Back

Back after a much needed long weekend away from my desk and out of the library. I didn't do any coursework over the past few days, though I did see Niagara Falls, visit with my extended family in Ontario, drive all over New York State, watch a few excellent tennis matches and eat lots of yummy food. It was great to hang out with Dad and Bro and just relax. Ooh, and I saw the new Bond flick. Recommended - it's dark and twisty and pretty much a riot. Also, Daniel Craig -- thumbs up (it was just time for Pierce to go).

This evening, however, is a different story. I'm back in my little apartment having rice and beans for dinner. Once again, I'm at the computer, with a paper to write, and some Gramsci to read. This week is going to be a doozy, but I'm well rested and ready for the madness.

Let the games begin.

On Encountering Literary Types (read: Why I'd Rather Party with Philosophers)

Picture this:

A swank loft in a hip part of Chicago. Industrio-chic whitewashed stone walls with weathered hard wood floors. Italian beers being served to gaggles of literary aficionados and poets who walk around looking severely disinterested yet obviously searching for approval in every corner of the cornerless room. Men in velvet blazers and some in rad, so-old-its-new vintage 80's bomber jackets. Women in skinny jeans (worn under tulle and taffeta frocks, of course). And a few folks in Bad Religion t-shirts. A man performing digital art by sitting at a computer in the center of the room. And oh-so-many tortoise shell framed spectacles.

And one disgruntled philosopher.

This was my Friday night. I got roped into heading uptown and checking out the 60th anniversary party of the Chicago Review, a premier literary publication based at the University of Chicago. So, I gussied up a bit and went off to see how the poets like to party. Pretentiously. Is the answer, apparently. I did have a couple of interesting conversations though. One was about poetics and rhetoric and another was about the need for more Taco Bells in Chicago. Some of the poets who read their work were good and the live band was pretty much the highlight of the evening's programmed activities. I also got to hone some very important skills.

Here's the thing: When I hang out with my philosophy buddies, we go to Jimmy's and get greasy grilled-cheese sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin ale. Then we argue our heads off about Marxism. That, somehow, is significantly more satisfying than tottering around posh lofts with people who fancy themselves Writers. Though I guess it makes for a good story (or two, actually. If you want to hear about some of the incredible pick-up lines I heard last night, you're going to have to call me -- I'll need to do voices and accents.).

So, the lesson of this post is: by all means, go forth and party with writers and poets, just make sure you have plans the next day to sit at the dive bar and argue your head off about Marxism.

You know, to restore balance.

Breaking News

"Parliament on Tuesday voted resoundingly to legalize same-sex marriages in South Africa making the nation the first in Africa and the fifth in the world to remove legal barriers to them, according to advocates. " - NYtimes

And yet, somehow, the idea still persists that the WEST is always the first site of social progress.
Incredible.

Full article here.

Week End

Oh and what a weekend it was.

Ms. S and I had a lovely time, which included, but was not limited to, getting sooopid at Jimmy's, making and eating pancakes while recovering from a night of some serious overindulgence, traipsing around Millennium Park and performing triple lutzes on the Chase Promenade, going all the way to the Art Institute of Chicago to see a paperweight collection (see below), watching X-Men 3 and eating yummy Indian food, Thai food and the Platonic Form of a grilled cheese sandwich (um, though not all at the same time).

Now, that's what I call a weekend.

Here are some photos (thanks, Ms. S, for sharing yo' mad skillz):


Dontcha wanna come and visit me now?

Generation Celebration

After a very long week, during which I turned in a paper, performed a 20 minute presentation about the rise of the Hindu right in India AND conquered my thesis topic proposal, I am ready to kick up my heels (or put them on, as it were) and have a fab weekend. My own personal, mini-celebration, if you will.

Luckily, I'll have the perfect opportunity. Ms. S is coming into town tomorrow, all the way from the Big Apple, to grace me and Chicago-at-large with her presence. We're going to Jimmy's (Local bar, where one can get some Harp and eavesdrop on conversations about rocket science. Really.) tomorrow night. And then we're going to have a very fun and mellow weekend. Some art, some jazz, some baking of cookies and making of pancakes. Some girl-talk. Hot damn, that sounds like a mighty fine weekend, no?

And given that there's obviously a sea-change occurring in the (American, political) world that's enough cause to put one's heels on and then to kick them up.

Here's to all that.

Poetry and Progress

When I'm not partying dressed as a French feminist theorist, I've been spending egregious amounts of time in the library and in the journal stacks thumbing through all manner of philosophy texts and political theory articles. Trying desperately to have an "aha!" moment and being precipitously struck with a topic for my MA thesis.

I've got the papercuts and sallow skin to prove it.

Now, for most people this wouldn't be quite so tough. But I'm basically starting from scratch having been out of school for a while and all the pressure was really starting to get to me.

So I did what I always do when academic frustration sets in: I pulled out my copies of The God Of Small Things by A. Roy, F. G. Lorca's poetry and Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde. Poetry, poetry and poetry. Then I made a cup of coffee and settled onto the couch for 3 hours in the middle of the night, when I was at my most frustrated. Somehow, this never fails.

Sho 'nuf, inspiration struck and I'm well on my way to a thesis proposal that I'm thrilled about. I just needed to be reminded of the questions that matter most to me.

I want to write about the concept of recognition using Hegel, feminist theory and critical race theory. Very roughly, the question goes something like: What does it mean to see and be seen by another person? This is all very nebulous as yet, but I'm making progress and finally get back into the swing of being a student. All I needed was some poetry.

I'm actually really enjoying school. I wasn't sure that I would. And those of you that so generously sat around the CLPP office with me while I agonized about it will be happy to know that, even though I miss you like mad, it feels like it's going well here.

Here's to poetry and progress.