And it was said again. _—{ t h oughts o n musi c }—_

For what is the world in which live, without all this discourse? A whole lotta something. I've just given myself the gift of music and it is good. A salve for my wounds, it mysteriously sutures my heart without me understanding why. And that is precisely the seat of its power. Between me and music, between music and I—it matters really not, and therein lies the point—there is something special. It's not that music transcends language, as I don't think it right to say that music communicates. No, it's that music manages to be evocative without entering into that subject/object relationship that so defines discourse. Listening to music I know (there's always an exception), it feels as though it were a part of me. At least that would be an easy way of putting it. To be more precise, I think we listen to music to transform—whether that be to diminish, accentuate, or alter—our sense of self. Not in any permanent way, simply for the duration of our listening experience.

In more mundane news, I've partly unpacked and cleaned my room, and as you may have guessed, I've finally hooked up my stereo. Classes are going well. Shakespeare and Pascal (and even Descartes, for whom I've grown rather found) are incredibly interesting. I have a thesis topic and an advisor and I am very excited about both. My topic is "Description and Subjectivity in Proust", or some such exploration of Proust and subjectivity. I am as excited to have picked Proust as I am to have relinquished the chains of the French New Novel. That might have been a disaster as I'm not sure I could really have put up with much more of their discombobulated prose.

I hope all is well in your worlds far and near. I expect these lines are the begining of a more frequent presence here.

Ev

Life begins anew

We've settled into our new house. Communal living is mostly going well. We all get along, and generally have a lot of fun together. I even have housemates who like to keep the place clean. I really couldn't ask for much more. My honey is off earning the bacon and I've become the house husband. I clean, I cook, I wash and fold, though perhaps not for much longer. Tomorrow I'm heading off in search of a job. I'll go on foot, door to door, or at least to those doors bearing the sign of welcome, "now hiring". Though I certainly have my preferences—I'd love to work at a wine store—I'm more particular about when I work and how often.

I don't know how much longer this blogging thing will continue, nor am I entirely clear what it is. I've been away for awhile, first due to school, and then because of travels. I do like keeping my friends updated, but I fear that at times I devolve into heaps of grandstading twaddle. I reread a few (relatively) recent posts and was shocked by the style: an annoying tone and unnecessarily recondite diction do not make for happy reading.

By the way: I'm drinking a glass of the Liberty Ale by Anchorage Brewing. Beautiful. I mentioned it in a previous post and am delighted to recommend it again. In related events, I'll be hosting the 1st crappy beer tasting at my house. Not all the beers will be crappy. As I look at it, a beer (or a wine) should be held to the standard to which it pretends. I'm not saying that absolute rakings aren't possible but simply that I've no need to taste a glass of Liberty Ale next a can of MGD; to do so would seem to miss the point to me. Instead, I will taste three types of beer. First, there are those that are commonly thought of as tasteless at best and nearly undrinkable swill at worst. In this category I include my own favourite Pabst, Hamms, Natty Ice, High-Life, Coors, Budweiser, Molson (it's available down here), and perhaps a few others. It's possible that I'm being a bit unfair to Budweiser, perhaps to MGD as well, one might include them in the next category along with Corona, and I'm not sure what else. These are beers that command a premium over the lower rungs, and that are mostly consumed in bottle, at least among those I hand out with. In the last category are those beers that many regard as premium, though perhaps only because they're all imports. Heineken, Stella, Beck's, and perhaps some Czechvar will round out the tasting.

I'll post the results sometime next week.

taking a break

This should provides plenty of entertainment as you sit in front of your computer with Word in the background, your paper still unwritten.

I'm presently listening to a debate between the The Economist and The Nation. The topic is globalization and both sides are making the arguments you'd expect. Thus far, I'd say The Economist is kicking ass in an English way, but I expected nothing different. I tend not to read The Nation, though curiosity does lead me to peruse its website every few weeks. I'm rarely impressed by the content, and when it's presented in printed form, The Nation is an even greater bore. Its aesthetic falls somewhere between Wired magazine and a locally available weekly (such as The Georgia Straight or The Portland Mercury). This is to say that I don't like the way it looks. Perhaps not the best criteria on which to judge a newspaper, but considering how much I read the news, I don't think it unimportant. That The Nation has been around since the mid-nineteenth century should be only a further embarassment to its editors. If they were to hire a new layout department, and rid themselves of their tiresomely colloquial tone (perhaps the most pernicious trend in journalism over the last decade), I'd certainly read their pages more often. Until then, The Guardian and Le Monde will remain my preffered sources of left-leaning news coverage. Anyway, I'm off to bed and so all I'm going to say about the debate is that it's worth a listen:

What's Good for Wall Street is Good for America

and I also came across this debate between Naomi Klein and a business writer for The Economist (though I've not yet listened to it):

No Logo vs. Pro Logo

Just put some bacon the pan and put The Tipping Point on. I'm not sure how the first cut is going to grow on me. I like it less this time than previously. We'll see.

You may see some crazed and insane late night posting this weekend. I'm starting (and hopefully finishing) my qual this weekend. Back to the bacon. Hope everyone is well.

Ev

glassy shimmer, the surface of my bourbon,
ice cube floats amongst the oily swirls;
Harsh gentle river down my throat
soothing warmth, aromas of pear, coffee and persimmon;
the marvels of man passing through my hand—hands,
glasses raised with a friend, a long night on the back porch,
it's cold out here, the sky is dark and we are shivering,
commotion inside, thoughts escape and smiles are exchanged,
another glass, the laughter swells;

Prologue

to what? more of the same. A few nights ago, I began a post entitled "Thoughts while sipping bourbon". Surprisingly, I had a great deal to say, and though I continued tapping away during my shift the next day, it still isn't finished. Until then, I have "More thoughts while sipping bourbon", though all of you have yet to see previous thoughts, hence the title "prologue", though I think I prefer "Prelude". I'm listening to Soul One, a rather unfortunate name for a song I very much like. I've mentioned it before, in post about rediscovering old music. So, here I am listening to anguished music (the best kind) and sipping bourbon. I should be studying the Kinetic Molecular Theory, but my head is exhausted from the expedition I undertook last night. Last week, being the keener nerd that I am—and perhaps a little presumptious—I stupidly volunteered to explicate Paul de Man's musings on Reading (Proust) to my class. Yesterday arrived, and I still hadn't read the article. Today arrived and I'd read it twice, taken copious notes, but slept little. The presentation went well, perhaps very well, though I'm not sure how much was understood. I decided to follow de Man and attempted to insist on meaning's indecidability in a performative manner somewhat similiar to his. I toned it down, I don't think I was convoluted, but then I knew what I was talking about, I think. Others may not have. They were probably left in an aporia similar to that de Man describes the reader as in when faced with one of Proust's logically incoherent metaphors, or not. They may have simply felt confused. I, on the other hand, had a wondrous moment of revelation this morning, very much like the moment where "life" becomes writing, which occurs in a process similar to reading and critical understanding. You see? Not so much, eh? Well, perhaps when I don't have other things I need to rush off to, I will attempt a proper set of musings on de Man. Look for Thoughts while sipping ether.

There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge.
— HST

[somehow, R.I.P. just doesn't seem to fit]

I must be off. Hope you all are well.