You Made Me Theorize

Giving the Tumbleweeds Room to Blow

2012-01-19T13:36:00.000-08:00

Well, if the past three years have proven nothing else, it's that I'm not a very good blogger. Therefore, I've decided to try my hand at being a better Tumblrer. The enterprise will likely fail, but I'll give it a shot . . . just a few short years after the rest of the Internet moved over there. If you're interested, look me up. I'll be right here. This esteemed blog's archives will conveniently remain right where you are at this very moment.

Totally Egregious and Unnecessary and Possibly Sacrilegious Sports Post

2011-12-19T10:40:00.000-08:00

The meek shall inherit the Earth--literally, that is.

Alumni Love

2011-11-22T06:12:00.000-08:00

A hearty thanks to GW English for publicizing The Politics of Post-9/11 Music: Sound, Trauma, and the Music Industry in the Time of Terror. Brian Flota and I very much appreciate the love.

Judging a Book by Its Cover

2011-11-16T14:26:00.000-08:00

I know that I'm not supposed to do it. But if I were to do it, I'd say this book looks awesome.

Nevermind that Price Tag

2011-10-17T06:23:00.001-07:00

The edited collection that I compiled with the assistance of Brian Flota of the PoMo Jukebox and The Fiddleback has a presence on Amazon. This development is all very exciting despite the fact that most people will probably prefer to drop $100 on one of the many super-deluxe reissues of Nevermind that are hitting store shelves. I just ask that all of you consider that purchase very carefully. Really, do you need those boombox mixes?

Open for Business and Taking Orders

2011-09-27T07:28:00.000-07:00

The program for the symposium Composing Disability: Writing, Communication, Culture has been revealed. Click over to the website for GWU's Office of Disability Support Services to download a copy of it!

Open for Business

2011-09-26T13:04:00.000-07:00

Registration for the symposium Composing Disability: Writing, Communication, Culture, which I have organized with Robert McRuer, Abby Wilkerson, and Christy Willis, is open and is ready to receive your payments. Click here to go to the homepage of The George Washington University's Office of Disability Support Services where you will find a link for the registration form. I'll see all of you in November.

Sad But True

2011-09-23T08:58:00.000-07:00

It Ain't No California University

2011-08-31T11:25:00.000-07:00

I always thought they should have spent more time studying on that show. Brenda should have at least one Ph.D. by now.

It's Déjà vu All Over Again

2011-08-22T08:31:00.000-07:00

If I hadn't already used up my quota of "coincidence" titles, I'd employ one for this post. As you'll see, Explosions in the Sky have yet again caused a controversy over the thin connections between their band name and 9/11. Of course, my sentence construction is a bit off, since the band didn't actually do anything to incite this uproar.

The bigger story is that my edited collection, The Politics of Post-9/11 Music: Sound, Trauma, and the Music Industry in the Time of Terror, dismantles these connections via a conversation with Chris Hrasky, Explosions' drummer. The book will be out soon, I can assure you.

Born to Run, Not to Deconstruct

2011-08-05T06:49:00.000-07:00

Just the other day, I was completing a nine-mile recovery run. Despite having completed a hard long distance run the previous day, and despite suffering yet another of Washington, DC's unspeakably hot summer afternoons, I felt great--strong, confident, assured that I'll break my PR in the upcoming Army Ten Miler. Heck, it even seemed like, finally, my chronic painful struggles with posterior tibial tendinitis had subsided (for now).

Then, mere meters from the front of my condo building, I was shoved off of the sidewalk into a lane of moving traffic. The pedestrian who shoved me did so accidentally. He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a group of his friends, facing the opposite direction. He was chatting with them about something--plans for dinner, plans for the weekend, whatever--when he suddenly turned around and quite forcefully stepped right into me. He didn't have time to see me coming, nor did he, for whatever reason, anticipate that by clogging up the middle of the sidewalk, he would force other pedestrians to walk around him and his friends. Even though I was dutifully passing on the left, he still wound up walking into me, and the result was that he propelled me out into the street.

