Words words words...(and video clips)

2011-10-09T16:41:00.001-04:00

Testing for mobile compatibility.

2010-05-21T02:10:00.002-04:00

There are some great leaders that are just a joy to behold, I think His Holiness is one of those. He just goes around with his big shoes and his sparkly eyes, speaking truth in a world gone half-crazy... I could eat this picture for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

His Holiness Dalai Lama listens as cellist Michael Fitzpatrick plays as he enters the stage to speak at the Canseco Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, Friday, May 14th, 2010. (AP Photo/Michael Conroy)

2010-04-05T22:50:00.003-04:00

Again, a wonderful piece linked on Racialicious about bodies being together, affective conversion and heightened political consciousness:

Curate

“Happiness and Queer Politics”
Sara Ahmed

2010-04-04T12:04:00.003-04:00

Since I'm not really participating in Facebook for the moment, this blog is going to experience a resurgence in "that's neat!" posts. Here's a bit of optimism that made me feel better about today:

The Impact of the Internet on Institutions in the Future

by Janna Anderson, Lee Rainie

Mar 31, 2010

via boingboing

2010-04-04T09:57:00.004-04:00

Lately I've found that my skin has grown too thin to participate in the conversation going on in my internet communities. This presents a particular problem for me, given that I place so much emphasis on the ability to talk with people, understand their viewpoint and express my own. I hardly ever have specific aims for such conversations, although they are usually precipitated by some offense committed on either side, and in this case, a particularly painful conversation took place on Facebook catalyzed by some of my friends' gross and hateful simplifications of "religion" as an ignorant, malevolent and destructive phenomenon in human life. The generality of these characterizations is what motivated my critique, and I tried to point out the way such reductions are themselves destructive, malevolent and ignorant. What I was really responding to was the hatefulness, the readiness to express such caricatures as a way of putting people down, especially people my friends haven't met. I posted my opposition on an academic point, but as I continued to fight for this perspective, I realized that this was really an emotionally motivated discussion, and that I was defending not "religion" (as so many of my friends wanted to characterize my position) but the loving religious people who brought me up and taught me about the value of loving public service, social justice and compassionate care. That kind of fight will always overflow whatever academic point I decide to make, and I realized that despite the fact that people claimed not to be talking about those "good" religious people, there wasn't anything I could say that would convince them that their discourse was hurtful to people I love very much, not least myself of course. Maybe there isn't anything I can say that would make my friends think twice about expressing themselves that way. When I have intimations that this might be true, my hope dies a quiet, whimpering death.

Today is Easter, and I've been on a Facebook fast this whole week because of the heartbreak I experienced during that conversation and in people's status updates to the same effect. I thought maybe I would login today, check my events and just browse around, feeling stronger and more open than last week. The first post I see, unfortunately, was from a friend whose company I once very much enjoyed but haven't seen in a bunch of years, and don't feel particularly close to anymore. She writes: "'jesus' was a chump and all you god loving idiots can just go ahead and delete me." Now, this person is intelligent, creative and has worked her world in a way that is both admirable and inspiring. I know that if she could see my tears she would feel bad on some level about writing that, but I can't bring myself to comment on her post. I DO want to delete her, just so I never have to read something like that ever again, but I recognize that to do so would be simply an act of avoidance. I can't walk away from everyone who hurts my feelings, or insults people I love. I can't disengage from friends just because they don't understand or appreciate my sense of the world, but I also don't feel that I can really engage these sentiments either. I find myself feeling like a bit of a martyr, suffering my friends' animosity in silence. Nobody understands my particular religious experience, it's not part of their image of what "religion" is. If I try to explain that I have a religious framework that fits pretty well into most humanist discourses, I'm still a "god-loving idiot" and in the manner so similar to narrow-minded missionaries who pray that I come to their particular salvation, I know that my friends simply hope that I will eventually come to my senses. If I suffer these insults in silence, aren't I doing the same thing? Is there a way to force them to respect my experiences, even if I don't think that my particular orientation is really explainable, let alone that someone could "convert" to my view?

It's so painful, I don't even know if I could talk to this particular person without devolving into an emotional puddle. For the moment, Facebook remains a little too much, my "public" is kicking me while I'm down, and I crave that open loving space that I find with others who think like me. A precious few, to be sure, and I worry about the elitism and isolation that comes with retreating to an ideological shelter. The challenges of diversity are real, and heartbreak is among the worst dangers in my particular universe right now. I love these people, and they break my heart. Such is life I suppose, I'm no stranger to it, but I've always resisted the notion that I had to break with people once they broke my heart, and distance doesn't seem much better. It's just more isolation, more loneliness, more misunderstanding. At least for the time being, I have to enclose myself a little, stop being out there so much, stop listening for a while because I can't really take it and the temptation to cynicism and ideological extremes is knocking at my door. I have to believe that this is just a provisional break, a purposive fast from public discourse, and that something will come from somewhere that will give me the strength and the confidence to listen to my friends without taking what they say so personally. Among my many "religious" convictions, I've had my rabid atheist friends point out that I believe without reason or justification that conflict and pain are both temporary and instructive, that much can be gained through suffering and loss, and that these experiences are all the more beautiful for that. If I can remain unapologetic in that view, maybe read a little Dostoevsky and remember all the wonderful things these friends have said and done in the long course of our friendships, I think I might be fine. God help me.

2010-02-10T09:51:00.001-05:00

This is a teaser, but someday I'm going to use this song as the basis for a lecture on "full speech" and "true speech":

2010-02-01T22:46:00.003-05:00

Working out the implications of wordiness... It's not really the words that are the problem. Somehow I'm able to preserve that faith in myself that really I'm using all these words to pretty good advantage. I make a comfortable (if ever tenuous) living, people that I admire and respect admire and respect me, I'm able to negotiate the various minor complications the world throws me into. What's the problem?

The hunter Gracchus is 1,500 years old, eternally boatridden by a cruel dysfunction of death and a young man happens upon him. The young man -- as is typical -- would like to know something about this impossible person, and so he boldly demands a bit of coherent information. Of course Kafka gives no stage direction, but I have it in my mind that the hunter laughs at the young man, all the while heaving a long, sad sigh:

"Ah, coherence. That old, old story. All the books are full of it, teachers draw it on the blackboard in every school, the mother dreams of it while suckling her child, lovers murmur it while embracing, merchants tell it to the customers, the customers to the merchants, soldiers sing it on the march, preachers declaim it in church, historians in their studies realize with open mouths what happened long ago and never cease describing it, it is printed in the newspapers and people pass it from hand to hand, the telegraph was invented so that it might encircle the world the faster, it is excavated from ruined cities, and the elevator rushes it up to the top of the skyscraper. Railway passengers announce it from the windows to the countries they are passing through, ~~but even before that the savages have howled it at them~~ , it can be read in the stars and the lakes reflect it, the streams bring it down from the mountains and the snow scatters it again on the summit, and you, man, sit here and ask me for coherence. You must have had an exceptionally dissipated youth.”

2010-01-25T23:55:00.002-05:00

I just found this on my friend's amazing blog all we ever wanted... (was everything)

Gil Scott-Heron is new to me, I'm totally floored.

2010-01-06T19:04:00.003-05:00

This is what it all comes down to, if I might be reductionist for a moment: when I close my eyes and turn off my wordy brain, there's a silence that is only broken by the contact of our skin. I have forgotten the bed, the sheets, the blankets, the pillow. The only sensation that intrudes is the feeling of touching and being touched. I can single it out in the darkness of all my other senses, and my I oscillates between owning and being owned. I can finally give myself up, but in the gesture remains my movement, my will to self-abdicate. I am brought to my self in bringing myself to you.

Running contrary to all my habits and inclinations, I know that I cannot spell it out. I can lengthen the moment and fill it with words, but eventually they will overwhelm and cover over what I have aimed them to describe. What I can imagine will gradually overtake what I can grasp and hold of the Real moment. In all this production there is a self-sabotage, an obstinate will to savor what cannot be preserved, a wish to represent what can only be presented once and by powers so far beyond my control they seem to mock me at times.

There is no answer, no way to master or control the chaosmos. The Real breaks through as it sees fit, occasionally leaving desire and trauma in its wake. My wordy brain seizes upon each sumptuous feast, masticating with relish the detritus of a flawed memory. Without Real moments, I will end up gnawing my own flesh. Yet in pursuing such moments I am just as easily lost to despair and self-destruction. The balance is never struck. It is a fluctuating fuel gauge, and I am never wholly full or wholly empty.

The trouble of course, as always, is the transmission. Without traction I will floor it to the red lines. While the mud flies around me in every direction I will rage, and my impotent fury will fog up the windows with all that hot air. I will be confined in the obscurity of my vessel.

So this is what it all comes down to: I am a word, I need the sentence.

2009-12-18T19:58:00.002-05:00

So I'm working (slowly) on a paper for Dr. Wallwork on Durkheim's sociology, specifically his notion that individualism has been steadily developing and gaining prominence in (European and European derived) cultures from the beginning of human time. He warns us though -- as recently as 1895 -- that individualism, with all the inevitability of its ascension and attendant empowerments, orients individuals to their own particular interests and not to the interests of the society that for all its ills still sustains us in what peace and harmony we can muster.

The larger two-paper project is to try and fit Durkheim's analysis with some of the transnational feminisms I read with Angela Davis. Part of Prof. Davis' project with us was to try to conceptualize a collective individuality, a notion of our interdependence that can short-circuit the inevitable divisions of identity politics and civil rights movements in a way that does not give in to the simplifying and homogenizing unity or solidarity that would trivialize our very real differences. The radical realization is that a homogenizing solidarity can only ever be a reinstatement of some empowered and thus defining hegemony. We are not all "one", we are many, and we depend on each other. What would a political consciousness that can tolerate that kind of ambiguity look like?

