Melancholia

Dead Letter Office (V): Escape from New Orleans

2005-09-04T01:03:00.000-07:00

[from comment I left over at Bitch, Ph.D.'s place]

I have recent news from a friend of mine, now in Texas, who just escaped New Orleans. He's one of my best friends--about ten years ago, we roomed together in a loft in Chicago.

He, his wife, and dog, had found their way to the Hilton before the storm hit, and weathered the storm there. I spoke with them on Monday after all had concluded that Katrina had spared the city, and they were all right, but had had a harrowing night and morning; they had been asked to fill their bathtub with water in case they needed it, but the building swayed so much during the hurricane that half of it ended up on the bathroom floor. At this point I lost contact with them, but I found out the rest of the story tonight.

After the levies broke and the hotel started filling with water, they decided to go back to their home, which was on the other side of the Mississippi, and windblown but dry; they thought that they would just look after things until the National Gaurd arrived. No one came.

Word starting getting out that there were dry houses in my friend's neighborhood, and refugees began showing up and looting everything in sight; a gunfight broke out, killing one of his neighbors. Still, no National Gaurd.

As more looters and refugees entered the neighborhood, my friend and his wife feared for their lives, and went from house to house in the neighborhood looking for guns; he found a rifle for his wife, and kept a handgun and rifle for himself. Another night, and still, no National Gaurd.

More people continued to appear, and armed gangs started to form; they respected my friends and kept to a distance because they were armed, but they knew that if they were drawn into a gunfight they would die, as they would probably hesitate before shooting, where the others would not. More gunfights that night.

They left early, early in the morning in a car they were half certain would be car-jacked, as some pretty terrifying stories were circulating about people building obstacles in the street and then ambushing stopped cars, but they made it clear to everyone they met that they were armed, and they eventually got through.

It is unbelievable to me that some 48% of Americans believe that the federal government is doing a good job with this; no doubt, this is the same brain dead Fox-watching motherfuckers who voted the Bush Administration into office for a second term.

If we cannot take back the Congress and the Executive in the next year and three, then there is no viable oppositional party in this country, and we will have shown that we as a country have lost our ability to reason.

This is a national shame, and by God, if I hear anyone in a coffeeshop, bar, or restaurant trying to minimize what has happened in New Orleans or explain it away, I swear that I will knock their damned teeth out.

Dead Letter Office (IV)

2005-07-21T12:57:00.000-07:00

Thanks for stopping by, if you haven't for a while; here's a bit of an update. Best to all, melancholic.

Dread my lord G,

It’s disastrously hot here as well—I just spent the morning and afternoon standing/sitting/swooning in various lines (DMV, Student Health, City Hall) getting my “life” together, and in the eleventh hour, I might add. Come to think of it, I think that my life has only ever been together in the eleventh hour; things always seem to start falling apart again once the clock strikes twelve, but I suppose that’s because I refuse to pay a bill until it’s been properly fermented, aged, and served six months down the line by a member of the sheriff’s department.

The bad news is that all I have left is basically a pocket full of change, after all of my bills/obligations are paid off; the good news is that I’ve had some pretty exciting bills of late, including plane tickets to Guayaquil, Ecuador, plane tickets from there to the Galapagos Islands, and an eight-day tour on a small boat with Q (believe it or not) and about ten biologists. (I’m presently memorizing a stanza from Byron’s Don Juan, the only English poem of which I’m aware that features any Galapagan fauna, in this case the glorious boobie [it’s from the shipwreck/ cannibal scene]:

Of poor Pedrillo something still remain'd,
    But was used sparingly, --- some were afraid,
And others still their appetites constrained,
    Or but at times a little supper made;
All except Juan, who throughout abstain'd,
    Chewing a piece of bamboo and some lead:
At length they caught two boobies and a noddy,
And then they left off eating the dead body. )

[My sister M] is engaged to be married to an Ecuadorian, a native Galapagan (a guy, not a tortoise or sea cucumber), and I thought that I’d check him and the place out; she seems very happy there, by the way.

If I had to do it all over again, I don’t know if I would, as this has positively broken the bank, I am utterly destitute, but on the other hand, I’ve never swum with sea lions before, or eels, or hammerhead sharks, or eaten roast guinea pig, or seen a whale, or slept on deck a hundred-ton biologist’s vessel, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t sound like a passable vacation.

