tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23503448158162992282024-02-02T17:42:03.956-05:00simulatethisHow many realities burbled immanent?jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.comBlogger351125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-451468509198183952018-02-20T07:26:00.000-05:002018-02-20T07:26:22.262-05:00Cosmic SignificanceThree years ago today, we held a funeral for my father. I don't remember very much about it except that it snowed, a lot, in Alabama. I remember hearing afterwards of the harrowing trips home for people who attended.<br />
<br />
Five years ago today, I got tenure.<br />
<br />
I wonder if there is some cosmic significance to this day that I am missing. I probably miss quite a bit of cosmic significance, when it comes right down to it. Like Ash Wednesday, a mass murder, and Valentine's Day all falling on the same day. And I know, I know, time is invented. And we are inventions of time. And cosmic significance is mostly invented.<br />
<br />
But I'm pretty cool with inventions like <br />
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frosé
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epideictic<br />
gender<br />
revolution<br />
science<br />
<br />
We do some good inventing, you and I. Happy Cosmic Significance to ya. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-76791228851421435112018-02-02T10:33:00.000-05:002018-02-20T07:17:11.807-05:00Post-President's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-64968212527619873552018-02-02T10:32:00.001-05:002018-02-02T10:35:03.592-05:00OblivescenceSo I get the word of the day from both <a href="http://dictionary.com/">Dictionary.com</a> and <a href="http://urbandictionary.com/">urbandictionary.com</a>. It's a good spread, usually, although the Trump ones are getting tiresome. Dictionary's word of the day is oblivescence--the process of forgetting. It's a gorgeous word, and it sounds like what it is, and I want to eat it with my mouth. We'll come back to oblivescence. You'll see.<br />
<br />
The last time I posted was in October of last year, when I was talking about hot dog vendors and the Rhetorical Canon. This semester, I am teaching Persuasion and Public Memory. Teaching Persuasion has become <i>habitus</i> for me--which is good and bad, I think. For example, yesterday we talked about the persuasion in Simulation and narrative rationality. They looked like either they totally get it, or they are so far from getting it that they look like they get it. I cannot tell, and, being who I am of course I assume that they don't get it. Perhaps this not-getting is because I have taught Persuasion in the same way for so many years. I just read <a href="http://sophist.nyc/progymnasmata/2018/2/1/about-that-posting-everyday-gimmick" target="_blank">About That Posting Every Day Gimmick</a>. O PEITHO, AM I GIMMICKY?!?!??! is now a thought I cannot get out of my head. I think I might be a little--there are certain stories and images to which I return when teaching this class. Does repetition breed gimmick?<br />
<br />
But seriously whence the non-gimmick. Classroom itself is a gimmick, and my clown university is filled with them (both classrooms and gimmicks, I mean). Since we've been reading Baudrillard, it's difficult for me to see outside a gimmick-verse. For example, yesterday there was a sort of spontaneous protest on campus. Our students are so brave and angry, and they want it to be 1968. I am too young to remember 1968, but I've seen the outcome. Not good. Still. Some of my closest friends are protesters, you see. So who am I to see the protest as gimmick--and/or our university president's response to the protest as gimmick--and/or the Instagram posts? Speaking of oblivescence--the protest works to eat itself, sliding back into hegemony every time. Or am I gimmickifying something that is actual?<br />
<br />
So Public Memory. And oblivescence. I think Public Memory is going much better than Persuasion. We've just finished reading my friend, <a href="https://books.google.com/books/about/On_Collective_Memory.html?id=GPhGukFWC84C&printsec=frontcover&source=kp_read_button#v=onepage&q&f=false" target="_blank">Maurice</a>. On Monday, the students are presenting their own articles for us to read. They have found some wonderful, thoughtful things, these students. One is about Japanese shrines to war criminals, one is about a Thanatopolitics, and the third is about Alexander Wood. Yesterday, we talked about the relationships between an Ethics of Memory and a Politics of Memory. I imagine we'll be talking about that throughout the semester, so I'll try to keep you updated.<br />
<br />
Here is my oblivescence for Groundhog Day: Daddy's deathversary is approaching, and I have been dreaming of him. Last night the dream was so real that I woke up planning to tell him about it. I dig that hazy space between waking and dreaming, the delicious absence of edges, the material vacancy in which my father is still alive, and I live next door to my sisters.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-80120885951451743172017-10-05T17:52:00.000-04:002017-10-05T17:52:03.802-04:00UnderwaterSo I foolishly agreed to teach Foundations of Rhetoric this fall, and it has been a semester of discovery. In honor of my Foundations learning, I have classified this entry in five ways: Invention, Arrangement, Delivery, Style, and Memory.<br />
<br />
<b>Invention</b><br />
I haven't written anything in a while. I feel like the opposite of Q in <i>Wonder Boys</i>, "I am not a writer." Whence the invention, I wonder. Or the desire. L is always talking about writing. As is E. They do it better than I do--both the talking and the doing. The rhetoric of it is more in their practice than in mine. Since Daddy got super sick, I have been slow about writing or reading anything challenging. But that might not be the foundational reason of it, I know. The invention is the thing. Hence the whence.<br />
<br />
It used to be there, but maybe that was because it was a force from the outside. The ancients argued about these things, as well. I mean, out loud, of course. They were writers.<br />
<br />
<b>Arrangement</b><br />
The still bleeding wounds of the ancient traumas between rhetoric and philosophy amaze me. Reading Conley's <i>Rhetoric in the European Tradition</i> whilst also reading <i>Demelza </i>and <i>Poldark</i> in Winston Graham's Poldark series is a funny sort of arrangement; the arts of the past and the romantical practicalities nestled up, close and cuddly. Conley does a good job of arranging the situations--demonstrating the rhetorical constructions up and against the historical constructions in a sort of academic <i>bas relief</i>. It makes me wonder how much is possible to include in the class discussion--how much to arrange, how much to compare, how much to collude with the past in this very Western pattern of thought.<br />
<br />
In my notes about English rhetorics in the Renaissance, I wrote, "[Thomas] Wilson proves that you can be a Protestant and not a Ramist. Yay!" Yay, indeed. Nobody likes you, Peter. Shame about the massacre.<br />
<br />
<b>Delivery</b><br />
