I started this blog as a way to vent about politics when the Democratic primary was capturing most of my attention, and I'm actually surprised I haven't written more lately on that topic. I was planning a kind of farewell to Bush post, but figured I'm not going to say anything that hasn't already been said.
I'm glad he's going back to Texas and I'll at least say this: since Bush insists upon the necessity of justifying each and every one of his actions based upon what happened on September 11th, 2001, I will use that reference point, too.
The terrorists who attacked us that day could not have had a better president for furthering their goals. Jihadists know that they're never going to defeat us militarily. They absolutely know that. What they wanted to do was attack our ideas, our self-confidence as a people and a civilization. The symbolic weight of 9/11 matches, and perhaps surpasses (at least from a historical perspective) the heartbreaking legacy and memory that the dead leave behind. This tactic was not fated to work, however; it worked because we allowed it to work.
Bush and his cronies scared us, lied to us, forced us to hunker down, and made the Constitution into a negotiable document, all in the name of protecting us from terrorists. Illegal wiretaps, the promotion of torture, unchecked executive power--these are all developments that Bush thrust in our faces as if we were some third world country who was beholden to a tyrant. We, as a citizenry, are certainly responsible for letting him do this, as are the myriad Democrats who fell in lock-step with Bush in each and every case of "national security" (they, too, wanted to cover their ass).
But what is supposed to set America apart is the dream of America. I am a realist about what we are as a country, despite the tendency of our collective patriotism to obscure some of our less respectable actions and traits. But what separates America is that our ideals, our vision of ourselves which always forces us to look in the mirror, which is embodied in and by our founding documents, should not be sacrificed for anything--not even our own safety. "Give me liberty, or give me death" should be taken seriously. Because without those ideals we are another Rome waiting to fall. When we sacrifice our ideals (even as we sometimes fail to live up to them), we sacrifice our collective identity.
Bush, I'm sure, did what he thought was right. But surely he was also covering his ass as he led the fight on implementing his Orwellian policies. No president wants to be responsible for the deaths of his/her citizens. And so maybe we'll just wiretap, but just a little bit; or, we'll only torture the really bad guys. When exceptions are made, the rule falls apart. And many things have fallen apart in the last eight years.
I could go on but I'm in a celebratory mood today, and ready to move on.
2 million in Washington! Wow!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Stream-feed: 11:56 p.m.
I'll be passing out syllabi tomorrow, and I'm kind of nervous since I've never really taught an actual literature course before. There was English 300, lit & film, but that was four weeks during summer, and we mostly watched movies. There was that 400-level post-Joyce Irish lit class I co-taught with another professor, but that wasn't really my class. There's the surveys I've TA-ed for and of course the myriad composition classes. But nothing like this one and it makes me anxious because being a literary critic and teaching literary criticism are two totally different things. What do I teach a sophomore or junior about literary criticism; even more importantly, what do I leave out? Where to begin? Do I start all sentimental and get all teary-eyed about how much I love words, language, and stories, and hope they pick up on my enthusiasm? Or do I go in there like a cold practitioner? I've made certain choices, I've chosen my texts, thought about the ideas, terms, theories, techniques, etc., I've learned and practiced over the years, but what is the best way to communicate these things other than just assigning readings and "discussing" the readings. It's not the little, detailed questions they'll ask me that make me anxious, but the big ones that are much more difficult to answer...why study literature? why is something good or bad? does goodness or badness even matter? what distinguishes literature from other pursuits of knowledge, truth, pleasure, love....I have answers for these questions but some of them are so tenuous. I change my mind about the answers to these questions constantly. I know that I know a lot more than they do, and I'm confident in what I know, but getting a PhD also means that yes, I have some answers, but it also means I have many more questions...more questions than my class will ask...anyway, I'm excited, at least, that I'll be able to teach the texts and authors that I love for reasons that extend beyond their capacity to receive literary analysis...I always appreciated enthusiastic teachers--ones whose lectures were living evidence of an extended love affair with what they study. I'm not exactly ebullient in front of a class, but I'm pretty fluid and sometimes I surprise myself when I utter a phrase and I'm not sure where it came from. Lecturing helps me to realize how much I've learned....but I also hope to engage with students more than I usually do this term. That will be easier given the fact that I want to be teaching the course, and am not being forced to teach the course..........Took care of Ada today. She began the day next to me in bed and played with my eyebrows with her index finger. She played, ate, swung in her...swinging chair? (don't know what else to call it)....rocker I guess...crapped twice, fell asleep while I watched Big Love, awoke hungry, laughed at me, played some more, waited for mom to come home...a pretty typical day but wonderful for its normality--a normality I like and can live with. It's amazing how much she smiles, as if Wordsworth were right--that children are purer and closer to wisdom than adults who become corrupted in their age and more distant from the simple truths that children know. I don't believe that sh#@ but sometimes I think Ada's living in a completely different realm than me and her smile is the only bridge between where I'm at and where she happens to be floating. I'm fine with that. I fully plan on communicating the standard cliche to Ada that she should stay young as long as she can because youth is full of illusions but aren't illusions so comforting, so necessary? Art is of course illusion, even the gritty kind intent on exposing our illusions, which is a kind of art whose intent is to replace one illusion with the illusion that complaining about the illusions isn't in fact an illusion, when in fact it really is. M. Arnold said, aptly, that literature is a criticism of life. I agree, but that criticism is no less an illusion than the illusions its intent upon correcting...perhaps a better illusion though...an illusion of one's own making, enjoyed consciously for its artifice...and not because one is ignorant that it's an illusion in the first place.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Back from Break; New Year's Resolutions
I'm finally back to a semblance of a routine after being in Oregon for two weeks. It was a great trip but coming home is always refreshing, and given that it's the new year, I have a list of resolutions I'll share, and what I've already done, or not done, to accomplish them.
