Two "unexpected" things happened over Thanksgiving weekend. First, the weather was too grey to accommodate a decently-lit daylight time video of the rest of the living room. Obviously, with my minimal-to-non-existent technical skills, in the first video you can't even really appreciate how nice-looking the one lamp we do have in the living room is. Second, I procrastinated. I saw it coming, having spent two Thanksgiving weekends here before (you got to hand it to the American people, though, working out their national holidays to make for spectacularly long weekends, and don't you let no lunar calendar mess with you!), and also, having lived with myself for almost three decades. I saw it coming, and tried to brace myself against it, but procrastinated I did nonetheless. I am also guilt-tripping myself (how unexpected of me!) about posting a video instead of a normal post, like I'm selling out on my responsibilities to the faithful audience of my written word. See, beyond my routine assignments (Demosthenes, please get out of my life, you remind me of the most fascists of Israeli demagogues. (That obviously says something perverted about me and my status as a graduate student in a Classics department…)), this long weekend was also supposed to be devoted to reading the Phaedrus and figuring out how I'm going to make a seminar paper out of it. In a way, it is seriously disturbing that out of all the texts in this Ancient Aesthetics course, I've chosen the Phaedrus as my topic though I have read it zero times before this seminar and did not even make it halfway through the dialogue on the week we were discussing it (it's a long m.f.ing dialogue). Which totals zero times I have read the whole dialogue, the dialogue on which I should promptly produce a seminar paper. How did I get thus far in my classical career without reading the Phaedrus? Well. You really must be bored with my self-deprecation by now, so I won't get into the details (which would have, for a change, been tinged with frustration over the establishment of higher education I formerly frequented). Let's just say that until very recently I mostly thought Socrates is infuriatingly arrogant and not really interested in teaching anybody anything, hence reading Plato is a pain in the ass. Also, let's just say that on my thirtieth year on this earth, I have started reading Plato (and some great articles on him. Indulge me in my starry-eyed-yet-disillusioned not-quite-an-undergrad-anymore (was I ever? Like, was I ever a young 19 year-old? But I digress.) enthusiasm). So, the video experiment was supposed to be a short-cut in procrastination (if ever there was a more ridiculous oxymoron), fulfilling my blogging urge-and-commitment and yet leaving me more time to be super productive on this long weekend (on the side of productivity, mind you, I also ultimately count cleaning the bathroom. I consider it no small feat that we manage to consistently not live in a pigsty).
HOWEVER. The two above-mentioned surprising consequences of late November in Chicago transpired. Also, I felt that in order to absolve for the abysmally-lit panegyric of my couch, I need to supply my blog with some actually written content in addition to just another video (though I am sure you are all holding your breath to see the rest of the room, not to mention to hear my Hebrew voice-over narrations once more! Let me tempt you some more: the next recording I make I will reveal my Hebrew neologism translating procrastination. One simply CANNOT MISS OUT on THAT!). So, this was a here goes.
***
When this blog becomes what it is supposed to be, a little less apologies a little more random thoughts – even if they don't fit into a coherent narrative, which they won't have to do because I'll be updating more than thrice a year –– Ah, when will I heed the Nietzschean appeal to become what I am…! Opportunity to teach Nietzschean texts, the best thing for me that came out of the establishment of higher education I formerly frequented (how could I have been so bold as to do that without Plato?!? Too much of my Plato-bias obviously comes from Nietzsche. What presumptuousness. Sigh. Self-deprecation. Sigh) –– when this blog becomes what it is, I will also just randomly add something that happened to me the other day. I was walking home from campus and passed the park. There were two American-Asian sisters, ages 8 and 12, something like that, nearby. The younger one was on a bike. She kept saying: "Let's make up names!". They were watching me as I walked by. I looked back at them. I kept walking, and when I was with my back to them, I heard the younger one: "Stephanie?…." and the older one confidently: "Nooo." I couldn't help but look back at them and smile. Both were old enough to look a bit embarrassed.
Growing up (or, spending two years of quintessential childhood) in the States, I could relate to them, kids with perfect American accents, whose imaginaire is inhabited by Stepanies and Amys and Emilys, some straight out of a Judy Blume novel, and who make up stories in their heads and out loud.But being cast as a Stephanie myself, that was kind of incredible.Breaks my heart a bit to realize how much of a "grownup" I am for these kids, with their games out-loud. Also, obviously, sisters. Break my heart, I mean.
No comments:
Post a Comment