Speaking of what and how to convey the messages of these complicated pasts and passed complications, I got called a hot dog vendor by my student the other day. He was very passionately arguing that he pays for classes, and, therefore, he should get what he paid for. Like a hot dog. This conversation happened before we got to the Renaissance, in many ways. I do not think he is a humanist. I wonder if he cares that I might accidentally be one. Interpreting these messages from the ancients to these new and sparkly humans is a challenge that has left me feeling out of my depth. In and under a water of unfamiliarity. I am teaching a class about things that so many people specialize in, watching, as the time goes by in the text, how these things like specialization came about. It's a dizzying message to convey, hot dog vendor or no.<br />
<br />
<b>Style</b><br />
A friend and former professor (one of the people who made me want to be a professor in the first place) posted an article on my FB wall about the difficulty some people have with complicated academic writing. Clarity, says the woman in the article, is the thing. She is a lawyer, this woman in the article, and she ends the whole thing by talking about how she'd rather tangle with the law than with the academics. That made me lol. Because the real question seems to be who is her audience? Who are theirs? I'm thinking that some person talking about Being in a Heideggerian sense to other people who've read and thought Heidegger is going to necessarily speak to their specific audience. It's not, after all, a fucking Dr. Seuss novel. But if she were talking to people who like Dr. Seuss novels, she'd probably change her tone. Her style, as they say, would depend on the audience toward whom she is directing her words.<br />
<br />
But that sort of thinking doesn't get thought very well in popular press magazines. Or in academic circles, really. To talk about changing one's style is, again, one of those bloody open wounds about which this class has me in so many tizzies. It has been revolutionary for my thinking to see these old things dragged on about. In class, we have divided up the major areas (because that's a thing we do in rhetoric, divide things and then explain about the divisions) into four sections: The Civic, The Virtuous, The Decorous, and The Speaker. Tomorrow, I am going to get them to draw a map, a borough, if you will. The four neighborhoods will be the Civic, the Virtue, the Decorum, and the Orator. And I am going to ask them where they think our theorists would live, based on their theoretical propositions and inclinations. I'll let you know how it goes.<br />
<br />
<b>Memory</b><br />
Two things:<br />
First, I miss my Dad. Incredibly. He would laugh so much at the hot dog vendor thing. And he would love my distaste for Ramus--Daddy always knew that elegant and syllogism go together like hot dogs and mustard.<br />
Second, I remember remembering the first time I took Classical Rhetoric. It wasn't until grad school, and it was with my MA advisor, <a href="https://users.wfu.edu/zulick/454/figures/tropesindex.htm" target="_blank">Meg Zulick</a>. I was one of the first students to start putting that website together. 20 years ago. In Foundations this semester, I passed around a Roman chronology I had done for Meg, just because I kind of wanted them to see how some of these assignments might look a bit different. The date on the work is October 1997. Old hot dog vendor. But still kicking.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-21650451940355102542016-02-28T10:09:00.002-05:002016-02-28T10:09:25.503-05:00Re-EmergenceSo. This morning I woke up thinking about Haruki Murakami. His words are sublime; his work ethic unassailable. Some might even argue that his work ethic is borderline <a href="http://io9.gizmodo.com/5106135/science-fiction-novelists-reveal-their-daily-writing-routines">unhinged</a>. Today is the last day of Spring Break, and I have finished about three of the things I wanted to do: grading a few things, meeting up with a few dear friends (not all, not at all), and playing Fallout 4 until my hands are literally aching.<br />
<br />
Murakami has been one of my favorite romances for a while now. You'll see, if you check the last entry in this blog (5 years ago!), that I loved him then. One of the challenges, academically and pedagogically, that I've been thinking on this semester and year has to do with Murakami very intimately. In my field of Communication Studies, the notion of studying literature (or even reading fiction) is spoken of the way people at dinner parties talk about racism and farts. I know so many academics who react with dismayed surprise when I tell them that I read and love fiction. But writing off novels and stories is short-sighted and unimaginative. In the worlds created by A<a href="https://www.blogger.com/www.goodreads.com/book/show/46654.The_Foundation_Trilogy">simov</a>, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/search?q=vinge&from_new_nav=true">Vinge</a>, <a href="http://anothertown.blogspot.com/2006/02/dance-as-long-as-music-plays.html">Murakami</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/161/161-h/161-h.htm">Austen</a>, <a href="http://www.tor.com/2015/02/12/kushiels-reread-kushiels-dart-part-1/">Carey</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cryptonomicon-Neal-Stephenson-ebook/dp/B000FC11A6">Stephenson</a>, and <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/nov/19/the-peripheral-william-gibson-ride-future">Gibson</a> (just to name a few of my dearest loves), readers may explore the parameters and implications of ethics-in-the-world or philosophy-on-the-ground, a kind of rhetorical space in which we get to see what our highest ethical and political aspirations might actually look like, given "variables" like blood, caste, love, and loss. You know. The little stuff.<br />
<br />
The challenge, then: how to incorporate more fiction into my classes. This year, we are reading Neal Stephenson's <i>Cryptonomicaon</i> in my Persuasion class. I figured a book about codes and war and secrets might work well after reading about the hyperreal and debunking, discussing cognitive dissonance and Stanley Milgram, and writing about <i>Wag the Dog</i> and "Rhetoric as Epistemic." How my students put these theories together is the best, most mysterious part of such a challenge. I will let you know how it turns out.<br />
<br />
I'm still throwing around ideas for novels in my future classes: Rhetoric and Pop Culture (we read <i>How to Be a Woman</i> by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/How-Be-Woman-Caitlin-Moran/dp/0062124293">Caitlin Moran</a> last time. Perhaps this time we will read <i>The Peripheral</i> by William Gibson or <i>Waiting for the Barbarians</i> by <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/181780">J. M. Coetzee</a>. <br />
Novels open up different spaces for the students to stand. They can test out their own understandings of the theories we read, perhaps examine the sharp lines between dissonance-in-space and dissonance-in-practice; when the words are well written, we may see the blood spilled by hard ethical boundaries in ways that don't get done in academic journals. Perhaps. We'll see what they say.<br />