(On a sidenote, this kind of thing is precisely why I loathe people who walk with their cell phones, iPhones, iPods, etc. pressed firmly and, it seems, permanently against their heads. This is also the reason that I particularly loathe shopping at this place. On any given day, a solid 85% of the store's patrons are walking about sealed off from the outside would via some form of auditory stimulation. In more simple terms, no one pays attention to where the eff they are or what the eff they are doing. And the store just isn't big enough for that kind of aloofness. The same goes, obviously, for most city sidewalks. Folks, it's dangerous to other pedestrians when you, as a pedestrian, are not paying attention. Get it? It's sort of like driving. But then, why do I suspect that you drive just like you walk?)

In any case, the gentleman who knocked me into the street was apologetic. At the time, I was a bit stunned, and a bit annoyed. I was also concerned because I was a sweaty mess, and I knew that I smeared myself all over what appeared to be his relatively nice outfit. So much for those dinner plans. In any case, I didn't respond to the man in any meaningful way. I merely got up, brushed myself off, and finished my jog. Sir, if you are reading this post, no worries. It was an accident.

It wasn't until later in the evening--perhaps not coincidentally, as I was walking home from a typically far-too-long shopping experience at my favorite supermarket--that I realized I could have been seriously, seriously hurt had there been a car or bus in that particular lane of traffic. As I thought back to my actions, I was pretty sure that I would not have attempted to pass that gentleman had there been cars in the street; in fact, I knew that the lane was empty when I made my move to the left side of the sidewalk. Nevertheless, the thought that, in an instant, I could have ended up in the hospital with at least several broken bones (at best) left me quite cold--and I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I was really lucky yesterday afternoon. Honestly, I don't like being lucky. I like being safe.

Perhaps what is more troubling to me is the thought that I would have been deeply upset had my running career been compromised. In all likelihood, given the speed at which cars and buses and trucks can travel on that particular street, my running career would have been permanently compromised, because a direct hit by any of those automobiles would have likely left me paralyzed to some degree. The man literally knocked me into the middle of the street, so any kind of hit would have been a direct one, right against my back.

Now, I suppose that it's completely natural for me to feel this way--for me to be simultaneously shaken by that experience while also feeling like I'd be really, really pissed if I couldn't run anymore. Not to mention, no one likes being hit by a car. Still, it's hard for me to reconcile my professional interest in, and passion for, disability studies with my longer, more ingrained (and frankly, more successful) stint as a competitive runner.

See, I've been running competitively since I was in the sixth grade. I was born to do it. It's the only activity for which I have any glimmer natural talent. Also, I love it. I love the aches in my legs the day after a brutal speed workout. I love blasting around a track, my lungs sucking in oxygen like some enormous carburetor. I love wandering around the city on elongated leisurely distance runs, finding my way home, stumbling on forgotten trails and tiny, hidden parks. Moreover, I love the competition--the pure unadulterated competition--of the sport.

Yes, I know I sound like an evil capitalist here. Honestly, that doesn't bother me too much. Heck, running, for most of us anyway, pits people against a clock of all things. The whole sport is about efficiency, productivity, and the like. It's also a sport that emphasizes rugged individualism. There aren't many people who want to run 13+ miles at a given time, which means that many of us--not all, mind you--end up running on our own. "What do you do when you're out there for all that time?", I am often asked. Typically, I respond snarkily, "I don't like people very much. Long distance running allows me to leave them all behind--literally." I'm not entirely joking when I say those kinds of things.

Despite how horrible all of that might sound to some, I'll defend it rigorously until arthritis sets in. And even then, I'll still probably defend it. That kind of thinking is hardwired into my consciousness, and I doubt that much of it will change as I continue aging. Granted, I know that not every long distance runner thinks this way. But I do, and that's fine with me. (Also, for those of you who loathe capitalism, you might ponder the significance of countries like Ethiopia and Kenya--places well outside of the "first world"--absolutely dominating this sport.)

The point is that had something disabling happened to me, I would have been angry--for a long, long time. I just started racing ten milers a few years ago--graduate school held up my racing career for a bit--and after just a handful of them, I've whittled my time down to 1:00:26. The goal is to get under that hour. I think I can do that in the fall. I've been working hard to do that since last fall, and if my training were permanently altered because of a car accident, I don't know what I would do with myself.