Otherwise, I’ve had a good work year—I wrote a rich, eighty-page chapter, one that has I think surprised my committee, and they’re pretty damned friendly now; I was a fellow of sorts at the [impressive institution] in DC, and delivered a thirty-pager that was well-received; but for the last two months, things have been black around here, static, immovable; I’ve been dogged with this unflappable feeling that this is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife, as the Talking Heads song goes, and I’m all but out of ideas on how to get the life I want, short of working, of which I am nearly mortally tired.

I go on the job market in September, at long, long last, of a certainty, and it will go well, but damn, G, it’s been a long haul; I’ve accomplished near everything I’ve wanted here, as my goals have been almost entirely personal, and having all but fulfilled them, I hardly know where I am anymore. But I’ll get it together for the job market; no worries. This trip should be just the copper-wire scrub to the brain that I need before I pimp myself out before the hiring committees.

I will be accessible via email for the next couple of days, but then will be in a place where the stars are strange and internet access is touch and go. Apologies for the white noise; from nothing comes nothing, as that Celtic jingle goes, and I’ve got basically nothing going on here. I did read a beautiful Ashbery poem the other day, though, entitled “Small Song”:

The reeds give way to the wind,
And give the wind away.

Damned beautiful; I’ll end on that one (it was either that one or the boobies); good to hear from you, G,

melancholic

I resemble that remark

2005-04-08T18:44:00.000-07:00

On the dangers of a truly liberal education: a section from Pier Paolo Vergerio's Character and Studies Befitting a Free-Born Youth (1402):

What is more, this excessive desire to know and learn is generally joined with a certain disorderly curiosity to investigate. For when people like this are eager to take up many things one by one, they fall upon the various disciplines all at once, going back now to this one, now to that; now they embrace one subject with all their strength, then, having cast that aside, they embrace another for a bit, then another. This is not only completely useless, but even very damaging, for there is truth in the proverb which says: wines turn sour when they are rebottled too often. So it is better to devote oneself to one thing and to pursue it with all one's zeal. . .

Never in my life have I proceeded methodically in a single subject--after four or five hours, I usually become quite bored with whatever I'm working on, and have to turn to something (often) completely different. Now, it is my fervent belief that such a happenstance anchorless junk-drawer of interests makes for a more interesting life, and yet I cannot help but conclude that I would have definitely completed my Ph.D. program by now had it not been for this admittedly self-indulgent "disorderly curiosity to investigate."

Upon reflection, it might be even worse than I had supposed, as it is not merely incidental that I investigate in a disorderly fashion, but a central aspect of what I am after: hidden and surprising parallels, alarming continuities, occult sympathies in seemingly disparate activities and endeavors. I'm not talking about anything that would be interesting enough to publish in a paper; rather, I suppose that I value (perhaps beyond their worth) the momentary insights that flash in the mind and then are mostly forgotten. Perhaps I desire to seek out the world in its fullness, but also desire to experience it as more of an organic entity than a mere scraphouse of fragmented images. And I enjoy the fact that I am the author of that experience.

Which reminds me: melancholic, you've been working in a single register on a single topic all week, and while this has meant that you've seen a lot of progress in your writing, you need to get out there into the world a bit more. And soon.

You know what's coming next, right?

2005-04-02T21:54:00.000-08:00

Based upon the recent string of breathtaking nominations for prominent jobs at the World Bank and United Nations, I wouldn't be surprised to find John Ashcroft's name, or Jon O'Neil's, Richard Pearle's, or that of James/Jeff Gannon/Guckert on the short list for the most recent job vacancy. Wouldn't that be a thumb in old Europe's eye?

Spread the word, won't you?

2005-03-28T05:51:00.000-08:00

[Wow, this hot, blond haired guy from the seventies is suppose to be me.]

Your Seduction Style: Ideal Lover

You seduce people by tapping into their dreams and desires.
And because of this sensitivity, you can be the ideal lover for anyone you seek. You are a shapeshifter - bringing romance, adventure, spirituality to relationships. It all depends on who your with, and what their vision of a perfect relationship is.

What Is Your Seduction Style?

iPod / Crucifixion Shuffle

2005-03-25T18:04:00.000-08:00

Stolen, lock, stock, and barrel, from Advice at your own Risk. Do check out dr. karen's shuffle, but here's mine in honour of Good Friday.