<br />
Also, hello. I've missed you.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-30104769007807517152011-03-22T21:46:00.001-04:002011-03-22T21:50:01.413-04:00Einstein doesn't share food<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqxqVzHKyESuNg0JEO87uzi9cOKFhE_0mtcFWIyIY1Y7v3-E84Cf91tuoM4j4AyJoZe8aHzWMiZnK0SZWILcwqplQnzS5mQibKwf31xVhUgFtNHiMn_VN7b1kuxn_27n8Bkaz_a8FZPA/s1600/457672.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqxqVzHKyESuNg0JEO87uzi9cOKFhE_0mtcFWIyIY1Y7v3-E84Cf91tuoM4j4AyJoZe8aHzWMiZnK0SZWILcwqplQnzS5mQibKwf31xVhUgFtNHiMn_VN7b1kuxn_27n8Bkaz_a8FZPA/s400/457672.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587085827833107682" /></a><br /><br />I am in love with Stumble and may need an intervention.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-57706218232463718832010-10-30T16:01:00.002-04:002010-10-30T16:12:36.166-04:00Simulating RalliesI watched most of the Rally to Support Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert today. It was what I expected it to be, up to a point. Here are my thoughts*, so far:<br /><br />-I heart Stephen Colbert, and now I know the reason: he looks good in an Evel Knievel suit.<br />-If I ever vote again, which is a BIG If, it won't be for either of the two main parties in this country. They are false... which is different from simulated. Simulated is more self-aware, and, therefore, more honest.<br />-Kid Rock needs to eat a sandwich.<br />-So does Sheryl Crow.<br />-DC is a really pretty place. I want to go to there.<br />-The most dangerous kinds of Zombies don't always look dead.<br />-Paranormal Activity 2 is going to haunt me for a while.<br />-Flash Mobs** (which range from groups gathering to Zombie Walk and/or <a href="http://improveverywhere.com/">Improv</a> are the bees, and this rally was one big, super-prepared Flash Mob.<br /><br />* Some of these thoughts are not wholly related to the Rally. So. Prepare for random.<br />** Dancing with Michael Jackson’s UnDead Legions, lurching into open spaces at malls and parks, sometimes “eating” victims to create new legions of the walking dead, gathering on the Washington Mall to test theories of crowd control, these flash mobs affect politics in a very open and artificial way. Each moment of entry into Guinness Book of World Records for numbers adds to the pointlessness. Each camera shot documents the empty space being performed. Each performing body draws attention to the over-performance of life in the very spaces of mass consumption invaded by these moving bodies. Like the collection of games, movies, TV shows, and songs designed to honor and re-member them, these collections of zombie bodies bring audience attention to the end of life by performing it—making it a welcoming artifice, a space of human activity and motion. Such a Zombie Style, in its Affected Political way, gives the masses an unsettling power they cannot get from more historically recognizable methods of political intervention, loudly (and joyfully) defiant of traditional Western searches for an original that never was.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-5037736511129878632010-08-09T15:52:00.003-04:002010-08-14T04:06:26.636-04:00Memories in SpaceRecently, my <a href="http://subsidedgravity.blogspot.com/2010/06/fishing.html">friend</a> posed differences between electronic "firsts" and more traditional "firsts." I wonder if he's onto something. He divides his recollections into The Digital (first section) and The Physical (second section). Let's see how mine fall.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Digital</span>:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">First internet experience</span>: Oooh. Wait. I was in grad school, I think. And people were talking about Eudora and checking things on Eudora. Which made me think of Welty. Also. I had some friend who played on MUDS.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">First cell phone</span>: I did not get a cell phone until way late. I don't remember what it looked like, but I do remember that I did not like how people sounded when I talked to them on it, so I tried not to use it very much.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">First web page</span>: You're lookin at it, bitches.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">First Tweet</span>: Not a clue.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Physical</span>:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">My first car</span>: black Nissan pulsar, manual drive, with T tops. I. Loved. That. Car.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">First book I ever loved</span>: Call of the Wild. I read it, like a thousand times.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">First song I ever obsessed over</span>: This is a toss up between "It's a Heartache" by Bonnie Tyler and "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers. I still know every single word to both.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">First room of my own</span>: Matt has a better memory of his. Mine is vague, but I do recall that I totally found a King snake in there when I was, like, three. I am unofficially re-titling this category to First King Snake.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">First love</span>: Long blond hair, blue eyes, velvet voice, weird obsession with Concrete Blond and science. Totally unforgettable.<br /><br />Matt thinks there might be some underlying symbolism to these ties--or the lack thereof. I don't know. I do know that the experience of memory is what makes us. Like skin. It separates us from the worlds in which we function, protecting the softer, denser, more vulnerable bits by drawing lines between our constructions of self and the self constructions with whom we build the worlds we inhabit.<br /><br />My self still misses that little Pulsar.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-50086789299825852672010-08-08T20:01:00.001-04:002010-08-09T09:06:36.844-04:00Oh. By The Way.25 days left til football* season.<br /><br />* And by "football season," I mean, of course COLLEGE football.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-61297868776794527292010-08-07T19:51:00.003-04:002010-08-14T04:12:57.852-04:00Word GamingWe are playing a game,<br />Listing off all the synonyms we can think<br />For False.<br />How many words <br />(So many words) <br />Ring untrue,<br />Flat and soft and ruined like overripe nectarines?<br />We will remember them.<br />We will use them well.<br />First, we can begin with the beguiling,<br />The seduction<br />(Because, as it turns out,<br />There just aren’t that many ways to say Yes.<br />There are, however, <br />So many ways to stretch<br />The spaces between what we want to hear<br />And what we will believe.)<br /><br />Then we will move to the concocted.<br />(Those are my favorite.)<br />In this language world we practice<br />How to maneuver from scene to character,<br />How to appropriate the weaknesses of the listener<br />And shape those weaknesses<br />Into something they’ll imagine is, <br />And was always,<br />Theirs.