1) Maintain a disciplined writing schedule
I have already canceled our satellite service, and we are going to pay for an extra day of baby-sitting every week so I can have more time to myself. Do you understand the magnitude of what I just wrote. I. shut. off. the. T.V. Granted, it's a little easier since football season's almost over, and most of the shows I like I can watch online anyway. But still, that's pretty big.
2) Remember family birthdays and important occasions, and send a card. Family, please hold me accountable if a significant event passes by and you have not received at least a card.
3) Lose some weight. Probably not going to happen, but always a new year's resolution classic.
4) Be a better husband. I'm a good husband but one can always be a better husband, especially if you love your wife. I've fallen short at times last year.
5) Make this a dynamic blog that people want to read. Looking back at the last six months or so, my most commented on posts relate to popular culture and politics. My least commented on: literature. I'll work on that.
1) Maintain a disciplined writing schedule
I have already canceled our satellite service, and we are going to pay for an extra day of baby-sitting every week so I can have more time to myself. Do you understand the magnitude of what I just wrote. I. shut. off. the. T.V. Granted, it's a little easier since football season's almost over, and most of the shows I like I can watch online anyway. But still, that's pretty big.
2) Remember family birthdays and important occasions, and send a card. Family, please hold me accountable if a significant event passes by and you have not received at least a card.
3) Lose some weight. Probably not going to happen, but always a new year's resolution classic.
4) Be a better husband. I'm a good husband but one can always be a better husband, especially if you love your wife. I've fallen short at times last year.
5) Make this a dynamic blog that people want to read. Looking back at the last six months or so, my most commented on posts relate to popular culture and politics. My least commented on: literature. I'll work on that.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Something I wrote today
Any readers of Hegel out there? Or London?
"It is not that Buck is really human, or that humans are really animals; I am not interested in drawing easy equivalences. What I am positing is that if Buck can be inserted into humanist equations, like Hegel’s, and remain a dog (or, in other words, if Buck can survive being made a metaphor for the merely human), the possibility for a literary understanding of human/animal relations becomes possible and promising; for if our goal is a different future, posthuman or not, and if that future depends upon reconceptualizing the human, without, on the one hand, falling back on nihilism (in which humans have no value, as such), or on the other, fulfilling the equally terrifying dream of an all-too-human future (in which humans are over-valued, as such), then we must begin to imagine, in our stories, and read into the ones that have already been written, the possibility that becoming human, or becoming animal, might at least avoid the inevitability of one “becoming” only at the expense of the other."
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Fighting the future with mustaches
I've been waiting for mustaches to make a comeback, and I think this recent Rolling Stone cover just might help its long awaited return.
I've always been amazed at Brad Pitt's chameleonesque hair. He can go all Legends-of-the-Fall in weeks, shave it for his next film, then appear days later with George Clooney's very fashionable 1950s look.
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I wonder if there's some magical Hollywood secret gel that allows celebrities to grow their hair out more quickly than the rest of the plebeian masses.
Anyway. Mustaches: why did they wander in the cultural desert for so long, collecting all kinds of sleazy connotations, like some creep in a windowless van (Michele associates mustaches with child molesters, which pretty much disqualifies me from ever growing one, even though I really really want to)?