Well, as usual, I was procrastinating at a good breaking point and read this article on Racialicious:

Idealize This | Feminism

by Guest Contributor Catherine Traywick, originally published at Hyphen and Femmalia

Part of what really impresses me about this article is the way Traywick articulates her own sense of ambivalence and frustration, critiques the institutions that support the opposition, and then remains on the fence. I think that's what we have to do. We have to start to understand ourselves as standing in multiple camps simultaneously. We have to critique the institutions and points of view that exclude or dehumanize the people with whom we identify in those several camps, and narrativize our lives as individuals amidst all that ambiguity such that we can share them. An engagement with people cannot be structured as an oppositional binary. Spivak's "strategic essentialism" has its place -- in my view -- in opposition to institutions, which cannot but function in binary. Human beings, individuals, are not binary. My allegiance with "feminism" doesn't function on an on-off basis, I don't recognize "feminism", I recognize women and the feminisms they bring to the table.

Part of the privilege of living in a culture where life is in the key of individualism is that I get to develop my perspective as a person who is accorded certain powers and dignities. I get to say yes and no, and I am expected to live with the consequences. I can move as a white, straight, monied, able-bodied woman in the world. As such is the case, I will develop my perspective to try and comprehend as much as possible the ways in which my movement is made possible and supported by the individuals I meet and do not meet. As such a moving person, I will recognize as much as possible that my movement is contingent, that it is not guaranteed and that it does not come without a human cost, however much the market seeks to obscure this cost. However much the heroic stories of the ages want to convince me that one person can rise above the fray and live on that azure mountaintop, autonomous and independent, I will remember that however far I may rise, whatever freedom I may enjoy, I have risen within a collective wave that reaches back to the beginning of human time and moves through to the distant end. I will remember them, and I will recognize you, as far as is humanly possible. I will stay on the fence, in order to see better, and I will work for our future together, because we are together, even now.

2009-11-19T17:19:00.000-05:00

This just soothes my soul...

2009-10-01T23:19:00.004-04:00

(I don't know who drew this, I found it randomly)

So I've stopped going back to Ithaca every weekend, which is always a difficult transition to make. I never really make the commitment to stay here, get acclimated and do my work. At the least sign of unshakable boredom or uncomfortable isolation I bail. It's not as easy now, that's one factor. Although Uroy's totally fine by himself for a night, he doesn't like it and neither do I really. I've grown so attached to him that if he's not at my ankle or hip I start to feel like my world is creaking unhinged, like I'm missing a little furry, flatulent ballast.

That's not the point. The point is what do I do instead? There has to be a substitute, I can't just go without that sense of being at home, the solidity of being in a space that's predictable and comfortably rote. When I want to shut off my brain I have to be in a situation that only requires muscle memory. In Ithaca, I already know the shortcuts through the permanent fixtures. I can avoid the hazards with minimal research. So what am I doing to provide that for myself in Syracuse? What am I doing to be self-sufficient?

Well, I guess I'm not sure yet. I suppose that's why I'm writing about it. I'm starting with work. I work at least 6 days a week, for more than ten hours a day. I'm still cutting corners, but every weekend I stay here I get closer to completing everything on time. For instance, the seminar on Black Feminist Theories is starting on Monday and I haven't finished my Gadamer and Derrida paper from last spring. I never really pulled back into the routine after the exams last year, I needed a break I guess. Comps and relationship detritus blew a hole in the semester rhythm.

But now that I'm more or less confined by good sense to my office and living room, I'm enjoying the work. Every week I have to read 5 or 600 pages and comment on them in one way or another. I get excited imagining that I really could do it all, AND get the house in order, AND maintain my own and my animals' health... Sometimes I work all day and it feels almost as good as the drive home after the market on Saturdays, but it's not quite the same. My exhaustion isn't rewarded by my Mom or her eager Shi Tzu, I'm not flopping down on Dom's couch to watch good television or kick each others' asses at Soul Caliber.

I'm alone, in my apartment, with my animals. My options are television, hobbying, more writing and reading of one form or another... "Cry me a river?" You sneer. Well yes, yes it's all very wonderful, but you won't mind if I do? I don't know why, after all these years, I still don't enjoy my own company. Hence the tension, right? I want to be alone because I'm tired from all the work that people take, but I don't really want to be alone. Tough truths, tough truths... I can encourage myself and say that recognizing it is half the battle, but really that's not much of a consolation. My poor animals, my poor friends, how little I really value their company, despite all appearances. I think I have to react against them sometimes, although it tears me apart because otherwise I am positively consumed in my relationships, inter- and intra-species. It's so painful to want to reject all that. I walk away from the crowd, but when I get past the last set of eyes I smoke my cigarette and I wonder "what now?".

I'm gonna walk the dog.

2009-07-21T17:15:00.011-04:00

This post is a bit of a pet-centric journal of self-examination. It started as a fluff piece about Smokey and Uroy, with all my whining about social alienation and disappointment lately, I wanted to add a note of positivity about these, my most beloved of "social" responsibilities. Along the way, it turned into the kind of narcissistic self-examination the reader has no doubt come to expect from me. So it goes. One of the things I've learned in the past year is that human beings cannot be "loved up", you can't take a broken person into your heart, love them, and expect that your love will fix all the cracks and fissures that are or were breaking that person down. My standards of "fixed-ness" are also to blame, being vastly higher for humans than they are for animals.

Smokey, for example, was basically a neglected elderly cat with no taste for humans and more than enough defensive aggression to keep potential admirers at a distance. I've had him now for almost two years, and I'm satisfied if he wants to sit/sleep next to me and doesn't bite me every day. This summer I've been leaving him alone in Syracuse four days a week to work in Ithaca, and when I return he won't leave me alone, following me around just to be pet and talked to. The change is remarkable, and reinforces my sense that indeed, this anti-social cat is now more or less socialized and misses me when I'm gone.

Uroy, on the other hand, came to me from the Speisers', and although he was a healthy dog who grew up with a family who loved him and taught him good manners, he wasn't getting enough attention or exercise for his relatively modest needs. This is life in a family, really, and a totally dependent dog does not take priority over an adorable 7 year old boy, for example. With my single family-lessness, and my very flexible schedule of sitting around, reading and writing, I can take him around the block 5 times a day, haul him around to all outdoor events, and even take him to work with me at the market. Since the winter especially, Uroy has gone from a kind of lethargic, totally dependent -- but unbelieveably adorable -- lump of sleeping wrinkles to an astonishingly active and social dog. He comes with me practically everywhere and has developed a fighting trim and precocious cheerfulness that I wasn't quite expecting. He has a wonderfully balanced energy -- as Cesar Milan would say -- that mellows other dogs and people, including over-excited puppies and children.

More often than not, I think my loneliness despite my rich social life comes from an instinctual urge to nest, to make a loving home for myself and others, an urge that is only getting stronger as I get older. Contrary to some advice I've received, I don't think I can simply make a choice about the person I make such a nest for and with. Sometimes it defies my imagination to conjure up some person I could seriously commit to and build a home with. Every criteria I imagine turns out to be either completely unrealistic or not at all sufficient. On the other hand, making a home suitable for Uroy and Smokey is more or less a snap. Food? Check. Water? Check. Acceptable places to poop? Check. Demonstrations of love? Check.

Of course our little domestic paradise has its problems. Smokey still bites me occassionally and Uroy's flatulence and spats of serious attitude continue to embarrass me, and I haven't slept alone in my own bed since Smokey showed up. But the pros vastly outweigh the cons, and I see little unexpected improvements in both of them nearly daily. I have, indeed, successfully "loved up" my furry rejects and we are all better for it. I'm less self-centered in general and less anxious about my ability to sustain serious love for another creature, an ability I have seriously doubted in the wake of past romantic relationships.

The problem of course is that this increased faith in my own ability to care for another creature has pushed to impatience my desire to find another person to nest with. There are so many differences between pets and "boyfriends" it's hardly worth mentioning them, but perhaps the most thorny of nettles for me is the "live and let live" attitude that I have toward my pets' idiosyncrasies and the exacting, vocal expectations I have for the one I'm with. On the one hand, I've accepted too much in the past and been burned REALLY badly. In a sense I need to raise my standards, change leagues, get better at cutting my losses etc. That's an issue of self-esteem versus my impatience and the things it makes me hallucinate about other people. On the other hand, what I really need to accept is that sooner or later someone is going to surprise me, blow apart my expectations and only THEN will it be an issue of accepting this or that flaw or idiosyncrasy. People are not pets, you can't just pick out the needy and damaged ones and lovingly chip away at their rough edges. It's a balancing act and a waiting game rolled into one and there's no end in sight. As crazy as that makes me, as proactive as I want to be about it all, there's nothing I can really do. I have to learn to be satisfied. I have to analyze and work on myself. I have to make myself and my pets happy, and I have to enjoy and appreciate my own company and the company of my dear ones. All of this takes patience. I have to develop a little "live and let live" in relation to my own life.

In the meantime, I guess I have managed to experience another kind of relationship that prepares me in some way for some serious commitment, even if I can't really imagine it. I have my friends, that's one. I have the charred hellscape of my previous entanglements, that's another. I have my family, whose dealings are always an education in love. Now I guess I know that in some scenarios my selfishness doesn't rule supreme, and I can enjoy the little considerations and providences of caring for a dependent. Of course the next logical step is children, but that is certainly a topic for another post.

2009-05-28T02:01:00.004-04:00

I guess we're on an upswing in personal content here. This is my blog and I'll write whatever I want I suppose, but I thought I was transitioning out of putting a lot of deep inner monologues on the internet. Wouldn't be the first time I was wrong about myself... certainly won't be the last. It's two in the morning, I'm sober in Syracuse and I want to move on from the alienation post... so here goes.

I think I'm finally coming around to realizing something about myself. It's something I've heard myself say a thousand times, and if one were to scroll through this blog I'm sure the same declaration has worked its way into my self-examinations. I am essentially a solitary person. I live most of my life in my head, even when I'm surrounded by people... I'm embarrassed to say that I'm usually in my head somewhere even when there's only one person talking to me. I'm a pro at "active listening", at picking up the breaks in the conversation and saying something innocuous and vague that lets the other person "know" that I'm being attentive. I'm usually not being attentive, usually I'm not listening because something is rattling around in my head making too much noise and taking up the space usually reserved for real-time interlocutors. I'm always overwhelmed in some way or another, and I guess lately I've started burning out.

