the cool kids

I met the cool kids this evening. Had dinner with them, even. An odd arrangment - dinner for 10, arranged by 1, that ended up being nine, and divided almost effortlessly into a 5 and a 4, divided by the minute but perceptible gap separating the two tables. I was, originally, part of the four - I knew two of the three others, a lovely couple. Have had dinner with them in the past, several times. French, Bosnian, smart, sophisticated, unpretentious in the right ways, pretentious in the right ways. And we talked and it was good. The other 5, a colleague and her partner, a few "global fellows", recently tenured but young sorts, one of whom this very day got a job at a solid university at points east of here. And his wife. And the colleague's partner. I got all social butterfly-ish, to try and mix the two worlds. Ended up changing seats, even, once. But there was one on one shoptalk with the colleague, and wide-ranging but largely social conversation with the non-colleagues. And then there were the social overtures across the table - what do you work on, Mr. Epidemiologist? Ms. Music? And then, back in my four, carefully delineated from their 5, the realisation that they were the cool kids. Theory. Post-modern post-colonial stylishly attired, a barrette here, translucent-framed architect glasses there, nehru collar here, stylish coat there. And the departmental scuttlebut. Reducing to two, apparently perennial, questions - am I gay, and what's up with my hair (presumably along the lines of "too much gel/product" rather than something else.) Maybe I should come out as straight and shave my fucking head. The cool kids still piss me off (although the thought of said colleague at a hipster cafe I frequented whilst aspiring to hipsterdom in high school is rather laughable. On the other hand, she's formidably smart.) Sigh. Another glass of wine, perhaps, and small appreciation for a life on a Friday night, particularly after the rather insane Friday/week, and for the fact I can sleep in before going in to my office tomorrow for the umpteenth consecutive day. Weekends are for pussies. Don't be a pussy. (homage to The Belle Jar, Columbia's latest dyke student sex columnist, homage, in turn, to my dyke Columbia friend and her partner, in turn, a reminder that the truly cool are often uncool.)

words

It makes me very, very happy that Thom Yorke uses "indefatigable" on Eraser, and that he pronounces it correctly. The mental geography of proximity - born in Oxford, that pretentious ginger twat was. He once spilled a full pint on me in the Bully Arms. Soaked in lager by greatness. Most exciting. Back to work. Geoffrey reminds me of all the reasons I don't like Gregory, but also all the reasons the Aeneid never really rocked my world. Although I should buy the new translation, regardless.

three

All I wanted to say was "good scotch! yummy! I'm glad I'm drinking good scotch again!" But fucking blogger made me fucking upgrade to the fucking new fucking blogger. The upshot? Particularly as I don't want any real email addresses associated with my whingeings just in case of, I dunno, tenure. A third fucking google account. I have no idea who I am anymore. I was fine with two, but three? Piffle. And no, my love, I'm really not gay. Ooh. Labels. They suggest, "e.g. scooters, vacation, fall." I think I'll label this inaugural privacy-robbing post all three of those things. That'll show 'em....

Bride-y

"Charm is the great English blight." Ah, Brideshead. Starting with the golden hazy days of an Oxonian youth I never actually had, and ending up in the Gilded Age of a darkness that was the aforementioned non-experienced youth. If you take my meaning. Alcohol is doing a body good, as is its wont. Nostalgia has been an odd constant, of late, but in passing rather than as the centermost object of focus. A new development. As is the working the proverbial fingers to the proverbial bone and not finding myself proverbially despondent, if you know what I mean...(cf John Bishop circa 1995). Back to the stuttering, lisping, delightfully combed-over Antoine. Back to the darkness that fills my soul and shivers my body but becomes a place to visit rather than a place from which I must escape.

TMI

Or, too much information. Facebook, bless it, has many stories to tell, and many of its users seem blissfully ignorant that even people "in" their network may not be "on" their side. This young lady came to my office today, "[Redacted] is starting to think that she has a crush on her somewhat younger English Professor. She can't help but be drawn to his powder pink tie which hangs slightly off center."

SOMEWHAT YOUNGER? She must have written that when she sat further back in class. Or maybe she needs glasses. It was only the 2nd day of class, according to Facebook. Sit closer to the front, dammit. Oh, wait, you sit alone, in front of the front row at the table available for any wheelchair users, although you're not disabled. Somewhat younger my ass. As they say, WWŽD (What Would Žižek Do)?

completely heterosexual

"Haggard Pronounced ‘Completely Heterosexual’

DENVER (AP) -- One of four ministers who oversaw three weeks of intensive counseling for the Rev. Ted Haggard said the disgraced minister emerged convinced that he is ''completely heterosexual.''

Haggard also said his sexual contact with men was limited to the former male prostitute who came forward with sexual allegations, the Rev. Tim Ralph of Larkspur told The Denver Post for a story in Tuesday's edition.

''He is completely heterosexual,'' Ralph said. ''That is something he discovered. It was the acting-out situations where things took place. It wasn't a constant thing.''"


I dunno about you, but if I ever hire a male prostitute and do large quantities of meth with him before he gives me blowjobs, I don't see myself as self-identifying at that point as "completely heterosexual." Couldn't they have pronounced he was "mostly" het, or "definitely" het, or "certainly" het or something that, I dunno, didn't attempt quite so blatant a re-writing of the recent cock-filled meth-fueled past?

Sigh. I should enter rehab. I'm not sure for what, exactly, but keeping people guessing as to whether your rehab experience is cover for something else is part of the game these days....

stolen

From Infinite Th0ught, although it doesn't seem to be there anymore: "Hobbes claimed that the state of nature was 'nasty, British, and short.'" In other news from my own students, Engels wrote a still-reliable history of the middle ages. So, 'nasty, British, oppressed and exploited' might be better.

Anonymous Pseudonymous

I'd like to stay that way, dammit. Google wants your blogger account to be tied to, well, your google account. Flickr wants you to use your bleeding Yahoo account. NOT HAPPY with this. My inner polish teenage drama queen relies on my students not being able to find this. Or connect with me in any way form or fashion those arty pictures involving rubber bands and what seems to be mercury. I'm proudly a/pseudo-nymous - I'm in the closet, as it were, and proud....