What do these things have in common? Rachel is working through an installation art project, which in its ‘primitive accumulation’ phase involved canning lots of tomatoes and drying their skins. The following are some incomplete thoughts she’s written pursuant to assembling an actual art work out of her materials. This is a work in progress; she is interested in feedback. Here’s Rachel:

Concepts and Daydreams:

I have 100 jars of tomatoes that I’ve canned. As I’ve been canning (a rather dull process overall) I’ve daydreamed different fictitious scenarios that could result in these 100 jars:

* It’s a science discovery. Archaeologists uncover this stash of primitive food rations and put it on display for the public. Or anthropologists (of the old imperialist regime) discover this tribe of people called “Farmers”. They hypothesize about the tools used, etc. They show video footage of the strange customs. (I watched a documentary about head shrinking Indians of the Amazon that probably prompted this train of thinking.)

* An old woman who obsessively cans to ward off death. (playing with the idea of ritual and superstition)

* A person getting ready for the apocalypse by building and stocking a cold war era type bunker. (This one, and a bit of the one before it are based on my real life experiences with a Holocaust survivor named Helen who I knew as a teen. Helen’s son hired me to “clean” her house, saying that if she couldn’t get her life under control he would put her in a home. I had unique access to Helen’s small, filthy trailer stocked to the ceiling with junk that she just knew would come in handy when the next disaster hit (candles she made out of crayons, stacks of newspaper, magazines, half a room full of sweaters). She also collected animals and strategically left bags of their food around so that if she died they’d have food for a while and not eat her body—something she was really afraid of. Canning 100 jars of tomatoes is something Helen would’ve done if she’d found a good deal on tomatoes. Helen was obsessed with being totally in charge of her world, so to accomplish this she made her world very small—literally the confines of her trailer, which she rarely left. I never did get that house clean.)

* An old woman who copes with her anxieties about death and change by canning everything in her life—including her husband, cat, furniture, clothes, etc. She cans all winter long and by spring has filled her house with jars of household items and sits with them and enjoys how still they are.

These are just the stories I made up while I worked. I’m not sure that any of them go anywhere.

That said, I’m kind of into the idea of treating the cans and the skins as science objects. One thing I have yet to do for the jars is label them. I’ve been putting this off because I didn’t know exactly what I wanted. I could do this in a science format with the latin names and weights of things. I could put the skins in little sample jars and weigh them and label them.

I also think it would be interesting perhaps to make a Helen-type bunker filled with crap. Obsessive amounts of junk. What I’m interested in is nostalgia and how it is a form of controlling our worlds. Helen was extremely nostalgic about her things, no matter how junky they were. There was a reason to every single thing in there.

Overall:

I’m realizing that it’s not specifically farming that I’m interested in but control, attempts to control our worlds and those in it, and the anxiety that accompanies this desire and inevitable failure. Farming is a tool or language available to me to discuss these concepts because of my background and affection for farming culture.

End Rachel. Readers, any thoughts?

Over at Edge of the West, in the context of one of the usual pseudo-discussions about what philosophy is good for (prompted by yet another of Leiter’s snarky shills for the discipline, apparently), a guy named Michael Turner just posted a long, fascinating comment explaining how he went from software engineering to (Japanese) technical translation to language philosophy; in the course of which he said this:

OK, so I’m interested in what meaning is, and how meaning happens, through language. Can you philosophers help me out? Which one of you do I trust? Which ones are, by contrast, measuring their value to the field only by citation index, which might only be an indication of how many stupid arguments they’ve been able to start by feverishly propagating misunderstandings?

This is far from the most interesting thing he said (John M. and Evan, this is our kind of guy), and of course it leaves out all the genuinely valuable things the philosophers we all know we can trust do, but I still had a good snort over it.

In another comment, Anderson kindly offers up this provocative quote from Callicles’ rant in the Gorgias:

Philosophy, as a part of education, is an excellent thing, and there is no disgrace to a man while he is young in pursuing such a study; but when he is more advanced in years, the thing becomes ridiculous, and I feel towards philosophers as I do towards those who lisp and imitate children.

One might say the same of the study of history, or any of the humanities.

I was recently involved (as a bit of a thread-jacker) in a conversation over at Edge of the West about drug policy. Dana’s original post expressed a sensible doubt about the value of anecdotal evidence in disproving the destructive effects of pot smoking, and noted that the success of the anecdoter in question “has less to do with the fact that pot isn’t dangerous and more to do with the fact that if one is well-educated and well-off one has to really screw up before anything affects one’s expected life outcomes. They have a safety net made of money.”

It seemed to me this good thought got pretty well covered in short order, so I went meta by suggesting that moving transgression thresholds here and there was more likely to squish unfreedom around than to actually make anyone more free (although I’ll accept ‘more choice’ in a supermarket sense as marginally preferable to ‘less choice’). Pot itself is not much of a point, nor are its specific properties and effects more than a distraction; it’s just where the line happens to be drawn in a disciplinary regime that works by drawing lines somewhere. I made this argument in some detail there and won’t reproduce it here – click through.

So if it’s not squishing unfreedom around, what would it mean to be more free? I don’t have a satisfying answer for that, but here’s my answer, in a couple of parts. Like Voltaire’s Brahmin I wouldn’t want to exchange paralyzing awareness for busy ignorance. And like Camus’ Sisyphus I think there are all sorts of things worth doing anyway (like teaching) not because they’ll actually work in some larger transformative sense but because this absurd fate belongs to us.

Would it be different if it was cheese?

Freedom is the recognition of necessity, as Hegel said. When I was driving down to school this morning I chanced to be behind a couple of cars in a row that were pretty much ignoring the lines painted on the road. Their flirtation with those transgression thresholds may have seemed like freedom to them, but acceptable transgression is part of how the system’s built. Around here beat up old guys in beat up old pickup trucks drive real slow, right down the center of the lane. Freedom is in coming to grips with the lines, accepting their power to limit and compel, and releasing the desire for somewhere, something else they simultaneously create and frustrate. If there’s room to move and to play within the lines, so much the better.

They totally oughta get a pit bull and name her Sarah.

Such a sweetie.

Courtesy of Alexandre Enkerli at Disparate, whose commentary is typically aromatic, here’s a meme.

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.

2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.

3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.

4) Optional extra: Post a comment here at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

So here goes. I will remove some suspense by establishing from the outset that I have a thang about slimy textures. It took me the first five years of my adult life just to teach myself to like raw tomatoes. I’ll also choose savory over sweet most every time. And some of these are pretty transparently reaching for snob appeal. I’m not a collector of experiences just for the sake of checking off an item on a list.

1. Venison (Courtesy of hunter friends. Very tasty; a bit dry, which I like in meat.)
2. Nettle tea (No, but I’ve drunk plenty of flower/leaf/stem/root teas and I’m not clear on why this particular one is the issue.)
3. Huevos rancheros (Yum. Just this weekend.)
4. Steak tartare (Near enough to the edge of slimy to discourage my interest.)
5. Crocodile (No opportunity and not clear why I would seek it out.)
6. Black pudding (Hasn’t come up.)
7. Cheese fondue (Make it myself sometimes, with a touch of port or sherry.)
8. Carp (Not a big fish fan, but if it’s put in front of me I’ll bite.)
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush Eggplant is high on slime but I love the Mediterranean flavors.

11. Calamari Especially the tentacles.
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich (Sometimes for weeks on end in the lunchbag, with Mom’s home-made jelly. Which, by the way, seriously degrades its trade value in the dessert market.)
14. Aloo gobi (Yum. Reminding me that I really need to cook more and get out of my Italian rut.)
15. Hot dog from a street cart (The older and dryer the better, same goes for the sauerkraut.)
16. Epoisses (Never heard of it until now. I like ripe gorgonzola and cheese in general so it doesn’t frighten me, but I don’t see a pressing need to rush out and add this feather to my cap.)
17. Black truffle (Not that I know of.)
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes (C’mon. Any U.S.American high school student and/or wino has had Boone’s Farm or Mad Dog.)
19. Steamed pork buns (Hard to live in San Francisco and miss these.)
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes (Yes, although in Italy they just call these “tomatoes.”)
22. Fresh wild berries (One of the ways I learned patience, discipline and attention was wading into the wild raspberry thickets near home to get to the ones in the center that hadn’t been picked out.)
23. Foie gras (What a bad idea, but I guess I’d try it.)
24. Rice and beans (If pasta wasn’t my desert island food, this would be.)
25. Brawn or Head Cheese (Nah. Gotta draw the line somewhere.)
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper (There are two basic ways you get to eating something like this. One is through a gradual progression through degrees of acclimation until you need it to achieve the same level of stimulation a much milder version would have given you at first. I’m not there yet. The other is being the kind of jackass who thinks there’s a point to be proven by gratuitous displays of tolerance to unpleasantness.)
27. Dulce de leche (I’m not much of a dessert guy to start with, but add blandly sweet to the description and I’ll mostly pass.)
28. Oysters (Smoked yes, raw no. Slimy like someone else’s snot.)
29. Baklava (Impressive construct and the nuts are appealing, but I can do without that much sweet all in one place.)
30. Bagna cauda (Never stopped in Piedmont. Sounds good except for the anchovies.)
31. Wasabi peas (Just about anything is better with a little wasabi.)
32. Clam Chowder in Sourdough Bowl (Seems mostly like a gimmick to me. I’d rather have the soup in a regular bowl and dip the sourdough to my exact liking.)
33. Salted Lassi (Not exactly, but I love ayran and concoct myself herbed, salted yogurt drinks every so often.)
34. Sauerkraut (E.g. with that street hot dog.)
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar (For cigars I prefer “Toscani,” the kind Eastwood smokes in the spaghetti westerns. But I’m not often in the mood to make myself, my clothes, and the whole environment smell like that.)
37. Clotted Cream Tea
38. Vodka Jelly/Jell-O (Somehow when this was happening all around me I stuck to beer.)
39. Gumbo (I’ll go out of my way for a good gumbo.)
40. Oxtail (Not as such. I can’t say for sure it hasn’t been in a stock I’ve eaten.)
41. Curried goat (I’m pretty sure I’ve had goat at some point, but specifically curried I couldn’t say. Sometimes it’s not quite clear what’s on the buffet.)
42. Whole insects (Anyone who has ridden a bike down a hill in summer.)
43. Phaal (See Scotch Bonnet peppers, above.)
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth $120 or more (“Smooth.” I mean sure, fine, whatever. There’s having it, and then there’s honestly being able to tell the difference.)
46. Fugu (aka pufferfish) (I have never, ever heard anyone say they did this for the taste.)
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut (This is one of those micro-nationalisms. I grew up in Dunkin’ Donut country. So to me, Krispy Kremes are an amusing but ultimately insubstantial and unsatisfying novelty.)
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi (Just now learning of these. Sour and salty sounds like a great combo to me.)
53. Abalone
54. Paneer (Sounds fine. The sort of thing you either grow up with or you don’t.)
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal (I think I’ve had a Big Mac but never the combo meal.)
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV (Of course the alcohol volume is hardly the point.)
59. Poutine (Funny. In Hawaii they eat their french fries with mayonnaise. I like chili fries myself.)
60. Carob chips (Just. Not. The. Same. And not so exciting as their own thing, either.)
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake (I wonder why these are together. They’re quite different.)
68. Haggis (There’s eating guts because you’re enslaved and/or colonized and that’s what’s left after the master has his pick. Then making it remotely palatable is an admirable and impressive accomplishment. Eating guts by choice is an entirely different matter. Guys, you could just say no at this point. And yes, I know guts’re around/in sausage. Their character as guts has been pretty well obliterated by that point, which is after all much of the point of sausage.)
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings (See haggis.)
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost or brunost
75. Roadkill (Not that I know of.)
76. Baijiu (Whatevah. Grain alcohol is grain alcohol. That’s how distilling works.)
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snails
79. Lapsang Souchong
80. Bellini (Prosecco’s nice to mix with whatever fruit you’ve got handy.)
81. Tom Yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Michelin 3 Star Tasting Menu
85. Kobe beef (But I do have a friend who amusingly shocked his companions by ordering his $100 kobe filet “well done.”)
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers (Squash, nasturtium, lily, and then all those teas.)
89. Horse (If that’s what’s on the barbie I’m all for it.)
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose Harissa (You get to where it’s not entirely clear what local variants of chili sauce you have or haven’t had. I think not on this one.)
94. Catfish
95. Mole Poblano (But not mole.)
96. Bagel and Lox
97. Lobster Thermidor (Sounds good. Maybe the next time we visit me mum-in-law in Maine we can talk her out of her traditional Newberg and into a Thermidor. Seems like the main difference is cheese and powdered mustard vs. cayenne, and of course the dopey stuffed-tail presentation.)
98. Polenta (Mmmmm, cheese polenta….)
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee (I’ll take Alexandre’s word for it that this is overrated.)
100. Snake

For followup on responses to the meme at Very Good Taste, see here.

It’s that time of year in the halls of academe when hope springs and experience pings, when we imagine the sweet epiphanies we will share with excited and eager students, while remembering years past’s slow boring of hard boards.

Mikhail has some thoughts about the first year experience, I am teaching a class explicitly designed to frame the first year experience, each of us has memories of those rosy days, so this is probably a good time to recall Tim Clydesdale’s sociological work on teens in the first year of college. There’s a nice short review in the Chronicle, titled “The Myth of First-Year Enlightenment.”

He finds that students in their first year are perhaps uniquely resistant to the kind of deeply transformative experience we imagine is the real payoff of college, and indeed are busy just figuring out how to get along away from home. In the meantime they put the very core values we’d like to get them to question into an “identity lockbox” for safekeeping.

Clydesdale notes that “Only a handful of students on each campus find a liberal-arts education to be deeply meaningful and important, and most of those end up becoming college professors themselves…. And so the liberal-arts paradigm perpetuates itself, while remaining out of sync with the vast majority of college students.” Yup.

Practically, Clydesdale recommends several shifts of emphasis: from content inculcation to skills development; from lectures students will soon forget to class discussion of issues, perspectives and interpretations; and from grand goals about moral awakening to modest goals about competence.

Mikhail is quite right that our young charges “will have to get used to the idea that life is full of situations in which you have to learn something, even if it looks like a completely useless subject – remember, [they're] not old enough or experienced enough to be the judge of what is or isn’t useless.” And the first year is part of that process. But as a matter of practical pedagogy in the face of brute sociological facts, much of what we can accomplish in the first year is to not so thoroughly turn them off with our sanctimonious attempts to jam goodness into their heads that they’ll never recover and will remain sullen anti-intellectuals for the rest of their lives.

There’s always a box. There are many of them. The best we can do is think outside this one. Sometimes that’s enough.

The commentary on Rough Theory’s wordle post of dissertation chapter 1 stimulated a further thought about Wordle, which its creator describes as “a toy.” I’ll agree with that to start with, because it’s fun to play with.

The “beautiful word clouds” generated from our more ’serious’ work feel like they capture something, however. As Lynda said ironically at RT, “it’s all there, and presented much more eloquently than I could ever do with bothersome things like sentences.” NP wonders if they could be submitted in lieu of an abstract, and Lynda says “*Now* I know what my thesis is about.” I had the same reaction, including that shiver of embarrassment about certain words that should have been inconsequential turning out to be heavy in the distribution (Wordle removes linguistically common ’stopwords’ and weights the rest by frequency).

Still, in principle it should matter what order and relation we put words in; otherwise we could all just stop with the bothersome sentences and write word lists for wordling. For example, frequency is not the only index of importance; sometimes a word that appears only once is the fulcrum of a whole argument. In fact, this transition from lumped word clusters to organized thoughts is pretty much what I’m trying to teach during my day job. I get papers that read like wordles all the time; if the words are well-enough chosen, they sometimes even pass. Now I find myself wondering if I could use Wordle itself to graphically represent to the students the difference between a word dump and a fully-articulated paper.

I’d welcome thoughts on this. Just as a first impression, I imagine requiring students a week before an early-semester paper is due to come to class with a Wordle printout of their introductory paragraph. I would then put them in work groups and have them attempt to interpret each others’ wordles to see how close they could get to the author’s intended meaning. In the process I think they would be clarifying in their own minds what ‘extra’ is needed beyond mere words to communicate a meaning and frame an argument. The additional benefit is that this would move their procrastination window up a week.

If this seems like fun, we could always experiment with my chapter wordles here or NP’s at Rough Theory….

I must have been under a rock because I missed the recent death of Bo Diddley, one of the greats of the generation that turned blues, r&b, gospel, jazz, country, worksong, hollers, and street music into rock & roll. Thanks to Lumpenprofessoriat here’s a video of Bo and the band at the top of their game:

Rachel and I were just watching a John Lennon documentary, and so one striking thing to me about this vid is all the white girls going all beatlemania for big black Bo. It can be easy to forget that this hysterical and racially goodwilled fanitude was a general cultural style at the time, of course with gendered variants. Even earlier. My dad has reminisced about the virtual mosh pit up at the front of the stage at a Charlie Parker concert (at that point, must have been the early ’50s, Dad was the only white guy there).

In his heyday Bo had a great band, as you can see. It’s all about the rhythm. The girls had moves, and it’s interesting and unique for the time to see one of them, Lady Bo, doubling on guitar and taking a lead turn. In Bo’s music there’s very little of the predatory misogyny that catches at contemporary sensibilities about much of the popular music of that time, and maybe here is more evidence of Bo’s good nature in that respect. He wasn’t a guy who drew the line; everyone was invited.

I saw Bo about 22 years ago at J.C. Dobbs on South Street in Philadelphia. It was one of those cash-maximizing affairs where he was touring without a band and played with whatever locals he could pick up. Like many artists of his era, black and white, he signed bad contracts, managed what money he did make poorly, and had little to show for his glory years. The venue was small and noisy, the band was a bunch of clueless young guys, and Bo was disinterested; but even so, there were flashes of the charisma, wit, and style you can see in the video, and it’s a cherished memory.