<br />(I am good at shaping.)<br /><br />From the concocted, we easily move into <span style="font-style:italic;">that which is apocryphal</span>.<br />These are your department—<br />You can be in charge of editing these volumes.<br />You will decide which tall tales to include<br />(Therefore, necessarily, the kind of boring bits)<br />And which of these tall tales will be left out<br />(The luscious, bloody entrails of accidental love affairs?<br />The intimate intercourse between dragons and snake charmers and belly dancers?)<br />I won’t interfere—you take the lead in this section of the game.<br /><br />After our insubstantial diversions,<br />We cruise the lesser words—<br />Phony.<br />Sham.<br />Bogus.<br />Specious.<br />Spurious.<br />Imaginary.<br />Crowds of letters and syllables will insert themselves into our conversation<br />Whether we like it or not.<br />We try to remove them,<br />But the houses in which they live,<br />These mansions that we built for them...<br />How much time did we spend on the construction?<br />(So much.)<br />They are palatial.<br />Only a fool would want to leave such Gorgeous,<br />False Palaces.<br /><br />I think we will end the game on casuistry.<br />You will try to make sure that this does not occur,<br />And I will work towards it.<br />After all, I started this game.<br />I wrote these rules.<br />Casuistry is where all of this will end<br />And where all of it will begin again.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-78516076558003052442010-07-13T10:23:00.000-04:002010-07-13T10:32:24.771-04:00How many days til College Football?51.<br /><br />You're welcome.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-52534541059073782042010-06-20T13:30:00.002-04:002010-06-20T13:44:48.036-04:00Learning from JamesLast week, I posted a list of things I learned from my mom. Today, in honor of fathers everywhere, and Daddy in particular, I am posting some pearls of wisdom gleaned from James, the patriarch of Team Wright.<br /><br />1) College football is worth the heartache.<br /><br />2) Poetry and science are more closely related than you think.<br /><br />3) Impermanence makes everything possible.<br /><br />4) Always dress for dinner.<br /><br />5) Pray.<br /><br />6) The people that you love should be certain of your love for them, so never go to sleep or leave the house angry.<br /><br />7) Good shorts can last a lifetime. Literally.<br /><br />8) Not all the rides at Disney World are Small World. Space Mountain is for serious.<br /><br />9) Good books are worth reading again and again.<br /><br />10) Southern women are the bomb.<br /><br />11) Dancing is good for the soul.<br /><br />12) Three tasks any self-respecting human being should be able to accomplish are these: cook a superb steak, make a solid cup of coffee, and mix a powerful martini. If you can do these things well, Goodness will Follow.<br /><br />Thanks, Daddy.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-27623561908513226552010-06-11T12:15:00.001-04:002010-06-11T20:20:28.533-04:00Learning from WarreneI haven't posted a list in a while, and I was thinking about my mom and how much I am looking forward to seeing her in July. So. Below I compiled a few lessons she imparted to me over the years. She knows some things about some things.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Twelve Things Warrene Wants You To Know</span>:<br /><br />1) The Gulf of Mexico is one of the most beautiful places in the world.<br /><br />2) Be as kind to the lunch lady as you are to the president of your school.<br /><br />3) Eyelash curlers may look very scary, but they do good work.<br /><br />4) Cuddling, back scratches, and arm tickles aren’t just for the dog.<br /><br />5) Reading makes the time pass quickly on road trips, but sometimes you need to put the book down and look out the window.<br /><br />6) Brie is for breakfast.<br /><br />7) Those heels look really, really yummy on you.<br /><br />8) Movies and sermons make for productive, spicy brunch discussions.<br /><br />9) Coconut cream pie makes every holiday better.<br /><br />10) If you read a good book, don’t hog it—share it with someone you love.<br /><br />11) The teacher isn’t always right.<br /><br />12) Call your mother. She loves you.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-11658418857165271512010-06-08T10:05:00.003-04:002010-07-12T21:13:31.842-04:00Charming SnakesYou will see him at parties, occasionally.<br />He will be standing in the middle of a crowd,<br />Men and women,<br />Friends and family,<br />Strangers and lovers,<br />Grasping<br />For a sliver of his wit.<br />You will notice that he makes them each feel special,<br />A casual one-liner<br />And a room-brightening smile<br />Bestowed like rain on each admirer,<br />One at a time.<br />You will not watch him closely<br />Because you will be mesmerized, as well,<br />Lured in by the shiny story-telling<br />And the speed of his attentions.<br />He is a snake charmer,<br />And you are charmed by his song.<br /><br />But if you were really watching,<br />If you were watching closely,<br />You would see him alone.<br />Surrounded by colleagues and coquettes,<br />Nonetheless<br />He is always alone.<br />He keeps himself locked tight.<br />Nothing slips,<br />No hint of fear,<br />No slice of doubt,<br />No hesitation.<br />This constant planning exhausts him,<br />But it is necessary.<br />How else will he manage the costs of desire?<br />He ties up the ends of his hunger<br />With a recipe for cool detachment and passionate retorts…<br />He cannot allow you to think that he is not <br />listening <br />to you.<br /><br />You will see him at parties, occasionally.<br />Flirting with the quiet girls<br />(He will quietly leave with one),<br />Smiling at the jokes of the obvious and the awkward<br />(And he will make them subtle, if only for a moment).<br />He is benevolent and isolated,<br />A lonely, lusty king of a lonely, lusty island.<br />He has decided it will be that way<br />Because the pleasure of momentary release far outweighs<br />The pain of all that time served,<br />Waiting at the feet of love<br />For dust.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-69488030758354503512010-06-06T12:03:00.002-04:002010-06-06T12:10:35.919-04:00Where are you, Steve Anderson? Part TwoAfter a two-year hiatus from academe, I went back to school. At Texas. It was a trial by fire. At Texas, I was not in any way associated with the debate team—well, mostly. Because debate imagines itself to be a domain of rhetoric, I was surrounded with former debaters and debate coaches. Three (no, wait, four—see, it all gets ephemeral after undergrad) of my best friends at school did debate in both their undergrad and MA programs. One of these friends was an assistant coach for UT. He did not stay in debate—in fact, when we were all looking for jobs that last year (Harried! Frightened! Doubtful! Considering positions as a Wal-Mart greeter!), they (my best friends were married) made a conscious decision to avoid any debate-related post PhD jobs. It sucks your life away. It takes all of you that you are willing to give and more, and I think they were done with it.