(3:36 PM) | Dave Belcher:

Art and Non-Art

[T]he artisan’s attention is set beyond the productivity of her work; set beyond, that is, the work’s objectivity as a work (a chair, a rug, etc.). The artisan’s attention, rather, is on the ‘poietic’ value of her craftwork, whereby the very activity of her craftsmanship involves her in the opening of the world to something truly new. Craftsmanship, in short, is attuned to the creation of something whose value is precisely and fully the act of its creation, and not its productive capacity for exchange, consumption, or use. As such, the craftsman’s attention is directed toward the fashioning of a radically new existence, one incommensurate with the present order of reality and its existent horizon of expectations

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(12:00 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Friday Afternoon Confessional: The Hyphen in Anal-Retentive

I confess that yesterday when cleaning the house, I mopped all the floors twice, as if that would make it last longer somehow. I confess that my cleaning extended even to polishing my shoes.

I confess that the washing machine in our building has not been working for a while now, and my laundry issues are reaching a crisis level. I confess that I've been wearing my "laundry day" jeans for over a week straight. I confess that this laundry situation contributes to what a noted Polish thinker has called "the funk of man" in my apartment.

I confess that I've been trying to think of Wilco lyrics to correspond to famous thinkers. So far I've got two:

1. Jacques Derrida: "I've got reservations about so many things, but not about you."
   
2. John Calvin: "No love's as random as God's love."

I confess that I shaved my beard off on a caprice this week. I confess that I was surprised at how cold my face felt as a result. I confess that not having a beard seems better.

I confess that I have been posting these too early and that this behavior will stop or I will be facing serious consequences.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Thursday, February 22, 2007

(3:30 PM) | Claire:

A Special Request From Winston

Recently my dearest friend and trusted companion, F. Winston Codpiece III, or Winston, as I call him, presented me with a special request. He asked that I write a piece from the perspective of his favorite cuddly marine mammal: the sea otter. Many of you are unfamiliar with the more sensitive, sentimental side of this mysterious man. Let me take a minute to introduce you to the Winston I know.

Yesterday, Winston invited me over to trade Lisa Frank stickers and Beanie Babies. I always love visiting him because his house reminds me of the most tender moments of my childhood. His pastel pink walls are are lined with shelves and display cases of Precious Moments dolls. He has a collection of vintage, framed 1980's "Hang In There" kitten posters hung throughout the living room. His bedroom is filled with cute pictures of cuddly animals that you just can't find in stores today. When I arrived yesterday, he had a Debbie Gibson record softly playing and had placed two mugs of Swiss Miss hot chocolate and a plate of Keebler Elves on the table.

Winston is probably the best listener I have ever met-- he listens with his heart as well as his ears. I often bounce ideas off of Winston because I know he will be supportive and encouraging of anything I say. I've told him of the trials of being the only regular female poster on the Weblog, of how I sometimes tire of maintaining the hard, Mistress of the Weblog persona. It's a man's blogosphere, so I've had to mostly dispense with my feminine charms and adopt this bristly careerist exterior. I've realized that I've adopted an almost militaristic style of interaction with people who should be my blog allies. For instance, I communicate with Kotsko by barking commands that are met more and more with resigned, but begrudging silence. Winston has suggested that I open up to Kotsko about my anxieties about being a female poster at the Weblog. But, I told him I'm not ready to make myself that vulnerable, at least not until I have administrator privileges. We did agree on a compromise, though. I will reconnect with my more tender, softer side by posting from the perspective of a sea otter. This will only further serve to file off the hard edges of the exterior animus that I have so carefully built. I know that Winston's top priority is my personal growth, and it will be a privilege to share will all of you as I embark on this journey of self-rediscovery.

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(Claire has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

(2:53 PM) | Old - Doug Johnson:

Oscar Blogging: Three Six Mafia One ...

Picks, Predictions, Comments

Performance by an actor in a leading role

Prediction: Peter O’Toole in Venus (While if it was up to moviegoers generally, Will Smith would run away with it, The Academy goes with awarding someone they should have long ago)
Haven’t Seen: Any of them (chose against seeing Forest Whitaker on Valentine’s Day at the last minute)

Strange that none of the best actor nominees come from best picture nominees. On that note, I kind of favor DiCaprio. If his performance in Blood Diamond is any better than the one he gave in The Departed, he’s earned it.