It's for this very reason that running is a perfect case study for disability theory. Runners of virtually any distance are terrorized by the thought of injury--let alone actual injuries. We spend a good portion of our athletic lives worrying about injuries, performing all manner of preventative exercises--from regular icing to stretching and core strengthening--to prevent injuries, and, usually, treating injuries. The great thing about running is that it is a sport in which people can engage well into their adult lives because it only requires a pair of shoes. One of the downsides to that longevity is that the further runners get away from formal institutionalized performance spaces--organized official teams, training facilities, etc.--the less access we have to the kinds of resources, like trainers and physical therapists, we need to maintain the kind of consistent running that is required of any training program. And believe me, paying for those services out of pocket, or even convincing your primary care physician to write a referral for physical therapy, is just about as painful as being injured.

The point is that running and injury are largely intermingled. They are not, as it would seem, mutually exclusive. Though, disability writers like Alex Lubet have started to look at the ways in which professional musicians are similarly terrorized by the threat of injury (and the difficulty of receiving dependable, affordable treatment for those injuries), from what I have seen--and, of course, I haven't seen it all--disability studies has not looked extensively at athletics in this way. The bulk of disability scholarship that I've read tends to pathologize athletes, contending that athletics prioritize able-bodiedness, while marginalizing the disabled to the denigrating realm of "special" competitions. These claims certainly have sizable teeth. However, I think a more nuanced approach, one that looks at how most (able-bodied) athletes already understand themselves as disabled, is necessary.

Moreover, I've always felt that disability studies moves too quickly to a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it-? position. Since the field was born out of absolutely necessary social activism that needed to contend for access and civil liberties of virtually all kinds, I absolutely get that position. 1990 was far too late in America's history for these matters to come to the forefront. In that light, it's absolutely necessary to force the powers that be to answer the question: what are you going to do about it? Nevertheless, I've consistently maintained that disability studies needs to leave room for mourning--that it needs to leave room for disabled people, particularly those who become disabled at some point in their lives (which is, of course, one of the central claims of disability studies--we'll all be disabled if we live long enough), to mourn the loss of their bodies. It doesn't particularly matter how illusionary the wholeness of any "able body" might be. The point is that the loss of a particular kind of embodiment, and the daily activities that go along with that kind of embodiment, can be painful, perhaps even more so than the event that caused the disability. In my case, for instance, I know that the elongated trauma of having to let go of my ability to run would far outlast the physical pain of the potential car accident I almost suffered. There has to be some way for disability studies to validate that position.

As I was pondering all of these imagined scenarios, and certainly as I've been typing this post, I knew that one obvious response would be the following: "Well, you said you always wanted to race ten miles in under an hour. Even if you were paralyzed, you could still reach your goal." Believe me, I know that. Yet, I still can't seem to blend comfortably the thing that I was born to do (run) with the thing that I learned how to do (deconstruct). (Also, as I've already mentioned, I'm better at running than I am at deconstructing.) All of which is why there is a handy comments section below. That's the place where all of you can run your mouths on this matter.

Coincidence? I Think Not!

2011-07-27T07:23:00.000-07:00

Really, the striking similarities between the following two album covers are rife for some kind of Hipster Runoff snark:

I really can't believe that no one has made any jokes about these indie dudes recoding "dreamy" "ethereal" lo-fi music "awash" in synth sounds alone in their bedrooms, only to adorn their record covers with photos of people getting it on. Wet dreams? Musical masturbation? Anyone? Can anyone fashion something funny out of that? Bueller?

Or has this whole trend just gotten creepy?

Or irritating?

I'm going with irritating.

And maybe with creepy, too.

Composing Disability

2011-06-27T10:50:00.001-07:00

For the past 2+ years, I have been busy planning a university-wide symposium that will bring together composition studies and disability studies folks to discuss, well, composition studies and disability studies. The title of the symposium is Composing Disability: Writing, Communication, Culture, and the detailed overview is available on GWU's Disability Support Services' website. RSVP information forthcoming.

Slow Start

2011-06-13T12:56:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a somewhat slow start to my summer research duties. Teaching has been keeping me reasonably busy. However, I have been able to knock off about six books from my big summer reading list.