I was always looking for something. That was my excuse before. I wasn't popular in the early years, being awkward and pretentious, always reading books that were way over my head and hanging out with people that were way older than me. I was always reaching for something that I wasn't quite ready for because wherever I was supposed to be wasn't working out. I've always taken such a proactive approach to everything. I think I can fix things that are going wrong just by making it all so much harder, because -- I suppose -- if something is difficult then I'll learn something even if the end result doesn't meet my expectations. The problem at this point presents itself: I'm old enough and competent enough to be able to do pretty much anything I want. All those books didn't go entirely over my head, and now the challenge is hanging out with people who are so much younger than I am. But the results are still not meeting my expectations.

What are my expectations? This is the sticky part. Undoubtedly they are wholly unrealistic. Undoubtedly whatever it is that would unwind this knot in my chest is not something I can just go out and grab. If it were, I would have grabbed or at least grasped it by now. So... *deep breath* ... I have to own the knot in my chest. I have to stop pushing myself out into the world, trying to talk to every person that crosses my path. I have to stop looking for the riveting conversation, the surprising sense of humor, the beautiful turn of phrase. I *have* all these things, I know all these beautiful people who literally make my world turn on its eccentric axis and who pick me up when I fall into that self-deepening, imaginary hole of nobody loves me. It's unconscionable that with all the love that I have in my life, with all the people who listen to my ridiculous stories and put up with my manias, that I should still be looking over their shoulders for something else.

Kierkegaard, somewhere, talked about "dissipating oneself in conversation." I think of that phrase over and over again. I don't remember which book it's from or how long ago I read it, but it's stuck like an orange traffic cone in my wheel well, thump thump thump thump thump. I don't know anything else, what else is there for me but conversation? But I can feel myself being dissipated as the years go by, and all these millions of conversations don't bring me that thing that I want. In the moment I am elated, I can't stop thanking the powers that be for giving me such an interesting life. But there's a part of me that still wishes desperately that I were invisible, so I could just enjoy my friends' faces around a bonfire, so that I could tune in and out, attending to the images and threads their insights fill my head with. There are so many times when I wish I could only express myself like this, to an empty page, to some ideal person who could... I don't know, understand it all? Make it all seem worth it? It's the problem of my expectations, I don't know what I want, just that when I come home I'm both relieved and devastated, because it wasn't tonight, I didn't find it, and I'll have to try again tomorrow.

I'm tired of trying. I have everything I ever said I wanted. So, my ideal interlocutor doesn't exist yet, I can't describe them, I don't know that I'd know them if they spoke to me, so in the meantime I'm just dissipating myself in conversation. I'm neglecting my true friends in the pursuit of imaginary soulmates, and it's making me miserable. What's the plan of action? I'm going to become a homebody. Obviously I'm not going to stop going out or meeting new people, but that's not the mission anymore. I'm going to make a little home in my body that I can take with me, where I can peer out the windows and only invite in the people who I know won't muddy up my carpets or pocket my knick-knacks. There's been far too much of the open door policy lately, as though I had no boundaries or personal possessions. As though I couldn't lock my door or even pull down the blinds. I prefer the comfort of a wingback chair in my own living room to the stark naked trust of full disclosure. This is new and old at the same time. I've always wanted a comfortable wingback chair, with an ottoman to put my feet up and wings wide (and low) enough that I could just doze off in the middle of a chapter. I've just always thought I was too young to retire. Maybe now is the perfect time, since I couldn't have gotten here without everything else I've put myself through. Maybe all this alienation is just the tide I never allowed myself to feel before, because I hadn't done enough or felt enough to step back from the high-water mark. It was always just another challenge, another difficult thing that I'd gain in defying. I don't feel so defiant anymore, it hasn't made me happy. I'm going to try to be happy, and leave all the amorphous tortures for the page, for characters that are not me. Maybe I'll write those books instead of living them, and maybe that will be better.

2009-05-03T22:56:00.002-04:00

So I've had a rough couple days. There's a sense in which I have to talk about it, like taking a mental shower. Back at home I'm listening to my music, my dog is snoring quietly and I'm alone. When I'm in Ithaca I'm in my Mom's house, or I'm hanging out at Dom's, or I'm working, or I'm hanging out with a hundred million strangers in some crowded bar. The din of my life in Ithaca is deafening... all the more so for all its deadening silences.

I work a job that I love. I love all my jobs, but this one in particular. It's challenging, mentally and physically; it's hyper social; it pays well; my workmates kick ass. We fuck up all the time, every little thing can go wrong on any given shift. We work incredibly hard, and most situations we can handle. The problem is the impatience of the customers, and the way we're treated as Gimme! employees at the market. Somehow we've been implicated in some wrong-doing or incompetence, and people feel free to abuse us; to criticize what they don't understand and demonize us and our bosses. We worked so hard yesterday, and at the end of the day I made the mistake of checking a critical post on the traitorous interwebs. The outpouring of criticism and snide self-righteousness took the wind right out of my sails, and in addition to the fatigue and the hormonal reset of another wasted breeding cycle, I'm feeling utterly defeated.

What's wrong with people? This is exactly what I'm talking about when I mention the "ugly left". The shrill, reactionary "criticism" that takes an ideological position in relation to real people in real situations. Just because there's more than one Gimme! and the owner doesn't want to hang around 25% of the time doesn't mean that we aren't all good people trying to do our best. I'm trying *really hard* to make Gimme! a good experience at IFM and I fucking resent all this petty bullshit. As far as I'm concerned, Gimme! shouldn't continue at IFM after this year. It's just not worth it. Between the hassle and the expense (time, money, effort) there's little room for vitriolic ingratitude, and frankly the nay-sayers can kiss my ass. Don't come if you don't like it, we don't need your business and we sure as shit don't enjoy your attitude.

That all felt good to say, but there's a more general point in there. I'm tired of uncritical criticism. I'm tired of ideologues and their jerky knees. It started with the SU GSO, and the kerfuffle over the Drumlins country club funding. The leftly inclined hear the words "country club" and are suddenly transformed into petition-filing powerhouses of righteous indignation. "How dare the golf and tennis players of SU get free access through the GSO's support!! Aren't the golf and tennis players of SU all rich?! Make them PAY!!" It makes me sick to my stomach. I hated those meetings. It didn't matter how many times someone would try to slow their roll, telling them that a lot of country club regulars are international students who can't go home often (a vulnerable minority), and that many of them are NOT wealthy. Every time there was a new delegate from whatever department who heard about the GSO funding and objected to it, they would stand up and demand a reckoning, and an audit, and an outrage. Uncritical criticism. Infuriating, noisy puppets. Listening to them makes me so angry, sometimes it's hard to breathe.

But breathe I do. I'm not out of patience. I can smile even when I'm grinding my teeth. But it's like a cage, keeping up the appearance. I'm not relaxed, I'm vigilant. I have to keep all the cracks sealed, smile and remain open. People still surprise me sometimes. But I'm tired, and I'd rather be alone than pretend to understand where you're coming from, since you make it so difficult. Somehow I need a straw man, a "you" that the singer sings to. Of course I sigh to myself, and remember that we're all just human beings, ignorant, incompetent, impossible. But lately all that breath-taking and remembering just feels like another cage. Somehow the cages have proliferated, and I'm finding myself -- for the first time -- just wanting to be alone. I have such beautiful people in my life, I'm so fortunate that way. Somehow they all feel really far away right now, even when I'm lucky enough to be standing next to them. I don't know how I came to feel so alienated, I just want it to slow down, or stop.

Maybe it's all just hormones and sleep deprivation. I'm really, really tired. Maybe I'll go to sleep tonight and everything will seem different in the morning. Here's hoping.

2009-03-23T14:59:00.002-04:00

Ciampa put this up on Facebook. Issues of the gaze anyone? Performativity? Enjoy:

2009-03-05T23:06:00.008-05:00

Will I perish? Yes. But not today...

Analecta Hermeneutica is the annual refereed journal of the International Institute for Hermeneutics (IIH). It provides an intellectual forum for interdisciplinary, inter-religious, and international hermeneutical research. The journal publishes research in the form of articles, reviews, and other scholarly contributions in all hermeneutically related fields, with a particular focus on philosophy, theology, and comparative literature.

My article on Lacan and Plato's Symposium is in the "Retrieving the Tradition" section. In addition to my own shameless self-promotion, I recommend that everyone read Brian Treanor's article on the digitalization of the archive, very good read.

2009-02-25T18:43:00.000-05:00

This is such a nice segue piece I couldn't resist...

Snails Go west ! Funny TimeLapse from www.time-lapse.fr on Vimeo.

2009-02-13T18:51:00.002-05:00

Another excellent interview with Cornel West:

2009-02-06T15:13:00.003-05:00

I'm reading Danah Boyd's dissertation in order to write my paper, you should read it too:

Taken Out of Context:

American Teen Sociality in Networked Publics

by
danah michele boyd

from BoingBoing

2009-01-28T22:11:00.006-05:00

I'm going to write my paper here... live, as it were. At least the germ. I need somehow to dovetail my emotional life with my academic, because the energy I seem to have for the former I need for the latter. My life needs to be my work, otherwise this is not going to work.

What is the value of disembodied communication for counteracting desire?
What is revealed in pain?

The Facebook phenomenon has something powerful in it. Through chat, online games, messages (private and public), link and media posting I can spend time with my family, friends and acquaintances regardless of our physical circumstances. My friend could be in Korea or confined by labor of one kind or another, and we can still communicate in real time. I can play scrabble with someone I haven't ever seen physically, and we can develop a relationship without ever reading each other's bodies. Video is possible beyond words, but touch is not. It is so spectoccentric that nearly every other sense is relegated to an ancillary function. Nonetheless, relationships do form, and existing ones change.

Even more than Pia's ball, the internet is not a passive object. It exists beyond me, as something to be picked up or put down, but I am shaped by my interaction with visual communication technology. The disembodied interaction of "social networking" pushes me in the direction of disembodiment: a visual and verbal conceptualization of my experience, even as it happens.This is often what detractors ridicule. When something happens to me, I begin to think of how I will reflect the experience in my status update, for example. Ridiculous as it may seem, I think immediately of my community -- spread far and wide -- and how they will view it. How I will disguise it from the uninitiated; how I will gild my feelings, justifying them to myself and others; how I will be reflected in the eyes I intend as my audience. My mind works hard on these considerations, despite whatever nominal efforts I might expend for the sake of nonchalance. Perhaps I am unique in this, in which case this is an exposition of a curious individual psychology. But somehow I think not. Somehow I think this is an observable phenomenon in others' experience as well. I can only rely on those others for corroboration, I make no claims of universality.