My Pick: [I’m not picking in categories in which I haven’t seen at least three of the films – other weblog reader’s feel free to fill in the blanks]

Performance by an actor in a supporting role

Prediction: Alan Arkin in Little Miss Sunshine (foreshadowing things to come)
Haven’t Seen: Jackie Earle Haley in Little Children (will see this film if I get a chance before Sunday) or Djimon Hounsou in Blood Diamond

Alan Arkin is an absolute riot. Whalberg outdid himself (see comments on best director). Haley is many-a-critics favorite. Dreamgirls, however, deserves some major Oscar and Eddie Murphy is one of the best actors of our time. It remains to be seen whether he’ll make a complete switch to Oscar favorable movies. (The Academy won’t chose him, however, for some of the same reasons it won’t even nominate Jim Carrey).

My Pick: Eddie Murphy

Performance by an actress in a leading role

Prediction: Helen Miren
Haven’t Seen: Any other performance besides Miren’s.

Supposedly a runaway. I thought the guy who played Blair was equally compelling. I suppose it will take an outstanding film for the best actor of our generation (Streep) to win again. Dench and Blanchett in Notes on a Scandal and Penélope Cruz in Volver are performances I really would like to have seen by this point.

My Pick: [none - see above]

Performance by an actress in a supporting role

Prediction: Adrianna Barraza in Babel (almost too close to call)
Haven’t Seen: Blanchett

Blanchett will perhaps someday challenge Streep for most nominations ever but won two years ago and will be passed over. Breslin in Little Miss Sunshine will not be considered seriously because she already has the accolade of youngest nominee of all time. Partisans of Babel may very well cancel each other out with respect to Barraza and Rinko Kikuchi, but I can’t imagine Jennifer Hudson winning for Dreamgirls. It’s not that she doesn’t turn in an amazing performance, but that, like Breslin, the nomination itself seems reward enough for someone who unjustly lost out in Simon Cowell’s clown show. So I think Barraza being slightly more experienced as an actress will win her the award. Both actresses were incredible, but I have a slight preference both for Mexico and for Barraza’s incredible range from über-competent nanny to an utterly disoriented and unhinged victim of the Minutemen’s sandbox.

My Pick: Barraza

Best motion picture of the year

Prediction: Little Miss Sunshine (Oscar voters miss the main political issue, the war on terror, yet again for a delightfully, entertaining ethical sideshow – beauty pageants and the problem of skinny models)
Haven’t Seen: Thanks to catching large chunks of The Queen (a good movie, but the least worthy of the five nominated) while jointly attempting to juggle two kids under four on a plane, I can say that I’ve seen all of them.

Letters from Iwo Jima is far and away the better film with respect to The Departed, and not just because of a definite genre preference for near-minimalistic violence with a cogent political message over against totally depraved realism or, better, gangster fantasy (can one even consider using the word realism when blood splurts forth as cutely as water from some promise-keeper family’s front yard fountain?). The conclusion of The Departed is an utter failure in a way that isn’t true of its Hong Kong source material (Infernal Affairs). Whatever becomes of the letters from the girl? And, worse, why don’t things tie themselves up through such letters rather than through some mole underling who appears out of no where and somehow knows the secret identity of the top bad cop while the Boss’s favorite kid is apparently clueless as to his existence. Eastwood films have had their share of Oscar success, and thus it would have taken a hell of an overwhelmingly superior film to prevent a showdown between Little Miss Sunshine and Babel for best film.

(I was unable to participate in I Cite’s lengthy discussion of Babel, but see my comments here and here). Little Miss Sunshine was the most enjoyable film I saw this year outside of Borat, but Babel is arguably the best of González Iñárritu’s three stunningly brilliant films (and his career may take a precipitous plunge from here on out if his split with screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga remains permanent). Terrific performances. Cinematography at its very finest. A trenchant and provocative take on the war on terror. How do you defeat an Empire? Confuse it by speaking different languages at it. Everyone talks about the peeing scene, but the immediately prior one in which the all-American star of Fight Club can barely manage to knock over a tubby Australian tourist (and still loses out) is even more telling. Imperial overreaction means that a hundred or so police cars arrive to take on two little boys and their nearly toothless father hours before the arrival of an ambulance or helicopter. Bodily abandon in response to radical bodily vulnerability is offered, in each of the disparate yet intersecting stories, as a way to overcome cultural-linguistic gaps. Crash, last year’s winner, borrowed its titular trick from Arriaga (definitely my pick for best original screenplay) and González Iñárritu’s Amores Perroes, and, as one critic puts it, is like a college kid’s term paper on race in comparison to Babel’s masterstroke.

My Pick: Babel

Best foreign language film of the year

Prediction: Pan’s Labyrinth (Mexico)
Haven’t Seen: After the Wedding (Denmark), Days of Glory (Indigènes) (Algeria), The Lives of Others (Germany), Water (Canada)

Definitely should have seen Water by this point. Pan’s Labyrinth is one of the most highly regarded movies of the year and probably would have made a run at Best Film if it had chosen to run in this category. Difficult to watch, but I’m liking it more and more as I think about it without trying to make sense of causality between the fable and more realistic action. Still not sure if I appreciate the combination of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and Borges Labyrinth as the major influences.