Jesus

Jesus Shootin' Heroin, The Flaming Lips
Personal Jesus, Johnny Cash
I Want to be like Jesus in my heart, Blind Lemon Jefferson
Jesus and Tequila, Minutemen
If Jesus Drove a Motorhome, Jim White
Chocolate Jesus, Tom Waits
Just like Honey, Jesus & Mary Chain
You Don't Know Jesus, Mogwai
Jesus met the woman at the well, Dave Van Ronk
Personal Jesus, Depeche Mode
[Jim White's entire album, Wrong-Eyed Jesus]
Jesus, etc., Wilco

Hell

Everything Goes to Hell, Tom Waits
This is Hell, Elvis Costello
Burning Hell, R.E.M.
To Hell with Poverty, Gang of Four
Burnin' Hell, John Lee Hooker
Hell Hound on My Trail, Robert Johnson
Run Like Hell, Pink Floyd

The Devil

Old Devil Moon, Sonny Rollins
Sympathy for the Devil, Rolling Stones
Old Devil Moon, Chet Baker
That ole devil called love, Billie Holiday
Me and the devil, Cowboy Junkies
I'm taking a devil of a chance, Lightnin' Hopkins
You have to be joking (autopsy of the devil), Flaming Lips
Bugs Got a Devilish Grin Conga, Kronos Quartet
Devil in My Car, B-52's

&&&&&& Update &&&&&&
I'd almost forgotten "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," by the Charlie Daniels Band. Who was Jesus anyway, if not a crazy country boy from the Peach State who was challenged by the devil and a band of demons and won a solid gold fiddle as a reward?
&&&&&&&&& &&&&&&&&&

Dueling Narcissism

2005-03-23T12:33:00.000-08:00

Raphael&Fornarina, originally uploaded by lesserajax.

Check out Medusa's ideal self-portrait and compare it to this one. My question to passers-by is, Which particular variety of longing, idealization, and loneliness is compelling to you? (I should add that I am more the voyeur than the straight-out narcissist; what's interesting is that in both cases, the gazer is looking at something that is not quite real.)

Sure, you can be Depressed and be an Asshole

2005-03-22T02:50:00.000-08:00

I almost missed wolfangel's response on her own website to a comment I left over at terminaldegree; my original comment was

Once long ago, a brilliant cousin of mine offered the theory that it’s really the most creative, free-thinking, mindful individuals who suffer what she called “dark times,” times in which the world about you greys out, and all you want to do is disappear. To a man–and woman–the finest people I know here at the University suffer these bouts, and I’ve grown to consider them not events of which to be ashamed, but the unfortunate fee that must be paid for such intense periods of engagement either with the world, or with their particular arts. Cold comfort, but so many of us are this way.

The issue is an important one, so I thought I'd elaborate a bit upon it.

First, I think that the spelling "grey" makes grey/day, grey/charade rhymes all the sexier, but more importantly:

My claim, if I was making a general claim at all (indeed it was a response to a specific post), was that depression seems to be the cost that one has to pay for the intense emotional/intellectual engagement required for creativity. I made no real direct causal link between depression and creativity; I was rather suggesting that it is one's engagement, one's engagement with the world, with one's work, and with great art that wears one to tatters, and that this can (and will) lead to depression. That is, if you're operating close to your capacities, and at all paying attention.

So I think that much of the discussion of the comment follows from people erroneously thinking that I was arguing a causal link between depression and creativity, which I was not. The real surprise, though, was wolfangel's conclusion that

I think this entire argument smacks too much of “there’s a reason for everything”, something with which I not only don’t agree but (as I have mentioned before) take great offense to; perhaps this is why I am so against this argument. Because, too, it makes depression sound like the interesting part of people, something I fight against in myself a lot. Or perhaps also because it makes depression sound beautiful and romantic, when it’s not: it’s dismal and colourless and sad and boring.

I suppose that I should go on record as saying that no, there isn't a reason for everything--as I tell my undergraduates, Nietzsche's popularly appropriated phrase "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger" is an ethical claim, not a factual one; one should live as if this were true, but most often it is not. There are barrelsful of individuals out there who get messed up and then die, or never completely heal, or heal in malformed ways, to no good end whatsoever.

My intent, I suppose, was not to "romanticize" depression, not to treat it as "beautiful," and not to suggest that anyone wallow in it; rather, I was attempting to domesticate it, to observe that depression in our business need not be a blistering indictment of one's personality. Like the mad hatters who lost their mind in the nineteenth century for working with mercury on a daily basis, our madness too, I believe, is a byproduct of the kind of work we do, and how we do it.