So to the pressing question. It has become obvious to me through various researches, professional as well as personal, that desire is the strong force of human psychology. What is desire? That force of wanting that overwhelms whatever rational or material factors seem relevant to the dispassionate observer. That wanting that makes me act, regardless of my best judgment, my strength of conviction or the knowing counsel of my peers. I will stop short of saying "against my will," because it seems in fact to be the case that my will is transformed in desire and bends like solder toward that object or objective that simultaneously takes up my entire field of vision. I have observed in myself the capacity to read hundred of pages, turning each one with care, and yet to close the book with no sense of what I have just "read". That is only one mundane example, I could think of countless others.

Perhaps all that this indicates is a weak will. That has crossed my mind more than once. I have taken steps and enacted strategies to check myself, and I'm sure that will only grow easier with age and maturity. Nonetheless, I am convinced that the power of this phenomenon certainly warrants at least a passing glance. It is obvious, at least to me, that if I were able to harness this power into those objectives that my dispassionate observers would approve of, I could spend a great deal more of my time achieving those ambitions -- without the strife and self-flagellation --that I have already undertaken at some considerable cost to myself and others.

Such is the aim of sublimation: To bend desire to the accomplishment of socially acceptable aims. Very often the exemplars of sublimation are in fact some of the leading artists and intellects of history. They are held up as accomplishing world historical events precisely because they had the passion of conviction. Luther, Leonardo, Proust, Ghandi... But I often say to myself, the biographies of these men are so often tragic. For all their power and world historicalness, they were miserable human beings. Kierkegaard and Nietzsche for example, these are not lives that I would want to lead, for all their genius and production. I have the feeling that they didn't see the choice, they didn't sign up for the trade off, somehow it all just happened to them and they could not do otherwise. However much it tortured them, however much they gave up in the gnashing process of their lives, they produced these works that exist now as what Serres wants to call quasi-technological subjects: books. Books that change lives and people. Books that have lives entirely dedicated to them. Books that create cultures, even as they are reproduced, sit on shelves, burn and soak like any other paper.

So what is it about sublimation that is still such a radical compromise? I can assume only one thing: That desire is radically insatiable. Now we're caught up with Lacan. Sublimation can make us more productive and socially acceptable, even world historical, but it can't make us happy. Or maybe happiness is just quieter. If I were happy maybe I would just busily pretty up my corner of the world and no one would ever know my name and all that ambition would seem like a silly dream. Maybe that's the ideal that never comes to sit on the couch. That's possible, but it's not the topic at hand.

Isn't there something in common here, between these exemplary books, these cultural productions and this phenomenon of social networking? Disembodied artifacts, ensouled somehow. It is not even the case that they are powerful in the sense of some source. It's as easy to pick up Untimely Meditations, read it and remain unmoved as it is to sign on to Facebook, create a profile and remain disinterested in its possibilities. These are not irresistible subjectivities, they do not insist upon themselves precisely because they are in a very real sense inert without some living person's passion for them. It seems so simple at times: we are shaped by our environment, these are objects in our environment. I might want to call them technological quasi-subjects, but that only changes the orientation of my thinking.

I have to stop there, I'm tired and it's 2am. To be continued...

February 15th:
This is the paper that came out of this. I just discovered Academia.edu, all you paper writing people should get on it. I want to read all these papers I'm always hearing about. Just because we can't get published doesn't mean we can't be read, for better or worse.

2009-01-26T14:06:00.002-05:00

Okay, this is an X rated cartoon that you should not watch with your kids, but it's too funny and adorable for me not to share. Be safe people.

From BoingBoing

2009-01-23T10:07:00.004-05:00

Susanna sent me this, and I just can't get enough of it. I love the fact that his name went from Francis to Frank when he was discovered to be a "ladies man". Oh how it warms my cockels...

Trucking Duck

There's something infuriating going on with the embed code, sorry for the unexciting click through.

2009-01-07T12:28:00.002-05:00

This was posted to BoingBoing, I wonder if they're just doing a series on my favorite musicians. I have never seen this before, I knew Screamin' Jay Hawkins was crazy, but I didn't know he actually got gussied up for the part!

The witch doctor thing makes me cringe a little, but it's so over the top...

2009-01-05T11:46:00.002-05:00

This video was posted to BoingBoing, I've seen it before but I thought I'd post it all the same. It's a beautiful, heart-wrenching performance that's difficult for me to watch, haunting and dark as that song is. In the biography With Billie by Julia Blackburn, which is by far my favorite Holiday biography (and I've read them all), Blackburn talks about how white audiences would clamor to hear Strange Fruit, but after a while Billie just didn't want to sing it. I imagine it took a lot out of her.

2008-12-23T20:04:00.005-05:00

I want to talk about this Rick Warren invocation issue, since the emotions in my circle are really running high and I have heard some hard, ugly words in the last few hours that made me wonder if hating hate-mongers is really different from being a hate-monger.

In part, I guess I will structure my response around this particular debate clip from CNN:

Hilary Rosen is pretty upset, and it seems like in the long, dark shadow of the Prop 8 horribleness pretty much anyone who cares about civil rights for LGBT people would be. She takes issue with the fact that Warren is a divisive figure who uses his pulpit to demonize gay people. Warren is well on record for comparing gay relationships to polygamy, pedophilia, etc. etc. I don't debate that, nor do I condone it. She castigates him for being a divisive figure, which perhaps he is, and that Obama should have picked someone less controversial, someone that wouldn't kick gay people when they're down. I can almost get behind that, but one consideration stops me from seeing the inclusion of Rick Warren as adding insult to injury: Barack Obama did not pick Rick Warren because he's a homophobe, he isn't trying to reach out to the homophobe contingency in this country. He picked Rick Warren because he is a man that has done a lot of good in the world, has a powerful voice and following, and because Warren's own stated political ideals emphasize the importance of openness in democratic conversations.

I don't think that Warren's right about gay marriage (for the record, I don't agree with Barack Obama either) nor do I believe that his views on gay rights will be borne out in the evolution of our ever more perfect union. As Roland Martin points out, the benediction will be presented by a pro-gay rights clergyman. Before I make my major point, let me post our President-Elect's own comment, which is more or less the meat of what I want to get across:

This is my view: This is a diverse nation. We have lots and lots of people with lots and lots of different viewpoints. There isn't anyone in my life, not anyone, that I don't have some fundamental disagreement with that challenges my understanding and love for them, as well as my moral compass. Given that fact, and my experience of it over and over again, I have never tried to surround myself with people who thought like I did. It happens, I'm from a liberal town and I spend most of my time in academia, which unfortunately is not as diverse or as integrated as perhaps it should be. But at times like this I'm reminded why that's a bad thing, why it insulates us and makes us callous and bends us toward dehumanizing the "enemies" we are all too ready to imagine.

The pitch of outrage over Rick Warren giving a prayer at Obama's inauguration is disturbing. It's overblown because the castigation of Warren as a spiritual leader is overblown. Hardly anyone I talk to knows anything about him. With the publication of his VERY successful book, he repaid 25 years of salary to the church and continues to dedicate 90% of its tithes to church initiatives. His ministry puts good works and anti-consumerism at the core of its message, supports initiatives on global poverty, illiteracy and disease, including HIV/AIDS, and he's one of the very few Evangelical leaders that has acknowledged global warming and holds human beings responsible. I enthusiastically applaud all this despite the fact that he's a creationist, against gay rights and a woman's right to choose, his dedication to the success of Prop 8 and his stance on euthanasia. Here's a TEDTalk he gave in 2006:

I agree with a lot of what he says here, especially about giving, and how it breaks the hold of materialism. I agree with his interpretation of our stewardship responsibility and the idea that our gifts are best exercised in service to a larger community. Because of all this, I disagree profoundly with classifying Rick Warren as a hate-monger. If he's a hate-monger, then the definition extends to everyone I have heard condemn him with a twisted, poisonous vitriol, who expressed surprise when I told them of his good works, or who said something like "that doesn't matter, he's a bigot."

It does matter. There isn't a single one of us that isn't a bigot at one time or another, not a SINGLE ONE. The fact that Barack Obama recognizes this, and has publicly recognized it in his closest family members, his own spiritual leader and now in Rick Warren is reason enough to praise him to the skies. But the fact that he's willing to WALK that talk, to acknowledge the truth in the controversy and still put his rhetoric in action, his including (albeit in a token way) Rick Warren in the inaugural proceedings only adds to my sense that our President-Elect is a rare man of principle and that we are even luckier than we know.

I may alienate a whole lot of people by saying so, but Rick Warren is not a bad man, and I bet he's going to give a good invocation. I hope that he will have influence with our president, because like so many of us, he has a LOT more to offer than the bigoted bullshit we are all so ready to use, so conveniently, to sum up his character and condemn him. Barack Obama explicitly rejects the ideology of excluding someone based on a disagreement which, I would add, is an ideology that incubates most forms of ignorance and hatred. Disagreeing without being disagreeable is more than a pithy phrase. It is a principle that requires hard work and moral discipline. Demonizing people who have different views and reducing them down to a one-dimensional caricature that can fit in the circle of a bull's eye is not my idea of progressive politics. Our new president has the wisdom to discern that and as in so many other instances, I hope we will take his example to heart.

Just for good measure, I will post Obama's section of the forum that Warren hosted during the campaign. As you will remember, the President-Elect mentions the openness of this forum as one of his reasons for including Warren in the inauguration proceedings:

And there's just a little bit more in part 6 before McCain comes on:

2008-12-18T09:47:00.003-05:00

Back in May '07 I posted an article through BoingBoing about a 2,000 year old computer that they had found somewhere in Greece. Cordell posted this to Facebook today, apparently a British museum has made a replica and rebooted it!

2008-12-12T10:20:00.002-05:00

Bettie Page has passed away. Her iconic bangs and risque photos are undoubtedly some of the best from the pin-up era. May she rest in peace.