My Pick: [none – see above]

Achievement in directing

Prediction: Scorsese
Haven’t Seen: Stephen Frears' United 93 (and don’t really have any desire to)

Martin Scorsese zero. I would be very much tempted to let this joke by John Stewart from last year stand as is. No way The Academy will. It’s an incredible blight that will not be allowed to stand. Eastwood’s direction is certainly better, but then, Scorsese’s direction of The Aviator was unquestionably superior to Eastwood’s in Million Dollar Baby. I’ve seen five Scorsese features and this is my sixth favorite Scorsese film. Certainly one of his next two scheduled films (unless it’s totally flubbed, Silence) will be better. González Iñárritu would definitely be a worthy alternative. But then, this is an award for directing and Marty did somehow manage to coax an Oscar nomination worthy performance out of Marky Wahlberg.

My Pick: Scorsese

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(Old - Doug Johnson has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

(9:33 AM) | Claire:

For You, Kind Bloggers

My week has been marked by kindness and generosity from all reaches of the blogosphere. When I posted my desperate plea for help in finding a new job, I never expected it to be linked at the Weblog and Unfogged. But that is exactly what happened. Some readers eagerly supplied me with contacts, while others cruelly mocked my networking efforts. Coming into this week, I have a couple new contacts and more hope than ever that I may not be damned to spend eternity in my present job. I want to thank each and every one of you for the leads and support. I dedicate these hatreds to the kind strangers of the Weblog.

I hate that I found it necessary to come into work sick today to avoid the cheesefry explosion that takes place when I try to take time off.

I hate that for every one of my woes, there is a corresponding curative baked good.

I hate that I lost a spelling and drinking bee with the word 'elegy.'

I hate that after the spelling/drinking bee, I arrive at my painting class drunk and dehydrated and proceeded to make a painting so horrible that my teacher told me to stop painting and finish next week.

I hate that I let Ben Wolfson correct my grammar.

I hate that more people don't come bathe in the healing light of my blog.

If you just don't have it in you to hate, visit the McElroy family blog where it's all love- all the time.

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(Claire has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Sunday, February 18, 2007

(10:08 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Knowing Best

Obviously obtaining a PhD requires a certain degree of what Walter Kaufman calls "galloping consumption," and in an interdisciplinary program such as mine, that consumption can sometimes seem especially indiscriminate. For instance, yesterday I read H. Richard Niebuhr's The Meaning of Revelation, Derrida's essay on Celan's "Meridian" speech, and part of Judith Butler's Gender Trouble. Today I hope to combine some more Butler with some Karl Rahner. It's all very exciting.

In the course of this galloping consumption, however, I sometimes like to step back and ask myself what I feel like I really know, which texts I know backwards and forwards. My list is as follows:

1. Derrida, The Gift of Death
   
2. Nietzsche, The Genealogy of Morals (especially the first two essays)
   
3. Benjamin, Theses on the Philosophy of History
   
4. Paul, "The Epistle to the Romans"

I'm hesitant to put Romans down because I haven't been able to read the text in its original language, but on the other hand, I'd be surprised if I'd read it fewer than 100 times. (Seriously -- I've had a strange life.)

And so, the obvious question you've all been waiting for: what texts do you know best?

UPDATE: Looking back over this post, I feel as though Butler and Rahner are as different as it is possible for two authors to be. I keep trying to come up with counter-examples, but they all sound contrived and arbitrary.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Saturday, February 17, 2007

(12:35 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

Unbelievable Affront

Can you believe that anyone would write anything negative about blogs? The nerve of these people!
* * *
Someday, when archeologists are excavating our blogs, they will conclude that the purpose of blogging is to defend blogging as an enterprise. This is the one feature that unites all the variegated and incommensurable types of blogs -- from the obnoxious blog triumphalism of the early Andrew Sullivan, to the sarcastic calls for a conference on blogger ethics by Atrios, to the instinctive defensiveness of the literary blogosphere.

But not The Weblog. We are the exception that proves the rule. If we are defending blogging from anything, it is from bloggers. We are admittedly producing the worst possible blog, day after day. No one should read us. We will not replace or supplant anything. Some day, seemingly at random, it will just be gone, and that will be okay.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

(11:09 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Buying Books Online

A couple observations:

• People selling used books online apparently have a radically different concept of what "some" underlining means.
  
• Whenever I buy something directly through Amazon instead of from one of the used booksellers, the process of actual receiving my package is a huge ordeal, at least when I choose "standard shipping." For instance, on February 5th I paid for 3-5 day delivery; today, on the 17th, I still have no idea where my package is.