<br /><br />I can honestly say that my years at Texas were the years in which I was most far removed from debate. The insular community of it, the permeability of its boundaries, the lawyers. We were too busy at Texas—too busy keeping our heads above the water and our hands inside the vehicle—to concern ourselves with debate drama and searches for Steve Anderson. <br /><br />The year of my job search was a bumpy one—so was the year leading up to it. Grad school, as much as it reminded me of myself again, took my ability to lavish attention on others away. So. My marriage dissolved. Old friends were put aside. Even my family was placed at arm’s length for a while. I had always been the golden child, you see. The intelligent and charming winner—the thing is, at Texas, we all were. I stopped effortlessly achieving things, and I had to work. Like, really hard. Because of all the hard work, and the number of excellent colleagues, and the busyness of my professors, I learned some important things:<br /><br />1) You have to own your scholarship (Thanks, E! and Jenn and Kevin and Jay for helping me with this one). Nobody else will notice how awesome you are just accidentally. <br /><br />2) Along the same lines as #1: Demand the necessary attention from your advisor(s). (Thanks to Angie for this one.) <br /><br />3) Require that your friends/colleagues work on the communal environment as hard as you do. (Here's to the New Old Boys' Network.)<br /><br />4) Take a fucking break once in a while. Caps Tuesdays aren’t just for fun anymore—they’re for sanity. (Jonah, you are dear.)<br /><br />5) Hobbit Day makes everything better. (Mmmm, Californians.)<br /><br />6) Teaching is a craft that can be taught and learned.<br /><br />While the first one was the hardest lesson for me to learn, the final one was the lesson that lead to the most change in my life. I have always been a good writer, and in all of my schooling, my writing gets better. It was (WAS!) a fluid, divine thing. Teaching, on the other hand, was not. I got some terrible reviews. I was not so good to my poor students. I thought that excellent teachers, like dear Steve Anderson, were born that way—that teaching was like a gift, an aura, a cosmic “turn.” But at Texas, I learned that I could be—I had to be—a better teacher. <br /><br />As much as the world of the academy frowns on teaching (and it does, believe me), it is the corner of that world. I will not get tenure because I am a superb teacher. But I do still get emails from former students telling me how they realize now the importance of structure in a speech, or how they notice the significance of imagery in a movie, or how they miss the silly mysteries we used to chat about during the semester. And they still send me examples—of metaphors and similes, of prosopopoeia and litotes—which make me smile. <br /><br />And so it goes. My long, tangential, and teeth-jarring romance with debate goes on. After the Fire and Ice of Texas, I got a job. And here, I am an Assistant Director of Debate. This last year, we traveled quite a bit. The debaters, like all the debaters I’ve known before, are fast and funny. Serious and competitive. But, now that I am in the middle of things, I am beginning to formulate some reasons why I always remained on the sidelines before. I used to think that it was timing. Or distraction. Or coincidence. Recently, however, at the US Worlds Nationals in Denver, I judged a round that bothered me (out loud) in a way that had always been sort of quietly annoying… like a nibbling at the corners of the page had finally started chewing out some words I really needed to see. Endings and Forms. Again.<br /><br />The round went well, mostly. The opening table of Opposition kind of screwed the pooch, but the Second Table rocked it. Or, so I thought. The resolution was about professional jurors: This House would replace citizen jurors with professional jurors. And the two government tables did exactly what they should have done. They followed the Form exquisitely. And we, the five judges, ended up voting for a Government win. I do not think we chose incorrectly. I think the Form was followed. But I wondered then, and I wonder now: If all I do is Follow the Form, then what, exactly, am I doing? What am I teaching these people? In a debate about expertise and discipline, it nauseates me to think that we voted for the impossibility of inclusion. We, literally, performed exactly what the Second Table presented as a problem. The Whip Speaker (who speaks last) asked the room to look at itself—this room full of debaters from similar backgrounds and with similar outlooks on the world—and consider the possibility that maybe a more varied room, a more varied audience, would provide a different verdict. And we did look at ourselves. And then we voted for the Form. Goddammit. <br /><br />Where are you, Steve Anderson? I miss you. And I could use a little help right now.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-59567600427883392392010-05-23T22:08:00.004-04:002010-05-24T11:44:07.037-04:00Where are you, Steve Anderson? Part OneForms and endings are problematic. Endings and forms. Unlike Frank Lloyd Wright, to whom I am not related—just btw—, I only recently realized that I have been drunk on forms since I was little, and that it has not been as pleasant as, say, white-wine-summer-beaches-after-sun drunk. My theory, as some of you may know, is that people study what puzzles them—it makes, I think, for a life of interest and intrigue. If we studied things that were already familiar to us, or clear, or close, then we would lose the thread. Not because it’s so hard to see, but because that shit is super hard to keep hold of. Like a psychotic horse running into a burning barn. <br /><br />Lately, that’s what writing feels like. Writing and reading and thinking are hard. I know, to many of you, they may look like nothing at all—as Rebecca Solnit writes in her gorgeous history of walking, thinking (unlike many other sorts of vocations) looks a whole lot like doing nothing much at all. Writing and reading, of course, can be seen as productive activities—and, in the last few months, I’ve realized that writing is less pleasurable and divine than I remember it. Still, that is not the subject of this essay. This essay is about endings, forms, and the words of the debater’s world.<br /><br />There was not a debate team in my high school, but <br />I have always been tangentially linked to debate. If there had been, I have the feeling my life would look similar to the life I lead now; I just might have gotten here a bit faster. Everything is faster in debate. I was always meant to be a professor of rhetoric, though. And if not, then who cares? I tell myself the story of inevitability and that makes it so. So, anyway, there was no debate team at my high school, but there was one at my alma mater, the University of Alabama. I discovered them, as I came to discover rhetoric, in a roundabout, social sort of way. I met the professor of my dreams (Steven K. Anderson) and through him, met several of the debaters and coaches/assistant coaches. They talked fast and earnestly. They seemed to feel the words in the way that I did (emphasis on the word “seemed.” More on that later). So they seemed to feel words—seeing them floating through the air, picking the ones that felt right in the mouth, recognizing the dangers of incorrectness as well as the hazards of absolute certainty. I loved them, wanted to be like them, the words and the debaters. <br /><br />I did not join the debate team, but I work to stay near them. Helped with judging, smoked on the veranda, hung out in bars, adopted stray kitties they found. Eventually, I even took a class (with Steve) dedicated to debate. We competed in one or two competitions outside of class—where we got our asses handed to us. In class, however, we did a round robin tournament, and Steve referred to me and my teammate as the Juggernaut. We could Not be defeated.