2008-12-10T11:16:00.003-05:00

I am delighted to report that there has been another step in the emerging detante between the elder statesmen in my house. This morning around 5am (for some reason, a usual time for four-legged wakefulness) Smokey began his morning caterwauling, and I responded with my usual calls for him to get on the bed and be acknowledged so that we can all go back to sleep. Usually he comes into the bedroom, sees Uroy on the bed and goes back out again, commencing his raucaus. This morning, however, he got up on the bed and tentatively sat down less than a foot from where Uroy was snoring soundly, and let me pet him. Lo! after a few sleepy strokes he settled down and much to my delight began to purr! Even when Uroy stirred and started demanding equal attention, Smokey lay placidly and continued to purr, so loud in fact that I could hear him even when I lay down with Uroy's snarfling in my ear. It was a short lived success, Smokey got up and went about his early morning routine after about 20 minutes, but I was still extremely pleased.

This may seem like a small thing to everyone else, but for me, living as the DMZ between two curmudgeonly sovereigns has its drawbacks. Besides having to sit/sleep in the middle of every piece of furniture so as to allow room for each on either side, I worried that Smokey would feel marginalized in my affections, since he's much more independent and won't approach me when Uroy's at my heel (which he always is). I worried that all the hard work I had put into making Smokey feel like he's a loved member of the household would go to pot with the disturbance of our usual routines. I also worried that Uroy would be forever alienated from his feline housemate, learning to fear him the way everyone else does. But now, with this minor victory, I feel that the lines are still defining themselves, and there is hope for an effective inter-species peace, if not a fully affectionate companionship. Dare to dream.

2008-12-08T14:34:00.003-05:00

This is funny, timely and star-studded!!

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

2008-12-04T18:23:00.003-05:00

Found this looking around after seeing the Cadillac Records preview:

B.B. King, Etta James, Gladys Knight, Chaka Khan.... enjoy:

And the Preview:

Who's going to see that? *hand up*

This is nice too:

I swear that Beyonce could be the cause of global warming, even in platinum hair and costume jewelry.

2008-12-03T09:21:00.002-05:00

Odetta passed away today. She was, as many of you know, one of the truly unique voices in the '60s activist folk scene and influenced just about everybody. Her deep voice, percussive and disruptive style set her apart and I still get goosebumps when I listen to her renditions of spirituals like "'Buked and Scorned", "Joshua" and "God's Gonna Cut You Down". She was also a soulful interpreter of contemporary songs, and below I've embedded a video of her version of "House of the Riding Sun" from 2005, and a beautiful but short close-up clip from the Newport Festival way back when.

And here's just a search result from NPR on some of the specials and interviews they've done with her.

Odetta, Still a Powerful Voice for Justice

May she rest in peace.

2008-11-26T10:06:00.002-05:00

Well-produced short video about the Iranian blogosphere:

(from BoingBoing)

2008-11-20T19:09:00.002-05:00

I was watching this on Lauren's page and almost died laughing:

Appletini.

2008-11-18T17:49:00.000-05:00

Peacekeeping Chickens!

(from BoingBoing)

2008-11-16T18:02:00.004-05:00

Okay so the puppies are off-air sometimes, so I have an excuse for yet more too-cute-to-handle.

Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo

BoingBoing says she's like a little Amelie, but she makes me think of Eddie Izzard's hysterical French routine. I'll post that when I find it.

Here it is!

2008-11-16T17:43:00.000-05:00

Live puppies!!

Free TV : Ustream

(from BoingBoing)

2008-11-15T19:07:00.002-05:00

This has turned into something of a tumble blog lately, so I thought I'd take this moment to get a little more personal. Part of my reluctance as of late has been the result of a deepening appreciation for the virtues of discretion and the benefits of allowing the little movements and turmoils of my inner life to incubate a little before I spew them into the public sphere. Another reason for my silence has been the decidedly unpleasant "what" of my life lately, despite the mildly encouraging signs of change in how I have been able to deal with them. Among the whats: my car died, I have fallen dangerously behind in my academic work, and my once beautiful relationship with an exciting new man exploded in an immensely painful fireball of destruction and betrayal. As it turns out, even this last one is passing through my system with surprising ease. I don't know if it's a result of my emerging maturity or a broadening of my perspective, but the downs -- indeed the bottoms -- are starting to recontextualize themselves even as they're happening. I've shortened the distance and the time it takes to put the pain and anxiety away and act on my better judgment. I'm not immobilized anymore, my panic just folds itself into motivation, and I forge ahead.

On the one hand, I can recognize in this the potential danger that Terrence Howard talked about in the interview I posted below. As an actor, he fears that he is experiencing life as an observer, that everything becomes a study in how to reproduce emotions, and that he will lose the ability to experience his own life as unique and irrepeatable. I have that sense sometimes, that I view all the ups and downs as passing scenes, grist for the mill of that great combine that will someday spill enough ink that I can bind all these experiences between the covers of a book, laced with ameliorating fantasy and tweaked to perfection. I wrote on my mirror when I was a teenager that I was "struggling to gain immortality against the human language," but now I think I see the folly of this melodramatic aspiration. The immortality of art is after all not the immortality of the artist. As an artist, I will not get to enjoy the full life of my art, especially if I am one of those who defy the odds and are remembered. I would like to enjoy my life as I live it, for as long as it lasts, and not perhaps to move so quickly from defeat to action to triumph and back again.

On the other hand, survival is a must. My survival is perhaps predicated on too many unlikely successes: a career that I enjoy, a loving family, material comfort and bodily security. These would constitute much more than survival, and yet the everyday getting up, feeding myself and providing for my dependents has seemed difficult or nearly impossible when I've been roundly defeated. In such moments the ability to put it all into perspective, to take a certain observing distance from my pain and anxiety has been absolutely necessary to my being able to move past my misfortunes.

I suppose the answer, as always, is the golden mean between the two. Walking some fine line of interpretation that allows me to experience the pain and anxiety even as I'm packing them away. It used to be writing that made this motion for me, but now it's becoming visceral, a certain sigh that burns my lungs and throat even as it allows the poison to escape. It's not something I consciously do, and in many ways it's a sign of a resignation I never thought I'd feel, but at the moment I guess I'm inclined to accept it as a progression, a personal evolution. If nothing else, my reaction time is streamlined, so I can pack more in! I'm not too busy searching for the magic words to notice that something else is already happening. I'm not so wrapped up in my transformative incantations that I forget all the good that's already within my reach, and sometimes, with a herculean effort, I can drop the bad shit where it is and let it work itself out, for better or worse. Sometimes you have to pass the buck, especially if you were wrong to accept it in the first place. I'm learning to accept it all, bit by bite.

I'm going out now. I'm going to be out in the world, practising my controlled roll. I hope you are all well.

2008-11-12T12:49:00.000-05:00

His name is Maru!

And he's big in Japan!

From BoingBoing

2008-11-12T12:43:00.001-05:00

Tiny (pygmy) hippo!

From BoingBoing

2008-11-12T12:39:00.001-05:00

This is just cool:

From BoingBoing

2008-11-11T08:33:00.002-05:00

Tom Sparrow brought this to my attention:

Well done Mr. Olbermann.

(Despite the silly look on your face)

2008-11-08T20:43:00.002-05:00

I'm doing a comprehensive exam on Cornel West's prophetic pragmatism this year, and with the pretense of getting to work on it, I YouTube-ed him. This is the first thing that came up. After watching this talk (and absorbing a few pages of Prophecy Deliverance!), I'm convinced that not only is this man one of the great American philosophers, but he's delivering a political message that's a cogent combination of religion, philosophy and social criticism that I think resonates deeply with this moment in history, with our recent election and what it says about us, what we could be. I hope this really is the death of anti-intellectualism in this country, we are so rich with intellectuals.

2008-11-05T08:54:00.002-05:00

So, we did it. In four short years, a young politician rocketed from obscurity into the highest office, buoyed overwhelmingly by the shared hopes and beliefs of millions of Americans. This morning I could almost feel the elation and relief around me. This is a proud moment for us. We can raise our faces to the world, wave our little flags with excitement and maybe for a moment believe that we can turn this country around. Last night and this morning, I can barely express my relief, excitement and pride. But there's a tremor somewhere in my gut, a trepidation that reminds me that though this is the first day of a brighter future, there are still dark days ahead. Americans are still sinking into poverty and alienation, those who were already desperate are clinging to shrinking strands of bare survival, and the wars that we are waging abroad are taking millions of lives, American and otherwise. We cannot rest on our laurels. We cannot absorb this victory and settle back into our old routines and wait for President Obama to save us. This is a call, wider and deeper than any my generation has heard. We have to stand with him and serve. We have to follow our hero's example and reach out to our fellow Americans, especially those with whom we have the deepest differences, and we have to own our ambitions and our ideals. This is a great day, and it's only the beginning.

2008-11-03T14:42:00.001-05:00

Mark brought this to my attention:

I hope ya'll are voting tomorrow.

2008-10-28T22:29:00.000-04:00

Just fun...

(from BoingBoing)

2008-10-28T22:07:00.002-04:00

Jeremy brought this to my attention.

This clip misses the intro song they chose for her, but I think it bears mentioning that Stevie Wonder said it all: "Isn't she loooooooovely...."!

2008-10-25T11:41:00.004-04:00

Terrence Howard Talks Tunes, Family, Science

I've been in love with this man for so long (physically, since Mr. Holland's Opus; emoto-psychically since Hustle & Flow). Somehow I could always tell that he had that inner strength that makes people glow in a way that allows me to remember and understand that it's not what happens to you, it's what you make of it. Our inner combine isn't just a machine, it's magical at times too. This interview with NPR's Scott Simon is magical medicine for the cold, discouraging days.

2008-10-15T15:31:00.004-04:00

Ithaca and pod cars!!! How cool would this be?!

Ithaca Takes a Hard Look at Pod Cars
by Michelle York
The New York Times

Thanks to Ora Szekely for posting this to Facebook, where I think the relevant first comment was "Monorail!!!"

2008-10-14T07:58:00.003-04:00

This is an article from Ron Paul published in Slate today that articulates the point about inflation and indebtedness that Zeitgeist made me think about. Especially scary is this paragraph:

"The monetary base jumping by such a large margin is an indicator that the Federal Reserve has not learned from its mistakes and is hoping to get out of this economic downturn by creating even more credit out of thin air. With such large increases in the monetary base and with banks legally able to hold zero reserves, the vaunted money multiplier effect could theoretically reach infinity."