I did go to the post office this morning to inquire about the latter point, but literally received no service whatsoever at the window where you pick up packages. I rang the doorbell multiple times, and no one came for like 15 minutes. I was starting to feel upset, so I decided to just leave, because the last time I had to wait at that window, I became mildly annoyed and was subjected to the employees' stock lines about how it wasn't their fault, how getting upset wouldn't solve anything, etc. The effectiveness was kind of undercut by the fact that this was an especially rough day for the post office and practically every employee was deploying the "don't take it out on me" defense every three minutes. Strangely, this only seemed to make people more angry.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Friday, February 16, 2007

(6:08 PM) | Amish Lovelock:

The Cast of MTV's Real World - Irvine: where people stop being polite, and start getting the Real

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(Amish Lovelock has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

(8:00 AM) | Dominic:

Friday Confession: Monkey Love and Baader-Meinhof

I confess that I have got into the habit of looking at people and trying to imagine them as apes. Children become baby apes; old people become distinguished old gorillas with wise faces. Television newsreaders make especially good baboons. This may be the closest I will ever get to a generic love of humanity.

I confess that listening to Black metal does not make me feel any better. Stopping listening to Black metal makes me feel marginally better, compared to how I felt when I was listening to Black metal. I confess that this is the least promising mood-control technique I have
tried since I first took up smoking.

I confess that when I was a teenager my mother was terrified that I would join the local equivalent of the Baader-Meinhof gang. I confess that I have never been remotely likely to do anything of the sort. I confess that I get exactly the same kicks now out of arguing with
hard-leftists as I used to get out of arguing with members of the Christian Union at school. I confess that I am completely unserious, and will never contribute anything of value to any revolutionary movement.

I confess that I have been completely mentally enslaved by Badiou, and now see everything in terms of axiomatic set theory. I confess that this will wear off eventually. I confess that going by past experiences of complete mental enslavement by major continental philosophers this is likely to take about five years. I confess that I am very boring to talk to right now.

I confess that IT is beating me at chess. I confess that I am unreasoningly cross about this. I confess that I used to play board 11 for the County under-13s (or was it board 13 for the County
under-16s?). I confess that I got very tired indeed of all-day chess tournaments, even though they were among the few occasions besides Christian Union get-togethers when I ever got to meet girls of my own age (and girls who were into chess, moreover). Once at an all-day chess tournament three girls came up to me and asked me which of them I fancied most. I confess that I had absolutely no idea, and told them that I would have to know a lot more about their personalities before I would be able to respond meaningfully to their question. I confess
that the way they laughed at me still haunts my dreams to this day.

Now it is your turn. Confessions about chess and girls especially welcome - and multiply so if you yourself are a chess-playing girl.

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(Dominic has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Thursday, February 15, 2007

(4:26 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

God's Romantic Will

I'm sure that all of us raised in the evangelical milieu have a story about a break-up caused by "God's will." Has anyone ever been told that it's "God's will" that someone get together with them? Better, has anyone ever been persuaded by such an argument?

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

(1:04 AM) | Amish Lovelock:

Unite!

Going to Britain again next month impells me to say the following. The best two things about the increasingly ultra-professionalized, Research whatever-you-call-it Exercised British academy are (1) Paul Gilroy's appointment to LSE, and (2) the young and fiesty continental philosophy departments. They should really get together and do something special. The only time I think there has ever been contact between these two polarities though is in the form of a, slightly reserved, book jacket recommendation. People! Acquire a capacity to read the symptoms plaguing your academy; those symptoms inhibiting acts of solidarity; act! and enter the space of possibilities opened thereby!

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(Amish Lovelock has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

(10:09 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

Connections

If you can find Claire a job in Chicago, do so.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

(1:42 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

The Amanda Marcotte Affair

I don't have a lot of libidinal investment in "netroots" type of stuff nor in bloggers having an official role in political campaigns. It should be pretty obvious that while I would literally sooner die than vote Republican, I am not a passionate believer in the Democratic Party or in the specifically American form of "liberalism," specifically because of what Marcotte's firing represents. Bill Donohue is an absolutely despicable person, who in any sanely ordered society would never be allowed to make a public statement. Yet somehow he is dictating the hiring decisions in the Edwards campaign -- or at least manipulating Edwards into wasting his time on a personal statement disavowing Marcotte's "offensive" post about religion.