While I do not believe that depression is "the interesting part of people," I must admit that I am greatly suspicious of those colleagues of mine who don't wrestle with it; quite frankly, I find them superficial, conservative (even in their liberal views), not a little smug, and utterly bourgeois. Wolfangel is right on the money when she says that depression is "dismal and colourless and sad and boring," and I would add that when one is in it, one needs to fight like hell to get out of it. While I of course concede that depression is an indication of many things, for individuals working in the arts, it is also an indication of engagement; and when I see someone paying the price for engagement, it's true, I admire them for it. Those who have bought contentment and satisfaction at the price of not paying attention I despise.

Literary Litmus Meme

2005-03-21T15:07:00.000-08:00

I will certainly be the last one on earth to respond to this meme, but here goes:

You’re stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?

I think that it would be The Iliad--first, because it was constructed to be memorized, and second, because it is so desperately beautiful.

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

Yes--Caddy Compson of The Sound and the Fury; she's enough to break your heart every time

The last book you bought is:

Charles Taylor, The Ethics of Authencity, yesterday; published two years after his influential Sources of the Self, he argues that we achieve true individuality only through careful interactions with others, and that these interactions not only can be critical, that they must be critical.

The last book you read:

William Gibson's Neuromancer; a must-read for anyone who wants to understand the origins of the internet, and perhaps get some sense of where all of this is leading.

What are you currently reading?

Nobokov's Pale Fire ('nuf said)

Five books you would take to a deserted island:

[not The Iliad, because I will have memorized that already, but:]
The plays of Aeschylus [or if this is cheating, then the Agamemnon]
The plays of Shakespeare [or Hamlet]
Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom!
The poems of Wallace Stevens
The Lord of the Rings

Dead Letter Office (III)

2005-03-21T14:35:00.000-08:00

You dambed bift, you not cursed, just been cast into yo body at one 'ticular time like the mos of us, and haf to deal wit what you haf to deal wit. Damb, girl; get yo dress on straight. Dare are no fates, no curses, jus whimsies whifin roun dat silly head o yose. Jelly on da roll, though, I tink da World Bank gig a tall plan; lotta scrutch in that hutch, wink o my eye.

Shake yo head, point yo toze, an tip yo balance right.

Witness; deliver.

melancholic

. . . and write myself a Letter

2005-03-19T20:58:00.000-08:00

I agree entirely with Lucienne on this one: www.futureme.org isn't a bad idea, but more useful would be a website that sends emails into the past. Most of mine would involve women, I think;

Yes, take a shot at X, Y, P Q (see long, er, well these things are relative, list of available and willing opportunities)

No, you are exactly correct about J, she is devoutly and irreparably messed up, and will leech away your very life's blood for the next two years (just don't pay attention to that voice of hers curling in your head, that pert, sassy, fifties little mouth, no, don't do it)

Listen, that relationship is over; stop protecting R, she's made her own bed (and actually will really screw you over in, oh, about ten months from now, after you've gotten back together)--G is RIGHT THERE; you couldn't be more attracted to her, just get into the back seat with her when your friends all go minature golfing tomorrow

Alright, L tomorrow in bed is going to ask you what you like, what you fantasize about, what you're into; now you don't know, because you're terribly inexperienced, but let me answer these questions for you. . .you'll probably blow her mind

Listen, about C; she's funny, and gorgeous, and long, and terribly attractive, and yes, I know how you love that she gets a red spotch across the bridge of her nose when she drinks red wine; I also know that you'll find the running after her for two years rewarding because you positively adore her, but listen, it won't be worth it; I won't ask you to stop, because you just won't, but please look into other options--there's always C', and perhaps K; there's a whole world out there, man.

Oh yes, and a note to myself five minutes ago: finish this entry, get back to the Greek, continue the hiking tomorrow morning, and start shaking the trees for a date; it's time, past time, and you know it.

One

2005-03-18T17:07:00.000-08:00

Everything is proceeding as it should; the day started with a hike, which was damned difficult (my calves and legs are but shadows of their former selves), but it produced enough endorphins in my system for a productive (Greek work, work on article, work on dissertation) and generally enjoyable day. Had a pretty dark conversation about departmental politics/policies with some friends/acquaintances over some beers tonight--you know, the same old thing: that the faculty is out of touch with the financial condition of the graduate students here, that they have unrealistic goals of how long it should take to complete the program (given our relentless teaching load), and that they are generally aloof and detatched about our scholarship and professional development. I could have done without that, but it's another reminder to keep my nose to the grindstone, complete my chapter revision, article, language exam, and provide my committee no occasion for complaint--that is, more than the cause they already have for my already having taken as long as I have.