I think if the Republicans had had the sense to nominate Ron Paul, this election would've been harder for me to decide. Read the whole thing here:

Sickness Unto Debt

The Treasury bailout will only exacerbate red ink and inflation.

By Ron Paul

2008-10-13T22:10:00.005-04:00

Zeitgeist: The Movie

(click through and scroll down)

I've been watching this movie in bits and pieces for a couple of months now, mostly through the good influence of Mark and Chris. I've always been convinced that there was more to 9/11 than we were being told, and this documentary puts it squarely in the "false flag for the sake of profit" category along with the RMS Lusitania, Pearl Harbor and the Gulf of Tonkin. There is also a very interesting report on the creation of the Federal Reserve that with the current financial crisis makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, especially as the movie I posted yesterday about the massive bank fraud that Sen. McCain tried to immunize in the '80's proves to me that this might very well be the kind of thing happening right under our noses, right now. What are we doing? Infusing those failing banks with huge sums of tax payer dollars. Yay...

Oh yeah, and there's no law on the books that says you have to pay income tax. It's actually unconstitutional as a non-apportioned tax. I'm excited about that. I'd rather hand my money to the NYDOT for the roads and bridges, skip the Fed.

Peter Joseph (the writer and director) also argues that aspects of the Christian narrative are related to or extrapolated from ancient religious myths, which makes a lot of sense even from an academic perspective. But the writers are just a little too quick to say that thus Jesus didn't exist and Christianity is a crock. Like so many science and technology valorizing contingencies these days (I mean you Drs. Dennett and Dawkins, and the lesser Bill Maher), Joseph is way too excited about "debunking religion" to actually look meaningfully into the function of myth and religious narrative in human life and history, so he simply demonstrates that religions come from somewhere, are not "factually true" and thinks he has done with it. Overall, I should say that I disagree with the Zeitgeist Movement's perspective on the amorphous and personified force of "religion" in history, and think their position needs to be refined to specific historical institutions in order to be a genuine critique. That being said, the information presented is intriguing, and makes a lot more sense to me than the explanations for war and financial crises handed down by the current administration.

2008-10-12T17:40:00.003-04:00

I'm all about the videos lately. I saw Andrew Bird at the State Theater a couple weeks ago and it was really astounding. I'm all about everything with him now, so here's a bootleg movie of some of that concert and a video from his Myspace page:

2008-10-12T08:53:00.004-04:00

I know that in a way this is preaching to the choir, and I don't usually go in for negative political ads. But I think everyone should watch this. It's about McCain's personal support of a corrupt financier, his attempt to use his office to excuse white-collar criminal activity on a grand scale and his involvement in the (now catastrophic) deregulation of the financial systems. What becomes clear is not only that he's not looking out for the American people, but that his motivations are the oldest in history: personal greed and ambition. This isn't just incompetence or poor judgment, it's criminality.

2008-10-11T10:45:00.003-04:00

I just came across this video from my friend Colleen et al's project Girls Named Carly. It's super fun and features a bunch of my friends and the coffee shop I used to work at (Gimme! Cayuga). There's a plethora of inside jokes for the barista in you, not to mention all that wonderful dancing!

2008-10-11T10:29:00.002-04:00

It's just too funny. Cheers to Tina Fey and Amy Poehler for bringing SNL back on task.

2008-10-03T19:55:00.001-04:00

Okay, so I've been gone a little while. I'll catch everyone up on the big changes later, for now, enjoy the hottest s*#$ ever:

Gaylord's got a video!

2008-07-03T21:19:00.002-04:00

Happy independence day!

2008-07-01T02:10:00.006-04:00

This post will be lacking in pictures. I don't even know where my camera is exactly, but it's been a while and I feel like so much has happened I have to write something... this despite the fact that I'm house-sitting for Dom and his keyboard is completely inadequate over and above its wireless convenience.

Seriously, by way of introduction I should say that I have moved back to Ithaca. It's been about a month now and honestly I've never been happier or more busy. Whereas in Syracuse I spend hours and hours on a machine like this typing my life away, since I've been back I haven't spent an hour sitting at a computer. It's so beautiful here and I've been working so much, it hardly leaves time for sleeping, let alone killing time. What a horrible expression, "killing time." I shouldn't say it, let alone do it. Anyway, I'm working for Gimme! again, at the farmer's market on the weekends and Lansing on Thursday and Friday mornings, then Bellwether Cider on Thursday and Friday afternoons. I love the work, I love how tired I get and how calloused my hands have become. I bitch about it, the work is hard and dirty (especially farmer's market), but honestly there's something about getting through a thirteen hour day, messing about until the wee hours and then doing it all again the next day... somehow it makes every hour count, and I'm struggling to fit it all in. I'm broke as hell of course, but I hardly have time to spend the money anyway, so really it's not as big a problem as I would make it out to be.

Further in that vein, I'm moving in with Phoebe and Kate and eventually Jeff in the Fall street house, which used to house the likes of Amy, Colleen, Aniela and Jon. It's a neat house, and I'm SO excited about getting to live with such wonderful people and close friends, as well as Samson! I'm hoping Samson and Smokey get along okay, Smokey's really responded well to my family and to the move in general, he's become something of a socialite it seems. There's no telling what he'll make of Samson, but honestly Samson is such a great dog for animals with dysfunctional personalities, he's so patient and gentle. I'm really super excited about the whole thing.

I also got my hair cut rather dramatically. It was round about the two year mark and honestly my hair was becoming something of an inconvenience, so my IFM boss Meghan cut off a ten inch braid and I sent it off to Locks of Love. All hail Meghan, it turned out great and wonderfully comfortable and simple, and I feel like this is by far my most successful sheering yet. I don't have any pictures uploaded, but hopefully most of you have seen me or will see me soon. I miss all you missing ones terribly.

I can't take this keyboard anymore, so I'll end it there. I had the day off today, and again tomorrow, so I'm going to stay awake and watch Farscape until I nod off. I hope all is well with everyone!

2008-06-24T21:03:00.003-04:00

This is old, but I just found it and it made me giggle (from the DailyKos):

He wrote it himself. Think of that. He wrote it. Himself.

2008-05-22T13:47:00.003-04:00

Okay, I know this is silly, but today in BoingBoing they're sharing a 16th century golden ear/toothpick:

How lovely. Yet I want to remind everyone of my perpetual battle against Qtips as ear cleaning tools. Doctors agree, you should never stick anything smaller than your elbow in your ear. You can risk busting your eardrum and the bleached cotton on Qtips (nevermind the hard metal of something like this) can irritate your ear canal and lead to excess ear wax and infections. Don't do it.

I'm headed off this afternoon to witness my Brother's graduation from undergrad at Stony Brook. As much as I hate going anywhere near the wrong island, it will be lovely to see my larger family and mark this wonderful occasion. Especially since I never went to mine, I'm hoping this will be all the fresher. Yay Moose!

2008-05-19T14:58:00.002-04:00

I was reminded it would have been Malcolm X's 83rd birthday today, and (of course) TheRoot.com has a good article about the civil rights leader's legacy:

Happy Birthday, Malcolm
by Melissa Harris-Lacewell | TheRoot.com

I particularly agree with Harris-Lacewell's eloquent sentiment: "His life is a reminder that greatness is not found in arrogant self-righteousness or intellectual hubris, but in the willingness to be open to our own limitations."

2008-05-19T12:39:00.001-04:00

2008-05-15T13:47:00.003-04:00

My friend Amy Pennington is a photographer and artist who's got a new beautiful website! She's moving to Syracuse in July to start at the SU art school, I'm really excited!

2008-05-15T10:03:00.008-04:00

A Stone-Faced Lie on the Mall
By Ibram Rogers | TheRoot.com

I heard about this on NPR originally (I'm hoping that Michel Martin picks this up on Tell Me More), but this morning in the Root.com there was an opinion article about it that I really agree with (although I have reservations about calling King a "militant", I think that label contradicts King's pacifist message unless you want to parse it away from its connotations of violence). The general story is that the US Commission of Fine Arts is asking the sculptor Lei Yixin designing the Washington monument of Rev. King to make the civil rights leader look less confrontational and more smiling and idealistic. More of a dreamer and (in my opinion) less of the much feared "angry black man" which is getting so much press lately with the Rev. Wright bullpoopy. As far as I can tell, this is more of the same kind of false and disingenuous ameliorating that seeks to deny and cover up the very real impact and continuation of institutionalized racism in this country. Overall I think that plays into the hands of an over-arching public narrative that wants to delegitimate the righteous anger of anyone suffering under institutionalized structures of exclusion based on race, religion, class, sex, gender, sexual orientation and disability. I hope someone can stop this, I'm going to look around for the email addresses of the commission or a petition somewhere, I'll pass it along once I find something.

Update: Neal Conan covered this on Blog of the Nation, including a good interview with Ibraim Rogers.

2008-05-13T18:10:00.006-04:00

This is exactly what I've been talking about in terms of the islamophobia in this country and in Europe. In my opinion, this woman was clearly railroaded. I hope we're better than this.

Critics Cost Muslim Educator Her Dream School
From The New York Times
By Andrea Elliott
Published: April 28, 2008

2008-05-09T01:09:00.000-04:00

2008-05-08T21:59:00.003-04:00

I've been waiting for this since I heard about it on BoingBoing, Sundance has posted the Isabella Rossellini bug porn, and yes, it's wonderful.

Don't watch them all at once, savor.

2008-05-08T20:42:00.002-04:00

And a nice piece from Michelle Obama:

I personally think she's better than Jackie Kennedy.

2008-05-08T20:04:00.001-04:00

A good victory speech always improves my circulation:

2008-05-07T18:32:00.000-04:00

Oh, how I love him....

2008-05-05T01:25:00.002-04:00

However much I want to hear the words "President Obama", I have to admit he messed up. I agree with Mr. Willis:

Did Obama Betray Wright First?
By Andre C. Willis | TheRoot.com

2008-05-01T18:01:00.001-04:00

Fun Primary synopsis from Slate V

2008-04-30T23:06:00.002-04:00

Yay!! It's Willie Nelson's 75th Birthday!!!

Nice NPR Bio piece and interview

Happy Birthday Mr. Nelson! I heart your everything.