The time has long since passed for a kind of default "fair-mindedness" toward all comers. Until a Democrat can come out and say, "Bill Donohue is basically a fascist and shame on the media for continuing to give this man a public hearing," the right will continue to maintain their stranglehold over the terms of the debate. It really is necessary to shout down people, to call them what they really are without some bullshit qualifiers like "I admire his conviction." And they need to start putting pressure on the media to stop giving a voice to these people. Bill Donohue is entitled to his freedom of speech, of course -- so let him start a fucking blog.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

(8:21 AM) | Claire:

Weblog Cleansing

It's been a week since I was discharged from the hospital and I'm feeling marginally better. The electroconvulsive therapy treatments have been somewhat effective in reducing my major depression. I know I used to be terrified of global warming, but today I can't remember why. Thankfully, I no longer think I'm a gargoyle and I have made amends with all those affected by my psychotic episode in the metals class. I am proud to say that I have been such a model patient that I am now allowed to inject myself with Haldol and induce a near-catatonic state whenever I need to. I find it particularly helpful to shoot up before work each day. Now that I'm so comfortably numb, I can let the biting, spiteful comments, baseless accusations, and affirmations of my non-existence slide right off me. I'm no longer a gargoyle; I'm a human sieve.

I affirm that I am everything that is wrong with the Weblog. I have poisoned it with a particularly wicked and scat-tinged humor that only a 27-year-old female non-theology student could deliver. I offer myself to you, the readers: do with me what you deem necessary to once and for all cleanse the Weblog of this scatological, non-intellectual, pop-culture-obsessed pestilence that I have introduced.

I hate that I am staying up late to write the hatreds.

I hate that I have volunteered to be the first female homo sacer in the history of the Weblog.

I hate that the people at the bakery are now afraid of me because I constantly stick out my tongue.

I hate that I overdosed on Haldol and ended up soiling myself at work.

I hate that, like the sea otter, I have more hair in one square inch that a human has on its whole body.

I hate that my co-worker is so anal retentive that he can't let me set anything on his desk.

I hate that this co-worker speaks in clipped Chicago speech and looks like he will explode into mess of pizza puffs and cheese fries if he has to utter a full sentence.

I hate that I give out commemorative lapel pins to all those I have fisted.

I hate that there are still some fucktards out there who can't come to terms with my existence.

If you still don't believe, maybe you should read the Tuesday Love.

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(Claire has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

(7:53 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Archives Are Fixed

This was actually posted around 11:00am, but I changed the date so as to be beneath Claire, the only behavior she tolerates. Old alerted me of a problem with the archives, which seemed to be related to our switch to the New Blogger. Browsing through the support group, I found out that the old method of archiving I used, namely a separate page, was considered to be extremely out of date even before the switch to the New Blogger. Naturally, I felt like a complete idiot for not keeping up on the latest fads in Blogger templates -- and so I remedied the problem, replacing my tidy separate page with the tacky list of each month on the front page.

I really hope that they don't phase out other Old Blogger features in favor of "ease of use," because my current template is a work of art -- conditional tags, linked stylesheets that don't require a "republish" for formatting changes, the list just goes on and on. Of all my achievements as a blogger, my template is what I'm most proud of.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Monday, February 12, 2007

(12:39 PM) | Anthony Paul Smith:

Be Human Pig! (and Man! and Dog! and so on and so forth...)

Something about this video that Infinite Thought posted really affected me. I watched it twice just enthralled with everything going on here - social-production, animal production, anti-production, fascism, the machination of nature, the force of law, etc. I know it is kind of cheesy to admit it, but this cartoon has fucked me up.

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(Anthony Paul Smith has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

(9:25 AM) | F. Winston Codpiece III:

Notice of Reduced Posting

I put in the low bid, so I am now the official blogger for Hillary Clinton's presidential campaign. I will still stop by this fetid cesspool from time to time, but most of my bodily fluids will (understandably) be spent in the course of my official and highly-paid blogging duties. Stop by Sentator Clinton's blog later today to see lovingly PhotoShopped images of me receiving analingus from Catholic League president William Donohue.

Thank you to Mr. Kotsko for foolishly allowing me to consistently upstage him here, and thank you all for hardly ever wasting my time by commenting on my posts.

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(F. Winston Codpiece III has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Sunday, February 11, 2007

(10:02 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

Dear New York Times: Fuck You

On their homepage, the tagline to this story is as follows: "Senior U.S. military officials presented their first public evidence for the assertion that Iran is supplying Shiite extremists in Iraq with lethal weapons." It's a triumph of non-critical parroting of government claims. Clearly, they have gone through the requisite self-examination and learned the crucial lessons of the lead-up to what future historians will call "The Fucking Iraq Clusterfuck."

I especially like that they specify that we're talking about lethal weapons here. Otherwise, I'd have assumed we were talking about your typical Nerf Bow and Arrow.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

(12:56 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

Parenthetical Attacks!

