I’m in a car, late as usual but on my way to work. The driver has 94.5 WPST-FM on, and the “morning crew” is inviting call-in comments on their deep discussion topic du jour: how long should you wait to complain at a restaurant before you regard your “server” as late in bringing your order? “Fifteen minutes.” “Twenty minutes.” One guy says he avoids the problem by telling everyone he’s in a hurry, whether or not he is. Ha ha! Funny! Happy Friday, everyone!
Continue readingCategory Archives: slices of life
Persian Gulf Studies in Insouciance, vol. 1:1
A WhatsApp message from a cousin of mine who lives and works in the United Arab Emirates:
Am fine. Worked from home for a few days, then went back to the office today. Things are relatively normal, despite the missiles and drones.
He’s an emergency room physician. Curious how long the normality lasts.
I Have a Dream
I dreamt last night that an army of vampiric clowns rose up to attack human society, but were met with overwhelming resistance, were stomped to death, and were eventually annihilated. Really not making that up.
Eminent Domain and the Resort to Force
I was pleased to see that my letter on Princeton’s use of eminent domain to acquire Westminster Choir College was printed in the January 7 issue of Princeton’s Town Topics, with a note from the editor (p. 13): “Thank you for your letter. We stand corrected.” Good to hear it.
Whether the topic is genocide or eminent domain, mainstream American journalists have an addiction to euphemism about the use of force that should be corrected at every turn. If journalists described the use of force more vividly and accurately, people would grasp its ubiquity in public life, and stop being surprised when it took egregious forms, as in the killing of Renee Good. Continue reading
Stirring the POT (5)
Politics and the Problematics of Fun
I started my “Stirring the POT” series earlier this year as a vehicle for announcements, but it gradually morphed into a series of ruminations on conferences I attended. The latter turned out to be the more interesting enterprise, so I’ll close out the year with a belated conference rumination. This past April, I went to San Francisco, at the invitation of Roderick Long and the Molinari Society, to be on an Author-Meets-Critics panel on Gary Chartier’s Christianity and the Nation State. It promised to be a good time, and it was. Continue reading
Out in the Cold
It’s a good day, just really cold. I go to the gym. I get my hair cut. I go to the public library, and get some books to read. On my way out, I stop by an exhibit displayed with great pride in the lobby: the municipality is tearing down the lo-fi flyer kiosks in town and replacing them with hi-tech versions, at an estimated cost of $80,000. Stupid, I think. Expensive, vain, and pointless–but typical.
It’s dark now, and even colder than it was when I left the house–somewhere in the 30s. I’m annoyed at the prospect of having to bike home in the cold, but it’s festive in the square, and for a minute or two, even I manage to feel a bit of holiday cheer, Scrooge that I am. Continue reading
Thoughts on a Self-Deportation
I was at a self-deportation the other day. Someone who’d been in this country for decades decided it was time to leave, even at the price of breaking up the family. So, surrounded by friends and family, they did.
I’m not sure what verb to use for my presence at this scene. I was present, but not wholly present, engaged, but not fully engaged. I had things to do that day, and couldn’t afford the luxury of wholehearted empathy or grief. Did I observe? Bear witness? Psychologically flee the scene? A little bit of all of the above.
The English language lacks a word for the act of observing, but deliberately holding oneself aloof from, another person’s misfortune. It’s too bad, because self-deportation and family dissolution are quickly becoming commonplaces. We can’t be fully present for all of them. So the word we lack is a word we need.
Start Spreading the News
Current status: paying $70 to take an Uber to work, care of a well-dressed driver named Roberto who’s blaring Sinatra in my ear. Feel like I’m en route to another meeting with Batista over the Castro/Che problem, but no, just another day of DRG Downgrade appeals with assorted hospital clients, paying top dollar to get paid.
“I’m gonna make a brand new start of it—Metropark, Metropark.”
Somebody kill me.
Great Moments in Pedagogy
Professor, can I ask you a question? What does Sophocles want?
–Exasperated student to my friend Charles Persky, Professor of English at Hunter College, City University of New York (1970-2017)
The Activist As Revenue Manager
Between doing the numbers for Hartford HealthCare, and prepping the inventory reports for the Atlantic Health System—and blogging to excess in the middle of it all—I left the office late, got on a late train home, and once again got my ass stranded at Princeton Junction Rail Station. No sooner did I get there, but who should show up as if waiting for me but my favorite Arab taxi driver? Meaning the same guy who gave me the free ride last time.
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Policy of Truth 