2008-04-16T17:33:00.002-04:00

Yeah, I know, like it's my job right?

I think this should've been called the "Confession Forum"

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

via DailyKos

2008-04-15T23:19:00.003-04:00

For a beautifully organized sliver of white American intellectual history (and a lot of smoking), click through to the Harry Ransom Center:

The Mike Wallace Interview[s].
"Whether you agree or disagree with what you will hear,
we feel that none will deny the right of these views to be broadcast."

Aldous Huxley, Reinhold Niebuhr, Philip Wylie, Gloria Swanson, Frank Lloyd Wright, Salvador Dali ... oh my!

Via BoingBoing (I think)

2008-04-14T23:18:00.001-04:00

My latest cartoon crush:

2008-04-04T10:11:00.004-04:00

Today is the anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, and I came across this really wonderful collection of articles and videos through Slate on The Root.com. Particularly good I thought was the short interview between Profs. Michael Eric Dysen and James Braxton Peterson on April 4th as Easter and an article by Marian Wright Edelman on why we cannot give in to despair. There's also an interview with Vernon Reid that I'm going to read right now, and another article taking a look at the role of gender in the trauma of the loss. I can't embed the videos, unfortunately, but follow this link to the delightfully full page.

2008-04-01T14:45:00.003-04:00

This is a presentation by neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor on her experience of having a stroke. I found it among the TED talks (ted.com), many of which I highly recommend. I think this is just about the most wonderful presentation of personal experience I've ever seen.

2008-04-01T09:15:00.003-04:00

Ahhh, springtime. It's 46 degrees outside, just a little windy and I'm comfortably sitting around in a robe and house socks (with those little sticky bits on the bottom). It's soooo nice not to have to be bundled up inside my apartment, which is old and drafty. I'm also resisting the urge to scratch the scab off my new tattoo, which Phoebe designed and embedded in my epidermis on Sunday. It means so much to me that she went to the trouble, and that I now have a permanent, beautiful memento of our friendship and her astonishing artistic skillz. I'll post pics as soon as she makes them available. It's been a while since I've had ink done, the last one was in '99, and I forgot how eerily wonderful it is to have that crazy vibrating pain echoing through my skin, muscle and bones. I totally get the addictive quality of tattoos, and in fact this dogwood that's blossomed on my shoulder is the first part of a full back piece I have planned in various stages. Some people think it's mutilation, and I suppose I can understand that perspective, but for me it's a beautiful commitment to the images and sentiments that have shaped my life and will continue to be a kind of indelible link between my past and my future. This particular image is all about my wonderful Mother, who designed an image of a dogwood blossom for my high school graduation invites. The reference is to a tree that blooms spectacularly outside my bedroom in Ithaca every spring, and I can't count the number of times I've sat at that window, looking through the pink flowers and twisty branches toward the sound of rushing water. That image and the feelings I felt in those moments, as diverse as they were and continue to be, are an important part of my self-understanding, and it seems fitting that when I turn my head, wherever I am, that image will be forever before my eyes. Goodness, I'm getting teary.

Speaking of teary, Gaylord has officially left our little Upstate world for the wilds of Atlanta. They'll be back, of course, allegedly in as little as a few months, but I certainly won't be able to see their wonderful shows as often, and that makes me sad. Never mind the fact that they're three of the greatest guys I've met in recent memory and I'll miss their company immensely. They came and played in Ithaca on Thursday, and despite the very disappointing turnout (the weather contributing to a minimal promotional effort), it was a true love-fest. The fans that came were immensely enthusiastic and the guys played one of the best shows I've ever seen them play. I can't sing their praises enough, their music is complex and hypnotic, catchy and profound, Atlanta is very lucky to have them. Sigh.

School-wise, everything is going rather swimmingly, despite the fact that I've been mightily distracted by extra-curriculars. My classes are great, I'm really enjoying each of them in their own distinct eye-opening capacities, and I'm looking forward to the rest of my time here. For the summer, I have big plans. If the FLAS grant comes through, I'll be spending the summer in Montreal, taking intensive French classes and generally enjoying Canada and a few very close friends who have the good fortune to live there. If the grant doesn't come through, I might sublet my Syracuse apartment anyway and head to Ithaca to work at Gimme and study French on my own. Either way, I think I will be very happy to ramble around in tank tops and flip flops, drinking icey bevies and complaining about the heat. It doesn't seem so far away on days like this, and thank the powers that be this winter is almost over.

In other, wonderful news my Brother Adam was accepted to the Master of Social Welfare program at Stony Brook for next fall! For anyone who knows him and his work it was a foregone conclusion, they're lucky to have him, but being in Ithaca for the receipt of that fat admissions package and my Mother and I scrambling to get him on the phone was a real thrill and I am soooo proud and happy and excited for him. Watching him delve into his passion for helping people and developing his considerable skills in psychology is one of the great joys of my life, and the fact that he'll continue on this path makes me want to leap with happiness. Congratulations Brohan!!!

So many warm fuzzies... I hope everyone is well. I MUST get down to work.

2008-03-20T20:17:00.003-04:00

I know this is becoming Barack Obama central, but a lot of people are telling me they can't find these speeches, so I'm happy to help out. This was given yesterday in Fayetteville, North Carolina (I've been to the bus station there a bunch of times, not so nice). It's about the war in Iraq and what Pres. Obama would do differently with Afghanistan and Pakistan, foreign policy, and yes, he calls for the freedom of Tibet! He's getting the hang of presenting good detail with eloquence. He seems to get better with every challenge.

2008-03-18T18:41:00.003-04:00

In case anyone missed this this morning, do watch the whole thing. Whatever happens in November, this is a historic moment, and a step forward in the evolution of our ever more perfect union.

I believe in this man, and what's more (and a bit miraculous), he makes me believe in the future of this country.

2008-03-12T18:51:00.006-04:00

This is a story I wanted to share as a follow up to the "Charming Burqa" entry from earlier. I heard it on NPR's "Marketplace" just a minute ago and thank the stars at public radio the whole thing is available in audio and transcript on the webs:

Saudi boy meets girl -- via Bluetooth

[There was a picture here that came with the article, but a fleeting bit of feedback from some anonymous commentator asked me to take it down, as it was a picture of her friend who did not authorize the photograph to be used. I don't know if it's true, but I suppose I better respect her wishes just in case.]

This stuff fascinates me, technology as instrumental in identity formation and mutual understanding, limitations and advantages. I'm writing a paper on the North American and European feminist response to the hijab, and this almost makes me want to write another paper as an addendum.

2008-03-09T22:45:00.002-04:00

It's been a while since the last substantive personal post to this thing, and I suppose there's several reasons for that, none of them important or interesting. I'm listening to the "I'm Not There" soundtrack (disk 1), drinking Negra Modelo, smoking, and freezing my ass off. I've had several near-death experiences lately, driving wise. Once I lost control of the car trying to pass an 18-wheeler and nearly fishtailed between the wheels. I hit the shoulder and couldn't even slow down for about 400 yards (a long distance at any rate, my distance estimates are notorious). Another time , I watched a guy in a souped-up sports car lose control just as he was passing me and spin through the dividing ditch and across the oncoming lanes of traffic. As far as I could tell his dumb ass didn't hit anybody, but I saw people slow down for him and I imagine he'll live to drive less stupidly in the future. I've never driven extensively in bad weather, and for various reasons I'm doing it a lot lately and I think it's made me pretty paranoid. I'm perfectly comfortable putting on my hazards and going 45 in a 65, watching the douchebags whiz past me, risking their lives for a little machismo, it's effing stupid.

Anyway, I've been distracted lately waiting for other shoes to drop. Up until this point you'd think I was dealing with amputees, everyone seems to be really good at standing on one leg. On the school front I seem to be pushing the envelope, seeing how much apathy I can get away with. Apparently, a lot. Not where it counts of course, but to be honest the day to day responsibilities of this "job" I couldn't care less about. I'm not maintaining my everyday academic life. When have I ever? Even when I'm in the process of working myself into the ground? I've never felt genuinely prepared, so I guess I'm learning there's a more relaxed way to go about this. Looking back I feel a little bit like a robot, a pavlovian anxiety machine of some kind. Cue: I have things to do. Response: Freak out!! After a while I can't even take myself seriously anymore. Thank goodness for journals and blogs. In the absence of a good memory, they're the best thing for self-analysis.

Which brings me to my sand-grain of the month. A very dear friend, who's known me for a long time recently commented on my journaling in public. The comment was something to the effect of: "You're one of those girls," he smiles, "scary." "Oh yes," I respond, "they run for the hills." Who they are should mystify no one, and his comment in that sense was truer than he knows. Far be it for me to point out that he himself was a case in point. It's not a matter of writing in public, that's not the issue. A lot of people think I'm writing for some paper or working on a novel or something. What really makes the difference is the eyes I turn on people when they ask me. I have a knack for making people instantly uncomfortable, even though I can work a room when I want to. If I'm in the middle of searching for something, whether it be some psychological trifle in a previous entry or the precise line that will capture the particular oddity of the moment, if I suddenly look at another person's face I'll have those same eyes, and a lot of people get almost offended, like I'm trying to deprive them of the security of the usual social rituals. Some people like it, of course, and they find me charming in a collector's item kind of way until I ask the wrong question or am too direct about something they either haven't considered or are unwilling to admit. At any rate, as one might imagine, a "girl" sitting alone in a bar writing in a notebook attracts a particular kind of attention, and most of the time the awkwardness of my social naivete is enough to scare off the drunk, the predatory and the stupid. The rest I'm happy to have a beer with.

I suppose it pisses me off because in a lot of cases I feel like I go to a lot of trouble to make people feel comfortable and in the process I contort myself into this insincere socialite (and not a very good one at that), or I convert myself into this collector's item mentality and try to match whatever expectations I can read from their faces. If I let all this pretending slip, I'm left with the usual (and perfectly understandable) rejections of the introverted, moody, self-analyzing neurotic I truly am. I guess I'm starting to wonder what the point of all this ingratiating is, ultimately. Sure, it's deeply rooted in my ever-present insecurities, I want to be liked by everyone, but I'm starting to wear through the illusion that just because I can make people like me I'll be able to maintain the pretense forever without expecting something in return. Of course the other person can't possibly know I'm doing all this work on "our" behalf, so no wonder they react defensively and tell me to go eff myself. Never in so many words of course, such straight-forwardness is not to be expected.