<br /><br />So, there was public debate—the two top teams from the class matched in front of some local media, a few classmates, some family members, and the judges. The audience is important to this story—as it always is—pay attention to the audience. You know, I cannot remember what the topic was—but I do remember that we lost because I dropped a turn. For those of you unfamiliar with policy debate terms, just know that a “turn” involves the opposing team using your own information against you. You must address it directly, in accordance with the form of the debate, or you lose automatically. Here is an ending and a form. The public audience, untrained in the rules of debate, awarded the win to my Juggernaut. The judges, however, familiar with form (and endings), declared the opposing team victorious. I was upset, but not devastated—because I like audiences, dear reader, and I can always get them to sit beside me. It is my thing that I do. I am not, however, so comfortable with form.<br /><br />The next tangential relation to debate happens in my MA program. Our grad offices were right next to the debate offices. The debate coach, Ross Smith (RIP) and the debate director, Allan Louden (yummy yummy man) were so kind and inviting. The debate team became a home for many of the displaced first year grad students. My best friend was a recovering debater—as were two of my grad school crushes. Wait, three. I am a sucker for a fast talker. I was not officially associated with the debate team, per se—but I drove the vans to and from the airport, helped judge some high school tournaments, sat up late with debaters who were always already cutting cards, went to parties, drank gin out of coffee mugs with coaches from near and far. My MA program was an exercise in endurance. The debate team, in its inimitable fashion, helped me and harmed me equally. <br /><br />I tell my students to be wary of moral philosophers—because, if my theory holds true, and we study that which puzzles us, then what should we do with someone who is intrigued by the mystery of moral philosophies? I have begun to think, though, that we should be wary of gifted speakers, as well. Much like the mystery of thinking, the magic of spoken conviction—when it works—is just as scary. These debaters, lawyers and advocates in training, changed the way I saw the academic world. I had assumed that ethics and teaching go hand in hand. But that is not the case. Don’t laugh. I know it sounds ridiculous now. Still, I came to this profession with misty, romantic eyes. The debaters at my MA program (as well as in undergrad) removed those scaly covers from my eyes. With the assistance of some well-timed professorial strangenesses—and some truths-of-life-in-close-quarters-with-people-who-think-they-are-very-smart—the endings and forms of collegia in general became distasteful. <br /><br />So. I quit. I worked at a bookstore. I got married. I worked at a crappy insurance cubicle farm. But... the words were calling. The form, seductive and inevitable, was creeping round the edges. I was lured back. In the next installment, you’ll hear about the non-debateness (almost) of my PhD years—and the total immersion after graduation. Endings, forms, debate—we write these rules, you see, to make it seem like we can play them well. Seeming is big. It always was.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-50043694640842456552010-04-12T16:45:00.011-04:002010-04-12T18:43:02.352-04:00Prayers for RepresentationColorado is neat. I just want to start this out with a positive because it gets a bit dark in the middle part. If you are not interested in that part, cease and desist, dear reader. Instead, go outside. Hug your girl/boy. Visit Denver. Drink lots of water. Sit, lusciously, in the sun.<br /><br />Before we begin, let us pray: <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I offer my obeisances unto the Goddess who is the abode of lotuses, who holds the lotus, whose eyes resemble the petals of a lotus, whose face is a lotus, and who is dear to the Lord who has a lotus navel. You are the knowledge of sacrifice, the worship of the universal form, and occult learning, O beauteous one. You are the knowledge of Brahman, O goddess, and the bestower of the fruit of liberation. You are the science of dialectics, the three Vedas, Varta, the knowledge of chastisement. O goddess, this universe is filled with your gentle and terrifying forms.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Debate is Good</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">First Subpoint = The People Rock</span></span><br />a. The debate tournament from which we just returned was marvelous because of the people. I love hanging out with these clever, insanely dedicated <a href="http://theuncertainbell.wordpress.com/">folks</a>. <br />b. My <a href="http://progymna.blogspot.com/">fellow coach</a> is one of my favorite human beings in the world, and the debaters teach me new things every. single. day. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Second Subpoint = Learning Stuff is my Favorite</span></span><br />a. Judging the sorts of rounds and motions we saw at Nationals was a pleasure. I enjoy hearing smart arguments posed thoughtfully, and, as I mentioned previously, many of these teams come to play.<br />b. I like seeing the intersections of argument and imagination that get brought to bear in these moments. The fact that these students know where and when current events are occurring--as well as the material consequences of those events, always makes me a bit tingly. It is delicious to converse with and give feedback to such technically proficient interlocutors.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Third Subpoint: Legitimacy</span></span><br />a. Being the person that I am--rhetorician, Southern, woman, anti-Platonic-and-yet-seduced-by-Platonic-claims, always already tangentially linked to debate--it is satisfying, academically and intellectually, to be associated formally with a debate team for the first time ever. Much like the department in which I teach (which is the first department I've ever worked in to contain the word "Rhetoric"), this team makes me proud.<br />b. And my friend/fellow coach seems to agree. We make a good team.