I'm also waiting for body hair, in general, to make a comeback. Americans are obsessed with shaving everything, but I just can't keep up; what is it about body hair that so reviles us in one era, while being completely acceptable in others? I mean, Burt Reynolds used to be considered, like, a Greek God or something.
And then a mere 10 to 20 years later, this would completely repel 99% of women.
I think there must be an aesthetics of smoothness that's very active in the human brain--that makes us believe that rounded, consistent shapes are some kind of surface-manifestation of inner purity. I don't think that it's just sexual either. There's evolutionary reasons for why men are attracted to curves--they are supposedly the outer reflection of healthy reproductive capability (or so I read).
Yet, why is it that so much future-oriented design is almost inevitably sleek? For example, take the two robots from Disney's recent movie, Wall-E.
The old design is baroque, gothic, broke-down. The new design is exceedingly simple and egg-like. If you'll recall Terminator 2, the old design, occupied by Arnold Schwarzeneggar's smoothly shaved skin, is nevertheless a collection of intricate humanoid parts on the inside, while the new design is liquid metal.
In addition, if you compare the spaceships in the first three Star Wars films, they are much more complex and labyrinthine than the ships in the latest three.
My question is, why does new always equal smooth? Because in each case I actually prefer the old design, and yet I've always somewhat fetishized the new as well (hence my taste for Modernist literature). With the exception of home design, painting, and literature, in which I certainly prefer modernist straight lines and minimalist flourishes, the clunkier, more gothic-church like design of the "older" models registers more "soul", even if the object rendered is a machine.
So I think there's also something in us that rejects the aesthetic of smoothness at times, and lets us enjoy the sloppy effectiveness of the Millenium Falcon, the simple tasks completed by the squeaky but soulful Wall-E, and the human-in-waiting of the Cyberdyne Systems Model 101.
My next step must be to convince Michele that my desire to grow a mustache simply stems from my yearning to reject the onset of a featureless future that we humans can only seem to envision as a plain free of the scars, blemishes, and accretions that pock reality and erupt through the curvature of our utopias.
Think she'll buy it?
I've always been amazed at Brad Pitt's chameleonesque hair. He can go all Legends-of-the-Fall in weeks, shave it for his next film, then appear days later with George Clooney's very fashionable 1950s look.
.jpg)
I wonder if there's some magical Hollywood secret gel that allows celebrities to grow their hair out more quickly than the rest of the plebeian masses.
Anyway. Mustaches: why did they wander in the cultural desert for so long, collecting all kinds of sleazy connotations, like some creep in a windowless van (Michele associates mustaches with child molesters, which pretty much disqualifies me from ever growing one, even though I really really want to)?
I'm also waiting for body hair, in general, to make a comeback. Americans are obsessed with shaving everything, but I just can't keep up; what is it about body hair that so reviles us in one era, while being completely acceptable in others? I mean, Burt Reynolds used to be considered, like, a Greek God or something.
And then a mere 10 to 20 years later, this would completely repel 99% of women.
I think there must be an aesthetics of smoothness that's very active in the human brain--that makes us believe that rounded, consistent shapes are some kind of surface-manifestation of inner purity. I don't think that it's just sexual either. There's evolutionary reasons for why men are attracted to curves--they are supposedly the outer reflection of healthy reproductive capability (or so I read).
Yet, why is it that so much future-oriented design is almost inevitably sleek? For example, take the two robots from Disney's recent movie, Wall-E.
The old design is baroque, gothic, broke-down. The new design is exceedingly simple and egg-like. If you'll recall Terminator 2, the old design, occupied by Arnold Schwarzeneggar's smoothly shaved skin, is nevertheless a collection of intricate humanoid parts on the inside, while the new design is liquid metal.
In addition, if you compare the spaceships in the first three Star Wars films, they are much more complex and labyrinthine than the ships in the latest three.
My question is, why does new always equal smooth? Because in each case I actually prefer the old design, and yet I've always somewhat fetishized the new as well (hence my taste for Modernist literature). With the exception of home design, painting, and literature, in which I certainly prefer modernist straight lines and minimalist flourishes, the clunkier, more gothic-church like design of the "older" models registers more "soul", even if the object rendered is a machine.
So I think there's also something in us that rejects the aesthetic of smoothness at times, and lets us enjoy the sloppy effectiveness of the Millenium Falcon, the simple tasks completed by the squeaky but soulful Wall-E, and the human-in-waiting of the Cyberdyne Systems Model 101.
My next step must be to convince Michele that my desire to grow a mustache simply stems from my yearning to reject the onset of a featureless future that we humans can only seem to envision as a plain free of the scars, blemishes, and accretions that pock reality and erupt through the curvature of our utopias.