A site called Cultural Parody Center has brilliantly skewered The Weblog:

(Speaking of the Trolls from the graduate-level Leibach fan club over at Weblog, will you please finally GRADUATE??? And change the name of the site to something INTERESTING, perhaps without ''web'' in the title? I might then consider actually reading your deep philsophy on the Holy Trinity mixed with reports on your pocket money situation!)

To cut so deeply, and in an aside no less -- we are dealing with talented satirists here. In my defense, however, I will note that getting a PhD has traditionally taken a long time.

And just so you guys know -- I got my student loans, so now I'm fucking rich as hell. No worries on the pocket-money front for now.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

(10:15 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Sunday Music Videos

This is an experimental new feature. Surprisingly, the YouTube dump last weekend got favorable reviews, at least the Regina Spektor post.


Gillian Welch, "Annabelle"


Cat Power, "Nude as the News"


Jay Farrar & Kelly Willis, "Rex's Blues"

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Saturday, February 10, 2007

(9:14 AM) | Amish Lovelock:

Bare Life or Death

So, does the horror of a sedated auschwitz lay in the maintenance of bare life or in the deaths? Do we stick with Agamben or join the Arendtians with their fervancy for keeping life alive and bread eaten in dignity rather than cake eaten in slavery? Or, do we really make the move back to Fanon or jubilee and know that under the colonial predecents of the auschwitz event the slave often prefers the possibility of death to the continuing condition of inhumanity? It is interesting that in Paul Gilroy's account of this, he quotes Lacan: "death, precisely because it has been drawn into the functions of stake in the game... shows at the same time how much of the prior rule, as well as of the concluding settlement, has been elided. For in the last analysis it is necessary for the loser not to perish, in order to become a slave. In other words, the pact everywhere precedes violence before perpetuating it." (quoted in The Black Atlantic, 1993 p.63.) - (did Zizek get the Garner story from Gilroy?!). Death in life - is it just a metaphor? Is it so obvious to "the most superficial observer of of the processes that go on in the human body" that it is an untruth? Are the walking dead the site of political action par excellance? Should we then ask the question of: if this is not metaphor, then what could it possibly "feel like," all the time risking the assumption that it is a archetypal "experience"; something to be measured and recorded... What would Santner think?

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(Amish Lovelock has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Friday, February 09, 2007

(12:00 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Friday Afternoon Confessional:

I confess that Thursday night I took a two-hour nap starting at 5:30. Whenever I wake up from one of those late naps, my heart is filled with regret.

I confess that I'm not taking advantage of the awesome new post-tagging functionality in The New Blogger.

I confess that I had a fit of profound loneliness that may have been inspired by reading Sebald.

I confess that Google Maps' recent addition of CTA and Metra stops would be a lot cooler if they would actually show the routes of the trains instead of just the stations and, more importantly, if it was actually accurate.

I confess that I have a strange habit of leaving cabinets open all the time.

I confess that I have nothing further to confess at this time.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Thursday, February 08, 2007

(7:58 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

Best Robot Chicken Sketch Ever

Crave Online: Funny Videos, Sexy Videos, Music Videos, Movie Trailers, and More!

I'm sorry -- I know there have been too many videos lately, but this is seriously absolutely necessary.

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(10:40 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

The Police

In Eric Santner's class this week, we were talking about Benjamin's "Critique of Violence," which necessarily entailed a discussion of the police. We had talked about Kafka over the previous few weeks, including particularly the story that Codpiece altered yesterday, and so Santner was talking about the "Kafkaesque" element in encounters with the police -- the cop might ask you if you know what you've done, he may tell you to get out of the car without offering any explanation, etc. Free-associating on this Kafkaesque element, he suggested that the next time we were pulled over and asked if we know why, we should respond, "Some say...."

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Wednesday, February 07, 2007

(3:00 PM) | F. Winston Codpiece III:

The Cares of a Blogger

Some say the word Kotsko is of Slavonic origin, and try to account for it on that basis. Others again believe it to be of German origin, only influenced by Slavonic. The uncertainty of both interpretations allows one to assume with justice that neither is accurate, especially as neither of them provides an intelligent meaning of the word.

No one, of course, would occupy himself with such studies if there were not a creature called Kotsko. At first glance it looks like a flat star-shaped spool for thread, and indeed it does seem to have thread wound upon it; to be sure, they are only old, broken-off bits of thread, knotted and tangled together, of the most varied sorts and colors. But it is not only a spool, for a small wooden crossbar sticks out of the middle of the star, and another small rod is joined to that at a right angle. By means of this latter rod on one side and one of the points of the star on the other, the whole thing can stand upright as if on two legs.

One is tempted to believe that the creature once had some sort of intelligible shape and is now only a broken-down remnant. Yet this does not seem to be the case; at least there is no sign of it; nowhere is there an unfinished or unbroken surface to suggest anything of the kind; the whole thing looks senseless enough, but in its own way perfectly finished. In any case, closer scrutiny is impossible, since Kotsko is extraordinarily nimble and can never be laid hold of.