Also, the assorted logistical tasks that I've been completing per the request of Ashgate Publishing have paid some pretty substantial dividends, as the anthology that I have been co-editing, The Politics of Post 9/11 Music: Sound, Trauma, and the Music Industry in the Time of Terror, now has a publication date and an official web presence! Exciting times indeed.

I have also created a Twitter account to publicize my various publication work. A link to that account will be available shortly for anyone who is interested. In the meantime, savor the joy of the Heat's loss.

Summer Send Off

2011-05-11T09:16:00.000-07:00

Once again, it is the time of year when all of my students leave me all alone. Sure, some of them are still hanging around in the contributors column, but they're starting to get a bit antsy and uncomfortable, I think, and I'm not sure how much longer they want to be pinned to this blog's wall.

What makes this year's summer send off a bit more somber is that it is, quite likely, the end of my time teaching for my esteemed university's English department. In just a few short months, I will be moving over to GWU's College of Professional Studies, which will be exciting! However, I will miss my office on the sixth floor of the towering Rome Hall. Such is life.

So in the spirit of summer, I'm posting what is essentially my entire summer reading list in hope that posting this list will force me to read all of the books on it. I'm also open to dialogue about this list in the comments section below.

Susan M. Schweik's The Ugly Laws

Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio

Marvin Lin's Kid A

Christopher Weingarten's It Take a Nation of Millions

Merri Lisa Johnson's Girl in Need of a Tourniquet

Alex Lubet's Music, Disability, and Society

Terry Galloway's Mean Little deaf Queer

Alex Haley's Roots

Michael Davidson's Concerto for the Left Hand

If I get through all of those books, it will have been a good summer. If I do not get through all of those books, it probably will be because I was having a good summer. It's a win win.

And speaking of winning, please Celtics, for the love of all that is holy and good and pure in this world, do not lose tonight.

Talkin' 'Bout Your Generation?

2011-04-27T11:43:00.000-07:00

The LA Times Review

Our Generation

2011-04-27T08:51:00.000-07:00

Our discussion today made me think about this article I had read in the New York Times. It talks about today's college students and how they use Business as a default major. It also discusses that students who are not in Ivy League business schools do not work hard at all--they are very lazy and do just enough to skate by through college. I thought this was pretty interesting, especially because at least four of my friends from home are potential/ current business majors.

Does Literature Even Matter?

2011-04-25T20:05:00.000-07:00

Last week, we talked briefly about the purpose of literature and its role as a "performance." It was towards the end of class, so we didn't have much time to discuss, and I was curious as to what everyone thought about this topic. What does literature accomplish? Now that we are finishing up the semester, I think this is a good, broad question to ask. I'm an English major, and I've always pondered this. I haven't taken Critical Methods yet, but I hear that this is one of the major questions that class aims to answer. Writers oftentimes write stories that respond to the social and political tensions of their time period, but they do not necessarily go out and act upon the message they send to their readers. Can literature inspire readers to act, or is literature simply a "performance" meant to entertain? Thoreau himself once said, "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live."

I Also Know Something that You Don't Know

2011-04-20T09:27:00.000-07:00

Or at least something that you might not know--namely that The Princess Bride is fantastic representation/satire of the medieval romance. Check the clip below. Yes, you should be asking yourselves why they would not fight with their right hands from the start. It's inconceivable that they would not do that.

Hollingsworth's Birthday Party

2011-04-19T06:01:00.000-07:00

Would it be this much fun?

Analyzing Fiction

2011-04-15T15:53:00.000-07:00

I've wondered throughout the semester what role an author's life play in analyzing fiction or nonfiction. We've seen how authors can almost be seen as "ghosts" through time in that they are able to step out and see things nobody else can see. However, for example, John Winthrop, author of the sermon City Upon a Hill, was a lawyer before delivering his sermon. He uses legal language throughout the sermon. Walt Whitman, an assumed homosexual, reveals hints of his homosexuality in his poetry specifically in Leaves of Grass. How much does an author's life or even life experiences shape the literature they write? How much of it is something we subconciously seek? Are author's truly "ghosts" through time or are they humans like the rest of us?

Would you grant Dickinson immunity . . .

2011-04-13T09:15:00.001-07:00

if you were stranded on the island with her?

Poem 1263

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away,
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears a Human soul.

