Bitten by the fanclub bug

I don't like it, I really don't like this at all, this has got to stop, but I'm swimming in teenage enthusiasm about the blog I talked about on my post about the "mainstream" last week. I've been bitten by the fanclub bug. I've even offered to send them some cash because I think they're doing great stuff and I would like to be part of it. I'm over-keen and find it hard to hold my horses.

On some level I'm ambivalent because they seem like a bunch of notorious Jesus-freaks, and I'm a French secularist who usually dislikes the mega-annoying CoE bigots that we've got around here. I even joined the aptly named CUNTS: Christian Union NO THANKS!

But I must say that I totally fall head over heels for sensitive folks who love people in an intelligent, reflexive, bountiful way. The only comfort I've got for my current fanclubitis is that the whole web seems to rave about it too. It's been voted theological blog of the month on the third month on which the contest was going, with all the big bookish profs agreeing that this was an excellent choice.

Still, must hold my horses. The French Abbe Pierre used to really dislike it when people worshiped his personality, he thought that it was a way in which people escaped their own responsibilities to be like him. I thought I was beyond this silly enthusiasm. I'm gonna link to one great post just one more time and then I quit. I can do it!

(remove the star): http://poserorpro*phet.livejournal.com/87963.html

Don't relate to rock?

Just had one conversation with a flatmate. There's a girl who fancies him, and he's not interested. He was asking two of us how he should convey this to her, even though it's been going on for months and she knows. I mean she even knows that he's got a new girlfriend. She won't stop texting him, wanting to draw him in.

If it was me, I would wish to be told in no uncertain terms that it's not going to happen. I think that the state Marina is in should not be perpetuated. I think unrequitted love borders on the pathological and that she should move on and learn not to not fall for men who don't love her. I think that someone who feels like Radiohead's "Creep" for a long period of time would benefit from counceling. I mean honestly, friends don't let friends feel like this. My flatmate thinks I'm beyond hope and that I will never have a rock sensibility. What do you think?

Through a clarinet

It's hard to describe the sheer physicality of a clarinet, your finite breath (and for all you know it could be your last as you pour it into the music), the feeling on you lower lip, the vibrating wood, the slight resistance of the metal, the tiny little sounds of the mechanics which only the player hears, the deep round soulful sound, the smell of its very old wood. The place where it comes from (Prague), the places where it's been since. The hesitant playing which somehow expresses the state of your soul better than words or silence could. I don't know many greater pleasures. And sometimes at night, when my neighbours are resting, I long for the morrow to play again, I long to pour my lungs' last drop of air into a clarinet.



Maria, I've just met a girl named Maria
and suddenly the name will never be the same to me
Maria! I've just kissed a girl named Maria
And suddenly I've found how wonderful a sound can be
Maria, say it loud and there's music playing
Say it soft and it's almost like praying
Maria, I never stop saying: "Maria!"



(Picture credit: East London Clarinet Choir)

Committed to the mainstream

People who think like me are radical hippies. They live in some christian communities in the downtown areas of big cities. Their community houses double as a drop ins for whoever needs them. I really don't know what their daily life feels like, something along the lines of the million dollar hotel maybe?

People who think like me are pretty full on: they studied some theology since undergrad, now they're doing a thesis on capitalim and christianity, they live and breathe their stuff. They advocate radical reforms. They married someone who thinks like them. They're also bordering on the burnout. It's fairly scary.

I know I couldn't stand their brainwashed vibe for more than a couple of days. I could not handle their dogooding and I would really hate their lack of concious ambivalence. Sugar and spice personalities creep me out, and I'd be watching Quills and The Beach every other night to recover my anger, my sadness, my fear and my humanity. I could not stand (what I imagine to be) a fairly sketchy house, vegan cooking and holier than thou attitude, though I may be badly prejudiced. I'm committed to the maintream. The mainstream is my community, and I believe in regular people.

But hell, their blog is good! There are some wondrous gems of fairly good thinking in it, and I can't help but wanting to compulsively pour over the archives and take notes. They're so beautiful. And somehow, consumed in that way, imported back to the maintream, translated back in nonconfessional lingo, it makes sense. I'll be a vegan radical hippy at Glastonbury and an understated humanist for the rest of the year.

(I'm not linking because I might be traced back, and I like the privacy of this blog. If you're interested look for p*ose*rorp*roph*et on google, without the stars. This guy's sensibility really rocks)

Brrrrrr: got given a cheap gift!

Kiara will know who I'm talking about, and I'm really peeved off: we went to a party one Saturday and I brought an orchid and mosel wine. When C came to lunch the following Monday she brought lidl chocolate and one 3-for-£2.25 box of exotic fruit drink. I know I should not care, and C -who lives far away- probably did not go shopping between Saturday night and Monday lunchtime, but this has really gotten me to think about the practice of making presents: it can be so warm and charming when it shows that we value each other, and almost hurting when they are so obviously cheap and thoughtless. It' s ridiculous, but at that time I longed for the company of one of my gay flatmates who dresses like prince Charles and is always unbeliveably "proper", so we spent the rest of the afternoon trading our Miss Manners credentials while drinking good tea. I probably need to adjust some attitude at some point too: unpretentiousness can be charming too.

For the record, in case I forget: presents are always top of their range, preferably something of a luxury that the person would not buy for themselves, and preferably a consumable unless you know their taste well. But I won't forget that, will I? I knew this when I was ten.

Weak tie

I’m not doing too well these days. I feel like a “weak tie”: people I introduce get on really well and leave me out of their stuff. People I’ve not yet introduced but who are desperate to have a reason to know each other are overjoyed if I provide the opportunity while they are somewhat less overjoyed if I just suggest coffee. Guys who know I had a crush on them invite me to their wedding because we’re such close friends. I debunk students in a minute by explaining the notion of Foucauldian discourse and providing the emotional labour to let them gain confidence in their own ability and they go away creating Facebook fan clubs for the unapproachable (male) profs. I’m so non-threatening it’s scary. I’m also socially generous and I share my contacts and information easily. But I’ve had enough of this ecological niche.

Jo March

Jo March lives on my floor. She was educated by principled (catholic philosophical vegetarian) parents in a remote part of the country. She is amazingly well read, well behaved and plays several intruments. She speaks greek and latin and has read all the church fathers plus most of the philosophical classics. She has the most inspiring conversation, the broadest smile and the best cooking.

We've just spent the evening playing wind intruments (with me on the clarinet and "Jo" on the bason), talking about politics with a visiting professor of theology from Duke who also happens to live in college and rehearsing Becca's wedding song. There was five or six of us. It was such a great evening. I'm realising that I need more of this to fill my heart's home. I've secretly always longed for the March's attic brand of fun. This is as close as it gets.

For the record

You have never pushed me to greater things, you have never mentioned my name to anyone you know or spoken about my research, you have never asked if I wanted to come to dinner with a visiting speaker, you have never taken me along to a conference, you have not even replied to e-mails in which I suggested things you might be interested in, you have never introduced me to anyone, you have looked worried when I was engaged in conversation with some scholars, you have spent days without acknowledging my presences at the London conference or without smiling back at me when I looked at you, you have never even given me the impression that I could amount to something in academia, you have never put me forward for anything like the stuff Marie is doing, like helping to edit a book, or write a report for government. You have never invited me round to yours like you have with other postgrads. You have felt comfortable talking total bullsh*t in front of me, thinking that I wouldn’t notice that you did not know what you were talking about, because I was so ignorant, and assuming I hadn’t read the books (which unlike you, I had).

In short, you don’t value me and you don’t respect me. I can’t help but think about Bourdieu, who thought that school did not iron out initial differences, it served a device for legitimating them. All this sh*t is insidiously undermining my confidence. Because I’m not the teacher’s pet I think there is something wrong with me or my ability. You never took me under your wing like you did with quite a few other students whom you idealize because they write about stuff that you don’t understand. I guess that my only option is to make clear that I don’t respect you either.