He lurks by turns in the garret, the stairway, the lobbies, the entrance hall. Often for months on end he is not to be seen; then he has presumably moved into other houses; but he always comes faithfully back to our house again. Many a time when you go out of the door and he happens just to be leaning directly beneath you against the banisters you feel inclined to speak to him. Of course, you put no difficult questions to him, you treat him--he is so diminutive that you cannot help it--rather like a child. "Well, what's your name?" you ask him. "Kotsko," he says. "And where do you live?" "No fixed abode," he says and laughs; but it is only the kind of laughter that has no lungs behind it. It sounds rather like the rustling of fallen leaves. And that is usually the end of the conversation. Even these anwers are not always forthcoming; often he stays mute for a long time, as wooden as his appearance.

I ask myself, to no purpose, what is likely to happen to him? Can he possibly die? Anything that dies has had some kind of aim in life, some kind of activity, which has worn out; but that does not apply to Kotsko. Am I to suppose, then, that he will always be rolling down the stairs, with ends of thread trailing after him, right before the feet of my children, and my children's children? He does no harm to anyone that one can see; but the idea that he is likely to survive me I find almost painful.

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Tuesday, February 06, 2007

(9:37 AM) | Claire:

Taking a Psychotic Break

Hi folks. I'm sorry to say that I've hit a new low. A couple days ago, I experienced a psychotic break while I was in my metalsmithing class. I should have know it was coming; the signs were there. The lines, " . . . living in a den of thieves - and it's contagious. . . " from "Us" by Regina Spektor started on an endless loop in my head, each time faster and more urgent than before. Then I got the news that the American Enterprise Institute is offering scientists and economists $10,000 each to dispute the findings of the UN's Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. Familiar foods started to take on entirely different tastes. It felt more and more distanced from reality. I thought that going to my metalsmithing class would be soothing and therapeutic, so I brushed my symptoms aside and headed to the art center. In class, I was struck by a sudden hunger and a strange new curiosity. I decided to sample some nickel silver, as in, eat it. I soon lost track of my band ring project and sat, semi-comatose, munching on a sheet of 20-gauge silver. No one took notice of me. After grazing on various metals, I thought, "I'm a gargoyle," and accordingly perched on a work table and gave a foreboding look to all classmates who passed by me. Needless to say, an ambulance was called and I was taken to the only psychiatric facility that accepted my crappy HMO insurance.

My insurance decided to certify one day in the hospital due to gross impairment. During my short stay, I learned that I am encopretic and respond well to intramuscular injections of Haldol. In group therapy I talked about the pressure I feel as the Tuesday Hater at the Weblog and how it's only intensified now that Scott McLemee will be linking to me. Though my fellow group members were unfamiliar with the Weblog, and academic blogging in general, they were nonetheless supportive. They told me to take the pressure off of myself - to trust that the Weblog is nurturing and understanding of the challenges that I face; any hatred I put forth will be received with open arms. Ten group members can't be wrong. I trust that you will treat my humble effort with the respect and love it deserves.

I hate that I now walk with a shuffle and can't stop sticking my tongue out.

I hate that my initial psych evaluation lasted for 15 minutes.

I hate that, despite my assertion that I was a gargoyle, my taste for metal shards, and my spells of encopresis, I was approved for only one day in the hospital.

I hate that the only treatments my insurance will pay for are Haldol and ECT.

I hate that the psychiatrist thought that the Weblog was one of my delusions.

I hate that blog war PTSD is not a recognized mental health diagnosis and is not treated by VA hospitals.

I hate that I started thrashing and screaming, "Do you know who I am? I'm the Tuesday Hater!" when I realized I was being committed to the hospital.

Post-script: My HMO later refused to pay for my hospital stay due to the hospital's providing of an incorrect diagnostic code on the claim form. I'm now accepting donations to help pay my balance.

[Editor's note: When I visited Claire in the hospital, I found a roll of toilet paper on her chest, on which she had scrawled this post. She was in restraints at the time, so I can only assume that she used a pen in her mouth -- how she unrolled and rerolled the toilet paper remains unclear at this time. In any case, she is out now, which should provide ample fodder for Tuesday Love.]

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Monday, February 05, 2007

(11:02 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

Taxes

Some long-time readers may remember that my tax situation last year was less than desirable. I'm here to report today that everything is back to normal, and I got a refund this year.

Thank you again to everyone who donated last year.