All together now:

Romanticism?! Where did you come from?

2011-04-12T13:43:00.000-07:00

I know it is a bit early to be posting on "The Blithedale Romance", but I simply could not suppress my urge to post about the preface. I almost jumped out of my seat when I read the following lines: "In the old countries, with which Fiction has long been conversant, a certain conventional privilege seems to be awarded to the romancer...". Hawthorne goes on to further speak of the romantic "genre", hinting that his following text will belong to the "genre".

I'm not sure why (and I'm not sure if I am the only one) but this whole time I always thought of these waves of genres (romanticism, realism, modernism, etc.) to come naturally with the evolution of literature. At no point did I think that the authors could be as conscious of their era as we are now with hindsight.

I don't want to say that the preface completely shattered my appreciation of the romantic era, but it definitely made me question how authentic the authors' inspirations to write within the "genre" were. Did Thoreau really think that life was better in the forest or was he simply contributing to an artificially formed movement? Did Whitman believe in his image of America or was he simply writing what he thought Emerson wanted to hear?

Hawthorne was one of the later writers in the romantic era so I suppose he had to have some context of romanticism, after all Kurt Cobain knew that grunge was dying with his band, but where, how and why do these era's begin and end? Who were the true believers (if any) of romanticism and who was just trying to cash in on the cannon? Why does Literature (and music for that matter) travel in different waves, is it impossible to write completely without influence? And if so where do new eras spring up from?

These are lofty questions and I feel as if I have answered many in them in my mind while writing this post, but what do you guys think?

I Told You That Intro to American Lit Was Relevant to All of Your Lives

2011-04-11T08:02:00.000-07:00

Believe me yet?

Below is a clip of a high school production of The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail. I'm not so sure that those chairs are authentically nineteenth-century handiwork, though.

BRINGING IN THE WINE

2011-04-08T20:26:00.000-07:00

In 19^th century, Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson are pioneers of the development of American poetry. They have such a great influence that any current poet in American has somehow “raised up” by both of them, which is the same as the influence that Li Bai and Du Fu have on the Chinese poetry world.

Li Bai (ca 705 - 762), also called Li Po, is one of the China's most famous poets. A commentary that focuses on his connection to the Qing has been written. Ronald Egan writes in this literal work (Controversy, p.53), "In the first centuries of the Tang dynasty, the poets Meng Haoran and Li Po further promoted the cultivation of a special literati affiliation with this instrument." “BRINGING IN THE WINE”, one of his greatest artworks, belongs to the old genre of folk-song-styled-verses，with its content focus on the drinking party and amusement. We talked about Whitman’s “Song of myself” as his autobiography. This piece by Li Bai also on some extend reflected his personal journey over the years. The poem expresses his exclamation with the emotion of having genius but unrecognized, as well as the pessimistic idea that people should enjoy pleasure of their short life in good time. However, he also expresses his self-affirmation, the positive and unrestrained attitude to pursue freedom, which is derived and converted from the extreme pressure of the society and contradiction between reality and ideal. Below is the translation of this great artwork in Chinese history.

See how the Yellow River's waters move out of heaven.

Entering the ocean, never to return.

See how lovely locks in bright mirrors in high chambers,

Though silken-black at morning, have changed by night to snow.

...Oh, let a man of spirit venture where he pleases

And never tip his golden cup empty toward the moon!

Since heaven gave the talent, let it be employed!

Spin a thousand pieces of silver, all of them come back!

Cook a sheep, kill a cow, whet the appetite,

And make me, of three hundred bowls, one long drink!

...To the old master, Cen,

And the young scholar, Danqiu,

Bring in the wine!

Let your cups never rest!

Let me sing you a song!

Let your ears attend!

What are bell and drum, rare dishes and treasure?

Let me be forever drunk and never come to reason!

Sober men of olden days and sages are forgotten,

And only the great drinkers are famous for all time.

...Prince Chen paid at a banquet in the Palace of Perfection

Ten thousand coins for a cask of wine, with many a laugh and quip.

Why say, my host, that your money is gone?

Go and buy wine and we'll drink it together!

My flower-dappled horse,

My furs worth a thousand,

Hand them to the boy to exchange for good wine,

And we'll drown away the woes of ten thousand generations