Haunted by Pat Quinn

[This story is perhaps outside the usual scope of this blog, but I fear it would be unintelligible if delivered via Twitter. So here we are.]

Last night, The Girlfriend and I went to Kuma’s Too, the spin-off of Kuma’s Corner, the metal bar legendary for its burgers. We were sitting at the corner of the bar, and hanging near us were letters from both Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel and Illinois Governor Pat Quinn congratulating Kuma’s for being named the best burger place by some publication. We have been seeing a lot of campaign ads from Quinn’s Republican challenger, Bruce Rauner, and somehow we started free-associating negative campaign ads about Pat Quinn [please supply gravelly, accusatory tone]:

  • PAT QUINN writes letters congratulating burger joints while Illinois faces a pension crisis.
  • PAT QUINN appears unfamiliar with airport security procedures and he’s in line in front of you.
  • PAT QUINN’s sprinkler sprays on the sidewalk.
  • PAT QUINN replies-all.
  • PAT QUINN isn’t sure how his car alarm works but he’s really sorry.

In the middle of this discussion, Pat Quinn’s letter spontaneously fell off the wall and nearly knocked over my beer. I fear Bruce Rauner doesn’t fully grasp what he’s up against!

Posted in The lighter side of AUFS. Comments Off

The Girlfriend’s amazing cooking system

The Girlfriend has a remarkably effective approach to cooking that could be helpful for all those busy academics out there, particularly single or childless ones. The biggest challenge in cooking for only one or two people is that it is incredibly time-inefficient — you wind up spending as much prep time as you would for a much larger meal. Combine that with the fact that we all typically come home tired, and you have a recipe for ordering in way too often.

Her system is to cook everything ahead of time over the weekend, then package it for easy reheating throughout the week. It usually takes her an hour or so, which is much less than if she were to prepare individual helpings each day. Furthermore, it tips the laziness scale in favor of eating in, because putting her allotted portion into the microwave is actually the path of less resistence compared to ordering take-out. Sometimes with things like seafood, she’ll leave part of the meal to be cooked day-of, but it still winds up being more efficient. She includes her lunches in the routine as well — usually some kind of soup or salad — which is particularly important for academics, whose options for buying lunch tend to be depressing (I can barely look at a Jimmy John’s sandwich at this point).

There are disadvantages. First of all, you’re always eating leftovers, unless you time the first round of cooking to correspond with dinner time. Second, you need to be willing to eat the same thing multiple days in a week — if you don’t repeat, you lose the advantages of scale. Finally, if it turns out that you aren’t actually in the mood for one of your meals or it doesn’t turn out like you want, you’re going to find yourself reconnecting with your local Chinese delivery person.

The Work of Reading in the Age of Technological Distractability

Corey Robin confesses that he rides the subway for hours in order to be able to focus on reading. I have to confess that I once tried it, getting on a Brown Line train in Chicago that would take me around the Loop and back home again with no effort on my part — and it didn’t work. I couldn’t focus. I learned then that what made me so much better at reading on public transit was the fact that I was “redeeming” time that would otherwise be wasted.

Over the years, another trend has emerged in my train reading: there are certain types of texts that I can seemingly only read on public transit. Secondary sources, course texts that I’m not excited about, articles I’ve agreed to review — anything that I have difficulty motivating myself to read, I can nonetheless get myself to read if I take advantage of the “redeeming time” effect on public transit.

This is all well and good during the school year, when I have long commutes most days. During the summer, however, it begins to present problems. I travel much less frequently, and in any case, whether I’m working on writing or translating, I very strongly prefer to work at home — I’m not sure if I’ve ever written a usable word in a coffee shop. Sometimes I try going to a public place to read in order to take advantage of the ambient “social pressure” to look busy. There’s only so much coffee I can reasonably drink in a day, though, so I often prefer to go to a bar instead. This strategy obviously has its own potential downsides, but there are also times when the presence of someone who seems to want to talk to me can produce remarkable focus and discipline.

I’m not sure that the presence of the internet is the decisive factor in my difficulty with reading. If I’m reading something really compelling, I don’t really care who’s criticizing me on Twitter. In fact, sometimes it seems like the problem is that I take too much trouble to separate myself from the internet. Often when I’m reading at home, I go to the living room, which is at the whole other end of the house from the office where my computer is. If I get the urge to “check,” I have to get up and go to the office, and there’s always the danger that I’ll find a half hour has passed.

If I just let myself check my phone to confirm that nothing was really demanding my attention, maybe I’d be better able to focus — in fact, maybe I’d be able to simulate the ambient distraction of public transit, where I can always look up from my book and see who got on the train, or which stop we’re at, or who just started yelling. In short, perhaps my problem with reading isn’t distraction as such, but putting excessive pressure on myself to focus.

But in any case, I don’t read as much as I’d like, and I’m sure none of us do. Or do you? What do you think, dear reader?

Maimonides and Dawkins

I’m currently working through a bunch of Maimonides’ texts for a paper that I’m writing and have been reminded how brilliant he is when taking shots at his opponents. In “Helek: Sanhedrin, Chapter Ten” he lists three possible ways of reading aggadah, and I couldn’t help but procrastinate make contemporary comparisons.

Maimonides first names those that attempt to follow the teachings of the sages literally. “They believe that all sorts of impossible things must be. … The members of this group are poor in knowledge. One can only regret their folly.” Though they are no doubt reading wrongly and “humiliate” the sages, it’s hard to blame the masses too much–hard unless you’re a preacher, whom apparently he could not stand. Preachers, he says, should just admit that they don’t understand much. My teen years spent sleeping through church feel vindicated, as apparently preachers have been annoying for at least 800 years.


RAMBAM looking pensive

However, the real jabs come for the second group. There is a group that is so stupid that they think that the sages should be read literally and therefore dismissed. Really, the audacity of these people: “They imagine that their own intelligence is of a higher order than that of the sages, and that the sages were simpletons who suffered from inferior intelligence. The members of this group are so pretentiously stupid that they can never attain genuine wisdom. … They regard themselves as cultivated men, scientists, critics, and philosophers. They are more stupid than the first group; many of them are simply fools. … If these fools had worked at science hard enough to know how to write accurately about theology for the masses and for the educated, the real meaning of [the sages] would be clear to them.”

Obviously, Dawkins, et al came to mind here: “philosophers” who, thinking they are so obviously smarter than thinkers of the past simply because they were born later,  end up sounding like fools. Thankfully, Maimonides has some advice for people like this: “when, in some of your hours of leisure, you leave off drinking and copulating–collect yourself and reflect, for things are not as you thought following the first notion that occurred to you.” Hmm. About that…

Living in the prequel

Over the last year, The Girlfriend and I invested a truly appalling amount of time in a full viewing of all the contemporary Star Trek series (Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager, and Enterprise). Neither of us regard the JJ Abrams films as canon, and so for us, the Star Trek franchise effectively ended with a prequel — and since completing it, I’ve become strangely fascinated with the idea of living out a prequel. Partly this stems from my general habit of over-enthusiastically identifying patterns (an inheritance from my conspiracy theorist grandfather and right-wing radio fan father, presumably), and yet there is a sense that a certain phase of my life is ending over the next couple years: The Girlfriend will finish grad school, I will complete my biggest evaluation at Shimer, and I will hopefully be wrapping up major projects that have defined my life since I finished my PhD (finally doing the devil book, completing the pop culture trilogy with Creepiness, translating the last volume of Agamben’s Homo Sacer series). It’s somehow more aesthetically pleasing if this unit of time announces itself as a unit in superfluous, purely formal ways, echoing back to various beginnings.

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Unpacking my school bag: An open thread

My school bag always contains the following items:

  • Two pens
  • A Moleskine notebook
  • A folder which itself contains the following:
    • Instructions for signing onto the wi-fi at the University of Chicago library
    • A periodic table
    • Syllabi for current classes (if applicable)
  • An umbrella
  • A canvas shopping bag
  • A durable plastic shopping bag (in case I need to carry something wet, I guess)
  • A phone charger (combination USB and wall plug)
  • Headphones
  • Ear plugs
  • A miniature tape measure
  • A glasses repair kit
  • Business cards
  • A magnetic Shimer nametag
  • A conference name-tag lanyard (clip-style, not necklace-style)
  • A toothbrush (but curiously no toothpaste)
  • Dental floss (currently two miniature containers)
  • Emergency back-up chapstick

I think it’s safe to say that I always leave the house prepared for a wide range of contingencies. How about you, readers? What do you carry around in your school bag?

Time travel plots: With particular reference to Star Trek

Time-travel plots seem to fall into two broad categories. The first is a variation on Greek tragedy, where the very attempt to change past events actually itself causes what it was meant to prevent. (I like to tell my students that Oedipus Rex is actually the first time-travel plot.) The second is not so fatalistic — it turns out that you really can change the past, but normally the way the plot works out is that everyone decides that the best thing is to try to change things back the way they were. (The movie Primer is a bit of an outlier, but I think that it basically falls into the second category, insofar as it’s a cautionary tale about unintended consequences and hence implies that simply leaving well enough alone would have been preferable.)

In the latter kind of plot, the writers have to face a metaphysical decision, namely, whether the time-travellers retain a kind of “pointer” back to their original timeline. If they do, you can see phenomenon like the character starting to “fade out” as the odds of their ultimate existence decrease (perhaps most famously in Back to the Future). If they don’t, then they simply exist in their new time-position alongside everything else, and so there is less room for paradoxes like changing the timeline so that you never actually went back in time in the first place, etc.

This brings us to Star Trek. Generally speaking, it seems that the approach to time travel across the franchise has been in the second category on both counts — you really can change the timeline (though you shouldn’t), and you simply exist in your new time-position without any kind of “pointer” to where you came from. They also take a kind of Hegelian approach to the issue, focusing solely on world-historical events. There is no “butterfly effect” problem to deal with — as long as the broad outlines of past history go the right way, history turns out like it should. You can see this on several Deep Space Nine episodes, such as the one where Sisko stands in for the peaceful protestor who changed everyone’s perceptions of the internment camps for the unemployed and the one where they go back to the Tribble episode of the original series.

And yet sometimes they break these implicit rules, as in the episode where the DS9 crew encounter a human colony made up of their own descendants and face the choice of whether to duplicate the accident that sent them 200 years into the past — or else their descendants wouldn’t exist! As far as I can tell, this isn’t how it should have worked. The versions of themselves who travelled back in time simply existed in that timeline, and they don’t “need” their later counterparts to travel back again.

Of course, I may be attributing too much coherence to their approach to time travel given how massively nonsensical the Next Generation series finale was.

What about you, readers? What do you think about time-travel plots?


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