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(8:21 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

A New Semester Dawns

This week the CTS semester officially starts. I have already been in class for several weeks at this point, so this isn't so much a new beginning as an added burden: some extra reading for class, plus reading 100 pages or so of Calvin and grading reflection papers each week for Systematic Theology. The nice thing is that I will finally be getting my student loans, although currently I am faced with the problem that the business office thinks I'm taking a U of C course that I am not in fact taking. Getting that erroneous notice was very discouraging for me, not because I thought it wouldn't be resolved, but because it potentially introduces another delay and I'm really tired of being broke.

Thankfully, the quarter ends mid-March, after which point I'll have so much free time I won't know what to do with myself. In the meantime, though, my three courses -- "Creaturely Life" with Eric Santner, "Derrida and the Question of Life" with Michael Naas, and a seminar on Judith Butler with Ken Stone -- exhibit a certain thematic unity. I'm more excited about the Butler class since reading her essay on "Critique of Violence" from Hent deVries' new Massive Tome. Although Butler is stereotyped as the very worst academic writer, this essay was crystal clear and extremely helpful.

As I get ready to read some Anselm for my directed reading in medieval theology, however, I am starting to have something of a crisis of faith. Wouldn't it have made more sense if, instead of reading patristic stuff during that fateful summer, I had started in on the 20th Century Theology materials and gotten really into modern theology? That would, after all, have some kind of actual connection to the stuff I'm doing with philosophy. Plus, the language factor is holding me back from doing much serious work on the Greek figures, who are more interesting to me -- presumably if I'd done modern stuff, that wouldn't have been a factor, and in fact my German might be more nearly functional by now (i.e., more consistently beyond "dictionary reading").

The benefit, of course, is that when I give my Gifford Lectures, I won't be in the embarrassing position of citing secondary works when I do my historical exposition sections. Instead of citing Étienne Gilson, I can just go straight for the Patrologia.

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Sunday, February 04, 2007

(12:39 PM) | Adam Kotsko:

Regina Spektor!

I am truly a 19-year-old girl.

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(11:28 AM) | Brad:

"'Fuck You,' that's my name!"

Last night I wasn't really in the mood to read. I had no money to go out for a drink. There was nothing on tv. And I'd already watched the last of my Netflix DVDs. What to do, then, but rewatch one of my favorite movies, Glengarry Glen Ross? It had been several years since I'd last watched it, but the delightfulness of its dialogue has not diminished at all. Not even the now-classic speech by Alec Baldwin, of all people. I love this scene so much that I had to find out if there was a YouTube clip, and of course there was because YouTube even has video of my conception -- thanks to the unheralded soft-porn classic from the '70s, Hillbillies Gone Wild. Yeah, I know you've probably seen the speech, but I don't care, it's worth rewatching.

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(8:57 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

The Superbowl: Pure Excitement

Super Bowl Shuffle - video powered by Metacafe

I initially saw this video while at the Red Lion with one of my many internet stalkers. If I recall correctly, they played it several times -- or it might just be that it's interminable. In any case, it is the single most awkward thing ever caught on camera. Afterward, the bartender turned it to the State of the Union, so that was a night of compelling television.

I'm not one of those nerds who is snobbish toward sports fans. I understand that not liking sports represents a lack -- obviously I'm able to become angry about things that "don't matter," and it would be nice to be able to become excited as well. It's just that I really don't understand. Sporting events always just seem like a series of random events to me. I can tell when someone does something really impressive, but strategy, etc., is completely lost on me.

I wish the Bears the best of luck.

(I originally saw that this was online via an Unfogged post I can't find now.)

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(8:29 AM) | Adam Kotsko:

Navel Gazing (NOW WITH VIDEO)

In the last week, The Weblog's average number of visits per day shot up from around 300 to over 800. During that time, Brad wrote a very good post and I wrote a funny one, but the content of this blog mainly consisted of rehashing old arguments, to the tune of about 400 comments (not counting the 100 or so comments to other threads that fell within the same broad argument). I wrote another post that attempted to be substantive, but I sullied its substance by ranting and raving about how someone had violated my one rule of blogger ethics: viz., "It's just a blog."

This is the kind of shit that gets us vastly more traffic. It just confirms my general rule of thumb: more stupid == more visits.

But seriously, blogging can be a valuable means of professionalization for academics.

UPDATE:

At the request of the Constructivist, my favorite Mooninite-oriented episode of Aqua Teen:

ATHF_064_Moonajuana
Uploaded by scornful11

Also, since this is Official Video Day here at The Weblog, a brilliant performance by the love of my life, Feist:



Those eager for a comment war are welcome to try to replicate an Unfogged-style "hot or not" thread based on Feist. (I'll start: "I mean, yeah, I'd totally do her, but she's not, like, hot...")

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(Adam Kotsko has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this post.)

Saturday, February 03, 2007

(4:37 PM) | Adam Kotsko: