Whiney Exile

"If you grow up in Manchester, you either go to work in a factory or you play soccer, or you sell drugs, or you become a musician. I think that's why we have two pretty good soccer teams, and we've got a lot of good factories, we've got a lot of good drug dealers and a lot of good bands." - Noel Gallagher

I’m down to my last two days living in the city exploited by the Industrial Revolution, bombed by the IRA and consistently demoralised by heavy rains. Technically, Manchester is not the city for me. It is good for athletic people, not only because of football, but also because they’re building Sportcity in East Manchester (part of sustainable regeneration programme). It’s also good for artsy people because of the lively music scene (especially jazz!) and quirky corner shops. Clearly, I’m neither athletic nor artsy, and in spite of my litany of complaints about the weather, sleazy cab drivers, decrepit dorm room, faulty fire alarms and pubs not serving coffee after 5pm, there is something about Manc that makes me want to stay.

I guess this is a common situation for someone who’s tired of being in-between cities. I am literally homeless. I’m currently staying in Lancaster, going to Manchester tomorrow and moving to Birmingham next month – that is after I stay in London and Geneva for a few days and Manila for a couple of weeks. I don’t know what my forwarding address is. My books and clothes are in boxes, ready to be shipped to the midlands, but my fancy shoes, office equipment and catalogued books are officially housed in Manila. In the interim, I literally live out of a (20 x 12”) suitcase. And my clothes are discoloured and wrinkly.

I used to think that as an academic, it is best for me to stay in a foreign city long enough to master bus routes and train times, but short enough not to develop meaningful relationships with the locals. After all, in Representations of the Intellectual, Edward Said explains that the ‘pattern that sets the course for the intellectual as outsider is best exemplified by the condition of exile, the state of never being fully adjusted, always feeling outside the chatty, familiar world inhabited by natives’ (1994:44). Although Said is talking about being ‘exilic’ in the metaphorical sense*, I’m not quite sure if I still like the literal meaning of being an exilic academic – someone who ‘flirts with mobility’ (Pels, 2000:186) and subscribes to ‘principled uncertainty’ (Deleuze in Hartley, 1996:451). In as much as I appreciate the opportunity to travel and find comfort in strangeness (Alexander, 1997:Track 5), at the end of the day, I am still the control freak who wants to know where everything is without having to look at the map.

Manc, Winter 2006

 
Before everyone disappeared, Spring 2007

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*It is the ‘metaphysical sense of restlessness, movement, constantly being unsettled and unsettling others’ (Said, 1994:53).
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Alexander, C. (1997) ‘Comfort in Your Strangeness’ in Insomnia and Other Lullabies

Hartley, J. (1996) “Expatriation: Useful Astonishment as Cultural Studies” in Cultural Studies, 6, 3:449-67.

Pels, D. (2000) The Intellectual as Stranger: Studies in Spokespersonship. London: Routledge

Said, E. (1994) Representations of the Intellectual: The 1993 Reith Lectures. London: Vintage Books

Payback Time

Just thought I’d share an interesting “article” from the magazine Red Pepper. Clearly, I do not agree with the advice, I just find it entertaining.

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Dear Auntie,

As a lifelong feminist, I’ve always insisted on sharing the costs on dates. But I only work part-time and have money troubles, while the man I’m now seeing earns a lot more than me. So he always pays when we go out on dates. We’ve never talked about it but I feel awkward. Does that make me a bad feminist?

Yours,

Anne Elliot, Bath

Dear Ms Elliot,

Take off the hairshirt, sister. If he’s got the money and you’re skint then let him pay.

In fact, there are good political reasons why he should pay. The UK has a gender pay gap of 17 per cent for equivalent work, according to official figures. That almost certainly underestimates the true picture, since women still don’t get these equivalent jobs. So next time he pays the bill at a restaurant, don’t think of it as confirming the patriarchy – treat it as a little bit of wealth redistribution. No need to feel awkward or guilty about it.

In my misguided youth, I used to sing that ‘If women were paid for all they do, there’d be a lot of wages due’. I thought that wages for housework would be a way to start tackling this economic inequality. But with age, and a partner who does his fair share of the cooking and cleaning (well, mostly), I came to realise that we shouldn’t limit our ambitions to a wage packet for ‘women’s work’.

Forget wages, what we need are reparations for housework.

My mother cooked, cleaned, ironed, washed and scrubbed, as women in my family had done for generations. I expect it’s the same in your family.

So next time your man flashes his cash for a cinema seat, top it up with an extra-large popcorn. And next time he shouts you a drink, make it a double. Then, as you’re nursing the hangover the following day, don’t forget to demand breakfast in bed and make sure that he does the washing up.

Got an ethical dilemma? Want some leftie advice from someone who’s been around a bit? Write to auntie@redpepper.org.uk and she’ll sort you out.

Is no resolution a resolution?

I agree that it is ironic, if not shameful that I spent three semesters in UP discussing land reform and the Iron Law of Oligarchy while wearing Nine West pumps with matching massive Kate Spade bags. Maybe I can take comfort in the fact that even respected academics such as Edward Said and Richard Rorty are criticised for the same reason. Said passionately talked about the Palestinian cause and imperialism yet kept a fancy flat in Manhattan and spoke in conferences wearing designer suits. Richard Rorty also pursued some form of activism, mostly related to issues of social justice but invested on the upkeep of his collection – wild orchids.

Said justified his lifestyle through what he called ‘disinterested aesthetic pleasure’. He believed that one’s political principles must not get in the way of appreciating great works of art. I am not too sure how Said defined art, but I tend to agree with the loose definition which is anything of high quality and high value. It is anything that excites the human senses. For that, Kate Spade bags qualify as art. So do Jimmy Choo peep toes. And HP PSC 2510 photosmart. And clearly, Crocs do not.

Similarly, Rorty tried to synthesise one’s personal and possibly selfish pleasure-seeking fetishes to the quest for a pluralistic, democratic society. In his autobiography Trotsky and Wild Orchids, he argued that it is not imperative to reconcile the personal and the public. He said that in the private realm, one is fee to engage in the art of self-creation, and if that entails art appreciation/collection, travelling or gardening, one should not be ashamed of it. Meanwhile, when one enters the public realm, one should be aware of his/her political obligations to the society. Essentially, the message is that the:

“ … dual goals of self-creation and social solidarity must be practiced simultaneously but separately … the ultimate synthesis of love and justice may turn out to be an intricately textured collage of private narcissism and public pragmatism”.

More interestingly phrased – “I (Rorty) wanted a way to be both an intellectual and spiritual snob and a friend of humanity – a nerdy recluse and a fighter for justice.”

I am not too sure if I buy this analysis. Is not resolving internal contradictions an acceptable resolution? Or does Umberto Eco make more sense when he said personal excess is an insult to poverty?

Just thinking aloud.

Click here for context.

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On a side note, I am disappointed with how Rorty and Said managed to make their autobiographies sobfests. Said endlessly harped on his feelings of being out of place as a kid, hence the title of his autobiography, Out of Place, while Rorty dramatically narrated how he was bullied as a kid. Oh please.

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Unfortunately, I returned Trotsky and Wild Orchids, and Out of Place to the library already while Eco’s How to Travel with a Salmon and Other Essays is in Manila. These circumstances disabled me from properly citing references.

Oh so apt

*Ripped off from Camilla's Facebook Album.

My world according to David.

When David passes judgment on my character, it’s hard not to listen. He knows me well enough because he stood by me through thick and thin, and more appropriately, whether he’s thick or thin. Last January, he said something that really bothered me:

“You know what you are, you’re a closet conservative! Think about it. You worked for a Republican think tank, you hang out with Tories and you’re elite. Whatever you do, you always land with conservatives.” (Ty 2007)

I wanted to punch him in the face, but I was nice enough to let it go since it was our last night out. Also, I was still in a conciliatory mood then because I ditched our dinner a few days back in lieu of another social function.

Two months later, I think I want to concede David’s analysis for the following reasons, and it got me contemplative ... and a bit scared:

1. I am more likely to support David Cameron instead of Gordon Brown. His social responsibility rhetoric sells to me, even though this has been overplayed by New Labour already.

2. I find the “youth’s” fashion statement outrageously raunchy. I know bohemian fashion is (well, supposed to be) a sign of resistance from snooty couture, but hot pink leggings with four inches short denim skirts matched with ‘ballerina shoes on methane high’ (Evangelista 2006) are simply unacceptable. Basic standards of decency imposed by the ruling elite (except Paris Hilton) are transgressed.

3. Lately, I find myself willingly performing traditional gender roles and not bitch about it. The only thing that bothers me is my substandard performance.

4. I firmly believe Sanjaya Malakar made it to the next round because of the South Asian bloc vote. And it's stupid. And please, Jade Goody was not racist.

Okay, David. We may not agree on post-movie analyses, value judgments on allegedly racist stand up comics and why A4 is better than Letter but you win on this one.

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Evangelista, Patricia (2007) Text message to Neeks. Seattle’s Best, Rockwell.

Ty, David (2007) “You’re a closet conservative!” in The Last Night Out, Starbucks, Rockwell

Like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife

To my troubled friend – There is nothing worse than having an existentialist crisis. I’m sorry I can’t spend enough time with you, damn time zones. I know your Catholic sensibilities make you reject Nietzsche outright, but just hear me out. This might actually help. If not, blame it on PMS. Take it easy.

Eternal Recurrence is one of Nietzsche’s strangest ideas. Some philosophers do not really give credence to this because Nietzsche was allegedly insane already when he wrote The Gay Science and Thus Spoke Zarathustra. The concept is similar to the Hindus’ Wheel of Life, which basically sees life as a cycle – “Everything goes, everything returns; eternally revolves the Wheel of Being.” (Nietzsche, 1981) There are numerous ways to appreciate this idea, but two of my favourite interpretations come from Maudemarie Clark and Bernd Magnus.

Both Clark and Magnus consider Eternal Recurrence as an “existential imperative” – a tool to evaluate one’s life. If one believes in eternal recurrence, the litmus test in making decisions is – “Which consequence am I willing to endure in eternity?” Decisions we make for our selves are often coupled with casualties and unintended consequences, but we get consolation knowing that our choices are worth it – our lives have not been wasted.

Following Schopenhauer, Nietzsche too equates life with suffering. But this ‘reality’ comes with an antidote. The core of eternal recurrence is “affirmation of life” or “joyous affirmation”. This is reflected with Nietzsche’s constant reference to Dionysius. For him, the lesson this Athenian god imparts is taking life lightly. We suffer because we take our existence too seriously. Gianni Vattimo, a neo-Nietzschean argues that instead of finding coherence in our lives, we should concede that it is messy and instead, enjoy its amazing disarray.

It’s a bit strange that while Nietzsche encourages us to be ubermensch, he also wants us to concede that we are ‘human, all too human’. The bottom line really is appreciating the irony of life. People grow old looking for meaning, direction and consistency and end up disappointed and jaded when these ‘essentials’ cannot be found. On the other hand, finally conceding the absence of truth and higher purpose allows us to start living and creating our own purpose and direction. Remembering what someone dear to me said – “this is your only shot to be happy.”

I guess how we perceive Eternal Recurrence is reflective of how we appreciate the way we lived our lives. Perhaps the question that can help us assess our position is raised in Gay Science:

“What if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: ‘This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession …’ would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus?”

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Nietzsche, F. (1882) “The Gay Science” in The Gay Science: With a Prelude in Rhymes and an Appendix of Songs, translated by Walter Kauffman (Vintage Books, 1974)

_____. (1891) “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” in Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None; translated by Walter Kauffman (New York, Modern Library, 1995)

Solomon, R. and K. Higgins (2000) What Nietzsche Really Said. New York: Shocken Books

I’m happy, don’t ruin it.

It is fashionable to be bitter. Looking at YM status messages and blogs, it looks like people nowadays have something against being happy. A couple of decades ago, Theodor Adorno (1984) declared “Happiness is obsolete. Uneconomic.” True enough, unhappiness drives consumption, legitimising our urge to buy a new pair of shoes or watch a movie or binge on chocolates or buy a new paper shredder (obviously, this is just me). Media also validates (Bourdieu, 1998) bitterness as a fashionable frame of mind. Wouldn’t it be “super cool” to identify to Gregory House, Cristina Yang, Liz Lemon, or even Mohinder Suresh?

While successfully ignoring my readings today, I read Kurt Vonnegut’s A Man without a Country (2006). In one of the final chapters, he talked about his Uncle Alex, whose main complaint against other human beings was “that they seldom noticed it when they were happy.” Ally McBeal (1997) supports this point – “Maybe I’m happy. I just don’t know it.” Vonnegut continues –

“So when we were drinking lemonade under an apple tree in the summer, say, and talking lazily about this and that, almost buzzing like honeybees, Uncle Alex would suddenly interrupt the agreeable blather to exclaim ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.’ … I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”

Anyway, this post has nothing to do with me being the new posterchild of happiness. Far from it. It's just that this afternoon, still in the spirit of ignoring my readings, I spent so much time listening to String Quartet tributes while drinking Nicaraguan Coffee which made me say “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”

String Quartet Tribute to Coldplay, Clocks

String Quartet Tribute to Fall Out Boy, Sugar We’re Going Down

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Adorno, T. (1984) Minima Moralia: Reflections from Damaged Life. (First published in German, 1951) London: Verso

Bourdieu, P. (1998) On Television. New York: The New Press

McBeal, A. (1997) “Compromising Positions” in Ally McBeal Season 1. (Created by David E. Kelley). First aired September 22, 1997.

Vonnegut, K. (2007) A Man without a Country. (First published in 2006) London: Bloomsbury Publishing