In any case, it's mostly a guessing game. Trial and error, my favorite...

I hope you're all well!

2008-02-15T10:06:00.004-05:00

I thought this was interesting (again via BoingBoing), especially insofar as it's discussed in terms of Freud. I'd be interested to hear people's opinions, especially those of you who either wear the veil (I don't think I know anyone that wears a burka, but if you're reading this, please comment!) or study the veil as a religious/cultural phenomenon. Apparently this doesn't violate any Koranic laws, and that's interesting in itself.

The Charming Burka

2008-02-13T09:07:00.001-05:00

2008-02-04T23:14:00.001-05:00

Hedberg, Mitch - Just For Laughs: Stand Up, Vol. 2: On the Edge - 02

Posted by justinasharlilpagi

2008-02-03T17:23:00.001-05:00

First order of business:
If this is your cat, let me know. He's adorable, but I don't necessarily want to keep him. At least I think he's a him, I'm not 100% sure I know the difference between male and female cats by outward signs. Tyra emailed me late Friday night and told me that a ginger cat that had been wandering the neighborhood for a few days was mewling in her entry way, and the weather was bad, so I took pity on him and brought him home. I had been talking in study hall about my kinda plan to get another cat, and how I love orange tiger cats, and lo, the next day one materializes. This, I presume, is the cosmos' way of kicking me off my duff, but I'm not convinced I'm supposed to make him a member of our little family. If I do, I think I'll name him Pursey (he does this cute little thing with his face when he wants something), so if someone out there has already named him, please feel free to spare him the indignity.

As far as the experiment goes, it's hard to tell whether Mr. Mystery and Smokey will get along just yet. There have been some scraps (on my bed no less, while I was sleeping, a singularly unpleasant way to wake up), and my house is filled with hostile feline noises pretty much 24 hours, but I'm pretty sure we're just establishing the pecking order. At any rate, I've had to assert my top position a lot more with the newby than I ever had to do with Smokey, given the former's proclivity for jumping up on preferably sanitary surfaces and his intense desire to seek out Smokey's hiding places and disturb his hard won solitude. He's definately younger than Smokey, but honestly I have no idea what's really going on with him. He could be diseased for all I know, but for now I'm just going to hope I haven't been smited.

Last night Tyra, Sangeetha and I went to Ithaca for the Ani show at the State Theatre. There's something about Ani that's pretty indescribable, I never dance at her shows because I'm always completely transfixed by the way she performs. There's something so private about her presence, even though she's standing before oodles of people. It was interesting at the State because for most of her classic songs (Fire Door, Untouchable Face, 32 Flavors, Both Hands) people were singing along, at times in this barely audible sybillant (sp?) whisper that echoed just after Ani's voice. This was both good and bad, good because it gave a warm fuzzy feeling of community, and bad because she was motivated to sing more classic songs, which frankly, I've heard these numbers too often, they've become bleached of new and startling insights for me. She also played a new song that I flatly didn't like, which is a new experience for me where Ani's concerned. At any rate, seeing her live was important to me, not only because I love her music, but because I think she's one of the few independent female role models I can still hold up. There's nothing compromised about her, she's solidly and (probably) irresistibly herself on stage, and the individuality of her music and performance startles me anew each time.

Ugh, I'm so tired today. Beyond the sleep I lost to the establishment of the pecking order, I've been more or less very hard at work in the last few days. I submitted two papers for publishing of one form or another and I've been trying to catch up with the coursework for next week, which I haven't actually managed to do. Something about school is starting to seem easier, I can't put my finger on it, but the realization that I am no solid judge of my own work seems to put the work I do do in a different perspective. I'm tempted to spend the rest of the day at Dan's house watching the superbowl, but I'm afraid I'd either fall asleep or just be bad company. A big part of me just wants to curl up with a movie and try to wake up tomorrow with something resembling an assembled mental base.

Anyway, I hope everyone is well, wherever this finds you.

2008-01-14T18:43:00.000-05:00

2008-01-13T21:56:00.000-05:00

Things I'm into these days:

Music

Gaylord
Holy Fuck
Jeff Oussoren
Dave Marcotte
Apostle of Hustle
I'm Not There (Soundtrack)
Antony and the Johnsons

Shows

The Boondocks
The Venture Bros.

Movies

Stranger Than Fiction
dandelion
Knocked Up
Across the Universe
I'm Not There

Activities

Scrabulous (Facebook)
Darts (I played a nine round game of cricket in the Tropicana, there were no witnesses.)
Bar hopping: the Chanti, Korova, Madeleine's, Felicia's, Castaways, Taps, Lux, the Bug Jar, Monty's Krown, Grafitti's, Sneaky Dee's, The Bovine Sex Club.
Indoor gardening
Laser pointering with Smokey
Urban exploration (esp. Syracuse and Rochester)

News

Reversal Of Alzheimer's Symptoms Within Minutes In Human Study (via BoingBoing)

Bits of Inexpensive Genius

The Original Rolling Tray
Tape adapters

Personal Revolutions

Hoop earrings
My car (1997 Mercury Sable GS, formerly my Babcia and Dziadek's)
Free couch
High heels

Pretty Pictures

Aquamarine, Maxfield Parrish, 1917

Royalty, Lenora Clark, 2007

Intertubes Phenomena

Interactive Social Contract

2008-01-10T14:06:00.000-05:00

Nearly a month later, I return. I'm not sure what mental block has been keeping me from posting here recently, but there's something about this blank box and the head full of things I could say that has me sitting here tapping my fingers at a full stop.

The break was crazy. Between Christmas and traveling and New Years there's far too much to report. Now that I'm back in Syracuse, trying to work, everything seems too quiet. I leave my apartment once a day, just to get some air and walk around. It's been freaky warm here for the last three days, I have windows and doors open to let the air circulate, and it's nice to be able to stroll, smoke and meditate without getting all geared up. I'm dreading the day I finally get robbed in this town, people tell me all the time I shouldn't walk around by myself, something bad could happen, but honestly the freedom to explore and be alone with everybody is too good to pass up, especially when I have about six gigs of music people gave me to go through. That's something I really miss about Toronto and Leuven, those are great places to get lost in the streets.

Among the highlights of the Christmas holiday was (as always) spending lots of time with my Brother. I don't think I would get through all the consumeristic bullshit of this holiday without our annual last minute shopping missions, and cooking breakfast Christmas morning makes my day (with all due respect to Jesus and his memory). I wish many years that I had a religious service to go to, and we do go to the Unitarian Christmas Eve service at Sage chapel, but those haven't been good in a long time, despite the fact that I see a lot of people I love and miss there. I like the idea of celebrating the prophet's birth, but if I had my druthers, I might light a candle on a cupcake and read the sermon on the mount. A few years ago my Mom, Adam and I went to Venice for Christmas and we ended up going to the midnight mass at the basilica San Marco, which is an absolutely beautiful building. Too beautiful really, all gold and vaulted ceilings, everyone was pushing and shoving trying to get to the front. It was so packed there was no way to get away from all the jockying for position, and about halfway through I had to leave and grieve that this is what the holy day means to us now. I felt it keenly that the prestige of worship had eclipsed the profundity of the message, and I wanted to scream at all those people in the basilica "what hell are you celebrating with all this?" If Jesus had been in the building, I think more than a few people would have been killed in the stampede to rip something from him as a momento. Such is the fate of the prophets, to be consumed like everything else.

On a different, less bitter note, Phoebe and I went to Toronto between Christmas and New Year's Eve, which was so unbelievably awesome I thought my heart would explode. We went hella shopping all over the place and with her fashion sense and my willingness to try on a bazillion things, I came out with so much stuff that I really love it was something of a miracle. I hate clothes shopping, as most of you know, but now I have a taste of what shopping can be like, given the right circumstances and company. The fashion in Toronto is also head and shoulders above anything in Ithaca or Syracuse, so there was so much to choose from. I got to catch up with a lot of good friends, even in that limited time, and the city itself still thrills me in all its gritty little details, I miss it so much. It was especially great to hang out with Mike and Jan, who generously hosted Phoebe and I on their couches, I'm really grateful to count those guys among my old friends, every time I see them they're up to something else beautiful and fascinating.

New Year's Eve was amazing. I was intent this year on dressing up for Lauren's fancy dress party, and wearing something that didn't look like my Mother's prom dress. I have such a tendency to dress solemnly when I get gussied, I thought it was high time I add flirt and flare to the mix. Of course, this involves short dresses with plunging neck lines and crazy heels, but I didn't have any plans to go to any bars that night, so I could be impractical and just chill with people I knew weren't going to make me uncomfortable. When I'm more confident with that kind of attention and can deflect it better, I'll go out into the world, but until then, I'm grateful for all those friends that will tell me when I'm sitting like a boy and steady me on my pins. As it was, even with a relatively large gathering, I had so much fun and got to visit with so many amazing people I think it all bodes very well for the coming year. Ken Hill took these picture of Phoebe and I, look how glamorous she is! Makes me freaking crazy jealous.

School starts soon, and as usual I am tragically unprepared. I meant to read all these books on Jewish mysticism over the break, but I find the tomes so far above my level on this topic that I end up looking up every other word on wikipedia. I'm excited about my new classes, one on Kierkegaard's Works of Love and another on religion, media and international relations, plus an independent study with Dr. Braiterman on the afore mentioned mysticism. Now that the dust is settled and the first semester is in the can, I'm really starting to appreciate how great the department is, and how much my peers and teachers have to offer me. It's all very exciting really, I hope to live up to the chance I've been given here.

I hope all of you are wonderful, and to all those operating on this calendar, happy new year!!

2007-12-11T20:30:00.001-05:00

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

2007-12-10T18:20:00.000-05:00

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.

2007-12-09T20:32:00.000-05:00

Seriously...

2007-12-09T10:32:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-02T22:23:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-11-15T11:42:00.000-05:00

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.

2007-10-22T20:56:00.000-04:00

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.

2007-10-08T23:06:00.000-04:00

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.

2007-09-28T19:48:00.000-04:00

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.

2007-09-16T19:08:00.000-04:00

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)