick now thinking that I might have to retake it. People are in the process of assuring me that this is how a lot of people felt after the exam, and they did fine. I just suck really hard at memorizing things, and for the life of me the big picture does not make sense, so please God let me pass. I'd settle for a 10 or a 9, just don't make me retake it. I just keep muttering to myself and shaking my head: HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE nightmare.

So now the task is to shake off the massive blow to confidence that I've just sustained and try to relax a little before my Dad et. al. arrive on Sunday. I need a freakin' break. I am not going to read a damn book or write a goddamn sentence. The thesis can wait, I am pooping TIRED. In that line, my only plan is to do a whole lot of socializing and sleeping.

Horrible, horrible nightmare. But it's over.