Tomorrow: clean up the final first third of the article into final form, and sketch an outline for the next third; more work on Chapter Three; more work on the Iliad. But first, of course: a hike to make it all possible.

A Match Made in. . .well, at Rum and Monkey

2005-03-18T00:48:00.000-08:00

I'm an apparently intelligent, liberal, not-too-generous, not-too-selfish, relatively well adjusted human being!
See how compatible you are with me!
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey

88% match with brina b!

Restart (Again)

2005-03-17T20:22:00.000-08:00

Thank God, but I've seen this place before. My elaborate and extensive revision of my third chapter is proceeding at a snail's pace, the article I'm working on (you know, the one without which I will not get a job offer next year) is all but stalled out, and my preparation for my remaining language exam (put off for years now), clearly insufficient. Physically, I'm in terrible shape; although healthy after a two-week illness, I've actually gained weight, and my metabolism has all but dropped into my shoes.

When things are proceeding alright, not well, and not badly, it's very difficult for me to find the motivation to change, even though I despise the idea of living a comfortable, safe, and largely uninteresting life. It's only when things have gotten this bad--when I become disgusted at what I see--that I can use that disgust as the occasion to achieve something worthwhile, or admirable, or rare. Gazing at/reading great art is also helpful to me, as part of its ameliorative virtue is to indict the beholder, to galvanize him into making something worthwhile, something beautiful of himself, as the famous poem on the subject goes.

So it all changes, both tonight and tomorrow. Tonight I'm off to the gym to start of a weight-training regimen, and tomorrow morning I'm going to be up and out (Freudian slip: I just wrote "ought") at eight (early for me now) for a hike with a buddy of mine; this should help readjust my schedule, increase my metabolism, and generally clear my head to do the heavy lifting my academic work now requires. Ancient Greek has always been difficult for me--I am decidedly not brilliant at languages--but it's now time to finish the goddamned thing up. It's time; hell, it's past time, and quite frankly, I've become bored with my failure to get this damn language under control.

Once I get that head of mine cleared, I should have some more interesting posts--I've been reading my blogroll regularly, and need to reciprocate; there have been many fine posts of late. Time to get to work.

Melancholic Ressurection

2005-03-17T01:16:00.000-08:00

After a more than a bit of an illness, I'm back on two legs, with open throat, cleared sinuses, but oh so terribly out of shape, and terribly behind on my blogging. So let's say a real post tomorrow and then a hike (oh, a hike) on Friday. But right now, I'm going to sit down with my vampire roommates to a 1:30 showing of Star Wars.

Time to rethink those plans for dinner

2005-03-09T13:32:00.000-08:00

If you're at all worried about securing yourself a chair for when the music stops, be sure to check this out.

Yeah, but what grade does this translate to?

2005-03-01T20:20:00.000-08:00

You are the pilot.

Saint Exupery's 'The Little Prince' Quiz.
brought to you by Quizilla

Dead Letter Office (II)

2005-02-28T00:11:00.001-08:00

Life really is stranger than fiction, as it turns out; below is a letter I just sent out withdrawing my paper from the conference at the swishy hotel in Eastern Europe (sigh).

The letter makes apparent most of the story, but the precipitating event was my responding to a mass email that one of the conference attendees sent out asking a couple of questions about housing and the content of last year's conference. Now, last year's conference was the first conference of this kind that was put on by this particular organization--an organization which, it turns out, is not affiliated with any academic institution but is a "non-profit" that encourages "interdisciplinary exchanges." I responded to the email offering some advice about housing, and then proceeded to ask a couple of questions of my own: first, whether the conference fee seemed high to anyone, and second, whether the administration of the conference seemed a bit "odd." I also voiced my concern that many of the abstracts from last year's conference looked "awful."

I was then contacted by the head honcho of the organization--the only individual whose name appears on any of the organization's crappy, stilted website--who voiced his great displeasure at the "unprofessional nature" of the email, and moved to "suspend my registration with immediate effect." He then sent out an email to the other conference attendees which included this paragraph:

The delegate concerned has been suspended from the conference with immediate effect pending investigation of the email concerned by the Steering Group. I am now in possession of that email and will be looking into this incident further. I can only offer my sincere apologies that some email addresses appear to have somehow managed to find their way into the public domain. We do take your privacy and and security with the utmost seriousness - and all information supplied to us is governed by the British Data Protection Act. We do not, and will not release any information supplied to us without first gaining your written permission to do so.