Think she'll buy it?
Sunday, November 30, 2008
No Excuses
...for the Beavers. If you can't stop simple run plays then you don't deserve to win. It does hurt, but it's almost better that they lost big and not on some last-second field goal. It really seemed like I was watching a different team out there; the offense was fine, even though having Quizz would have given us a run game and might have changed things, just like a couple blown calls could have changed things. But it wasn't close enough for those kinds of excuses to register much validity. You don't give up 700 yards and win a game.
Plus, we've won the last two against the Ducks, so they were kind of due. It looked like the extra week to prepare really helped, given the way they picked apart our defense. And that was no coincidence. The Ducks did not want to lose to us three straight years.
So no Rose Bowl. It was a good season, though, and once again Riley's team over-performed. At the beginning of this season I thought it would be a rebuilding year. I'm just hoping that one of these years we'll be able to put it altogether and make a more dominant run for the Roses, in a year when the Pac-10 is a bit stronger.
Alas, I'll end with a philosophical question. Is there anything else in life comparable to sports, in that it matters so much (to some people at least), but over which you have no control whatsoever? It doesn't matter how hard you cheer or how much your care, what happens on the field will happen regardless of the intensity of your fanhood. I would love not to be a sports fan, but I'm beyond having the luxury of choice in that matter; it sure would save me a lot of time and heartache, especially given the fact that basically all my teams suck, and probably always will.
And I still hate the Ducks. But what fun is sports without an enemy to loathe?
Plus, we've won the last two against the Ducks, so they were kind of due. It looked like the extra week to prepare really helped, given the way they picked apart our defense. And that was no coincidence. The Ducks did not want to lose to us three straight years.
So no Rose Bowl. It was a good season, though, and once again Riley's team over-performed. At the beginning of this season I thought it would be a rebuilding year. I'm just hoping that one of these years we'll be able to put it altogether and make a more dominant run for the Roses, in a year when the Pac-10 is a bit stronger.
Alas, I'll end with a philosophical question. Is there anything else in life comparable to sports, in that it matters so much (to some people at least), but over which you have no control whatsoever? It doesn't matter how hard you cheer or how much your care, what happens on the field will happen regardless of the intensity of your fanhood. I would love not to be a sports fan, but I'm beyond having the luxury of choice in that matter; it sure would save me a lot of time and heartache, especially given the fact that basically all my teams suck, and probably always will.
And I still hate the Ducks. But what fun is sports without an enemy to loathe?
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
I. HATE. THE. DUCKS.
My friend from the KFO (that is, Klamath Falls, Oregon for my non-Oregonian readers) came down over the weekend to watch the Beavers play the Wildcats. It was a great game, and best of all, we won on a last second field goal.
Now it's Beavers/Ducks, in Corvallis, for the Rose Bowl. I have talked a lot of smack in my lifetime to Ducks fans, and being an Oregonian, there's literally no way that if you're either a Duck or a Beaver, that you can avoid having friends and/or family in the other camp. Usually, I can still get along with them as long as we don't talk football. But this week, those people are not my friends or family: they are simply my enemy.
There are three teams I hate in sports, and which deserve nothing but scorn:
3) the Pittsburgh Steelers (for robbing the Seahawks of a Super Bowl victory)
2) the New York Yankees
1) the Oregon Ducks
I hate the Ducks uniforms and their faux-trendiness, I hate the fact that they think they're god's gift to college football, despite having accomplished very little, I hate the fact that they're not the Beavers. I hate their yuppie fans, and their wannabe yuppie fans.
I. HATE. THE. DUCKS.
Have fun in the Las Vegas Bowl, you pieces of crap.
Now it's Beavers/Ducks, in Corvallis, for the Rose Bowl. I have talked a lot of smack in my lifetime to Ducks fans, and being an Oregonian, there's literally no way that if you're either a Duck or a Beaver, that you can avoid having friends and/or family in the other camp. Usually, I can still get along with them as long as we don't talk football. But this week, those people are not my friends or family: they are simply my enemy.
There are three teams I hate in sports, and which deserve nothing but scorn:
3) the Pittsburgh Steelers (for robbing the Seahawks of a Super Bowl victory)
2) the New York Yankees
1) the Oregon Ducks
I hate the Ducks uniforms and their faux-trendiness, I hate the fact that they think they're god's gift to college football, despite having accomplished very little, I hate the fact that they're not the Beavers. I hate their yuppie fans, and their wannabe yuppie fans.
I. HATE. THE. DUCKS.
Have fun in the Las Vegas Bowl, you pieces of crap.
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