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Debate is Evil</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">First Subpoint = Games will be Games</span></span><br />a. The last adjudication in which I took part, a quarter final, hurt my heart. We ended up voting on technical proficiency over materially consequential argument.<br />b. The rules, arbitrary and enclavish, are strict. Poetry is difficult to find at a debate tournament, and when it does occur, it gets punished. <br />c. The outside is always dirty, made for exposure and erasure. I get the value of rules, I do. But I worry about the costs of these rules--these performative consequences on the world-shaping in which we are actively engaged... which leads me into my second and <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Final Subpoint = Performing the (W)Hole Story, or Cunt Power, Fool</span></span><br />a. The debate tournament was really draining. I am a fan of performance. For real. I know how powerful and significant and potentially world-shaking it is to be a token representative, the voice of the vagina, the bootylicious appeal to Pathos, but I am tired. <br />b. In the middle of this sea of suits and ties, limp dicks and jealously guarded erections, we stand. The wearers of red peep toe shoes and sparkly earrings and tight bell bottoms and sassy cowboy boots and othered imagery and girlish hand gestures and leaners toward the dirty and defiers of expectation and negaters of the True.<br />c. We, the Other, add to the conversation of "reasonable" costs and "acceptable" losses," gauging the mechanism of rules writ large by people who may or may not ever have seen the shanty-style construction of an Alabama public school or spoken to a woman seeking reproductive rights or smelled the fear and rage at death penalty protest in central Texas.<br />d. Don't get me wrong. I am a rhetorician. Through and through. Situational reasoning is the name of my game--which is why I'm playing this other one. I get the significance of starting at the ground floor. I wear this burden of performative legitimacy and hot-ass high heels with pride. <br />d. Those burdens are weighty--for many, many reasons. Some of those reasons rhyme with "professorial responsibility." Some rhyme with "modeling good behavior." And some of those burdens rhyme with "Fuck you, Plato, and the Fascist, Formalist Horse You Rode In On. I Will See Your Philosopher King and Raise You Responsibility to the Other." The intensity and closeness of these things is something to see--debaters with good, smart, real questions are always everywhere, Goddess bless them.<br />e."O goddess, this universe is filled with your gentle and terrifying forms." Indeed.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-45786371488895296872010-04-03T13:28:00.007-04:002010-04-03T14:15:30.039-04:00A few lists For HannahFirst, five reasons why I love Greenberg:<br /><br />1) The opening line, spoken by Florence to the unseen and unavailable driver in the lane behind her: "Are you gonna let me in?" When I was a junior in high school, Dr. Schnell said that a good story tells you the tale in the first paragraph, but great art tells the tale in the very first line. She was right. Dr. Schnell was always right.<br /><br />2) The closing line, spoken by Florence to Greenberg, "This is you."<br /><br />3) The beginning and the ending of the movie. Last week, I had spoken to a couple of friends who thought I would hate this movie. And one of the reasons they thought so was because of the abrupt ending. I like that, though. One of the most exquisite things about Baumbach's writing is that he writes like people talk and tells stories like people live. At least, the people that I know. The ending is sudden and beautiful and scary and open-ended, as are all moments of grace. <br /><br />4) The rant at Generation Y. "You're all ADD and Carpal Tunnel. I hope I die before I end up meeting one of you in a job interview." Nuff said.<br /><br />5) The lighting. Every scene looks like forgiveness.<br /><br /><br />Second, five best quotes from Kicking and Screaming. (I'll warn you, the majority are from Max.)<br /><br />1) <span style="font-style:italic;">Max</span>: I'm too nostalgic. I'll admit it.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Skippy</span>: We graduated four months ago. What can you possibly be nostalgic for?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Max</span>: I'm nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday. I've begun reminiscing events before they even occur. I'm reminiscing this right now. I can't go to the bar because I've already looked back on it in my memory... and I didn't have a good time. <br /><br />2) <span style="font-style:italic;">Max</span>: What I used to able to pass off as a bad summer could now potentially turn into a bad life. <br /><br />3) <span style="font-style:italic;">Chet</span>: If Plato is a fine red wine, then Aristotle is a dry martini. <br /><br />4) <span style="font-style:italic;">Louis</span>: Violence is always justified some of the time.<br /><br />5) <span style="font-style:italic;">Max</span>: Who the hell bought black eyed peas?<br /><br />There you are, dear Hannah. I'll make you a birthday song list on Monday.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-29855241669981934312010-04-02T13:12:00.001-04:002010-04-03T14:38:10.403-04:00Dust and New BeginningsYesterday, I was walking to meet a <a href="http://imwithgeorge.blogspot.com/">friend</a> for movie-time. We saw <a href="http://trailers.apple.com/trailers/focus_features/greenberg/">Greenberg</a>, and, contrary to popular expectation, I really enjoyed it. I missed this Noah Baumbach--the one who wrote "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Cwgr6fs1Tk">Kicking and Screaming,</a>" one of my ALL TIME FAVORITE MOVIES EVAR--and it is good to see him again. In fact, instead of reading the rest of this entry, go watch "Kicking and Screaming." Like, right now. It's available Instantly on Netflix, and it will speak to you. I promise.*<br /><br />So. On the way to this movie that is about realizing some things that one should have realized a long time ago, and then forgiving oneself for the slowness of realizing those things, and then recognizing the delicious gifts that live in both forgiveness and realization, I saw an ice cream truck. Usually, those things scare me a bit. Not as much as clowns, but still. They play creepy music, they contain multiple temptations for children who run at them mindlessly, they are often driven by people who may or may not be as-yet-uncaught serial killers (Dexter, anyone?). <br /><br />For some reason, on this sunny day, to see this secret surprise movie with this dear boy, instead of walking rapidly away from the ice-cream-truck-driver/as-yet-uncaught-serial-killer, I stopped and looked at him. The boy driving it smiled at me, and said, "Beautiful day, beautiful lady." And then he gave me a FREE rocket pop.<br /><br />That is a good day, my friends. Dusting off old favorites in new forms, meeting up with new favorites in old forms, and free ice cream. Welcome, Spring. It is good to see you again. For the first time.<br /><br />*Seriously. Why are you still reading? WATCH THE MOVIE.