My response follows.

Dear Dr. X,

Thank you for your email. I must first apologize for the effect that my email has had; it really was not my intention to make a stir, but to ascertain information. I have apologized directly to [the fellow conference attendee who had attended last year's conference, and who took offense that I might have called her abstract "awful"], and I would extend my apology to the other conference attendees, but think that that would only exacerbate the situation.

I must say, however, that I did not wonder about the legitimacy or professional stature of the conference without reason. First, from my perspective, there have been some real hitches in administration. After not having received your first official acceptance letter, I was sent a letter that seemed to assume that I had been accepted, and I emailed you directly to determine whether the second email had been sent in error, or whether I had indeed been accepted. You never responded. With the due date for the booking slip approaching, I contacted Dr. Y, who confirmed my acceptance, and promised that he would send the information I had missed on Monday. But he never did.

These facts led me to examine the conference website and [the organization name] a little more carefully, and I must say that this did not allay my fears. When I responded to J's query about last year's conference, I did not make any "allegations," as you put it, but simply asked questions, questions that I still believe are legitimate. The only "allegation" that I made, if you can call it that, was that some of last year's abstracts looked "awful;" and as I've said, I do regret this remark. Had I had my wits about me, I perhaps should have described them as "uneven."

Regardless, I find it surprising that such a characterization in a private email, an email that was itself a response to another, would be cause for my "suspension with immediate effect."

One cause of frustration seems to be that, how did you put it, "some email addresses appear to have somehow managed to find their way into the public domain." I would suggest not only that they "appear" to have "somehow" been made public, but they actually have been made public, and that email addresses do not "find their way" into the public domain, but are given out or negligently displayed. Your absolute denial of responsibility for the leak, while conceivably legitimate, strikes me as premature at very least.

I suppose that the email snafu, as well as your response to this entire situation provide yet further evidence that [name of organization] is at best a very odd and not very well-run organization that has some peculiar ideas about conferences and the administration of them. I do wish you the best, however, and hope that the conference on [the conference theme] goes well. Rest assured that I will be more careful in the future about looking into who is actually running the conferences to which I apply. Please take this letter as official notice of my withdrawal.

melancholic

Of course, the real moral of the story has nothing to do with looking into the organizations that run one's conferences, but rather with keeping one's mouth shut; one sees more exotic places this way.

Hold On to Your Hat

2005-02-22T20:38:00.000-08:00

Well, I've been commenting on a couple of conservative sites, and one of the proprieters has threatened to pass out this address to his friends in the conservative blogosphere and "troll me into the ground." So if things get a little crazy around here, that's the reason. Otherwise, things are looking up; my hike did me a world of good, as did the fact that I got into that conference in Eastern Europe, and the writing, indeed, is getting better. Thanks to all for their well-wishes; more soon to follow.

Depression (I)

2005-02-20T00:29:00.000-08:00

Since the presentation of my paper in DC, I've been knocked pretty low, and into a depression; my writing, which before had been elegant, playful, incisive, and even masterful at times, is now slow, sluggish, mouth-breathing, and forced.

My closest circle of friends is beginning to tatter here, a process fueled by the awareness that we should be getting more out of our lives, that given our gifts and strengths we should be flourishing, but are not, and that the solace we have taken in each other is no longer enough to make up for an increasing awareness of our own inadequacies. All of us are gifted in our own ways, and driven, but although many would agree that we should be running our various tables, they also would concede that we are not, and where before we served as confirmation to the others that to be stuck here in this place is not an indictment, we now look upon each other with a growing awareness that however noble or brilliant or dedicated we are, we seem unable or unwilling to win ourselves free from our various and sundry predicaments.

A friend of mine once joked how we could at least take satisfaction in the fact that we are the carpenters of our own scaffolds. More haunting is Proust's claim that we all determine the ways in which our lovers will leave us.

Time for a hike; need to clear my head.

