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.

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!

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

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

Posted by justinasharlilpagi

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.

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

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!!

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

Drive-by Coffee Spitter Arrested

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously...

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

Robot Ascetic Inscribes Bible

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chi in just about the coolest outfit ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Ah well, rainy day post.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Esse

Czeslaw Milosz

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

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

from Uncollected Poems (1954-1969)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Tina, Leah, me, Melissa)

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

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

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

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

I hope everyone is well.

Cake

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Sense of touch is crucial for empathy

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

Things I will miss:

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

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

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

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

On the escalator to War With Iran

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

Pentagon Confirms it Sought to Make a "Gay Bomb"

Also: Requiescat in pacem.

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

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

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

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

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



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


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

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

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

Love,

Cakes

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

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

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

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

Lates!

Cakes

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

Interview with Wafaa Bilal
by Brian Boyko

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

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

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

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

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

Wireless spy coin was just a Canadian poppy coin

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

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