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-67015170817160728452010-03-21T16:18:00.004-04:002010-03-21T16:41:02.169-04:00Executionary AdventuresSo yesterday I saw a mouse in my kitchen. I thought I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, but then I told myself it was my hair. As I continued making my breakfast, I saw it move again, out of the corner of the other eye. And so I went on an explore and moved some things around and scared the bejesus out of Fieval, my new roommate.<br /><br />I called my parents, poor things, to tell them of the scary!!! Mom asked me what the mouse was doing when I saw it, and I said, "Running away from me." Then she asked what I was doing, and I said, "Running away from him."<br /><br />Several things happened after that. <br />1) I went to talk to the building manager. From whom I have not heard. I am going to call the building management people tomorrow. <br />2) I used the internetz to ask for advice. Some of the advice was sympathetic, some of it was helpful, and some of it was a Youtube link to "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRjb8sMjYu8">Somewhere Out There</a>." Fucking. Super.<br />3) I saw the mouse again. He is taunting me, I think. Like, RIGHT beside my computer in the living room, he comes out to say, "Bah ha ha. I am very small. And I am looking for my family. Have you seen them?"<br />4) I went to Home Depot and bought an electric trap to catch and kill him. Theoretically, it is humane. Pragmatically, it is in my kitchen. Simmering, battery-fueled death.<br /><br />Or so I thought. <br /><br />I may or may not have set the trap correctly. I think Fieval is in there right now, eating peanut butter conveniently provided for him by his new favorite roommate. Seriously. I was in the kitchen, you know, doing whatever the hell you do in kitchens, and I saw him, I think. WALKING INTO THE TRAP AND THEN WALKING BACK OUT OF IT. <br /><br />I am, in fact, the worst executioner ever. And balls if I'm gonna go in there and check for mice in the trap.<br /><br />BALLS, I say.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-6786875702966218802010-03-20T08:40:00.000-04:002010-03-21T16:18:03.706-04:00Spring Song, minus the Illuminati<object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2vEStDd6HVY&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2vEStDd6HVY&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-44775044948599709082010-03-17T12:50:00.003-04:002010-03-17T12:58:43.596-04:00Some Strongly Worded LettersDear Weather.com,<br />Thank you for this day. It has been a long time coming, and I appreciate all of your gorgeous, sun-drenched effort.<br />Love,<br />james<br /><br /><br />Dear Black, Patent Leather Peep-Toes,<br />Long time, no see! Welcome back to the ends of my legs. You are aging well, old friends.<br />Sincerely,<br />Fashionable Interlocuter<br /><br /><br />Dear Almost-Graduating Seniors,<br />I am so proud of you. What a marvelous introduction to New York you provided. I love this job and this school--and it will not be the same without you. Still, the choices and roads ahead are so exciting! You will be as impressive and formiddable on your new roads as you have been here in this world. I look forward to hearing of your achievements-to-come, and I thank you for allowing me into your symbolic universe.<br />With gratitude,<br />Dr. J<br /><br /><br />Dear Students-Taking-the-Persuasion-Midterm,<br />You are wonderful. Everything is going to be alright. I promise.<br />Warmly,<br />Jaimejameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-50830026023417787552010-03-16T19:27:00.004-04:002010-03-16T19:29:38.343-04:00Call This An Oversimplified Generalization, If You MustBut a TV show created by the people who did the Wire, starring people from the Wire (and Homicide! Holla!) is fucking guaranteed (CajunCajunCajun) to be good.<br /><br />Watch. And anticipate with me.<br /><object width="320" height="240"><param name="movie" value="http://www.hbo.com/bin/hboPlayer.swf?vid=1084657"></param><param name="FlashVars" value="domain=http://www.hbo.com&videoTitle=Trailer"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.hbo.com/bin/hboPlayer.swf?vid=1084657" FlashVars="domain=http://www.hbo.com&videoTitle=Trailer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="240"></embed></object><div><a title="Trailer" href="http://www.hbo.com/treme/about/video/ring-shout-trailer.html?autoplay=true">Trailer</a></div>jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-44182338864061859202010-03-14T13:55:00.003-04:002010-03-14T18:14:45.152-04:00Your Mission,should you choose to accept it, is simple: Help me come up with substitution phrases. <br /><br />I tend to over-use my favorite words and phrases, and a former student just reminded me how annoying that can be. So, in the spirit (belated, I know I know, I GET it) of Lent, I am going to work on expanding my vocabulary. Below, I have compiled a list of my most popular go-tos. If you would be so kind as to provide some alternative suggestions, I will be forever in your debt.<br /><br />1) Balls.<br />2) Delicious.<br />3) I'm just sayin, is all.<br />4) Son of a...<br />5) Yummy.<br />6) Serious (or some form thereof--for serious, seriously, on the serious).<br /><br />There are probably more, but I can't think of them right now. In fact, I kinda feel bad about this--like I'm abandoning old friends. But, hey! It's a new world, right? And worlds are made of language.<br /><br />Still. I might keep one or two, just for old time's sake.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2350344815816299228.post-36927653491243966712010-03-07T20:17:00.005-05:002010-03-10T20:49:27.472-05:00Academy Award FistfightsI will get in one. Because I always do. Oh--It's ON, Facebook friends.<br /><br />It all started with my mother's angry grudge against Gandhi. She's still mad that Gandhi won the year that ET wasn't even nominated. I was seven, so I couldn't say, "Hey. Dear, Dear Mother. Gandhi has Ben Kingsley. ET has, like, rubber space frogs. You do the math." Then, there was the year that I almost got into a drunken brawl with these Germans at an Academy Award party in North Carolina--that was about "Training Day." *I love you, Denzel.* And then there was Crash.<br /><br />Crash.<br /><br />Why do we care about these things? I haven't even seen all the movies, and I am all ready to be angry about the winning/losing of my favorites. And by favorites, I mean, "The Hurt Locker."<br /><br />Honestly, though, since 2005, I've not watched all the movies. I am still outraged. OUTRAGED, I say, by "Crash" winning over "Brokeback Mountain." I think people got so excited about Jake Gyllenhaal's tight ass jeans and the possibility of two boy pee pees touching in a tee pee, they didn't notice the beauty of the movie.<br /><br />Goddammit, I hate Paul Haggis. <br /><br />Tina Fey and Steve Carell, however, I love. And George Clooney. And The Hurt Locker. And yummy, yummy Jack Donaghy. And Meryl Streep. And yummy coconut martinis. And righteous indignation. And Jack Donaghy.<br /><br />Mmmm. I hope Jack Donaghy wins an Oscar.jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10829398381090274725noreply@blogger.com2