Snowing

2005-02-03T06:22:00.000-08:00

Things to do today:

Find a coffeeshop that's still open (I live in a place where they declare a state of emergency every time it snows, and it is snowing hard now)
Wake up, get my brain going (sluggish this morning)
Collate my notes for the DC paper revision as well as the rest of the chapter from which it was taken (four hours)
Translate important sections from Ovid's Metamorphosis (my Latin is less than supurb, like, much less) (two hours)
Revisit a couple of important texts, and read them carefully, really for the first time (three, four hous)
Organize trip north to pick up stained glass for course (Youghiogheny glass is the finest in the nation, and worth the drive) (an hour)
Try to figure out how to play a coffee date I've set up--more coffee than date? (Sigh; these things were so much easier in my twenties, when everything moved much faster) (all day)
Get myself ready for a reception at the College at which I hold an administrative post (ten minutes/one hour)

The snow is falling in thick clumps outside, and all I really want to do is sit, and watch, and not think anything, and not enter into my life.

But it's time to be going.

More visions of a possible future

2005-01-29T16:23:00.000-08:00

Hotel2, originally uploaded by lesserajax.

The paper went particularly well yesterday--the Q & A was dynamic and thoughtful, and I only flubbed one response of ten or so. (Note to self: when you are asked a complicated question concerning a matter about which you know very little, and yet find the idea provocative, *don't* brainstorm a response in front of the audience; wait for the informal conversation afterward with a drink in your hand.) All in all, though, it really couldn't have gone better--my most important presentation to date.

Here's another photograph of the Eastern European hotel in which my swishy conference is being held; a friend of mine has also submitted a proposal, so I might have a companion in this mad endeavor (assuming that we both are accepted).

Swanky Digs

2005-01-27T10:25:00.000-08:00

Hotel, originally uploaded by lesserajax.

I have a conference proposal due in, well let's see, thirty-four hours, and hounded by other priorities (I present my Big Paper tomorrow at the DC Institution), I thought that I'd silently let this deadline pass without my submission. That is, until I checked out the digs for the conference, which certainly could be worse; never having been to Eastern Europe, I must say that I was positively shocked. Needless to say, I'll definitely throw something together--the conference is right down my alley anyway.

UPDATE: Conference abstract: done; God bless those electronic winged monkeys that can send documents to all corners of the earth at one's slightest command.

Stained Glass Course

2005-01-22T17:05:00.000-08:00

Now that my paper is in, I'm taking the day off to rest my half-crazy mind, but also to attend to a number of other things that desperately need attending to (laundry, grocery shoping, bills, etc.). As an adminstrator of sorts at one of the colleges here at the University, it's expected that I teach a short course in the Spring, and so I've decided to do something completely different and teach a stained glass class. The University doesn't offer such a course, and so there is no cache of equipment upon which to draw, and I have to set up a workshop in one of the common areas. This will be kind of cool, actually--I'll bring my laptop and iPod, and we'll rock out for the two-hour labs--but there's a lot of work to do in the meantime. I'm going to need

quarter-inch sheets of plywood to protect the tables;
five soldering irons
five home-made soldering-iron holders (from. . .what? double copper piping?)
five aluminum-handled brushes
five ceramic plates for flux gel
box of horseshoe nails
homemade light board (8' 2x4, bulb socket, electrical wire, switch, whiteboard)
five glass cutters
five sets of pliers
five sheets of plastic grating in movable drawers (wooden? plastic?)
Ten rolls of lead, ten rolls of copper, two bottles of flux (for starters)
Glass from Youghagheny Glass (road trip to PA!)

Damn; a lot to do here.

Also next week: formal presentation of paper at DC Institution, conference paper abstract for swishy conference in Eastern Europe. Well, no rest for the weary (or is that "wicked"?).

Muse Fatale

2005-01-20T15:43:00.000-08:00

I've been writing basically non-stop for a week now, and my sleeping schedule is unbelievably messed up and still subject to worse change, I fear. Today I woke up at three in the afternoon after having worked through the night to eight-thirty, the latest but not last step in my total vampiric transformation. My, how the morning light seems ugly and fiercely unyielding when it comes at the end of the long night.

The paper for the Impressive DC Institution is going well, spectacularly well, even; I've been working on these ideas for so very, very long, descending into the coal mine every day, doing my work despite everything, canaries dying all around me, but now my muse has found me out. She's demanding, and intense, a little mad, and a denizen of the night, but she's mine, and I've got her for now.

The hardcopy of the paper is due at the end of the day tomorrow, but if I can help it, I will continue to ride this one out, even until I'm in tatters. This time I'm not letting go. For the first time in a long time I can honestly say: this is good work.